Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  Ian and Garrick and the other young people were sitting around the small table in the galley, out of the bright light of the sun. They were talking in low voices; when they saw Kate watching them, their conversation ceased. She smiled; they did not smile back.

  Franklin entered the cabin that had once belonged to Miri and Gythe. He had bundled their clothes and belongings into a chest in a corner and appropriated Miri’s small desk. On top was a document one page in length, handwritten, bearing an official-looking wax seal and ribbon.

  The ship’s logbook was also lying on the desk. The book was open; Franklin had apparently been making recent entries.

  He sat down at the desk, picked up a pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and began to write on the document. He did not ask Kate to sit down, but kept her standing.

  Kate took the opportunity to study the logbook, hoping to find out their location. The book was facing Franklin, which meant she had to read it upside down. That was not difficult. Franklin’s handwriting was large, clear, and bold, and she had no trouble seeing what he had written.

  The Naofa was to the south of the continent of Freya, heading west toward the western coast. Kate found that odd. The major port cities, such as Haever, were located on the eastern side of Freya. The only large city in the south was Port Crighton. The western coast of Freya was mostly forested woodland and mountains, generally considered to be uninhabitable.

  Kate tilted her head to get a better view. Franklin looked up, saw her, and closed the logbook.

  “Sorry, sir,” said Kate. “I’ve sailed the Breath around southern Freya before. Don’t you think we’re too far west, Commander? You’ll miss taking advantage of the Easterlies. Those winds could cut a half day at the very least off our journey to Haever.”

  “We are not bound for Haever,” he said.

  “Of course. You don’t want to be caught by the Royal Navy,” Kate said. “They’d certainly be curious about a black ship sailing into Freyan territory, even if you are wearing Freyan uniforms. So where are we bound? I can tell you how to avoid them.”

  Franklin slid the document toward her and handed her the pen.

  “Sign your name there,” he said, indicating a space at the bottom.

  Kate accepted the pen, but did not put it to the paper. “What am I signing?”

  “A contract with the Army of Royal Retribution stating that you are enlisting to serve as a ship’s crafter for a period of four years from this date,” said Franklin. “You will hold the rank of Crafter Private and be paid ten talons a day, as I told you.”

  “Mind if I read it before I sign?” Kate asked.

  “Suit yourself,” said Franklin.

  Kate scanned the document, hoping to learn more about the army she was now joining. The contract specified the ten talons, mentioned food and drink and lodging. She would be charged for her uniform. Nothing different from contracts she’d made with her own sailors.

  Then she came to the last paragraph.

  I, the undersigned, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the true and rightful heir, His Highness, Prince Thomas Stanford, against all enemies …

  “Bloody hell!” said Kate.

  FORTY

  “Bloody hell!” Kate repeated, staring at the document. The words were a jumble, blending together. None of it made sense except two: Thomas Stanford.

  Franklin regarded her with a stern eye. “I will not tolerate such language.”

  Kate looked up. “I’m sorry … What did you say?”

  “I will not tolerate swearing!” Franklin returned, glowering.

  “Sorry,” Kate mumbled.

  “Are you going to sign or not?” Franklin asked. “If not, I have work to do—”

  “I have some questions.”

  “You are trying my patience, Mistress McPike.” Franklin was grim. “Ask your questions.”

  “Who is this prince, Commander? And why does he have an army?”

  “I forget you have been living in the Aligoes,” said Franklin dryly. “Prince Thomas Stanford is the true and rightful heir to the throne of Freya. His army, the Army of Royal Retribution, is tasked with removing the whore of the Evil One, Queen Mary Chessington, from the throne to prepare the way for our prince to become the true and rightful king.”

  “Bloody hell,” Kate said again, but this time she said it to herself.

  “If you are not going to sign—” Franklin reached out to take the document.

  “I’ll sign,” said Kate.

  Her hand shook and she remembered only at the last moment to use the name “Kate McPike.” Her signature was practically illegible.

  Franklin added his signature, then placed her contract in a stack with others, probably those of the young Bottom Dwellers.

  “Are you taken ill?” he demanded. “You do not look well.”

  “I’m fine, sir,” said Kate. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”

  “You will berth in your own cabin. You can wear some of your cousin’s clothes. Get something to eat and then check the magic on the lines that run from the helm to the lift tanks and the airscrews.”

  Kate nodded. “All right.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Franklin sternly.

  Kate looked back at him, puzzled.

  “When I give you an order, Private, the correct response is ‘Yes, sir,’” said Franklin. “And you do not leave until you are dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Kate.

  “You are dismissed,” said Franklin. “Don’t forget to change your clothes.”

  Kate rummaged through Miri’s things and found a blouse and a skirt that would fit her. She rejected the frilly pantaloons, knowing she would feel silly. Roberts couldn’t complain if she wore her skirt over her slops. She carried the clothes to her cabin, shut the door and slumped down on the bed.

  “I am now a soldier in the Army of Royal Retribution,” Kate said to herself. “I just vowed allegiance to Thomas.”

  He would have laughed uproariously. But the situation was not funny. Whatever Franklin and Roberts were doing, they were doing it in the name of Thomas Stanford. And Kate had the feeling he knew nothing about it.

  She tried to remember what Thomas had said about his army. He had described the commander of his army as a Fundamentalist, a man named Smythe who had once served in the Freyan army.

  “A Fundamentalist,” Kate murmured. “Like Franklin and Roberts.”

  Franklin had referred to Queen Mary as the “whore of the Evil One.” And he was trying to put Thomas on the throne. By kinapping children?

  Kate pulled on the skirt and decided to take Franklin’s advice and eat something. She didn’t care what; she was too preoccupied with her thoughts to taste. She went back up on deck and headed for the lines that carried the magic to inflate the balloons.

  Kate cast a quick glance at the braided leather lines and found, as she had expected, that the magic needed repair. The work was relatively easy. She didn’t have to think about it. She could concentrate on Thomas.

  She could see him so clearly: his generous smile; his striking blue eyes. He was very real in that moment. She could almost feel the warm touch of his lips. He reached out to her.

  She pushed him away, kept him at arm’s length.

  “Did you lie to me when you claimed you had never seen this army of yours, knew nothing about it? Or were you the one who commanded your soldiers to seduce discontented young people, persuade them to leave their families and fight and die to make you king? Because if you lied to me about that, you lied to me about everything. You don’t love me. I amused you, that’s all. I was a way to pass the time until you could marry your princess.”

  Thomas laughed out loud. “Amuse myself! I haven’t known a moment’s peace since I met you, Kate! Look at the grief you have caused me. I had to save you from being hanged! Would I go to all that trouble, risk my life for you, if I didn’t truly love you?”

  “I suppose not,” Kate said grudgingly. “Say I concede tha
t point to you. Do you know what your army is doing in your name?”

  “What can I say, Kate?” Thomas asked. “If I don’t know, then I’m a fool. If I do know, then I’m a liar and a knave. Which would you have?”

  Kate sighed. She didn’t know, but she was going to find out. She didn’t have much choice. Wherever the black ship was bound, she was going with it.

  “I am not paying you to daydream, Private,” Franklin said tersely.

  Kate jumped, startled. She had been so lost in her musings, she had not heard him come up behind her.

  “I wasn’t, sir,” Kate protested. “I was trying to figure out what was wrong with this construct.”

  Franklin looked at the leather braid. “Nothing that I can see, Private. Now get to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Kate.

  She recalled, belatedly, a piece of advice from Amelia.

  “Stay out of court intrigue, Kate. Put a foot wrong in that foul morass and you will sink to the bottom and never be found.”

  “I’m not putting a foot wrong,” Kate muttered as she worked. “I’m diving in headfirst.”

  * * *

  The Naofa sailed the Breath for two days, stopping at night to rest and to avoid crashing into the small islands created when chunks of the larger landmasses broke off and floated out into the Breath. Kate had only the vaguest idea where they were. She guessed they were near Freya, for the floating islands grew more numerous as they drew closer to the continent.

  Franklin kept his cabin locked, denying her access to the logbook. She loitered on deck whenever he took the navigational readings, hoping he might say something to her, but the only person he told was Roberts, who marked the ship’s location on a map in the wheelhouse. Whenever Kate tried to pay him a friendly visit, he slammed the door shut.

  Roberts clearly detested her. He had been displeased to hear the commander had recruited her and he had made his displeasure known. He scowled whenever Kate came near. Oddly, though, Kate would sometimes feel his gaze on her. She remembered that he had been the one spying on her in Dunlow. She took to avoiding him.

  The Bottom Dwellers stayed below unless Franklin needed their help around the ship. But even at that they were practically useless, for they were still having trouble adjusting to the sunlight. Kate felt sorry for them with their swollen, teary eyes, and often offered to do their chores herself.

  She was glad to have work. The voyage seemed endless, especially as she had no idea where they were headed or how long it would take them to get there. Franklin generally ignored her, unless he had orders for her.

  Olaf told a story about a ghost ship that sailed the Breath, manned by a spectral crew that tried to lure other ships to their doom. Kate decided that the dead men aboard that ship would be considered jolly companions compared to those on board the Naofa.

  She tried to relieve her loneliness and boredom by teaching the Bottom Dwellers lessons in basic crafting, and answering their questions about the world Above. She soon discovered that the young Bottom Dwellers faced life with grim resolve and burning resentment for those who dwelt Above. They were willing to learn from Kate. Indeed, they appeared to believe they were entitled to the knowledge and begrudged the fact that it had been kept from them. But they did not like her. Whenever she laughed or tried to tease them or make a little jest, they would stare at her in frozen silence and talk among themselves in their own language.

  They were eager to learn, and they soon grasped the theory behind magic and how it differed from contramagic. But they could not make the constructs work.

  “You are wasting your efforts,” Franklin said after finding Kate and her students in the galley tracing constructs on a kettle. “We have tried to teach their kind before and failed. That is why we are recruiting crafters, such as yourself.”

  “Given time, I think they could learn, sir,” Kate said. “What is it you are trying to teach them to do?”

  “What they are told to do,” Franklin responded curtly. “The same goes for you. No one asked you to teach them anything. Take another look at the lift tanks. We will be docking soon and the corporal says that the magic is weakening again.”

  Kate could have told him the magic did not need repairing. The problem was Roberts. He was a rotten helmsman, and no magic in the world could fix that. She had found out from something Franklin said that he had not sailed with Roberts before. Judging by his tone, he had no intention of ever sailing with him again.

  On the third day, Franklin spent the morning on the foredeck, a spyglass to his eye, scanning the mists to the east.

  “What are you looking for, sir?” Kate asked. “Perhaps I could help.”

  She expected a rebuff, but the commander must have been in a good mood.

  “We should be within sight of the coast,” he said. He lowered the glass and pointed. “There!”

  The mists of the Breath parted and Kate saw towering cliffs and hulking, snow-topped mountains. Waterfalls cascaded over the edge of the continent, plunging into the Breath.

  “Do you know where we are, sir?” Kate asked.

  “If I have judged our position correctly, that should be the largest of the North Milton islands.”

  Gray mountains, lightly brushed with snow, floated on gray mist. The island clusters were designated North Milton and South Milton on maps, but most people, including their duke, Phillip Masterson, knew them as “Upper” and “Lower” Milton. Kate looked at the lonely, desolate coastline and no longer wondered why Phillip rarely visited his home.

  “Two days’ sailing with no sight of land to aid you, and you’ve reached Freya, sir,” said Kate. “That is a fine job of navigating. Where do we go from here?”

  Franklin must have been pleased by her praise, for he answered her question. “We continue up the western coast of Freya to our destination.”

  “What destination, sir?” Kate asked. “There’s nothing in that part of Freya except mountains.”

  Franklin lowered the spyglass. “Make certain the magic on the swivel guns is working, Private. We need to be prepared in case we encounter naval patrol boats.”

  “You won’t find any patrol boats here, sir,” said Kate, laughing. “There’s nothing to patrol.”

  “Check the guns, Private,” said Franklin. “That’s an order.”

  He walked over to the wheelhouse to confer with Roberts. Kate heard him tell the corporal to search for a suitable place to dock for the night. The Naofa sailed inland, creeping along the coast.

  Kate climbed the stairs to the foredeck to look at the two swivel guns that had been mounted on the rails, one on the port side and one on the starboard. She could tell at a glance that the magic on the guns needed only minor repairs. She made those easily, then spent her time gazing at the rugged coastline at the edge of the continent. Calling up a chart of Freya in her mind, she tried to figure out where the Naofa could possibly be headed. The western part of Freya was mountainous and magnificent, empty and desolate. The only inhabitants were goats and the birds that nested among the rocks.

  The sunlight waned with the coming of evening and the Bottom Dwellers left the lower deck where they lived like bats in the darkness during the day and ventured on deck. They gathered along the rail to stare at the land that would soon be their new home. They gazed in awe at the mountains, exclaiming over the waterfalls, admiring the beauty.

  A flicker of movement out in the Breath caught Kate’s eye. She turned her head and saw Dalgren.

  The dragon was flying toward the coastline and he appeared to be on the verge of collapse. He flew with his head down, his tail drooping, legs dangling. Every beat of his wings was an effort. Rivulets of smoke trailed from his gaping mouth. He was fighting to draw breath.

  If he had been paying attention to his surroundings, he must have seen the ship, for he was not far from it. But he was focused on the rock-bound coast, willing himself to keep flying despite pain and exhaustion. If he failed to reach land, he would sink into the Breath and die.
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  The dragon’s green scales glistened in the last rays of the setting sun, clearly visible against the backdrop of dismal gray stone. Apparently no one else had seen him for no one had raised the alarm. But it would take just one glance in that direction.

  Franklin knew Kate was friends with a dragon. He had asked her about Dalgren. The Bottom Dwellers must have seen him when he was assisting Father Jacob in Dunlow. Seventy feet from snout to tail, Dalgren was hard to miss.

  Kate had no idea what Franklin would do if he was alerted to Dalgren’s presence. Given that the commander had gone to a lot of trouble to keep this voyage secret, he wouldn’t be pleased to find out that Dalgren had followed them and might decide to attack. And while bullets from the swivel guns would bounce off Dalgren’s scales, they could strike him in the head or tear the fragile membrane of a wing.

  Kate needed to do something to draw their attention. The canisters containing the bullets for the survived gun lay beneath the weapon, ready for use. She grabbed a canister, fit it into the gun, and fired.

  The sound of the rounds going off shattered the peaceful silence. The Bottom Dwellers gasped and cried out and turned to stare. Franklin came running out of the wheelhouse, shouting at her, demanding to know what was going on.

  Kate was watching Dalgren. At the sound of the gunfire, he raised his dull eyes and shifted his gaze to the ship. Flame flickered from his jaws. He was still a short distance from land. With a final, valiant effort, he soared over the cliffs. The last Kate saw of him, he was plummeting out of the sky. He vanished among the jagged rocks.

  Kate kept watching, her heart in her throat, but he did not reappear.

  Franklin had been yelling at her the entire time. He came running up the stairs to the foredeck, his face flushed with anger.

  “The magic on the swivel gun works, sir,” Kate reported.

  * * *

  Alone in her cabin that night, Kate sat down on her bed and put her head in her hands. She had convinced herself that Dalgren had been forced to turn back. She should have known better. He was her friend. She had gone to Glasearrach for him. Fearing she was in danger, he had come after her.