Fractured Loyalties

by Greg Alldredge

  Sailors on the cracks had a long history of rumors and superstitions running their day-to-day lives. They would stand around the water barrel during breaks, passing along stories as gospel, swearing to the crazy bitch Sinead everything they heard was true. A few might even call on Harper to send bad luck their way if they lied. Raiders were never meant to be religious, it didn’t fit their lifestyle.

  The wharf rats that circulated Freeport had a new tale to tell. Zar launched a fleet of ships with the sole purpose of ridding all free captains from the cracks. Their goal was to wipe out slavers and privateers. The last Dusty heard, all ships failing to fly a city-state’s flag would be confiscated, the captain and crew executed.

  Dusty never heard such harpy shit in his life. Zar stood in no place to demand anything from the free captains. He had no hard numbers but assumed Zar’s paltry fleet would be outmatched five to one. If Abaraka or Perdition took exception to the mayor’s proclamation, the war they just ended could grow and encompass everyone in the cracks against Zar’s mayor and her fleet.

  The crew ran flush with gold, their share of the slaves sold down the line. They all knew their stay in Freeport would be short. The crew would have to work hard to spend their hard-earned gold on this shore leave.

  While in port, Reed, the Rambler’s quartermaster, came to Dusty with a lead on a new trade route, leading from Zar to one of the mayor’s fleet’s forward supply bases.

  If the mayor wanted a war with the free captains, Dusty grew more than happy to oblige, but the Rambler wouldn’t attack her warships. They would strike the soft underbelly, their supply ships. He felt nothing but contempt for the mason-turned-mayor who now fancied herself an admiral.

  The mayor’s war drove the Rambler deep into Zar’s waters. Once north of the new supply base, Dusty ordered the blue flag of Zar flown. Since Zar was no longer at war with Perdition, the chances of being attacked were slim. The Rambler traveled in relative safety, even if her design was different from the ships associated with Zar.

  Who would’ve thought a disguise as simple as a flag could make life in crime so much simpler? Their second day in Zar’s waters, they happened upon a merchant ship traveling low in the water, which was strange since it sailed north away from the supply base.

  The captain must’ve felt secure in this section of the cracks. Why shouldn’t they? On a highly traveled route that should be patrolled by friendly forces, merchants should be safe. Only an insane raider would risk so much attacking in these waters.

  Dusty wasn’t insane, but he did calculate risk. He gathered, with luck, a ship could be captured and emptied long before help arrived. It was a risk he and his crew were willing to take.

  The merchant ship’s captain must’ve been used to sailing extremely safe waters. The Rambler patrolled southerly when they spotted their prey heading north.

  Dusty ordered the sails struck in preparation. No normal raider would lose way before an attack. At least that’s what Dusty hoped the merchant’s captain would think.

  The merchant pulled alongside the Rambler and shouted across, “Is everything all right?”

  “No, we’ve busted our tiller line, and the carpenter died during our last port call in Zar.”

  “It’s a brave captain to sail the cracks without a carpenter. We will heave to and see if we can’t get you on your way in peace. The mayor needs all the supplies she can get. The slavers have been getting their asses kicked.”

  Dusty was surprised at the ease of taking the Delight, if it continued to work as planned. For a moment he grew concerned that the other ship was playing him just as he played them. That’s what made piracy so exciting. “Thank you, Captain, we know our cargo is needed south desperately.”

  His concern over treachery was unfounded. Dusty and his crew were the only criminals in this meeting. The merchant captain found out that no good deed goes unpunished. The Rambler took the Delight without spilling a drop of blood. That was a first, even for Dusty’s conniving crew.

  “Captain, since you were kind enough to offer assistance, we will let you and the Delight go as soon as we remove your cargo,” Dusty shouted. He stood over the cargo hold where the captive crew had been hustled. “Help us unload your ship, and you will be on your way even quicker.” Dusty motioned towards his men who stood above, regarding the captives with loaded crossbows. “Don’t kill them unless they become martyrs.”

  “Though I can’t condone your piracy, I can respect the treatment of my crew.” The captured Captain looked over the twelve sailors by his side. “You’ll get no fight from us.” The captured ship never stood a chance. They were out-manned for the one, and the Rambler’s ballista would’ve harpooned their hull as soon as they heaved to.

  Dusty nodded and gave half a salute to the captain before turning to Reed. “Quartermaster, let’s relieve the ship of their cargo and escape these waters.”

  The cargo would catch a reasonable price in Freeport. As far as Dusty estimated, the merchant was loaded with boxes of gold, silver, and foodstuffs. Apparently, the fight against the free captains paid the mayor well. His gamble worked, and everything went as planned.

  Half the loot was stored when Reed approached Dusty. “I’m not sure how, but at least one of the men knows your name. There’ve been whispers through the group as they work.”

  Dusty let out a deep sigh. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be kind. Look at their captain. He stopped to help, and they were captured. We didn’t kill them all, and I’ve been identified.” Dusty looked over the horizon, the blue sky blending nicely with the blue water in the crack. “Kill them all as soon as they finish unloading their ship.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Reed spun on his heel.

  Dusty was sure he would only tell those needed to carry out the deed. It’s a shame. He probably could have convinced one or two of them to join him and his ship.

  The cargo loaded, the crew that had recently been promised fair treatment was murdered while they finished the last of the transfer. Not to waste the ship, Reed would take a skeleton crew and sail it to Freeport. Dusty would follow with the lion’s share of the crew and the heavier ship loaded with loot.

  During the offload, the wind shifted so it now blew out of the south. Running with the wind would drive them deeper into waters held by Zar.

  “Sinead and Harper are both out to kill us, I think,” Dusty grunted to Reed.

  “You and I both know they track our deeds. Maybe the last one was too much for the ledger. That south wind can’t be a good omen.”

  “It is just the wind. We will have a squall soon. We need to cast off and run for Freeport.

  The bodies were being dumped when the call came out. “Ship ho, to the south!”

  Dusty said, “Shit. We need to get our asses out of here, now.”

  Reed picked a line and swung over to the Delight. “See you in the hells, if neither one makes it.” With the smaller, lighter ship, Reed got underway in record time. Dusty scanned the horizon, looking for the sighted ship.

  “And another one!” The call came down from the crow’s nest.

  Dusty found it hard to spot the ships until he discovered they dyed their sails blue to match the water and the sky above. It wasn’t perfect, but enough to get them closer before they were spotted. The just-captured Delight flew white sails. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  This venture did not work out for Dusty. “Bosun, are those ships in range?” He knew they weren’t, but doing something felt better than doing nothing.

  Three ships gave chase, the one in the center leading the pack. The two on either side held slightly back, not stealing the wind from the lead. If the Rambler veered from the wind too much, the wings would lay chase with the lead ship gaining distance quickly.

  “No, Captain, into that wind, we will never reach them. The lead ship at his stern fired a round of flaming arrows that landed close behind in their wake.

  Dusty watched the arrows fall short. He knew the next attack would hit home.
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br />   “How did they shoot so far?” the bosun shouted.

  Dusty shrugged. Even with the wind at their backs, the bolts from the pirates’ crossbows would never reach, even the catapult and ballista were out of range. Sprinting to the helm, he took over and headed toward the nearest shard off the port bow.

  The bosun ran to Dusty’s side. “Captain, what are you doing? We will lose all maneuverability.”

  “We can’t outrun them, and we can’t outmaneuver them. We will need to see if we can run them aground.” Dusty needed to keep his speed up. He knew the chase ships closed the distance quickly with every course change. Any drastic course corrections would spell their doom.

  The surf grew close with every passing moment. The three chase ships held their course. If they were lucky, Dusty would scrap one or two on the rocks without busting a seam. He kept his eyes peeled on the forward lookout. The warning would come from him. The bosun watched the lead ship to stern.

  The bosun shouted, “Incoming!”

  Dusty heard the sickening thud whoosh as the arrows struck home on his ship. A few were accompanied by screams as men caught fire. They didn’t just burn but burst into flaming fragments. Each arrow held a vial of an accelerant that shattered on impact. The Rambler suffered multiple hits, with fires now spreading in the southern wind.

  He spotted the Delight far ahead. Dusty gave Reed a decent head start; he should be safe. The shard to port lay still too far away to snag the vessels giving chase.

  The forward watch waved his arms frantically.

  Dusty spun the helm, changing course to starboard. He reacted too late.

  The Rambler struck the rocks under the water at its top speed. Timbers cracked as the hull failed in several places, and a torrent of water filled the hold in seconds. The unsecured cargo crushed several in the collision. The main mast snapped two-thirds of the way up, the rigging and sails throwing men over the side.

  The bow of the ship rode up hard on the rocks, the aft end sank. Those belowdecks never had a chance. They died in the impact or drowned by the flood that followed.

  Most on the main deck were thrown into the water, Dusty among them. On that day, Sinead collected most of the crew from the Rambler.

  Chapter 21, Meghan Villa Mason:

  Meghan sat on her flagship, the Endeavor, anchored in a sizable inlet that faced south overlooking one of the larger voids. The open water gave her ships a wonderful view of the approach. There was little chance they would be attacked, but this would provide the fleet warning if anyone was stupid enough to engage. Earlier she counted the ships surrounding the Endeavor: four family ships nearly as large as her flagship, and seven smaller escorts.

  She picked this cove for their advanced base well before leaving Zar. Scouts had been sent out long ago, searching for suitable locations for colonies. This happened to be one of their finds. A considerable bay with fresh water nearby and a small rocky beach with a few hundred feet of dry land above the high tide mark. This would make a beautiful southern border city until she increased the border.

  The south became Meghan’s goal. From Zar, Perdition lay to the north, Abaraka to the west. That left south and east for expansion, until they reached another powerful city-state. The time had come for Zar to grow and flex her muscles.

  During the land war over Shakopee, she let the families run the strategy, and she regretted that decision. The guild leaders became the generals. They failed miserably. The war should have ended much more swiftly, but instead she let the backbiting and bickering of the landed guilds compete for the right to lead. They were not experienced in the most basic of strategies. Many lives were lost to their incompetence.

  The death of her husband gave her political capital she planned on wielding to its fullest. His death gave her the perfect opportunity to rid the waters of the menace that plagued Zar, that none of the men had the testicular fortitude to address. She had the balls, and she planned to use them.

  As far as she knew, she had amassed the largest fleet in the history of the shards. She planned to keep using it until the slavers and privateers were eradicated. Many of these ships were started before the conflict over Shakopee began, while others were hastily thrown together during the war. They all had been equipped with the latest technology the best minds in Zar created. Including a few secret weapons, never before seen.

  She ordered the deployment of the new weapons a number of times with devastating effects. She would keep using the arms for the world’s own good. The slavers must be brought under control.

  The southern wind picked up before she rose. She heard the grumblings of the older sailors of an ill wind. They spoke more like old women huddling around the water barrel complaining about how the cold made their joints hurt. The lot of them could go straight to the hole of the hells for all she cared.

  What struck her more to the core, her rival Miller arrived late for the meeting. Black clouds gathered all day from the south. She watched the cold rain approach just before midday, limiting the view to a few miles. It grew steadier and heavier from the moment it started. Now it was a downpour. The rain obscured many of the outlying ships, the void beyond the rocks a memory.

  She disliked Miller, she almost sent him north but wanted to keep him close to her so if trouble happened she could throw him in first. At present, she hadn’t had the opportunity to send him into harm’s way. The fights were small and straightforward to date. She should have done this house-cleaning ages ago.

  The number of villages and towns that claimed allegiance to Zar was huge. Few required rough handling, but after she ordered the first town set to the torch, the others that escaped the event told of the penalty for not kowtowing to Zar’s demands, and most resistance died on the vine.

  The ships that had been caught were another matter. All unflagged ships were guilty until proven innocent. Reports reached her, they concerned her, and she wanted to discuss the issue with the few families’ leaders present. Specifically, the Millers, Butchers, Carpenters, and Coopers. She wanted their counsel before proceeding with her plan.

  The sky dark with rain clouds, the surrounding ships lit fires for security and visibility. Unconcerned as they were about an attack from the sea, sabotage was still a worry. During the war with Perdition, a number of ships were disabled from swimmers cutting loose anchor lines or jamming rudders. Even though the shard picked for the advanced base held few inhabitants, there was always a chance of a force landing down the coast for an attack.

  Meghan grew fearful of the weapon used at the market. She’d received no word as to the origins of the device or its construction. Her city of tinkers and artisans were stymied by the construction of such an apparatus. If launched at sea, no ship would be large enough to be safe from attack.

  She returned to her table, where a tarp overhead kept the majority of the rain out. She glanced over those in attendance and sighed. “Let’s get this started before the weather gets worse.” Leaning over the table, she stood rather than sit.

  “By all accounts, the slavers are running ahead of our fleet. We have cleared the way for the safe transition,” Cooper said.

  Butcher added, “I agree the mission has been a success. Maybe it is time to consolidate our forces. Reinforce our holdings gained around our shard.”

  “There is much work to do.” Meghan didn’t want to hear their weak excuses.

  The head of the carpenter guild stood. “Let’s cut the shit out of this meeting. We are concerned about your ordering the fleet to fire on survivors in the water.”

  “I did, and I would do it again. The slavers are worse than a rabid beast. Would you embrace a wild animal to your throat? No, you kill it. If it is easy to kill, all the better.”

  “What of the rules of war?” Butcher scoffed.

  “Rules of war? The only rule is to kill more of them than they kill of you. What is wrong with you men?” She spat the question at the lot of them. “And what of the reports the slavers began flagging their ships with our stan
dard? Do you think we should ignore that? Do you think they will give you quarter, spare your life?” Meghan glanced over the rail. A small boat approached. The crew seemed intent on reaching the flagship as quickly as possible. She plainly saw Miller standing in the prow of the boat, waving his arms.

  “What is that man doing now?” she grumbled.

  He shouted something Meghan couldn’t make out due to the thundering rain and distance. She moved to the rail, closer to the approaching boat.

  She still didn’t make out most of the sentence, but the final word of “attack” was hard to misinterpret.

  Meghan jumped into action, ordering the crew about as quickly as possible. The heads of guilds raced to their longboats, a vain attempt to reach their commands before the fight started. She considered the family leaders as liabilities more than assets and let them run.

  “Ready the fires and the foot bows. We’ll give them hellfire before they’ve a chance to find out the error of their ways.” Meghan was sure they lay outside the reach of the attackers. They would have at least one clear shot with the new foot bows before they closed the distance with their crossbows. The foot bows would outdistance even the scorpion and the ballista. They added burn with the hellfire vials, also a new invention. The glass on the tip would shatter, creating a burst of flaming liquid that would stick to anything it touched. It worked wonders on thatched roofs, sails, and flesh. She’d seen a volley engulf a ship in flames in minutes.

  The first black sails broke through the rain, the design of the ships different from any she’d seen before. It mattered little, they would burn like the other slavers. Still out of range from the Endeavor, a few of the smaller ships opened fire, the flames from the arrows arching into the dark clouds.

  She watched as the gates of the hells opened from behind the black sails to the south. Fire flew through the air in great arcs of sparks like never before seen. The noise proved deafening. They shrieked like a banshee, still rising in the air. A strange brief silence followed, broken by the first explosions. Several of the smaller ships burst from the impact. Crew and debris launched into the air as she watched her fleet destroyed in a spray of splinters. Each ship struck burned with a ferocity she’d never witnessed.