Sea of Thieves

by Chris Allcock

  Ramsey swept a long, lazy arc with his blade. As the other captain moved her sword instinctively to parry it his fist lashed out with a swift blow that caught her squarely on the chin, lifted her effortlessly into the air and carried her backward over the railing. There was a splash, and a scream cut short.

  “Real pirates,” Ramsey observed, “would have seen that coming.”

  With its captain lost and the rest of its crew defeated, the ship was a simple matter to secure. After some brief debate, the crew of the Magpie’s Wing hauled Mercia’s former adversary into the brig below decks, tied the youth who’d surrendered to a beam in the captain’s cabin, and secured the final crewman in the map room. Separated as they were, it would be all the harder for them to conjure up a means of escape.

  “We’re leaving them to starve, then?” Shan commented, keeping his voice carefully neutral as he and the crew began to ransack the ship’s supplies.

  Ramsey shook his head. “We deserve a drink, so when we reach an outpost we’ll spread word about a fine vessel out here for the taking. Someone’ll pay us handsomely for her location, and then it’ll be up to her crew to talk themselves out of trouble.”

  “Assuming some other ship doesn’t stumble upon them first,” Rathbone interjected. “There are more and more of these cocky little greenhorns sailing around every day.”

  Scowling, Mercia rounded on him. “And whose fault is that, I wonder? Who could possibly be responsible for every lubber with a dinghy to their name finding their way through the Devil’s Shroud just as surely is if they had a map—our map?”

  Rathbone’s countenance darkened in return as he stepped up to her. “This again?” he snarled. “And yet again, I say, if you’re going to accuse me of treachery without proof, you’d better be prepared to answer for it!”

  “Just try it, you overbearing—”

  “Enough!” Ramsey roared in a voice that shook the ship. “The hows and whys don’t matter anymore. We’re no longer alone out here, so let’s take what we can and sail on before someone else decides to pick a fight.” Chastened, Rathbone and Mercia moved to opposite ends of the enemy ship and joined Shan in the hunt for anything useful.

  As he crossed the gangplank that was acting as a temporary bridge between the two vessels, a box of lead shot under each arm, Ramsey found himself musing on their journey to date. Almost a full year had passed since he’d stood in Rowenna’s tavern and boasted about his journey, a night that had unintended consequences. The tales and trinkets Ramsey brought back had compelled others to follow in his footsteps, one way or another.

  For better or worse, the region beyond the Shroud was no longer a secret. The pirates back home had even given it an informal name, and though Ramsey had snorted disdainfully the first time he heard someone refer to “the Sea of Thieves,” the phrase had somehow seemed to stick.

  He supposed he should be angry at the rest of the world for intruding into what he’d once considered his own private paradise. Certainly, Ramsey was furious the first time they spotted another ship, and he was ready to blow them out of the water for daring to approach him. But they waved a flag of truce and shared a meal. It turned out they merely wanted to offer thanks and a chance to dine with the famous captain who’d discovered the Sea of Thieves. He didn’t know quite what to make of that.

  Since then, there had been unexpected encounters wherever they’d journeyed. They no longer enjoyed the luxury of sailing without a lookout in the crow’s nest as they had when they first arrived, secure in the knowledge that they were the most fearsome thing on the waves. Now, just like the old days, they had to constantly scour the horizon for distant sails lest they be caught unawares.

  These constant distractions and the knowledge that a treasure left unclaimed today might be resting in someone else’s hold tomorrow had served only to harden Ramsey’s resolve. If these weren’t to be his waters alone, then he’d damn well make sure that he was their undisputed master, and that every other pirate knew it. He’d been relentless in dealing with those who opposed him and wasted no time before detailing his exploits whenever they stopped off at an outpost.

  Outposts! Now there was something Ramsey had never anticipated seeing out here, though he supposed it was inevitable. Previously unspoiled islands had developed first small campgrounds, then crude wooden shelters, and finally boardwalks and buildings. Even pirates needed to make camp from time to time, and others would come along later to build upon what went before, using their unique skills to improve the place whenever they stopped by.

  There were at least two taverns in this region alone, both run by opportunistic pirates who knew about sugars, fermentation, and everything else that went into a good beer. These pirates had chosen to make their fortune by opening their doors to others, so that they might drink and relax without having to make the long journey home. He had even heard tell of a blacksmith coming to the region in the company of a crew who wanted to keep their weapons sharp and were willing to pay for the privilege. Before long, Ramsey mused, there’d be shipwrights and shopkeepers aplenty, all eager to hawk their wares to passing travelers and spare them the danger of the long journey home.

  All told, the increasing likelihood of bumping into other ships while out on adventures, coupled with his own rising notoriety, had led Ramsey to insist that they find themselves a suitable hideout. They needed a place where they could rest, relax, and repair; something that simply wasn’t possible amid the hustle and bustle of an outpost, even if the folks around wanted to do nothing more than share a drink or hear stories. Mercia, true to form, had been keeping a careful log of everywhere that they’d visited and had suggested a number of suitable locations.

  The first potential hideaway they’d visited was been an innocuous island near the heart of the region, where a soft crescent of golden beaches framed a huge rocky cave with a fine sandy floor. It seemed like an ideal safe harbor, and so they moored the Magpie’s Wing and made camp inside. Their revelry lasted only until high tide, at which point seawater began to pour relentlessly into the cave from all directions, forcing the crew to abandon their cooking pot halfway through a meal and paddle hastily back to the ship. Shan continued to insist he’d seen a shark snacking on their dinner as they sailed away.

  The second site, an imposing crisscross of rocky peaks surrounding a central lagoon, would have allowed them to hide the ship entirely. Shan even suggested mounting cannons on the high cliffs overlooking the bay’s single entrance, allowing them to repel intruders. As they approached the island, however, tendrils of mist began to form around them and a familiar sourness filled the air. They had to execute a swift about-face to avoid sailing any closer, and by morning, the ebb and flow of the Devil’s Shroud had swallowed the island up as if it had never existed.

  Finally, Rathbone reminded them of the high, arched cavern where they’d spent their first night in the Sea of Thieves. The entrance was almost invisible unless you knew where to look, he argued, and they knew from prior experience that there were no ghastly surprises awaiting them when night fell or the storms swept in. He called it a Thieves’ Haven, and the others agreed.

  Shan in particular seemed to relish the opportunity to set themselves up a permanent home away from home and, by the time they set sail, had already dreamed up an extensive list of changes and renovations he wanted to make to the place. Mercia warned him not to get his hopes up based on their recent run of luck, joking that the whole island was probably an active volcano or the maw of some slumbering leviathan, but not even she could put a dent in his unrelenting optimism.

  It turned out to be well-founded cheer, too, for the cavern was just as they’d left it all those months ago with its hidden entrance and all. Even the remains of their first campfire were still largely undisturbed, though Shan expressed a desire to build a more permanent dining area of sorts, tucked out of the way where the smoke and the firelight wouldn’t make their hideaway obvious to passing vessels.

  Mercia had bought into the id
ea of creature comforts, too, though she had some very different ideas as to what needed constructing first. Bedrooms, she insisted, or at the very least some sort of partitioned spaces, were needed for some modicum of privacy. Rathbone, perhaps looking for a way to ease tensions between them, helped her wedge a series of bamboo poles across the openings of cavities in the cave walls and hang sheets of thick canvas from them like curtains.

  When they found treasures, they had begun to set the smaller items aside, offering them in trade for those little luxuries that were slowly but surely making their way to the Sea of Thieves. Sheepskin rugs for warmth, boxes of candles, and sturdy chests and boxes to hold their belongings all came together to convert Thieves’ Haven from a gloomy cavern into a place of respite for the crew of the Magpie’s Wing.

  Only Ramsey had declined a bedroom of his own, pointing out that the captain’s cabin was more luxurious by half than a rocky nook stuffed with gewgaws. Privately, the notion of spending too many nights apart from his ship felt deeply unsettling to him.

  It was back to Thieves’ Haven that the Wing sailed now, its deck strewn with everything the crew had been able to loot from the ship that had attacked them. “Well they may have been pretty pathetic pirates, but they certainly had some nice belongings,” Rathbone commented, sorting through a collection of silks and fabrics. “We should consider raiding other vessels more often.”

  Shan pulled a face. “Waste of resources, if you ask me. You have to spend half of what you earn repairing the ship.”

  “Not if you take them by surprise,” Rathbone persisted. “A sneak attack on a moonless night with all the lanterns turned off and they wouldn’t even have a chance to retaliate.”

  Mercia made a disgusted sound. “We’re surrounded by everything nature has to offer and you want to spend your time squabbling with other pirates? What a waste.”

  “Everything nature has to offer?” Rathbone parroted, unable to resist reigniting their earlier argument. “Like what, coconuts and pig droppings?”

  Mercia shot him a withering look. “Even you must have noticed it by now. This place works . . . differently. Just little things, like how much faster injuries seem to heal out here.” They all knew what she meant, of course. Shan had slipped on some rocks and fallen almost twenty feet on their last excursion. He had gained a few bumps and scratches to show for it, but by the time they got back to the ship he was back to his old self. A hearty meal, even something as simple as a banana, seemed enough to lift anyone’s spirits.

  It was, Mercia reflected privately, as if something about the region made everyone that much more resilient and filled them with a vitality that was missing back home. You got drunk more quickly, but hangovers passed faster too. Everyone seemed a bit stronger, a bit faster, could hold their breath a bit longer. The world itself seemed to be getting livelier, too, with more storms and unexpected bursts of wind. Almost as if the place was reacting to them. Almost as if it was a little bit . . . Mercia grimaced, refusing to let herself think the word magical, because that was a slippery slope back to the bad old days of superstition and stupidity.

  They sailed back to the hideout in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, and Rathbone took his turn in the crow’s nest. As they approached, though, he gave a sudden cry of alarm and slid down the ladder at speed. “There’s smoke,” he said in response to Ramsey’s questioning look. “Can’t tell if it’s coming from outside or in.”

  “Could have been a lightning strike?” Mercia said, doubtfully, for there had been no storms on the horizon. Ramsey said nothing, though his expression grew more ponderous by the moment.

  They maneuvered the Magpie’s Wing in through the gap in the rocks rather more cautiously than usual and with their cannons primed, half expecting to find another ship lying in wait within the shadows of the cave. There was no ambush to be found, however, and they extended the gangplank just as they always did, stepping one at a time onto the rocky ledge. Ramsey insisted on leading the way into the caves where they ate and slept, his sword drawn and his teeth bared, though gradually they split up to conduct a more effective search.

  It was Rathbone’s howl of anguish that sent the others dashing to his room, where the source of the fire had become clear. Greasy smoke was billowing from the smoldering remains of shattered boxes and crates onto which a lantern had toppled. They were the same boxes that had, until tonight, housed Rathbone’s most prized treasures and the majority of his money. Together they doused the flames before rushing to their own belongings, leaving Rathbone to pick through what remained.

  Each of their quarters had been plundered—every room methodically and ruthlessly ruined, its contents ransacked. Supplies for the ship had been looted, too, and what little had been left behind had been deliberately spoiled—burned, broken or simply tipped into the sea.

  Someone, somehow, had found their hideout. Everything of value was gone.

  LARINNA

  There had always been those who sought to chain the waves.

  First there were the navies: vast fleets of ships that sought to protect the sovereignty of the waters in which they sailed—joyless people in bright uniforms who flew their flag proudly as they went forth and conquered, driving their banners deep into other people’s soil and warring with anyone who fought back.

  For all of that, Larinna merely disliked the navy, as she could understand—if not sympathize with—the kind of people who felt most comfortable when following orders given from on high. The kind of people who would march to a beat, stand at attention, and polish their boots until they were precisely as polished as “boots should be.” The kind of people who wouldn’t kill out of fury or malice, but would kill because they were told to.

  Growing up, Larinna had watched a few of the older children leaving their homes in the company of gleaming men with neat moustaches and shining medals on their chests. When they returned to visit their families, they always looked so smart and so prideful, but she could tell just by watching how they sat stiffly in the local pub and the way they flinched at unexpected sounds—even sudden laughter—that something had happened to them while they’d been away. Some flame inside them had been snuffed out, and now they didn’t belong anywhere. They were just like chess pieces, she’d thought: soldiers in a box, jumbled up and waiting to be placed back on the battlefield where they could be useful.

  On the other hand, Larinna loathed the Trading Companies. They were swaggering gangs of bullying merchants who were precisely as greedy and grasping as the most devious pirates but somehow acceptable to the stuffed shirts back on land. They tended to be run by wealthy, cunning, and unscrupulous people who were looking for ways to get even richer, and so had sailed out to the wilder parts of the world looking to ply their wares at ports and colonies far from home.

  Larinna didn’t have anything against someone trying to make a living by whatever means they chose, of course. Far from it. In her experience, however, the Trading Companies had no intention of sharing the seas where they wished to do business—not with each other, and certainly not with the pirates who sought to disrupt their trade and claim the spoils for themselves.

  Years long past had seen lone company ships with their cargoes of fine silks and strange powders become easy targets for experienced pirates who’d grown up in the region and knew the waters far more intimately than their prey did. But the companies proved both rich and tenacious, and more ships came. Larger ships now sailed in convoys, laden with a veritable army of soldiers who dealt with any opposition as ruthlessly and efficiently as if they were sailing by royal command. Sometimes they were, for the larger companies began to hold sway back home and thus guarantee themselves the best protection king and country could provide.

  Soon it was the locals who had reason to fear, whether they were pirates or not. Getting caught in the crossfire between two squabbling Trading Companies could really ruin your day, not to mention your livelihood if a fragile little ship was all you had. Larinna had heard tell of l
ocal traders being declared pirates and hauled away for questioning merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even if they managed to escape the jailer’s cells eventually, they often found that their assets had been seized, and what had once been theirs now belonged, mysteriously, to the Companies.

  Worse still, as far as Larinna was concerned, the proliferation of these big businesses made the world feel like a cage. The sea was more than just a series of territories and trade routes marked on a musty old map. You couldn’t own it, even if you thought you could, and sooner or later it’d swallow up anyone who dared to try.

  All this went some way to explaining why, in her first one-on-one conversation with Adelheid, Larinna damn near put her fist through the window.

  Adelheid had led her into a sumptuous captain’s cabin that was every bit as ostentatious as its owner, filled with pillows, gewgaws, and paintings of places Larinna didn’t recognize. Once inside, she reclined in a velvet chair, placing her booted feet upon the desk with deliberate care before speaking.

  “I’m sure you took a good look around the outpost today,” she said airily. “You probably noticed a few tents and stalls that didn’t seem to have anything for sale. Flourishing business ventures, you might say, with some more pathetic than others, of course.” Larinna thought guiltily back to her rowboat for a moment, and then the truth of what Adelheid was saying dawned upon her.

  “Businesses?” she hissed. “You’re talking about more bloody Trading Companies! That’s who you work for now?” Larinna smashed her fist against the surface of the desk with such ferocity that Adelheid’s shoes momentarily left its surface, and the young captain looked genuinely alarmed.

  “It’s not like the old days,” she snapped, defensively. “Not out here! Yes, some of them snuck into the Sea of Thieves looking to make an easy coin or two, greedy merchants who bribed or bartered their way here, sniffing for a profit. Do you know what they found?”