Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  The helm wasn’t badly damaged, and after Kate made the repairs, she was satisfied it would answer. She turned her attention to the lift tanks.

  Unlike any other ship Kate had ever seen, the lift tanks on the black ship were located underneath the base of each wing, built into the structure of the hull. The helmsman could therefore adjust the amount of lift in each tank to control the pitch and yaw of the ship; critical when sailing the Deep Breath.

  In order to access each tank, Kate had to open a hatch on the main deck, then lower herself down to the platform on which the tank rested. The space was tight and she had to crawl around on her hands and knees to view the constructs on each tank. She went over all the rows of sigils, searching for breaks and making repairs.

  Miri was right. The constructs had been damaged, though not severely. Kate was intrigued. She had been making repairs to magic since she was ten and she had never seen breaks quite like this. It was as if the magic of the Aurora had run down the lift tank in rivulets, washing away the sigils wherever it touched them. Kate was surprised that the lift tanks hadn’t failed completely.

  The constructs were a combination of magic and contramagic. Making the repairs was draining, both physically and mentally, for she had to adjust her thinking to understand the contramagic and to make it work with the seventh sigil.

  By midday, she decided to take a break. Her knees were sore, her back ached, and the constructs were starting to blur before her eyes. She realized she was hungry and remembered Miri saying something about a dish of salt pork and cold beans she’d left in the pantry.

  As Kate climbed back through the hatch and onto the main deck, she was startled to hear a rustling sound and catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eyes. She turned swiftly and could have sworn she saw someone peering at her from over the rim of the gully.

  The moment she turned, the person vanished, ducking down out of sight.

  Kate didn’t want to stare. If someone was out there, she didn’t want to let the person know she had seen him. She put her hands on her hips and bent forward, easing the kinks from her back and casually scanning the area.

  The landscape was rock-bound and desolate, reminding her of the islands in the Deep Breath. Scraggly weeds seemed to be reaching desperate hands to catch every ray of the pallid, fickle sunlight.

  The ground was uneven, broken by gorges, ravines, gullies, and ditches, littered with boulders and trees bent double by the winds of fierce wizard storms. If someone was out there, she might never find him.

  Kate wasn’t particularly frightened. Miri kept a loaded pistol beneath the helm and an axe within easy reach. She could deal with any threat, but she found the idea that someone was lurking among the rocks, spying on them, disquieting.

  The most logical explanation was that the Bottom Dwellers didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, and had posted someone to keep an eye on her. But she couldn’t help thinking of the stories about blood mages pouring fresh blood over the decks of the black ships. Her skin crawled.

  Kate didn’t want to leave the deck, but she had worked hard and she was hungry. She hurried to the galley, grabbed the plate of cold beans, salt pork, and brown bread and carried it up onto the foredeck to eat where she could keep an eye on things.

  The Doctor accompanied her, disdainful of beans, hoping for pork. She offered him some bread. He sniffed at it, then looked up at her, seeming to ask if butter went with that. Finding it did not, he ate it anyway and then curled up on a pile of rope and went to sleep.

  Kate cast surreptitious glances every so often at the ditch, but saw no signs that anyone was out there. Eventually she grew tired of wondering and decided to go see for herself. Taking Miri’s pistol from under the helm, Kate walked down the gangplank and out into the field.

  Miri had said that other Bottom Dweller boats used this area for landing, for it was close to the city. The Naofa was the only ship here now, but Kate could see indications that other boats had landed here: depressions in the soil, remnants of campfires. There was no refuse, though. The Bottom Dwellers had so little they never discarded anything.

  The afternoon was gray and gloomy. No sun this day. The ground was muddy and difficult to walk, and brush and scrub trees impeded her way.

  “And, of course, the only thing that grows in this godforsaken country would be brambles,” Kate muttered, sucking on her bleeding thumb.

  As she approached the gully, she drew the pistol.

  “I know you’re here!” Kate called, speaking Rosian. “Show yourself. Why are you spying on me?”

  The only sound was the wind whispering among the rocks. She peered into the gully. It was empty, but fresh footprints covered the ground. Some were deep, as though the person had been standing there a long time. Others were shallow. She could see them coming and going.

  Kate followed the footprints for about a mile until the gully ended at a jutting rock formation. The person had climbed out of the gully onto stony ground. The footprints ended. But they had gone off in the direction of Dunlow.

  Kate looked back at the footprints. They appeared to belong to a man wearing boots. Every man she had seen from Dunlow had been wearing boots.

  Night came early and fell quickly on Glasearrach. The shadows were closing in and Kate had not thought to bring a lantern. She hurried back to the ship before she was caught out in the bramble-laced, rock-strewn field in the dark. She reached the gangplank at the same time as a wagon delivered Miri and Gythe.

  “What were you doing? Exploring?” Miri asked as they walked up the gangplank. “I’m afraid there’s not much to explore around here. Unless you are making a study of the many varieties of brambles,” she added, seeing the scratches on Kate’s hands and arms.

  Kate told them about the glimpse of movement and the footprints in the gully.

  “Someone was out there spying,” Kate said.

  Darkness had fallen, deep and thick, by the time they were on deck. As she did nightly, Gythe clapped her hands and started to cast balls of brightly glowing magic up into the rigging to fill the deck with light.

  Miri stopped her. “Better not tonight, Gythe. Let’s not tell all of Glasearrach where we are until we figure this out.”

  “Do you have any idea who it would be watching us or why?” Kate asked.

  Miri was clearly upset. “I can’t think of any. We don’t have anything of value on board now that we’ve unloaded the cargo. Still, we shouldn’t take any chances. We’ll raise the gangplank for the night. Gythe, you and Kate check to make certain there are no holes in our defenses.”

  Kate and Gythe checked the warding constructs on the hull and the deck, the masts and the rigging. The constructs were contramagic that gave off a faint green glow.

  “The contramagic provides protection, so Gythe and I decided not to change it,” Miri had explained.

  They ate their evening meal and over mugs of hot tea as they sat on the deck talking and keeping watch. Miri described how Dalgren was already working to assist in the construction of new houses to replace those destroyed in the war.

  “He’s proving invaluable,” said Miri. “We use timber from ironwood and hemlock trees to build houses. These trees only grow on the small islands in the marshland, which is about a hundred and fifty miles from Dunlow. The only way to haul the logs is by boat and by oxen. The journey could take weeks. Dalgren can easily lift and carry the whole trees and make the journey in a day.”

  “I’m glad,” said Kate. “Now I need to find some way to make myself useful. That is going to be hard when your people don’t trust me.”

  Gythe gave Kate a sympathetic pat on her shoulder.

  “I was thinking of something you could do to help earn their trust,” Miri said. “Ours is one of the few ships in Glasearrach capable of sailing through the Aurora. The black ships that survived the war were refitted to use lift gas, not blood sacrifices, but they encounter the same problem we did—the magic damages the constructs.

  “The Botto
m Dwellers knew nothing of our kind of magic until after the war. They are slowly learning, but few can do the kind of intricate, complex work you do. You could help them learn.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Kate, and she tried to sound cheerful.

  Her attempt must have been a dismal failure, for both Miri and Gythe were regarding her with concern.

  “Are you all right?” Miri asked.

  Kate couldn’t very well tell them that the thought of spending a year in this desolate place among people who hated her filled her with dismay. She was isolated, alone, cut off from her friends. Thomas and Sophia might be married in a year. Sir Henry would forget about her. He would never offer them employment now.

  She had imagined herself and Dalgren working together to earn back his name. Instead the dragon would be spending his days hauling wood and she would be crawling about on the decks of ships, eating cold beans and salt pork and knowing she should be grateful for that. Most of the Bottom Dwellers had far less.

  Kate rubbed her eyes.

  “Just a headache,” she said. “Probably from staring at sigils all day. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “A headache. I can help that,” said Miri. “Gythe, go to the herb box. Bring feverfew and passionflower.”

  “Truly, I’m fine…” Kate protested.

  “This won’t take long,” said Miri.

  Gythe returned with the herbs. Miri placed them in the teapot, added hot water, and sang softly beneath her breath. When she deemed the brew had steeped sufficiently, she poured it into a mug.

  “Feverfew for pain and passionflower to calm the restless spirit,” Miri said.

  “I hope you have a plentiful supply,” said Kate with a smile.

  She took the steaming mug to her cabin, closed the door, and drank her tea in the dark. Miri and Gythe were in their cabin, which was directly across from hers. She could hear Miri talking, her voice faint and indistinct. Gythe’s responses were silent, unspoken. The Doctor remained on deck.

  “He likes to make us think he’s earning his keep, catching mice,” Miri had said with a sniff.

  Kate pulled off her slops and dragged the calico shirt over her head. She flung her clothes on the floor, too tired to bother folding them. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, she finished her tea and then lay down. Her headache had eased and she did feel calmer.

  When Kate closed her eyes, she could still see the afterimages of the sigils burned on the backs of her eyelids.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kate woke with a start, listening for the noise that had wakened her. After a moment, she heard the noise again—a thunk and then creaking sounds on the deck above her cabin.

  “Dratted cat,” Kate muttered.

  She dragged the blanket over her head and closed her eyes, then sat straight up when an angry, pain-filled screech split the silence. Kate froze, listening.

  “What the hell was that?” a voice demanded.

  “A cat, sir! Sorry. I didn’t see it in the dark.”

  “Hoist those sails and be quick about it. No need for quiet now. You’ve wakened the city. Lock that hatch to the berth deck and stand guard. Don’t let those women up here.”

  Kate jumped out of bed and groped blindly for her clothes in the dark. She hurriedly pulled on her slops, drew her shirt over her head, and grabbed the pistol she kept under her pillow. She found her stockings lying on the deck, but had to search for her shoes. Moving quietly, her heart pounding, she opened the door a crack.

  “Miri! Gythe!” Kate whispered, peering into the darkness. “Are you all right?”

  Their door opened. Kate could see the two sisters outlined against a faint glow of candlelight.

  “Kate! I thought you’d been murdered!” Miri gasped in relief. “What was that terrible scream?”

  “The Doctor. I think someone stepped on him.”

  Kate slipped out of her room and into the corridor. She looked up at the hatch that stood at the top of the stairs. Miri came to join her. She was wearing a long white nightdress and her hair was unbound, cascading down around her shoulders. Gythe remained in the cabin, peering out the door, her eyes wide with fear.

  Kate could hear people moving about on the deck above. Miri stared at the hatch as though she could see through it.

  “Who are these people? I’m going up there,” Miri stated angrily.

  “You can’t,” said Kate. “They bolted the hatch.”

  “But why? What do they want?”

  “Your ship. I think these people are here to steal it.”

  Miri paled in anger. “We’ll see about that!”

  Kate smiled. “You might want to get dressed first.”

  Miri grunted and went back to her cabin. She emerged moments later carrying a lantern, wearing her skirt and pantaloons with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Gythe was dressed, but she stayed in the cabin, refused to come out.

  “She’s acting strangely,” said Miri. “Best if she stays in there, away from the trouble.”

  They could hear the sounds of the sails being released from the yardarms, people running across the deck, the creaking of the wooden supports as magic flowed into the lift tanks.

  “Fetch the women!” the commander ordered.

  They heard the bolt being thrown. Footsteps clattered as two men hurried down the stairs. One carried a lantern, making him an excellent target.

  Kate raised her pistol and took aim. “I am armed. Stop right there or I’ll shoot!”

  The young man in the lead came to a halt at the foot of the stairs. His fellow stopped at the top. The first held up the lantern and by its light Kate could see that the two men were young, perhaps sixteen. They were not armed and they were staring at her pistol in shock, not knowing what to do.

  “Keep quiet,” said Kate. “Raise your hands—”

  Miri’s angry voice exploded behind her.

  “Garrick Duffy and Ian McDougal! What the devil do you think you are doing, waking decent folk in the middle of the night and treading on our cat? Kate, lower that pistol! There’ll be no killing!”

  Kate reluctantly lowered the pistol, but she kept hold of it.

  Miri shouldered past her. Her red hair blazed in the lantern light and she advanced on the two young men like some vengeful angel threatening them with the wrath of God.

  “What is the meaning of this, Garrick?” Miri struck him in the chest, knocking him backward. “Are you and your good-for-nothing friends here to steal my ship?”

  She struck him again.

  “We’re going to bring it back,” Garrick mumbled, trying to avoid the onslaught.

  “We’re sailing to Kilean,” Ian added. “To join the rebellion.”

  “Rebellion!” Miri snorted and hit Garrick a third time, then kicked him in the shins for good measure. “You louts aren’t going to Kilean or anywhere else. So get off my ship this minute! Wait until I tell your parents!”

  Garrick backed up the stairs, bumping into his friend. The two turned, and Kate thought they were actually going to leave when a man shouted down at them.

  “What is that caterwauling? Bring those women here!”

  His voice was deep and accustomed to being obeyed. He was speaking Rosian, but with a strong accent.

  “He’s Freyan!” Kate whispered. “Do any Freyans live on Glasearrach?”

  “Not that I know of,” Miri returned. “You can go to hell!” she shouted, glaring up the stairs. “Get off my ship!”

  “Madame,” said the commander. “You can either walk off or my men will carry you.”

  Miri bristled. “I’d like to see you try!”

  “Mistress Miri!” Garrick pleaded. “Commander Franklin means what he says. Please, you and Mistress Gythe should just leave. They won’t hurt you. They promised.”

  Miri folded her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly on the deck. “Where my ship goes, I go!”

  “I’ll talk to her,” said Kate. “Give me a moment.”

  Garrick and Ia
n remained standing uncertainly by the stairs.

  Kate plucked at Miri’s sleeve and leaned close to whisper, “These young folk look scared to death of this commander. They’re only doing this because he is making them. If we shut him up, they’ll back down!”

  “How?” Miri asked, frowning. “No killing.”

  Kate released the hammer on the pistol and thrust it into her belt. “Gythe could use her magic. She’s a savant. She can cast a spell on a whim. She could blind him with dazzling light or cause the yardarm to hit him in the head or something.”

  Kate looked back through the door. “Where is Gythe? She was right here.”

  She heard a strange sound and looked into the cabin. Gythe was huddled in a corner, curled up in a ball, her hands covering her head.

  “Miri,” Kate said, frightened. “Come quickly! It’s Gythe! Something’s wrong.”

  Miri came hurrying back to the cabin and crouched down beside her sister.

  “Gythe, what is wrong? Are you hurt?”

  Gythe sat up. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wild and staring. She shivered with fear.

  “Bottom Dwellers! They’ve come for me! Where is Stephano? He will stop them!”

  “Oh, God!” Miri gasped. She looked up at Kate. “Years ago, during the war, the Bottom Dwellers attacked our boat, the Cloud Hopper. They tried to kidnap Gythe.”

  “What does she mean about Stephano?” Kate asked.

  “Sometimes Gythe … goes away from me,” Miri faltered. “She’s gone back to that time. She thinks she’s on the Cloud Hopper and that Stephano is here with us.”

  “Stephano?” Gythe clutched at her sister. “Where is he? What about Dag?”

  Miri gathered her sister into her arms and said soothingly, “Stephano and Dag are both here, Gythe. They won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “What can I do?” Kate asked, feeling helpless.

  “We have to take her to Father Jacob!” Miri said. “Help me lift her.”

  Kate put her arm around Gythe and assisted Miri to raise her sister to her feet. Gythe cowered in their grasp.