Scimitar Sun Read online

  “Aye! I’d appreciate it if you stayed close by, though. I wouldn’t like to run up on one of this fella’s friends with a short crew and a hold full of prisoners.”

  “I’ll be right on yer lee, Horace. She’s all yours. Pick yer crew, but leave me Johansen fer a mate. I’d like to get this sorted out and get underway afore dark.”

  “Aye, sir!” Horace turned to go, but stopped when Feldrin grabbed his sleeve.

  “And Horace, tell the crew that after we settle this up, we head for Southaven. I’ve got to get back before Cynthia pops, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Aye, sir! Homeward bound! That’ll be welcome news!” He turned and started bellowing orders, but Feldrin had already fixed his mind on the course ahead and the trip home.

  “Aye, home,” he said to no one, heading for his cabin and something to ease his pains — both in his shoulder and his soul. “Been too long since I seen home…”

  ≈

  Seoril sipped his rum and sighed. They were well into their second bottle, and none sitting around the main mess table were feeling much discomfort. “That moldy wool was hard to move, but the rest of it fair flew out of our hold.”

  “Good. We got a bit more for you.” Captain Parek reached for the bottle, but a slim hand snatched it up first. He scowled at Sam, but then smiled as she pulled the cork free with her teeth and filled his cup, then topped off her own and the rest. “Not a hold full, but enough to pay for a trip. We stumbled across a two-master haulin’ spices and copra.”

  “Not much money in copra around these parts, ay?” Seoril said, lifting his cup in thanks, his eyes narrowing at Sam. That she warranted the privilege of sitting at the table with the officers had surprised him, but any fool could see that she was Parek’s favorite. Watching her loose shirt as she leaned over the table to fill everyone’s cups, it was easy enough to see why.

  Sam might have been young, and was undoubtedly thin even for her age, but there was wiry muscle there, and she was growing into her womanhood quite nicely. Seoril saw that Parek’s dark eyes were watching him eye the girl, and he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Parek was a shrewd man and a fine ship’s captain, but he tended to hold onto his possessions tightly. Not as tightly as Bloodwind had, but there was nothing to be gained by making him angry.

  “Naw! We let it sink with the wreck,” Farin, Cutthroat’s first mate slurred, blinking to try to focus his eyes. The mate had drunk more than his share of the rum.

  “Well, that’s fine. I can unload the spices anywhere. I think I’ll work the south coast for a while. I’ve been in Rockport too much.” He sipped and stared again at Sam, who sipped and stared at her captain.

  “So, what’s this bad news you spoke of, Seoril? Did the sea witch give birth to a sea drake?” Parek sipped his rum and ignored Sam’s attention, or seemed to.

  “No, thank Odea, or at least not to my knowin’.” Seoril heaved a sigh. There was no easy way to tell it. “We was passed by a warship on the way south from Rockport. A small two-master. Didn’t pass close enough to see a name, thank the gods, but it was a Tsing warship sure enough, and makin’ a good twelve knots!”

  “A warship?” Sam’s eyes widened and her gaze flicked back and forth between the two captains.

  “Aw, it couldn’ta been! Wha’s a warship doing down here? Pro’lly headed fer M’rathia, and good riddance!” Farin downed his rum and reached for the bottle, but Sam snatched it first.

  “Hey, now! Gimme that, ye li’l rat!” The mate tried to stand, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  Sam’s quick eyes glanced a question to Parek, but he just smiled and said, “Pour Farin another drink, if you please, Sam. It’s his last tonight.”

  “Best make it last, mate!” she said, pulling the cork and pouring him a scant measure.

  Seoril watched the exchange and frowned. Favorite indeed, more like his private watchdog, he thought. “I don’t think the warship was headed for any eastern port, and I’ll tell you why. If he was headed for Marathia or Fornice, or even Southaven, he’d have made for Saber Cut and worked his way through usin’ his sweeps. Them warships can make four knots straight into the wind if there ain’t much sea.”

  “Which begs the question: where was he headed?”

  “Let me find him for you, sir!” Sam offered, her face lit up like sunrise. “I can take the cat boat and work my way down the islands and back in four days.”

  “You think he’s somewhere here in the Shattered Isles, Sam?” the captain asked, one eyebrow arching.

  “Where else? Like Seoril said, if he was makin’ for any eastern port, he’d have cut through the isles farther north. He’s not headed straight south, that’s for sure. Ain’t nothin’ out there but seaweed and sea drakes!”

  “Captain Seoril, if you please, Sam,” Seoril said, narrowing his eyes at the girl, then flicking his gaze toward Parek. Favorite or no, the girl was getting a bit big for her britches.

  “Yes, Sam,” Parek said, nodding to the other captain. “I know we’ve all had a bit to drink, but you’re junior here. Show some respect.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, pressing a knuckle to her forehead in salute to Seoril. “Sorry, Captain. It won’t happen again.”

  “I gotta say, she’s right though,” he said, acknowledging her apology with a nod. “The warship’s patrolling, and they’ve never done that before, or they’ve come here for a visit.”

  “And there’s only one person they’d be visitin’ in the Shattered Isles,” Sam said, eyeing both captains again. “They’ve come to see the sea witch.”

  “That was my thinkin’ as well.” Seoril stood and nodded his respects to the table. Farin had passed out flat on his face and was snoring in a puddle of rum. “I better get back to the Gull before that dimwit Beckel stores the sugar next to the water barrels again. We’ll transfer cargo tomorrow and be off at dusk. Thanks for the rum, Parek.”

  “Sleep well, my friend,” the Cutthroat’s captain said, leaning back in his seat and stretching. “And don’t worry about the warship. It’s obvious they’re not hunting us.”

  “Aye, and I’m thankful for that. Goodnight.”

  ≈

  After Seoril had ducked out of the mess, Sam reached for the rum bottle one more time and, under Parek’s watchful gaze, poured them both another measure.

  “I could be off in an hour with the catboat and you’d know if that warship was at Plume Isle by mornin’, Captain,” she said.

  “Aye, I suppose you could, Sam, but it’ll have to wait until the morning. You and the whole crew have had a bit to drink, and sailing a catboat in the trades takes a sharp wit, not a sodden one.” He pushed himself up and took his cup. “Besides, I’ve got something else for you to do first.”

  “And what might that be, Captain?” she asked. The knowing smile that played across her face seemed to belie her age.

  “Why don’t you bring that bottle to my cabin, and we’ll discuss it.”

  “Aye, sir.” She stood and took the bottle by the neck, her thin frame wobbling a bit as she stepped over the bench.

  “Hold fast there, mate,” he said, his broad hand slipping around her slim waist. “Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

  “No worries there, Captain,” she said, smiling up at him with a glint in her bright young eyes. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

  The door to the captain’s cabin closed with a quiet click of the latch. The first mate, Farin, kept on snoring.

  Chapter Five

  Diplomacy’s Course

  “Impressive.” Count Norris’ appreciative smile appeared genuine. “You can haul three ships up for repair and still house one under construction in the lofting shed? Very impressive indeed!”

  “Aye, we could haul three ships, though we never seen the need, yer graceship,” Dura said, trying to match the count’s ambling gait but fidgeting like a race horse in a draft harness. Camilla had warned her to be on her best behavior, yet not overly accommodating concerning the new s
hip designs. “And the ways ain’t so big as to haul a decent-sized galleon, like Seven Sisters or Winter Gale, fer instance. They do fine fer Mistress Flaxal’s schooners, but that’s about as big as we go.”

  “Big enough to haul corsairs, no doubt,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what the late Captain Bloodwind used them for, I mean?”

  “Aye, that ‘e did, yer graceship, but we tore that old piece of—I mean, the old ways, apart. It weren’t in good repair, and was cobbled together like a court document to begin with.” She hawked and spat in distaste. “Ghelfan don’t put up with shoddy equipment in his yard.”

  “So I’ve heard.” The count turned to the lofting shed and guided the tour toward it.

  “Most of what was once Bloodwind’s has been completely removed or refurbished,” Camilla added, gesturing across the bay toward the tidy collection of huts that had replaced the shantytown burned in the attack. “The local natives aren’t much for organization, but they work well under Dura’s direction.”

  “Aye, they ain’t lazy, I’ll give ‘em that! And they know one end of an adze from another, which is more’n I can say fer some green hands I’ve trained.” Dura stuffed her hands in her pockets and recalled, “Why I knew one feller who chopped off two toes the first time he—”

  “Dura, the count really doesn’t want to hear—”

  “And what are you currently building in there?” the count interrupted, gesturing to the closed lofting shed. “Another schooner?”

  “Na. Jest one of Mistress Flaxal’s silly projects.” Dura chuckled and shook her shaggy head. “She comes up with some of the damnedest—”

  “I’d very much like to see it.” The count’s eyes slid to Camilla’s. His tone was light, but his manner clearly dared her to deny him anything.

  “Surely, Count. We have no secrets here.” His sly court manner was wearing on her. Despite the way she’d seemingly won him over the previous night, by this morning the formality had returned. He seemed determined to examine every nook and cranny of the ship yard and to not believe a single word she said. “Have a care where you place your feet. I wouldn’t want you to get creosote on those lovely shoes.”

  “Thank you, Lady Camilla. I’ll step with care.”

  Dura guided them through the small side door of the building and ushered them into her domain. Camilla knew that Cynthia had come up with another new design, but had not paid much attention to the details. Now, with the nearly finished hulls towering over her head, she gaped inwardly, despite her outward composure.

  “What in the name of—” The count stopped short, looking first at one narrow hull, then the other, then at the arched beams of laminated wood that united the two. “I’m sorry, but what manner of construction is this? It looks like two ships united into one big raft!”

  “Aye, it is a strange lookin’ contraption, ain’t it?” Dura guided them around to the two bows and pointed. “She don’t have a name for it yet, but I suspect, just like happened with the schooners, some bloke’ll latch a moniker to it and it’ll stick. She said she got the design from the natives’ outrigger canoes. The outrigger makes the boat more stable, ye see, so she just took the idea and made it bigger. About seventy feet bigger.”

  “This is a wonder!” Norris exclaimed. “Surely this is not a cargo vessel! The hulls are too narrow to hold much of anything. What is its purpose?”

  “She never said what purpose she had for it, other than to see how it sailed. It’d probably haul more’n you think, though. Her profile’s low, and you could stuff a good bit of cargo on the main deck, dependin’ on how she was rigged. The booms’ll be set high, or they’d sweep the deck clear of crew when she jibes, but—”

  “Booms? One mast on each hull, then.” The count squinted up at the planked hulls and the massive arches connecting them.

  “Er…no, yer graceship. She’ll have two masts set fore an’ aft, schooner rigged, with gaff tops’ls.”

  “Why not one mast on each hull?”

  Dura just looked at him like he’d suggested pigs should take up knitting, and said, “I just build ‘em, yer graceship, I don’t design ‘em.”

  “Well,” Norris said, stepping back as if trying to imagine the finished vessel, “the emperor will be very interested to hear about this. I’ve neither seen nor heard of the like.”

  “Why would Emperor Tynean have an interest in something like this, Count?” Camilla tried to keep her tone casually curious, but her mind was spinning ahead with concern.

  “The emperor’s interest in your mistress’ new ship designs is one of the primary reasons for my visit, Lady Camilla. As I said, your schooners have created quite a stir in Tsing. He sees many potential applications for such craft.” His eyes shifted from the sleek hulls to her, as if gauging how both might be best applied to serve his emperor. “I’m sure we can reach some amicable agreement that allows the empire to utilize this astonishing breakthrough in naval architecture.”

  “You might reach such an agreement,” Camilla began with a dissembling smile, “with Cynthia Flaxal. I cannot make any agreements regarding her ships’ designs, and she is not disposed to begin selling them, yet.”

  “She has said as much?” The count seemed surprised, but Camilla could see that it was feigned. “Surely there is room for negotiation, on this design, for instance.”

  “There is always room for negotiation, my dear Count,” she said, meaning it. “But of what value to the empire could an experimental craft be? It hasn’t even been tested at sea yet.”

  “One never knows how something so radically different might impact the affairs of the empire, Lady Camilla,” he said, as if the line were rote. “The world, and I daresay the Shattered Isles, is a dangerous place. Anything new that might be applied to the imperial defense, commerce, or even faster communications could vastly change the way we live, or indeed whether we survive.”

  “Oh, come now,” Camilla scoffed, patting his arm. “How could something as trivial as a new ship determine the survival of the empire?”

  “My dear lady, one can never determine how something might impact one’s survival until all of its potential applications are thought through. Why, something as seemingly safe as a sea voyage can determine life or death, as it has in my very own family.”

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, taken aback by his sudden admission. “One of your family was lost at sea?”

  “My entire family, my dear. My wife, two children and their governess, along with the entire ship and all her crew, were lost in these very waters not three years ago.” His tone was casual, but she could see that there was pain behind the admission. “No one ever found a trace of them.”

  “Three years ago…Might you remember the name of the ship?” she asked. This might explain a lot about Count Norris.

  “Of course I remember. She was the Alabaster Rose out of Tsing and bound for Fornice, where I was stationed. She was captained by a man named Derwall, and hauling a cargo of mixed trade goods. Why do you ask?”

  “Alabaster Rose…” she muttered, trying to remember if she’d ever heard any of Bloodwind’s captains mention that name. She shook her head, unable to recall. “I’m sorry, Count. Three years ago I was in this very place, a prisoner of Captain Bloodwind. I heard the names of many of the ships that his captains took over the years, but I can’t recall if that was one of them.”

  The count’s eyebrows rose, but he held his silence. It was the sort of restraint she expected from a diplomat, and she appreciated it. Camilla cleared her throat. “If you wish, I could try to find out if the Alabaster Rose was one of the ships he took.”

  “What does it matter, really?” he asked, his voice sharp. “The ship was lost with all hands. Whether it was pirates, cannibals, the mer or a sea drake, no one will ever know, and regardless, my family is gone.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Count Norris.” She smiled sympathetically and gave his arm a squeeze that she honestly hoped was supportive. “I know what it’s li
ke to lose someone close to you.”

  “It was long ago, my dear. Shall we continue the tour? I daresay there is yet much more to see.”

  “Of course.” She guided him to the door, leaving the lofting shed and the uncharacteristically silent Dura behind.

  ?

  ≈

  “There she is, just as sure as seagulls squawk!” Sam edged to the foredeck of the little catboat and gripped the mast, squinting to the south as they rounded the point of Plume Isle. “A two-master, just like Seoril said. Bring her upwind, Taylan. I want a closer look.”

  “She wants a closer look,” Taylan said, just loud enough for Dorain, his mate, to hear. He hauled on the sheets and turned the catboat southeast.

  “Aye,” Dorain said. “I feel like a bloody babysitter.”

  “Oh, she ain’t no baby, mate.” His friend nodded forward. The wind pressed Sam’s tattered linen shirt against her torso as she stood, shading her eyes for a better view. “There’s woman under them knickers, sure as fish swim.”

  “Oh, aye, but word is Captain Parek’s plowin’ that ground, and he don’t take kind to poachers.”

  “Still…” Taylan scratched his scraggly beard, clearly wondering if the prize was worth the risk. “She should be careful standin’ up there like that. She could fall over and never be seen nor heard from again.”

  “Aye, on a little boat like this, fallin’ overboard could be a fatal thing.” The two men exchanged a meaningful look, then looked forward to where young Sam waved to the sailors aboard the man-o-war as they cruised past.

  ?

  ≈

  The school was assembled, a mass of mer floating and swimming in all orientations. All eyes were directed toward the center of the writhing mass where the Trident Holder signed for all to see.