Scimitar Sun

by Chris A. Jackson

  Parek looked steadily at the captain of the King Gull and sipped the spiced rum — the very good spiced rum — that Seoril had brought back from Tsing. As he savored the zest of the alcohol on his tongue, he weighed things in his mind: the loyalty of the man seated before him versus the value of his young protégé. Seoril’s complaints — but good seamanship and diligence — versus the memories of Sam’s taut, young body beneath his, her willingness to please him, her eagerness to do whatever it took to get what she wanted.

  And it was plain to see what she really wanted.

  The question was, could he use her skills, her eagerness, and her body and, in the end, get what he wanted? And would Seoril’s stupidity require that Parek make a decision he didn’t want to make?

  “Aye, she’s headstrong, I’ll give you that,” he said, sipping the rum and smiling for a second as its heat filled his head. He swallowed, enjoying the warm rush of liquid fire down his throat. “But let me ask you something.”

  “Ask away.” The other captain shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

  “Was she right?”

  “What?” Seoril stared at him, confusion etching his dull features.

  “I want your honest opinion, and I mean honest.” Parek finished his dram, then reached for the rum bottle. He thumbed the cork free and poured a measure in his cup. “She’s sharp around the edges, to be sure, but as you said, she can hand, reef and steer with the best of ‘em, she’s not afraid of any man aboard this ship, she’s able to handle herself in a fight, and she has ideas, good ideas.”

  He poured Seoril a measure of the fine rum and thumbed the cork back in place; the other captain looked worried.

  “I was thinking of advancing her. She works well with Farin — even though he doesn’t like her — which shows she’s got a level head on her shoulders. I was thinkin’ second mate. I want your opinion.”

  “I think she’s a royal pain in the arse, personally, but it’s plain enough that she’s got a sharp mind. Problem is, she’s too ambitious. She wants it all, and she don’t want to wait for it, or work for it like she ought.” He sipped his rum and wrinkled his brow. “I think makin’ her second mate would be a mistake, but it’s yer call. She’s on yer crew, not mine, thank Odea’s scaly tail.”

  “Mayhap you’re right, but it is my crew.” He sipped and rubbed his jaw, giving the illusion of deep thought when he knew full well that he’d already made his decision. “Tell you what, let’s see if you’re right. Let’s bring her in and ask her.” He stood and took a step to his cabin door, opened it and yelled to a lounging cabin boy, “Tory! Stop lazin’ about and fetch Sam and Farin for me, lad!”

  “Aye, sir!” the young man barked, sprinting off.

  “Farin. What are you callin’ him for?”

  “Well, if I promote Sam, it’ll affect the whole crew. I want Farin’s opinion as well.”

  “Farin’s opinion?” Seoril gaped at him, obviously suspicious. It wasn’t Parek’s way to ask his mate’s opinion on anything.

  Parek smiled. “Just bear with me. I think you’ll enjoy this.” He took his seat and lifted his cup to sip. In short order, a knock sounded and the door opened.

  “Ya sent for us, Captain?” Farin asked, entering with a knuckle pressed to his brow. Sam entered behind with a similar gesture, but without a word.

  “That I did, Farin.” He retrieved two pewter cups from his shelf and poured a measure of rum in each, pushing them toward the two newcomers. “Captain Seoril and I were just having a discussion, a discussion concerning a promotion that would concern everyone here. There you are, now, drink up.”

  “Thank’e Cap’n,” they both said, taking their cups.

  Parek noted that both sipped, that neither knocked back the prime liquor as if it were cheap grog. Yes, he thought, there is definitely hope for you, Mister Farin.

  “I want to put a question to each of you. You both know what our gambit is with the sea witch, and you both know how recent events have kept the Cutthroat out of action.” The presence of an imperial warship in the Shattered Isles had kept Cutthroat tucked safely in the deep channel of Middle Cay for the past few weeks, and they were feeling the pinch. Supplies were short, and tempers even shorter.

  They both murmured noncommittal agreement and he continued. “First, I want each of you to give me your ideas for taking merchant ships without risking discovery, either by the sea witch or the emperor’s fleet. You first, Farin.”

  “Well, sir, as we can’t take the Cutthroat out, I’d say we might pick off a ship or two with a simple ruse, usin’ the King Gull as bait. Make her up like she’s crippled or derelict, with every man jack we got hid belowdecks.” He lifted his cup and grinned. “When a merchant ship comes close, we pounce on her like a shark on a wounded seal. Grapple her in close and swarm over her side.”

  “Interesting!” Parek said, raising an eyebrow and looking to Seoril. “What do you think of that, Captain?”

  The man’s brows knitted, obviously not relishing the use of his ship in such an endeavor. “I don’t like it. Not at all. It’s too risky.”

  “Aye, risky it is, no doubt. No doubt at all.” He looked back to Farin and Sam. “What about you, Sam? How would you take a merchant without risking our whole operation here?”

  “Yer pardon, Captain, but I wouldn’t,” she said, her features clouded with consternation.

  “What? And why not? We gotta take a ship soon, Sam. We’re gettin’ short on supplies, and the crew’s out of sorts. There’ll be quarrels soon if we don’t give ‘em somethin’ to fight.”

  “I still think it’s too risky, sir. We got too much goin’ on with the sea witch and the warships that are sure to be comin’ down from Tsing any day now.”

  “So what would you do, just sit here and hunker until all this blows over?” He looked at her shrewdly; there was something brewing in that pretty little head of hers. “That could be months.”

  She bit her lip in thought, then her eyes widened with a sudden idea. “Send the King Gull north. Do what Farin suggested, but not here. Take her north of Tsing, maybe even up to the Shining Sea for the summer. If Captain Seoril can take a bigger ship, they could come back with both and increase our fleet. But there’s too much to lose by workin’ the Shattered Isles right now. We’ve got too much to do to make sure the sea witch and the emperor’s fleet wipe each other out.”

  “We do?” Parek wrinkled his brow and frowned. “I was thinkin’ our end of that was just about done. We’ve set our trap and baited the hook, now all there is to do is wait. What else do you think we should do?”

  “With respect, sir, we can’t just sit and wait. We should have someone in place on Plume Isle to make sure that what we want to happen really happens. Too much could go wrong.” Her eyes lighted as if she were looking into a rising sun. “Someone has to be there to strike when the time is right.”

  “And that someone is you, I suppose,” Seoril said with a short laugh, downing his rum at a gulp. “What did I tell you, Parek? She’s got more mouth than brains.”

  “Mayhap, but I’d like to hear more.” He lifted the bottle and topped off everyone’s cups, nodding to Sam. “How would you get into Blood Bay, and how would you stay hidden?”

  “Drop me off on the lee shore at night, and I’ll walk into Blood Bay overland. I’ll cut my hair and dress like a boy. There must be lots of young ones still there that Bloodwind took on, either bewitched by that sea hag or workin’ as forced labor. I’ll blend in, and when the time’s right, I’ll be there to take advantage of it.”

  “And what if you’re found out?” Seoril asked, obviously doubtful.

  “I’ll claim I stowed away on one of the ships that passed through, and jumped ship. That I wanted to be a sailor, but nobody’d take me. That I wanted to meet the famous Seamage of the Shattered Isles.” Sam sipped her rum and smiled sweetly. “By the time I’m done with her, the witch will want to adopt me!”

  The three men laughed, th
ough Seoril’s was obviously forced. As their mirth subsided, Parek raised a finger, gaining their attention.

  “But what exactly will you do, Sam? How will you make sure the seamage and the emperor’s forces destroy one another?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” she admitted, but her enthusiasm was undaunted. “I’ll have to think on my feet, watch for an opening. The problem is, neither will want to start a fight. It’ll take a spark, a murder of someone important blamed on the other side, maybe someone gone missing with the evidence pointed toward the others. Maybe even something stolen or a suspicious fire. If I can get aboard one of those warships, there’s plenty of mischief I could cause, I’m sure.”

  “Aye, and get nicked in the process,” Farin said, scowling at her. “You’d have to do it while nobody was watchin’, then slip over the side quiet like. Leave somethin’ to point toward the sea witch.”

  “Exactly!” Sam grinned at the first mate and gave him a playful shove. “Then sit back and watch the two tear each other apart!”

  “Bold! Very bold, indeed!” Parek said, raising his cup and nodding to his fellow captain. “What do you think of that plan?”

  “I think she has very big ideas, but I doubt she can pull them off.” Seoril frowned at their enthusiasm and snorted in disgust. “More’s the like she’ll get herself caught and tell the sea witch where to find us to save her own skin.”

  Silence fell like a sail with a cut halyard, dousing their smiles and quenching the mood in an instant. Parek glanced sidelong at Sam and saw that she was shaking. Her white-knuckled fist drifted toward her dagger. He marveled at her for a moment; even in a rage, she was thinking about her actions, the potential for gain, the surety of punishment if she put a knife in the captain’s gut. He could also see that she would not let the insult go by the board without reprisal; if she did, she would be showing weakness, which was a death sentence on a pirate ship. He had half a mind to let her kill the bloody fool, but that just wouldn’t do; if the crew got wind of it, they might think they could get away with it also. No, he had to do something quick to avoid disaster.

  “Give me your dagger, Sam,” he said, holding out his hand, his eyes rock steady on hers.

  “Aye, sir,” she said, her voice trembling. The hilt of the weapon smacked into his palm.

  He buried the tip in the center of the table, then looked at Seoril. The man had no idea how close he had just come to dying; he had insulted her on purpose, perhaps to provoke a response and get her into trouble with her captain.

  He held out his hand. “Your dagger, if you please, Captain,” he said, keeping his tone neutral, his manner calm.

  “What for?” Seoril asked, scowling in a caricature of suspicion.

  “To settle this, once and for all,” Parek said, keeping his hand, open and empty, extended toward the man. “I need you both, and I can’t have you at each other’s throats. It’s not good for morale.”

  “What’d be good for morale is if you bend that little whore of yours over your knee and stripe her arse with a switch, then toss her to the crew for a little entertainment! She’s trouble, Parek! Can’t you see that?”

  “Your dagger, Captain! I insist!” Parek drilled his gaze into the man, straining to control his own anger. He could feel Farin tensing at his elbow, ready to strike if things went badly.

  “Bloody ridiculous!” Seoril said, jerking his dagger from his belt and slapping it into Parek’s hand.

  “Thank you, Captain.” He thrust the dagger into the table, a hand span from Sam’s. “Now Sam, I want you to walk around the table and extend your hand to Captain Seoril, and you, Captain, will take that hand and shake it firmly.” He could see the resistance, but he pressed forward. “This will be a bond between you both that neither will raise a hand nor offer a hostile word to the other as long as you are aboard this ship.”

  “What about aboard my ship?” Seoril said as Sam rounded the table without a word and extended her hand, her face like stone.

  “You can do as you see fit aboard your own vessel, of course, but as you said earlier, Sam’s on my crew, so she’s my responsibility. Now, please shake hands, and let’s be done with it.”

  “Oh, very well,” he said, rising and turning toward Sam. He extended his hand and clasped hers firmly. “Bloody nonsen — ”

  The captain’s word was cut off as he went completely rigid, eyes wide, mouth agape. Sam stumbled forward as Seoril gripped her hand even more forcefully, then pulled her with him as he fell back into his chair, twitching. As Parek withdrew the slim dagger from the back of his neck, Seoril gave one last spasm then went completely limp, finally releasing Sam’s hand. The captain of the King Gull sat there, his mouth moving, his eyes blinking, but unable to draw breath or move a finger. It had been a difficult thrust, to sever the spinal cord cleanly without killing, but the result was rewarding. The man would live for a few moments, long enough to hear what Parek had to say.

  “That is what happens to anyone, captain or no, who insults one of my crew, you cowardly pig,” he said, wiping his blade on the man’s collar and turning to the others. “Farin, the King Gull is yours. Take her down to Marathia with a full crew, but leave a skeleton crew for the Cutthroat. Hunt for a merchantman or one of their warships, and be back here in a month.”

  “Aye, sir!” Farin said with a grin, and then downed the rest of his rum.

  “Sam, you’re my new first mate. I expect you to learn everything about running this ship, from beak-head to poop.”

  “Aye, sir!” she said, her face jubilant, shining with vengeance as she laughed in the dying man’s face.

  “You’ll also cut your hair and disguise yourself as a boy so you can infiltrate the sea witch’s island and make sure she gets what she deserves.” He raised the bottle and filled their cups, then his own. “But first, a toast to our poor departed Captain Seoril.” He lifted his cup and looked into the dying man’s eyes. “May the Nine Hells greet him with all he deserves!”

  They drank to his demise as the last light of life faded from Captain Seoril’s eyes.

  ≈

  Edan stopped in his tracks; the great hall was empty save for the seamage and her husband seated at one end of the long table. The couple looked up at him, standing there frozen with the door handle in his bandaged hand, Flicker tugging him forward by her thin golden chain. He was instantly embarrassed at having intruded on their private meal.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know — ”

  “Edan. Please, come in.” The seamage extended one hand toward a third place setting, the only other one on the table. Her other hand was engulfed in the massive paw of her husband, who stood as Edan entered, towering head and shoulders over his wife, a disarming smile on his swarthy features. The seasprite lounging on the man’s shoulder perked up his ears and fluttered his wings. “I want you to meet my husband, Feldrin. We thought it would be nice if the three of us had a private dinner to get acquainted.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Flaxal,” Edan said as he approached, trying not to appear hesitant while Flicker pulled him impatiently toward the large candelabrum on the table. His embarrassment eased to wariness, the situation reminding him of the disastrous “private discussions” he had endured with his parents before he’d been sent to be the lightkeeper’s apprentice. They had thought he was either sick or demon-possessed. “I really don’t want to intrude…”

  “Nonsense,” the big man said, releasing the seamage’s hand and rounding the table. “I’m Feldrin Brelak, captain of Orin’s Pride.”

  He extended one huge hand, and Edan extended his bandaged one. “Pleased to meet you, Captain.” Flicker flew to the length of her chain, drawing the seasprite’s attention and a smile from the big man.

  “You’ve got a lovely little companion there, I see. Ah, but it looks like somebody winged ya there,” he said, clasping the injured hand lightly.

  “It’s nothing,” Edan assured him, exerting as much pressure as he could without grimacing. Flicker flew
a lazy figure eight over their hands, doing rolls and letting the flames of her hair course down her tiny frame, showing off for the new man. The captain just smiled and nodded, releasing his hand without comment. The seasprite on his shoulder stared openly at Flicker, his eyes wide, his little face slack in awe.

  “What happened?” Cynthia asked as they took their seats. “It wasn’t that bird that Feldrin gave to Tim, was it?”

  “No, it’s just a burn. Flicker got out of hand and scorched me.” The firesprite let out a chirp of indignation as he took his seat, but with the candles so close she quickly forgot the slanderous charge. She fluttered through the flames, ignoring him. “She gets upset sometimes, always being confined. If I don’t give her a treat often enough, she gets aggressive.”

  “A treat?” Feldrin asked as a server appeared with a large tureen. “What does she get fer a treat, lamp oil?”

  “Anything that will burn, actually,” he said as steaming turtle soup was ladled into his bowl. The aroma set his mouth watering.

  “You’re kidding.” The seamage looked astounded. “She drinks it?”

  “Oh, no. She just lights it and plays in the flames. Like that.” He nodded to the firesprite bathing in the candle flames.

  “Interesting,” the seamage mused. “Mouse doesn’t seem to have a similar relationship with water, although he does tend to get into the alcohol a bit too much.”

  She poked the seasprite out of his rapt attention, eliciting an “Eep!” of annoyance and a scowl. He fluttered off Feldrin’s shoulder and spun a quick orbit around the candelabrum, then hovered just out of Flicker’s reach. Knowing that her chain wouldn’t allow her to reach him, she tried another tactic: lazing back in the flames, she let them play over her body, all the while eying the seasprite from beneath half-lowered lids. The seasprite hovered, watching her, an anguished look on his tiny features. Flicker let out a peal of high, languid laughter, obviously amused at his conundrum; he was intrigued by her, attracted to her, but terrified of her fire.

  With that the seasprite flashed into motion, darting in a tight orbit around the firesprite, so quick she could not respond. Her hair fluttered with his lightning passage, and then he was gone, streaking out the window in a glitter of gossamer-crystal wings. Flicker stared after him, a look of utter envy on her tawny features. She might be able to tempt him, but he had his freedom, and she did not.