Pirate's Promise Page 4

  "Vreva, I—"

  "No, Fieson. You tell them this: I risk my life every day for the cause! I sell my body for it! I fund my own operation, and I never see a whit of gratitude!" She strode up to him and glared into his startled face. "They'll get their godsdamned report on your next trip!"

  *Vreva, you're shaking!*

  Worry from Saffron snapped her from her tirade. Fieson stared at her like she'd just grown horns and a tail.

  Only once in recent memory had her composure been so thoroughly shattered, and that had been when Celeste's coils had tightened around her in this very room. Vreva didn't like snakes, and with the naga's fangs inches from her throat, she'd been completely undone. Later, when she agreed to help them exact revenge, she'd become accustomed to working with Celeste, but the two had never really warmed toward one another.

  Vreva whirled to the sideboard and poured more wine with a trembling hand. Gulping the fine vintage, she closed her eyes and let the heady aroma, rich flavor, and subtle warmth calm her nerves.

  "Vreva, relax!" Fieson placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "You have been away too long."

  "Yes." Vreva took a steadying breath and turned back to face him, her shield of poise and calm again intact. "I know. I'll be fine, Fieson, really. Just go on. I've got work to do, and so do you."

  "Very well, but please, consider what I've told you." He gave her a gallant smile. "All the spying in the world won't do us any good if you anger Helena Trellis. She does value you, but she's got to manage all of the Twilight Talons, and report to the People's Council. They want results, not excuses."

  Excuses! But Vreva only smiled and said, "And they'll get them."

  Chapter Three

  The Most Dangerous Weapons

  Old Black's still working on undoing what he originally did to make Stargazer into Sea Serpent, sir."

  Torius followed Snick's bright red tricorne hat into the main hold, wondering if he should tell her how badly it clashed with her sea-green hair. Best not. His stomach tightened as he beheld the havoc that had invaded Stargazer's hold. He knew the mess was only temporary, but the piles of timbers and planks gave the impression that his beloved ship had been disemboweled. The pounding hammers had driven Celeste to a room at an inn, just to get some sleep during the day.

  Snick continued. "Putting the old mid-deck back in place with the false planking, you know, restepping the masts, and freeing up the firing ports."

  "Right."

  They passed a team of carpenters fitting planks for the secret compartments for the twelve beautifully crafted ballistae that were the gnome's pride and joy. Until Stargazer was a corsair again, the war machines would be stored forward, dismantled and out of sight of the work crews. No mere merchant would surrender so much cargo space for such elaborate weaponry, and although Old Black and his shipwrights were being paid for discretion as well as workmanship, what they didn't see, they couldn't talk about.

  "What I really want to show you before you go traipsing off to the Observatory is the new stuff I devised." Snick ducked under the temporary braces the shipwrights were using to restep the foremast to her proper corsair rake. "Just up here in the forepeak."

  Torius stepped around the braces, not sharing the gnome's confidence in their stability. "By the way, Snick, did Celeste talk to you about our transportation problem?"

  "Oh, that!" The peacock feather atop her hat bobbed and weaved as she nodded. "No problem. Knocked up a model and gave it to a cartwright friend of mine. He said he could do it, but looked at me like I asked to make a pie from his kidneys!"

  "I told her you could figure something out. What is it?"

  "And ruin the surprise? No way, sir!" She gave him the mischievous smile that he knew all too well. Her ideas were often unconventional, sometimes eccentric, but usually worked out despite his reservations. "You'll just have to wait and see!"

  "He'll have it done in time? We're due to leave in two days."

  "Should be done tomorrow, sir."

  "Great." He followed her into the forepeak where the crew slung their hammocks. The place was empty except for a pile of odd-looking ceramic pots in one corner; Snick's babies, dismantled and neatly stowed forward; and something low and long covered by a canvas tarp. "So, what have you got for me?"

  Snick was almost dancing with excitement. "Remember how well the swimmer bolts worked to slow down those Osirian galleys? Well, I've been thinking about other kinds of surprises, and I cooked up a couple of doozies. Hard part was finding a potter who'd make me these." She snatched a pot from the pile and handed it to him.

  The gallon-sized vessel was oval in shape with a threaded steel shank protruding from one end. A hole on one side allowed the pot to be filled and plugged with a waxed bung. Torius turned it all around and arched an eyebrow in question.

  "Ta-da!" Snick whipped the tarp off her surprise: a dozen hardwood ballista bolts in a neat row, each fitted with a ceramic pot in place of its iron head. "Picture this: An enemy ship approaches. We shoot a ballista. But, instead of just a sharpened pole chunking into their ship like they expect ...BAM!" The gnome clapped her hands loudly together. "The bolt hits, the pot shatters, and they get a real surprise!"

  "Very clever." Torius saw red dots painted on half of the ceramic pots and made an intuitive guess. "Alchemical fire?"

  "Half right, sir." Snick pointed out the other pots painted with green dots. "Those are filled with glue resin. When those babies shatter, it'll coat everything around with sticky goo. It'll gum up the works, even glue sailors to the deck!"

  "Brilliant, Snick!" Torius arched an eyebrow, already thinking of the myriad uses for such a missile.

  "Thank you, sir." She grinned like a gnome with a new toy—which, of course, she was. Torius considered himself lucky that Snick liked dangerous toys.

  "Tell me, can you rig a trip line to crack the pot open before the bolt hits?"

  "Like an air-burst effect? Sure!" Her grin widened. "I should'a thought of that! Ha! What a mess that'd make! If we shot a bolt or two into a ship's rigging and detonated the pot, resin would coat every running line and block. They'd be unable to trim sails!"

  "Exactly. Do the same to some of the fire pots, too. Good for catching sails on fire."

  "Glad you're on my side, sir."

  "And I'm glad you're on mine, Snick." He tugged the brim of her hat and earned a half-hearted scowl. "You've tested those, right?"

  "Tested? What do you mean?" She looked at the row of deadly missiles as if nothing could go wrong with a giant crossbow loaded with an incendiary bolt.

  "Do me a favor, Snick. Fill one pot with water and fire it when Thillion takes the ship out for her shakedown. I want to make sure the pots don't break apart before they leave the ship."

  "Oh! Yeah ...that would be bad." She gave him a chagrined look and shrugged. "I guess a little test wouldn't hurt."

  "Good. And pots are cheap. Lay in some extras." He lifted her hat and tousled her hair, just to annoy her. As she snatched the gaudy tricorne back, a sudden thought struck him. "Just how much do these little toys cost?"

  "Um ...well ..." The gnome clutched her hat to her chest and looked away. "They're kind of pricey, but I only ordered a couple dozen."

  "How much, Snick?"

  "The fire bolts were only a hundred scarabs each!"

  Torius cringed. "And the glue ones?"

  "Um ...about two hundred each. It's a special kind of resin."

  He did the math in his head and sighed. "Just try not to spend me into the poorhouse. And keep those damned things secure. Catch my ship on fire, and I'll tie you to the bowsprit for a figurehead."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Naked!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "In a full gale!"

  "That's just cruel, sir." She gave him a doe-eyed look undoubtedly intended to garner sympathy.

  "I'm a pirate, Snick. A cruel, nasty, mean, heartless pirate."

  "No, you're not, sir!" She looked shocked. "Nasty, mean, and heartle
ss, sure, but nobody's ever said you were cruel!"

  "Well ...I'm broadening my horizons." He winked. "I thought cruel would be a good next step."

  "How about dirty, or stinky, or foul-mouthed? Those are good!"

  "I think I'll stick with what I've got."

  "Works for me, sir!" She grinned and saluted, then turned back to her dangerous new toys.

  Torius climbed the companionway ladder to the foredeck instead of trying to navigate the heart-breaking hold again. The deck wasn't much better, with lines, timber, barrels of stores, and tools everywhere. Torius looked over the chaos, and wondered how he would tolerate separation from all this when they left for the Observatory.

  Two days ...There had been something else on his mind for far longer than their trip, and he made a sudden decision. Now. It has to be now, or I might never work up the nerve again.

  Torius climbed up to the forecastle railing and leaned out over the murky water of the harbor as if checking Stargazer's bobstays. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with pearly liquid: Celeste's venom. His left forearm itched in anticipation. Early in their relationship, he'd become inured and addicted to the naga's venom. It had strange hallucinogenic properties when mixed with alcohol, and nagas had even been known to use it to attract followers. For Torius, it had seemed like a shackle on his soul, which, as a former slave, he couldn't tolerate, even from the woman he loved. Deliberately, and before he could think of a reason not to, he held it out over the water and opened his hand. The vial made a tiny splash and sank out of sight.

  Gone ...

  He withdrew the grooved sail needle from his belt and flicked it into the sea.

  Gone ...

  Torius felt a sudden tremor that was the first telltale sign of withdrawals, though he knew it was only his mind playing tricks on him. His body wouldn't register the absence of the addictive venom for at least another day. Looking out to sea, he breathed deep of the salt air, letting it fill his lungs and calm his nerves. He thought about Celeste, about all they'd been through and how, only now, he felt like they might just be all right.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Oil and flesh, gentle pressure, a deep moan of pleasure from Werreg, and Vreva glanced at the sand glass on the sideboard. The tincture of toadstool extract in the massage oil—to which she had already consumed the antidote—should take effect soon. The drug would befuddle the senses and loosen the slaver's tongue. Her long absence had left her bereft of information on the current state of the slave market, and Werreg was one of her best sources. Vreva specialized in easing information pleasurably, not painfully, from her clients. When they left, they never knew they'd given her anything at all.

  *I hate it when you do that,* Saffron mewed from the arm of the divan. *It's disgusting. Like kneading oily bread dough!* He shook his head in distaste and commenced licking his paws.

  Vreva glared at him, projecting a stern sense of duty. This was their job. Yes, it was distasteful, but it was necessary. She didn't need him reminding her just how distasteful. She turned back to her work, focusing her attention on her subject.

  "You seem tense." Vreva pushed her thumbs into the muscles of Werreg's back, assessing his state of bliss. He groaned under the expert pressure. "I trust business is not too terrible?"

  "Business is wonderful, my dear. I've simply been too long without your attention." He groaned again as she worked her hands down his lower back.

  Soon.

  "Business is wonderful ...and it will only get better." His words were slightly slurred.

  He's almost ready. "Oh? I suppose you have some plan to corner the market?"

  "The plan is not mine, but the profit will be." His breath came short as she traced the nerves in his legs, her every motion designed to distract him from the conversation. "And it's not the market we'll be cornering."

  Saffron's ears perked up, and she felt his curiosity. Or perhaps he felt hers. They were so intimately linked that sometimes it was difficult to discern whose emotions she was feeling. "What plan is that?"

  "Promise me you won't be cross if I tell you, my dear."

  Her curiosity surged. Werreg usually wasn't so reluctant to discuss business. Sliding forward to straddle his buttocks, Vreva worked her oil-slicked thighs in a gentle kneading motion. With that distraction, a silent spell leapt from her fingers, enveloping his mind in a glove of compliance. Before he noticed the pause, she continued both the massage and her gentle persuasion.

  "Dear Werreg. You could never make me cross. What plan do you refer to?"

  "It's about your friend Captain Templeton, I'm afraid."

  Curiosity transformed to a cold knot of worry in her gut. Vreva laughed delicately to cover her concern. "Something about that lout he killed? I told him he shouldn't have, but the man does have a temper."

  "No, my dear. Few of us found fault with his actions to defend your honor." He shifted, and she felt his muscles tense. Vreva didn't know if his reluctance stemmed from his desire not to perturb her, or from the sensitivity of the information. Gently, she massaged his back in silence until he relaxed, determined to find out what he knew about Fieson, but wary of overplaying her hand.

  "Then what about him merits a plan?"

  "There have been ...rumors that he's not what he seems."

  "Oh?" Her worry coalesced into dread, but she kept her voice and motions steady. "He's been bringing me wine for years. What could he be but a merchant captain?"

  "A recently recovered slave told a different tale. In exchange for his freedom, he informed the merchant council that the captain is not taking the slaves he purchases back to Cheliax at all."

  "Why would anyone care where he sells his cargo?" Her dread edged toward panic, but she forced it down.

  "Because he's taking them to Andoran, my dear." His tone dripped distaste. "He's freeing them. He's an abolitionist! If he's taking slaves to Almas, what else is he taking them? Information? He could be spying for them!"

  "But I've known him for years!" Vreva kept her tone light. She didn't want to alienate Werreg and potentially ruin her spell by ridiculing his supposition, but she might be able to convince him that the merchant council had been misled. "A slave would tell you anything to earn his freedom. It must be a lie."

  "We thought that, too, but magical means were used to make sure he wasn't lying. At least, the man believed he was telling the truth ..." Werreg laughed low in his chest. "...before they executed him."

  Typical, she thought. Offer a man his freedom, then kill him for his honesty.

  "But surely you can't condemn a man on the word of a slave." Vreva fought to maintain her seductive gyrations as her mind leapt ahead. I've got to warn Fieson! He'd sailed three days ago, but if she could send him a message, she still might be able to avert disaster.

  "No, we can't trust the word of a slave, and that's where I've earned my windfall." Werreg squirmed under her, rolling over so that she now straddled his lap. Evidently the thought of money excited him even more than her ministrations. "Just the advance was enough to contract your services for the entire night!"

  "How delightful for me!" She gave him a sultry smile as he grasped her hips. "Whatever did you do to earn such a windfall?"

  She continued her serpentine motions, her hands working the flabby muscles of his chest as she gasped in feigned ecstasy. She would have to contact Fieson through magical means. She had scrolls to cast dream messages, but they only worked if the recipient was asleep, and she couldn't be sure of that. There were other means, but the spells were beyond her skill. She needed to get to a wizard tonight; that meant getting Werreg out of the way quickly.

  "The merchant council paid me to give the captain a gift enchanted with a location spell. He will condemn himself." He tightened his grip, hard enough to bruise. "And when they apprehend him, his cargo will be mine. You should be pleased, since it will allow me to afford yet another night with you."

  "Oh, I am pleased." Vreva increased her gyrations. The
sooner he finished, the sooner she could get him out of the way. Yet more information would be useful, and he was completely under her spell now. "But how could a simple location spell condemn Captain Templeton?"

  "Easily. If he sails toward Westcrown as he says he does, there'll be no repercussions. If he sails toward Almas, however, there will be a reckoning."

  "You're so clever!" If Devil's Dawn had not yet passed the Isle of Kortos, there might still be time. It was not only Fieson's life on the line, but her own. Forcefully quelling her desolate thoughts, Vreva brought her full attention to Werreg's pleasure. There was not a moment to waste.

  In the languorous afterward, she rose from his sweaty embrace and went to the sideboard. As she poured two glasses of red wine from the carafe, Vreva twisted one of the decorative roses carved in the sideboard molding, and a tiny compartment opened to reveal several diminutive vials. She chose one, and emptied it into one of the glasses. The full-bodied Chelam vintage would conceal the hint of nutmeg imparted by the knock-out toxin. Moments after they toasted the success of Werreg's plan he was snoring.

  "I've got to go out, Saffron." She hurried to her bedroom to don a pair of silk pantaloons and a dark blouse. "I've got to warn Fieson, and I need to buy a scroll to do it."

  *Wonderful. And I get to sit here and watch the slimeball snore.* He yawned and lashed his tail. *Thrilling.*

  She flashed him a glare and stood in front of her mirror. Vreva conjured an image in her mind, murmured softly and cast a spell to change her identity. Okeno was not a city in which a pretty young woman could walk alone at night. Consequently, Vreva did not appear to be a pretty young woman. Instead, she was a he, with nut-brown skin and short-cropped auburn hair. Loose pants and a tunic adorned him and a yellow collar encircled his throat. The guise was one of her favorites, the eunuch slave of a potion crafter she entertained. While slavers often stooped to knocking incautious folk on the head to augment their stock, abducting another man's chattel was considered outright theft. Besides, she could better mimic the dulcet voice of a eunuch.

  Tucking a money pouch beneath her sash, she listened at her apartment door, then opened it and peered out. The corridor was empty. Her route to the back stair then down and out the servants' entrance should be empty this late. Once in the alley behind the inn, she'd be in the clear. Werreg snuffled loudly in his sleep, but Vreva had no fear that he would wake soon.