“Oh, come in!”
She worked the latch and opened the door. It was dim inside the cabin; a towel had been tacked up over the port, but enough light filtered through the deck prism overhead to show her Edan in the bunk, propped up on one elbow. Flicker, she noted, was in her gilded cage, which sat on the little folding desk. The firesprite was perched on a little bar over a bowl of burning lamp oil, bathing in the flames and utterly content.
“We’re heading out the channel now, and we’ll be turning south. It’ll be a beam reach, so you’ll probably need to secure Flicker’s cage.”
“Uh, okay.” He lurched up out of the bunk on unsteady legs. “What’s a beam reach?”
“Oh, sorry. It means the wind will be straight abeam, er, I mean, coming in from the side of the ship. It also means we’ll heel, uh, tilt over quite a bit, especially since we’re running without any cargo to weigh us down. It’s nothing to worry about, but Flicker’s cage will have to be secured somehow to keep it from sliding off the desk, especially with that flame. If it spilled, we’d all be in trouble.”
“I see what you mean.” He looked around the small cabin, his expression almost panicked. “How should I secure it?”
“Well, you could tie it down to the desk top with a bit of cord, or you could hang it.” She pointed to the lamp hook affixed to the overhead. “If you want to leave the flame lit, I’d suggest hanging it. That way it’ll swing with the motion of the ship and the oil won’t spill.”
“Oh! Okay. I see.” He moved to his little trunk and withdrew a length of chain. “I’ll do that right now. Thank you.”
“Not at all. I’ll be right next door in the captain’s cabin if you need anything.” She stepped back through the door and nodded. “We’ll be nearing Fire Isle around sunset, but we’ll stand off shore until morning, then sail close in at first light and put you ashore. You should have plenty of time. The eclipse won’t begin until around midday.”
“Yes, I know. Thirty minutes after noon. That will give me more than six hours to climb up to the caldera.” He lifted the cage and put the chain through the top and over the hook, then clasped it. He let the cage swing free, and noted with a smile that Flicker didn’t even stir. “Thank you again for doing this, Mistress Flaxal. I know it’s dangerous.”
“My pleasure, Edan. I know you’re nervous, but try to rest. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.” She closed his door, entered the captain’s cabin and made herself comfortable on one of the cushioned settees. She felt the motion of the ship change as they reached open sea, and heard the calls from the deck ordering more sails aloft, and a reef in the main and foresail. Then Orin’s Pride rounded to the south, and the trades caught her on her beam. She heeled and surged forward, shuddering as her bow plowed through the swells. The motion soothed Cynthia, and she realized how long it had been since she’d sailed in one of her original schooners.
More than a year, she thought. She placed a hand against the hull and felt the surge of the sea beyond the thick planking. She placed her other hand on her bulging abdomen and her grin broadened. “My babies…” she whispered, letting the motion of the sea and the gentle kick of her unborn child bring tears of joy to her eyes. She had started to ease into a gentle sleep when the ship lurched into a plunging swell, and she heard a truncated yelp of alarm from the mate’s cabin.
She considered calming the seas to ease Edan’s discomfort, then thought better of it. If she concentrated all day to calm the seas around the ship, she’d be exhausted when they reached Fire Isle. And that, as Feldrin had warned, was when things would get interesting.
≈
Sam hunkered in the corner of the sail locker in the bow of Orin’s Pride, comfortably wedged in with a spare jib atop her and several other sails beneath, her back against the hull between two frames. She could barely hear the shouts of the crew on deck over the roar of the sea as it flowed past the hull with every plunge of the bow. Only a hand-span of hardwood and cedar separated her from the raging sea, and she could feel its power through the planks as a vibration along her back.
“So close,” she said to no one but herself. She lay one hand flat against the hull to better feel the rushing water and considered her plan. If things went well, she’d be even closer to that raging sea by morning, if not in it. If things didn’t go well, she could very well be under it, caught in her own trap.
“Well, no use frettin’ about it now, Sam. It’s either sink or swim. Literally.” She laughed quietly at her own little joke. She’d been in worse spots and come out alive. All it would take was a little diversion and a few strokes of a knife, then she’d be in the launch watching as all hells broke loose and Orin’s Pride, her captain and the sea witch went down in flames.
“Best get some shut-eye, Sam,” she said, shifting her position slightly to pillow her head on a sail bag. “You’ve got a busy night ahead of you…”
≈
Broadtail swam back and forth in his grotto, ignoring the dozen finlings that swam around him, clinging to his fins and tail. Only as long as his hand, they were barely weaned from pap, and still frightened of every eddy and motion. The bolder finlings, perhaps a dozen more, were exploring the nooks and crevices of the grotto. He was alone with his offspring, his mate having left to stretch her fins for the first time in almost a month.
A throaty tone sounded outside the curtain of woven seaweed that was the grotto’s only door, and the finlings darted for cover, many of them swirling in a panic around his mouth, begging to be taken in for protection. Broadtail kept his jaw clenched firmly, though his reflex was to open it and let them in. This was a difficult phase of their growth, when instinct and experience vied against one another; the instinct to protect his young, versus the discipline to make them fend for themselves. He pushed away the few finlings still begging and made a deep sound in his throat, telling his visitor to enter.
Chaser nudged his way through the curtain and most of the finlings gave up and darted for cover. The visitor bowed. *Pardon my intrusion, Trident Holder, but I was told that you wanted to see me.*
*Yes, Chaser. Come in.* He gently waved away the last of the clinging finlings and made a gesture of welcome. *Seamage Flaxal’s Heir came to converse with me this morning. Tomorrow is the day the moon and sun merge, when she is to take the finling firemage to the burning island.* His tail flicked repeatedly, showing his displeasure with this event. How could the seamage not see how her refusal to comply with their plea — to aid this potential enemy against their urgings — appeared to them? He had actually seen the subtle signs signifying “traitor” being exchanged within the school.
*I know this, Trident Holder Broadtail,* Chaser signed. He remained utterly still, either in an attempt to hide his feelings or avoid startling the finlings. *It has caused much concern.*
*Yes, it has.* He swished his tail angrily, forcing down his temper. *I want you to follow Seamage Flaxal’s Heir to the burning island. Bring as many scouts as you wish. I want to be informed of what occurs.*
*Yes, Trident Holder,* Chaser signed. *I will leave at once.*
*Good.* Broadtail noted that Chaser showed no signs of the nervousness that he must be feeling. This was a dangerous task; the mer had good reasons for not venturing close to the burning island. If the mountain became angry and the burning stone-that-flowed-like-mud touched the sea, the resulting underwater explosions could injure or even kill. He signed his thanks, but refrained from telling the scout to be careful. To do so would insult his abilities.
Chaser made a gesture of leave-taking and departed the Trident Holder’s grotto without a backward glance. Outside, his two friends greeted him with worry plain in their postures.
*Did he send you to watch the seamage?* Quickfin asked, turning to swim after Chaser as he passed.
*Yes,* he signed back, pausing to look at them. *He told me to follow and inform him what happens. He signed that I should take as many others with me as I wanted.* He left that statement floating in the w
ater for them, and they did not disappoint him.
*We will go with you, Chaser,* Tailwalker signed with a positive fanning of his fins. *Let us get a few items and we will meet you at the entrance grotto that faces the setting sun.*
*Very good,* the scout signed, allowing himself a flutter of his gills. He knew that Broadtail would not want his eldest son to go on such a dangerous trip, but he welcomed the company. *Bring as little as you can. We must swim fast to keep pace with Seamage Flaxal’s Heir’s ship.*
Quickfin and Tailwalker signed their agreement and darted off to their grottos, while Chaser continued on his way. It would be good to have them along, just in case there was trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Burning
“This is about as close as we should get in the dark, Feldrin.” Cynthia frowned at the jumble of convoluted rock she felt beneath the ship. “Any closer and the night watch will have trouble keeping her on station.”
“Right! Horace, heave her to. Inner jib and reefed forestays’l, both cross-sheeted. Rig a tris’l aft.” He squinted aloft in the light of the waning sunset and frowned. “If she’s got too much effort forward, drop the forestay’l.”
“Aye, sir!” Horace shouted, relaying the orders and adjusting the sails.
They were still in deep water, more then fifty fathoms, but Cynthia could feel the push and pull of treacherous currents and surges closer to the island, which now loomed dark and ominous to windward. The winds were fickle here as well, variable in intensity and shifting direction occasionally, which would make the night watch’s job more difficult. Cynthia watched as the crew reefed and cross-sheeted the forward sails and rigged the small trysail on the main boom just above her head. Mouse sat on her shoulder, ignoring the sailors, his eyes fixed wide on the dull ruby glow at the peak of the island. The glow had nothing to do with the fading sunset. The glow was fire, fire from the heart of the earth, and Cynthia could tell that it filled the seasprite with a fear more intense than that inspired by any pirate who had ever sailed the seas.
“It’s okay, Mouse,” she said, patting him and eliciting a chirp of worry. “We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
The helmsman steered Orin’s Pride into the wind until her bowsprit was pointed almost into the easy swells of the island’s lee. As the sails lost their wind, the ship’s forward progress slowed. Finally, when the ship had come to almost a dead stop and he had no more steerage, the helmsman tied off the wheel to keep the rudder turned hard over to windward. The jib cracked and filled, pulling the bow off the wind just enough to draw the ship forward. Forward motion brought the bow up into the wind again, and the sails luffed. The ship stood perfectly still for a long moment, then fell off the wind again and the cycle repeated. Orin’s Pride was hove-to, perfectly balanced between the wind and water. Her decks were flat, pitching only slightly with the diminished swell.
“Your crew knows their ship, Feldrin,” Cynthia said with a smile, feeling the delicate symphony of forces holding the ship in a firm but gentle embrace. “I’m impressed!”
“Aye, with so many leagues under ‘em, they better know her.” He grinned despite his nerves and turned to Horace. “Well done! Grog for everyone but the night watch, and turn ‘em out fer supper.”
“Aye, sir!” Horace passed the orders, and all but two sailors — the boatswain Johansen, and another whom Cynthia did not yet know — trundled below. “I’m on the second dogwatch and the second night watch, sir. I’ll have ‘em wake you for the dawn watch.”
“Very good, Horace.” Feldrin put his arm out for Cynthia. “May I escort you to dinner, ma’am?”
“Why, of course, sir!” She wrapped her arm around his and accepted his help again down the steps. They turned and began to follow the crew into the mess when Edan’s door opened and his carrot-colored hair poked out. He looked up, his eyes a little weary, and blinked.
“I felt something change. Are we there?”
“We’re hove-to in the lee of Fire Isle,” Feldrin said,
“Oh. Is that good?” he asked, drawing a snort from Feldrin.
“Can you explain it to him, Cyn? I ain’t got the patience.” The Morrgrey ducked through the door into the mess with a tight smile and not another word.
“It means the ship is standing still just downwind of the island. We’ll stay here overnight and sail closer in the morning.” She nodded toward the mess. “We’re serving dinner if you’re hungry.”
“I, uh…” He looked back into his room, then shrugged. “Okay. Yeah, I better eat, huh? Big day tomorrow, right?” He stepped out of the cabin and closed the door, then followed Cynthia into the mess.
“Just grab a tray, and sit anywhere,” Feldrin said, taking a tray from the galley hatch for himself. It was laden with a huge bowl of stew, a loaf of dark bread and a tankard. He placed it on the table and took another for Cynthia, who had already taken a seat. “Food’s good, and there’s grog or ale if you want.”
“Grog?” Edan asked. He took an empty tray, jumping as the cook slammed a bowl and loaf onto it.
“Grog it is,” the cook said with a gap-toothed grin, placing a pewter cup on the tray as well. “Drink up!”
Cynthia watched the young man peer into the cup as he brought the tray back to the table, and thought she’d better intervene. “Grog is rum, Edan. It’s watered, but still strong, so have a care.”
“Might do ya good! Calm yer nerves a bit.” Feldrin raised his own larger tankard of ale and gulped.
Edan lifted the cup and sniffed it, his eyebrows arching in speculation. “Distilled spirits?”
A chuckle rounded the table, Mouse’s shrill laughter drawing the young man’s attention as the sprite shot into the air, orbited the heads of captain and crew in a flash, and landed on Edan’s plate. Mouse dipped a finger into the cup, then licked the drop of liquor from it with a grin and a sigh. Edan lifted the cup and brought the rim to his lips, sipping the fiery liquid carefully. He swallowed and drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening.
“Put some hair on yer chest,” Horace said with a laugh that rang around the table.
“Or burn it off,” Edan said, drawing more mirth from the crew. He sipped again, and put the cup down. “It’s different than the spirits my old master used to make.”
“The lightkeeper had a still?” Feldrin asked.
“Oh, yes. Several, in fact, though only one for alcohol. He used purified sugar, so it was clear; it didn’t have as much flavor,” Edan said, tearing off a corner of dark bread and dredging it through the stew before taking a bite. “This has a sweet taste and something else, like spice.”
“Aye, it’s good spiced Scarport Dark,” Horace said, clapping him on the back. “None o’ that Rockport rotgut fer this crew!”
The crew cheered and the meal continued, the conversation shifting around to other subjects as the tension between Edan and the crew eased. Cynthia caught Feldrin’s eye and smiled, nudging him lightly. He scowled at her, then nodded and smiled; Edan, it seemed, had finally passed muster.
≈
The sound of laughter brought her out of hiding. Sam had no way of knowing the time of day, buried as she was under the sails in a locker with no ports, but her stomach told her that she’d missed at least two meals. She’d felt the motion of the ship change and knew they were hove-to, so they must have reached the island. The laughter came from aft, probably the mess, which meant there was only a night watch on deck.
“Perfect,” she whispered, worming her way to the fo’c’sle hatch.
She pushed it open a crack and peered through into the deserted sailors’ quarters, smiling at the neatly stowed hammocks and sea chests all in rows. She slipped out of the sail locker and crept through the fo’c’sle, listening for any sound of the night watch from overhead. She peeked out the deck hatch, which was open a crack to let in the fresh breeze, and saw one sailor standing before the main mast, while another, the tall blond boatswain, stood near the wheel smoking a pipe. She could no
t get aft across the deck without being spotted, but with the rest of the crew at supper, she should be able to go through the hold.
She opened the hatch to the hold, glanced around the vast empty space, and stepped through. The large open area made her nervous so she traversed it quickly, edging along the port side, hunkering behind the large water barrels that were lashed to the deck supports. She paused at one that had been opened and drank deeply, thirsty after her long day in hiding.
Another peal of laughter and she tensed, then climbed the steps to the hatch leading to the aft compartments, officers quarters, galley and mess. She could smell the food now, and her stomach clenched.
“No time fer supper quite yet, Sam,” she told herself, easing open the door and peering through. No one was about, so she quietly slipped through and closed the hatch. Just to her left was the companionway up to the deck, and to her right was the entrance to the passage that ran aft. Sam crept to the passage, which was lit with a single gimbaled lamp turned low, providing more than enough light for her dark-attuned eyes. The galley and mess were on the starboard side of the ship, to her left, with the doors to cabins for the mate, boatswain, and cook opposite. She was looking for the mate’s cabin, which she knew had been assigned to Edan, but didn’t know which of the three doors led to it.
The first door she found locked, and she frowned. Would Edan be so suspicious of the sailors that he would lock his door? Then she realized that the door was directly across from the galley door, and smiled. The cook might very well lock his door, since that was where he kept the liquid stores — rum, ale, and wine — locked away. She licked her lips at the thought of a draught of rum, but released the latch and moved on.
She tried the second door and the latch turned easily in her hand. She peered inside; the splicing tools, piles of lines and stacks of blocks made this instantly recognizable as the boatswain’s cabin. She closed the door carefully to make sure the latch didn’t click when she released it.
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