Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  He followed Tim out a door on the opposite wall from where they had entered the mess, and they turned toward the back of the ship. Here there were four cabins, all appropriately labeled with bronze plates on the doors.

  “That’s the captain’s cabin aft, and the mate’s next to it,” Tim explained, pointing to each door in turn. “And this is the bosun’s, and that one forward is guest quarters. Ghelfan’s in that cabin, but the bosun’s is empty, since Paska bunks with Chula, so that one’s yours!”

  “I see,” Edan said. He had no idea who some of those people were, but he figured he would learn. He turned the bronze handle and stepped into the tidy little cabin. His trunk was here, and his bag as well. He’d been worried when the sailors had taken his belongings, and was relieved to see them intact and seemingly unopened. The trunk was still locked.

  “And here you are!” Tim looked enviously around at the cabin. “I hope to have my own cabin one day,” he said. Edan looked over at the boy whose voice, for the first time, sounded not happy and brash, but almost…lost. Before Edan could say anything, Tim snapped out of his lapse and clapped the taller boy on the shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need anything. There’s a chamber pot under the bunk and a water pitcher in the stand. We’ll be a bit more’n two days to Plume Isle, so make yerself at home.”

  “Thank you, Tim,” Edan said, sitting down on his trunk more for stability than to rest. He waved as the younger boy closed the door, then looked around. The tiny porthole let in a meager amount of light, but there was a lamp. The ship lurched as it topped another wave, and he thought that this little cabin was a bit more like being in a coach, an incredibly big coach on a very bumpy road.

  “Well,” he said, chucking Flicker on the chin as she lighted on the tiny folding table. “We’re on our way, Flick. What do you think?”

  She wrinkled her nose at the surroundings, fluttered her gossamer-smoke wings and sat down to sulk.

  “Well, just don’t catch anything on fire, okay? This whole boat is nothing but wood. It’ll go up like a tinderbox if you get it started, then there’s nothing between us and the sea.”

  She fluttered up to peer through the port at the towering waves that swept past at an alarming rate, then sank back down to the table, her eyes wide. She nodded to Edan and crossed her heart with one coppery finger. He laughed, knowing her promises were short-lived.

  “Good. Now let me get a dry pair of pants on, and we’ll see what Master packed for us, eh?”

  Chapter Ten

  While You Were Away

  Docking a ship against a stone pier, even a ship as agile as Peggy’s Dream, was a carefully orchestrated and often nerve-wracking affair. In the hands of an unskilled pilot, an errant wind or current could cause serious damage to a ship, smashing it against the unforgiving stone.

  Cynthia made it easy.

  “Give me about half a boat-length, Chula. I’ll do the rest.”

  “Aye, Captain Shambata Daroo! Paska! Close haul de sheets. Helmsman, bring her into irons half a length from de pier, if you be pleased. Paska, you may furl all sails as she luffs.”

  The ship’s bowsprit came up into the wind and Peggy’s Dream slowed as she came parallel to the pier. The light breeze was contrary to docking, and strong eddies of an ebbing tide pushed at the ship. Cynthia closed her eyes and let her mind meld with the essence of the sea. The ship drifted forward under its own momentum, sails flapping in the subdued breezes of the bay until, quite suddenly, the wind died, the swirling currents stilled, and the ship stopped dead in the water. The sails hung utterly limp for an instant before Paska gave the order to furl. Sailors caught the canvas as it fell from the heavens, furling the huge sails easily in the calm air. The ship stood rock steady until the last bit of canvas was bound neatly, then water roiled and the entire vessel moved sideways into place as if a great hand had pushed it gently.

  “Dockin’ lines, if you be pleased, Paska,” Chula said, and lines were cast and caught by the dock crew. Fenders had already been placed, but the ship stopped its sideways motion less than a foot before they touched, the sea churning between the hull and the unforgiving stone to hold her steady as lines were tightened.

  “All secure, Captain Shambata Daroo!” Chula called, saluting with his usual pearly white grin. “Deck crew, prepare de cargo nets. Topmen, set de fores’l haul. Paska, if you would be pleased to be directin’ de cargo offload while I see to our passenga’.”

  “Of course, Chula! Wh’da’ya t’ink I’ll be doin’, sittin’ on my backside?”

  Cynthia eased her control over the wind and water, smiling at the spirited interchange. “Tim, if you could help Chula with Edan’s things? The crew can bring my trunks up later.”

  “Aye, Captain!” The boy saluted and scampered off. Mouse, who had been lounging on Cynthia’s shoulder, perked up his pointed ears and darted after the boy. Cynthia had been pleased with Tim on this trip, and reminded herself to thank Chula for putting him in charge of Edan; the responsibility had done the boy good.

  She looked around the ship and sighed. Peggy’s Dream sailed beautifully, but it would be a couple of weeks at the very least before she would sail her again. Dealing with the mer and orchestrating the trip to Fire Isle would take up all her time until the young man’s trials. She had thought about altering their course enough for Edan to see the volcano on the way, but he had barely ventured from his cabin. He wasn’t seasick, as far as she knew, but Tim had said that he seemed anxious or frightened on deck.

  No wonder, she thought, looking around at the crystal-clear turquoise water. He probably feels the same way about the sea that I feel about fire. Her gaze rose to the ever-present plume of smoke issuing forth from the heart of Plume Isle. A call broke her reverie.

  “Gangplank secure, Captain!” Paska announced. “We’ll be offloadin’ de provisions for yer home. Den, with yer permission, we’ll be movin’ de ship over to de yard docks.”

  “Of course, Paska.” She smiled her thanks. Half of the hold was packed with stores for the keep, but the rest of the cargo space had been filled with supplies for the shipyard and her new project. “I should have given the order, but I’ve got so much on my mind that I’m not thinking straight. Tell Chula for me, would you?”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “I must thank you, Mistress Flaxal, for taking me along on this jaunt!” Ghelfan exited the cuddy with his duffel over his shoulder and a grin on his slim features. “We purchased some good spar timber for your new vessel, and the fittings I ordered were excellent! Southaven’s farrier truly knows his business.”

  “It was my pleasure.” She accepted his steadying hand as they approached the gangplank. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t stay longer. Marta was disappointed, and I hardly got to spend any time at all with the Keelsons.”

  “Rest assured, Mistress; they know their business. Ah, but I see there is business awaiting us, as well.”

  As they crossed the gangplank, Cynthia noticed for the first time that Camilla and Dura were waiting for them on the pier. The former was not unusual, but Dura rarely left the confines of the shipyard. The dour looks on their faces were not encouraging.

  “Glad to have you back early, Cynthia,” Camilla said, stepping forward to offer her hand for the last step onto the pier. “Though two days ago would have been even better.”

  “Why? What happened two days ago?” she asked, troubled by Camilla’s serious tone.

  “The bleedin’ thief got away with the bleedin’ goods two days ago, that’s what bleedin’ happened!” Dura interrupted, her ruddy features flushing even darker. “And Miss Cammy wouldn’t let me teach the bugger a proper lesson in manners!”

  “Thief? What thief?” She turned to Camilla. “What happened?”

  “Two days ago, an emissary from his majesty, Emperor Tynean Tsing the Third, sailed back to Tsing, after a five day visit.”

  “Aye, and he bloody took — ”

  “And we discovered,” Camilla interrupted,
casting a warning glance at Dura, “upon his departure, that a set of plans for your partially completed ship were missing.”

  “Which plans?” Ghelfan asked, his tone flat and harder than Cynthia had ever heard it.

  “The forty-to-one-scale overall draft plans and the riggin’ schematics,” Dura answered.

  “What?” Cynthia asked, her own temper rising. “Who in the Nine Hells was this emissary, and why would he steal plans for that ship? This is ridiculous! I’m only gone a week, and some spy from Tsing wanders in here and leaves with a set of my plans tucked under his arm?”

  “Please, Cynthia, we’re not sure it was the emissary who stole the plans, and I don’t think he was here to spy.” Camilla stood her ground, her voice even. “He came here to see you, but he had to leave to report to the emperor. He had an assistant, a fellow named Huffington, who seemed to say little but see a lot. It’s my bet that he was the one who took the plans, either under the emissary’s orders or on his own. We don’t know. Dura wanted to take the plans back, but I told her that attacking an imperial warship was — ”

  “Warship? They came in a warship?” A warship was a show of force, intended or not. “I want to know everything that happened and every word that was said, from the moment that emissary set foot on this pier to the time he left, and I want to know them now! If that ship makes it back to Tsing without being dragged to the bottom by a school of angry mer, they’ll be luckier than they deserve.”

  “Well, they arrived — ”

  “Please, Miss Camilla, Mistress Flaxal,” Ghelfan interrupted, his voice now calm, steadying, “this is not the place to discuss this and, I daresay, we would all be more convivial and more cognizant if we sat down and talked it over rationally.”

  “You’re right, Ghelfan,” Cynthia acceded. “Let’s go to my rooms. I’ll have dinner brought up.”

  As they slowly ascended the steps to the keep, Cynthia leaned heavily on Ghelfan’s arm, her knees unsteady beneath her sarong.

  ≈

  “Who was that?” Edan asked as he and Tim struggled with Edan’s heavy chest. They put it down beside the gangplank, under Mouse’s expert direction, to let two sailors heft it across the gap. Edan had enough trouble just walking across the gangplank without trying to carry anything. The crystal-clear water below unnerved him, but his gaze was on the little group making their way up the stairs to the keep.

  “Who, Dura? The dwarf woman?” Tim hopped across the gangplank and grinned. “She’s Ghelfan’s work boss. She can teach you some of the best swear words I’ve — ”

  “No, the lady.” Edan crossed over to the pier carefully, trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking down at the roiling water below. Flicker clung to his neck as they crossed, staring down at the water in fright. Mouse orbited them as they crossed, smirking at their obvious unease, which helped matters not at all.

  Once on solid ground, Edan shrugged Flicker back into the air and she flew at Mouse, her hair flaring with her temper. The chain brought her up short and she glared at the seasprite, but Mouse just taunted her anew and flew back to Tim’s shoulder. Edan ignored them both, his attention focused again on the object of his fascination. “The one with the red hair.”

  “Oh, that’s Miss Cammy,” Tim said, nudging Edan out of the way of a pair of sailors. “She helps Mistress Flaxal with the shipping business, and she teaches school, too.”

  “She’s…” Edan found himself at a loss for words; he wanted to say “beautiful” but that didn’t even come close to describing her. The way she moved, the way her dress flowed when she turned…and her hair! She had red hair like his, but where his hair was red like a carrot, hers was like a sunset; a deep, fiery red shot through with golden streaks. Tim smiled at him, and Mouse, giggling on Tim’s shoulder, made kissing sounds and pointed. Edan willed his blush away. “She’s a school teacher?”

  “Well, not just a school teacher. She pretty much runs Mistress Flaxal’s business, as well as takin’ care of all the stuff around the keep.” The chest was waiting for them, and he bent to lift one end of it. “Come on, let’s get this to yer rooms and I’ll show you around the place.”

  “Sure.” Edan lifted his end of the chest and looked around for the first time. The island and keep were impressive, no doubt. “This used to be a pirate stronghold?”

  “Yeah, but that was before Mistress Flaxal and Captain Feldrin came.” Tim’s voice was a little strange, as if waking from a dream. “It wasn’t a very nice place before that.”

  “You saw it before?” Edan asked skeptically, suspecting some kind of joke. “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s what I meant when I said Mistress Flaxal saved my life.” The boy’s lower lip wrinkled as he clenched his mouth in a frown. “I was here when she…when it happened. Miss Cammy was here, too. She used to be his.”

  “His? Bloodwind’s? What do you mean? Like a slave?”

  “More than that. He wanted to make her his wife, and he would have, too, if not for Mistress Flaxal. She didn’t have a choice. Nobody had a choice. You did what he wanted you to do, or you died. Or you were given over to his sorceress, which was worse than dead.”

  “I never heard that Bloodwind had a sorceress.”

  “Nobody talks about her much. I heard Mistress Flaxal say she was a witch. Demon-possessed, she said, not a real sorceress. I believe it, too.” Edan saw the shudder in Tim’s shoulders and wondered what the boy had gone through. “One look at her and you could see she wasn’t human.”

  Edan found it hard to picture the idyllic surroundings as a raucous pirate stronghold ruled by a bloodthirsty tyrant and an evil witch. “And Bloodwind and the witch lived here?”

  “There’ve been a lot of changes,” Tim said as they hauled the chest up the last few steps to the entrance of the keep. “Camilla and Mistress Flaxal changed it all around. Most days, I don’t even recognize the place!” They put the heavy chest down for a rest beside the entry, out of the way of the sailors already hauling bales and crates of provisions from Peggy’s Dream into the keep. Mouse grew bored with their slow pace and fluttered off. Flicker watched him go and tugged at her chain, but Edan ignored her. She sat down on his shoulder to pout.

  Tim motioned to pick up the chest again. “Come on. Mistress wanted you to have rooms on the second level. You’ve got a view of the harbor!”

  “Okay.” Edan lifted and followed Tim up the sweeping stair, still staring open-mouthed at this new, wondrous place, wondering if he would see the fascinating Lady Camilla again soon.

  ≈

  The place of his birth hove into view and Chaser fluttered his gills in satisfaction. It had been a long swim and he was tired; keeping pace with Seamage Flaxal’s Heir’s new ship was hard work, and after two steady days of travel his tail quivered with exhaustion.

  The two sentries signed their greetings and admitted him, but their faces were dire, their motions chopped and uneasy. He flared to a stop between them.

  *Shellbreaker, Finwag, good to see you!* he signed politely.

  *Welcome back, Chaser,* Shellbreaker, the senior of the two, answered. *I hope you bring good news.*

  *I do,* he replied in his usual effervescent manner, his finlets rippling with his mood. *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir has returned to her home early.*

  *That is good,” Shellbreaker agreed, but his signing was still tense. *She has much to tell us, I hope.*

  *And many questions to answer,* Finwag signed with a swirl of his tail that showed his vexation.

  *Something dire has happened.* Chaser back-paddled nervously. *Something to do with Seamage Flaxal’s Heir?*

  *We are not the ones who should tell you, Chaser,* Shellbreaker signed, returning to his guard station and holding his trident firmly. *But you should know that, in your absence, The Voice was invoked.*

  *The Voice?* Chaser’s fins went still with worry. *Why? What has happened?*

  *We are not the ones to tell,* the brawny mer sentry repeated, his webbed hands clenching on
his weapon, *but it was a near thing, I think, that The Voice did not send us to war.*

  *War…* Chaser’s eyes widened in shock. *Excuse me, Shellbreaker, Finwag, I must see Tailwalker!* He signed a hasty farewell and darted into the grotto, his fatigue forgotten. He bolted through the twisting passages, drawing stares and exclamations from those he passed. In moments, he fluttered to a halt and announced his presence with a deep thrum.

  The curtain of woven ironweed was pulled aside, and Quickfin exclaimed in surprise.

  *Chaser! By Odea’s grace, you’re back early!* He gripped the tired scout’s wrists in camaraderie and drew him into the grotto.

  Tailwalker entered, his dire countenance brightening at the sight of his friend. He rushed forward and greeted him. *Good to see you, my friend! Very good! Seamage Flaxal’s Heir has returned, I hope. All is well?*

  *She has returned, and the trip was without mishap, though how well her mission was accomplished, I do not know. The ship stayed at the landwalker city of her birth only nine tides. I returned with them, but left her ship before it entered the break in the reef of the smoking island.*

  *She will come tomorrow,* Quickfin signed. *It is her way. She always visits us when the sun rises the day after one of her trips.*

  *I wish she would come sooner. There is much to discuss,* Tailwalker signed.

  *What happened, Tailwalker? The sentries at the gate spoke of an invocation of The Voice, and said that war was narrowly averted.* Chaser whipped his tail in agitation, propelling himself in a tight circle.

  *Calm yourself, my friend,* Tailwalker said, gripping his arm with a sign of ease. *A warship arrived at the seamage’s home on the tide of your departure.*

  *A warship?*

  *A small warship,* Quickfin signed with a smile. *Of course Eelback and his friends blamed Seamage Flaxal’s Heir for summoning it and wanted to drag it to the bottom of the trench, but calmer heads prevailed.*

  *They blamed a seamage for bringing a warship? But that’s — *

  *Foolish, yes,* Tailwalker signed, grinning his temper. *They will use any excuse to discredit her, no matter how stupid. Our only hope is that everyone else sees how desperate and ridiculous their claims have become.*