The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

Staying in a trapped room would get her dead. She had to leave. That meant whoever waited outside her door would regret being there. She was not in a mood to play. She heard a stirring, a faint murmur of voices, and then a light cough.

  "Game's over, Kim," Master Char called through the door. "You can come out."

  Not daring to feel relief, Kim finished unbolting her door. She opened it to find Master Char standing on the other side, surrounded by five newbies. They were young, ranging in age from twelve to fourteen. On most, the crossed swords burned into their right shoulders would still be scab and not yet scar.

  Master Char smiled. "Well done Miss Soon To Be Journeywoman. How did you catch onto the trick? I only thought of it three days ago."

  Wearing a knowing half-smile, Kim watched him. She could not answer since she did not know the trick. She supposed she should be angered by this test. Four years earlier she would have felt betrayed and abused, but those emotions were now burned out of her. Almost every emotion was burned away. She had become more machine than human. Nothing remained of her core other than lies and cold fury. The masters had seen to it.

  "Not talking?" Char said mockingly. "Why do you so seldom speak to me?"

  Because I so seldom can think of a safe answer, Kim did not say. Char still waited. All those children, the new fodder, waited with him. Laughing inside. Ignorant. Few would be alive in two years. Less than one in sixty entering the guild's doors ever walked out again.

  Char still waited. Kim could not afford to appear weak or hesitant so she released an exasperated sigh. Char would not believe it, but he would expect her to show some contrived reaction.

  "The test," she said,"was simplistic. Is there a reason for this visit or did you just take the children out for a walk?"

  Char laughed. Kim knew his laugh was as false as her own laughs and smiles.

  "Just observing your final test, dear one. I had to give it to you myself. None of the journeypeople would touch it, and the other masters were reluctant. For some reason, people are intimidated by you. " He shook his head. "Frankly, I don't understand why. You've less blood on your hands than anyone who has ever graduated. Sometimes you apprentices are hard to figure out."

  "I suppose we are," Kim answered. "Anything else?"

  "I registered your journey name as Mistress Blood the Fourteenth. Master Despair has your papers."

  "Thank you, master. " So this was it. She was a journeywoman, expected to kill on command. They would soon send her out to murder, or they would take her on slaving raids where she would be expected to kill the adults and capture young children for the Guild's use. After all, assassins needed people to practice on.

  "I'm a busy man," Char said,"but I have time for one last go round with my favorite pupil. Run along children. No more lessons today. Run along--except you Jeremy. Blow out Mistress Blood's candle. I see no need to waste the wax."

  "Yes sir."

  The only male among the newbies ran into Kim's room and blew out the candle. Kim tensed, but nothing happened when the light went out. A small drift of smoke rose from the wick.

  Despite the master's orders, the other newbies remained with him.

  "I'm a bit disappointed at how easy you saw through the trick," Char said. "Making a candle poisonous only from the smoke when it's blown out was a difficult thing to accomplish."

  "And against the rules concerning poisoned air," Kim pointed out.

  "Rules are for others," Char said,"not for the masters.

  Inside Kim's room, Jeremy cried out, fell to one knee, and then to his face.

  "Imbecile," the youngest girl sneered.

  Clutching Kim's arm with one hand, Char ripped her thin apprentice robe away with the other. She stood before him, naked and hard, feeling cold inside.

  "You aren't a journeywoman yet," Char reminded her. "Not officially. Go lay on the bed."

  Carefully compliant, and even more careful to stay far from the unlit candle, Kim strode to her straw bed and lay down. She remained still while Char removed his own robe. She said nothing while he pressed his weight down on top of her and pushed his way inside. From outside the open door, children giggled.

  "What clued you in on the candle," Char asked as he mechanically shoved himself into her again and again. The top of Kim's head hit the wall with every stroke. Gritting her teeth, she turned her head to look down on the dead Jeremy until Char finally shuddered, jerked, and shot his juices inside her. When she looked back at Master Char, all she felt was sore. The place where outrage should have been lay empty.

  "The last time, dear one," he said as he rose from her body. "The last, unless you volunteer. It's unfortunate, but the one rule a master always follows is that graduates are exempt from forced sex."

  "Never again?" she asked.

  "Unless you are agreeable."

  "Then, master, may I light the candle so I can see your body one last time?"

  Char chuckled. "Why not? We have too many apprentices anyway. We can find another to blow it out."

  "Thank you."

  Kim picked up her fire starter from the night stand and flicked if futilely a few times. The lighter refused to work. Still flicking it, she turned back to Char.

  "Master, I…"

  Char's eyes grew large with sudden realization just as a tiny dart shot out of the base of the fire starter and pierced his eye.

  "…really am not fond of this candle," Kim finished. Dispassionate, she watched him fall to the ground. One of his hands clenched fist tight and pressed against his wounded eye. His slow death gave her no satisfaction, but it did give her comfort. His death protected her from future attacks. It would strengthen her reputation. A threat to her always brought retribution.

  Kim inspected the newbies while Char's muscles relaxed and his body evacuated. They were white faced. Most looked ready to run, and none seemed amused by her nakedness any longer. They showed too much true emotion. One or two might grow out of it; the rest would die.

  "Lesson one," she said. "I did not kill Master Char for Jeremy's death. I've seen enough newbies die to make it boring. I did not kill Master Char because he raped me. I've been raped many times by all the masters, male and female. Master Char died because he tried to kill me. Today's lesson is you don't fuck with Mistress Blood. Lesson over. Leave."

  They left with satisfying alacrity. Smiling emptily, Kim stood over the two bodies. In the morning, she would have some explaining to do. Masters were supposed to be safe from apprentices. Then again, she was no longer an apprentice.

  She stared at the unlit candle and realization hit. Her old master had been right. Her instincts had picked up on something her mind had not registered. The candle was perhaps an eighth inch taller than it should have been. She lived because they had trained her to sense the smallest details. Master Char died because he had not paid attention to those details.

  "Happy birthday, Kim," she whispered. The cold air chilled her naked body. Char's juices ran down her legs while accusing eyes stared emptily at her from the two bodies. Char's remaining eye still showed a faint residue of surprise.

  Kim sighed. The fire starter was no longer an unknown weapon. It would have to be discarded. Holding it before her, she turned it so she could study its base. The changes were hardly noticeable, just a small hole hidden among the letters of the manufacture's name. Turner Industries, it said, Patent NO. 384A57G845.

  "Thank you," she whispered to the fire starter, and then she rubbed at her face. She was having trouble with her eyes again. Sometimes, when she was alone, sometimes they grew blurry and wet. It wasn't emotion, she knew, because she did not have any. She just sometimes had problems with watery eyes.

  Kim looked once more at the bodies. She been had made journeywoman. She would have to mark this day.

  "Happy Birthday, Kim," she whispered again. "Happy seventeenth fucking birthday."

  Chapter 12

  Aaron's injured shoulder and neck quickly scabbed over in the sea air. Four days after his accident his h
ead stopped pounding every time he tried to move, pretty much the best thing to happen to him in a long time.

  Aaron found the thought rather depressing. Feeling desperate, he went to the captain.

  "What do you want?" Captain Hardesty asked when Aaron approached her at the ship's wheelhouse. She stood with one hand on the wheel, idly chatting with Emil Montpass, the pilot.

  When Aaron didn't immediately answer, Montpass scowled. "This better be good because the captain and I are having a private conversation here."

  "I lost something when I was injured," Aaron told Hardesty. "It's important I get a replacement."

  "What did you lose?"

  Aaron shrugged and gave her a sick grin. "I can't tell you, but it's worth a lot to me to replace it. We need to return to Jutland."

  Montpass snorted. "Fine chance for that. We've cargo to deliver and other commitments. I'm not turning this ship around. Send out a message when we reach port. You should get your package in a few months."

  "A few months!" Aaron's chest hurt. He realized he panted. "I can't wait that long. I can barely wait a week. I'm sorry, Captain, Mister Montpass, but we really have to turn back. You won't lose by it. I'll make it worth your while. Hell, I'll buy you a new ship. A better one. I'll buy you both a ship."

  Hardesty shook her head. "Sorry, Mister Turner, but Mister Montpass is right. Don't try upping your bribe. There's nothing you can give me that's worth destroying a reputation I spent two decades building. Give me a letter when we reach port. I'll see it gets on a fast ship to Jutland. That's the best I can do."

  Under other circumstances Aaron would have admired her principles. Right then it just pissed him off. "Turn this ship around or you'll regret it."

  She studied him with even eyes. "Do you want to spend the rest of this trip in chains? If not, I suggest you get back to your cabin and don't leave until after you've cooled down."

  Aaron left, but he didn't cool down. Instead, his anger grew in direct proportion to his fear. He needed another Stone. He couldn't be ordinary. He didn't know how.

  Four flagons of rum disappeared before he dragged himself back into his hammock and fell asleep.

  He awoke the next day with a splitting head and a load of self-disgust. He was a coward. He knew he was a coward, but he hadn't always been that way. More than a decade of being coddled had made him soft, taken away the little edge he once owned.

  Fingers trembling, Aaron left the cabin and found a section of empty deck. He took a stance and began practicing the moves Kara Perkins and then Patton had taught him. He moved slow because slow was all his aching head could take.

  He worked out each day, for hours. Patton would have been proud of Aaron's dedication, but Aaron knew no pride. He was afraid. His escape route was gone, and he had only the funds he'd carried aboard…which wasn't much by his normal standards.

  Every afternoon, after Aaron finished practicing Kara's art, he donned his spring loaded holster and practiced drawing. The holster helped, but not a great deal. Aaron lacked the natural nimbleness and coordination needed for a truly fast draw. If he tried for pure speed, often as not he missed his grip and dropped the gun. That made him angry. He hated to think about the consequences if he dropped his weapon when he truly needed it. Accepting his limits, Aaron settled for a middle speed draw and hoped for the best.

  "The crew thinks you're crazy," Fitzbeth told him one afternoon.

  "They can think what they want," Aaron replied. His arm hurt, and his shoulder. Somehow, he moved wrong when he drew, causing damage.

  "Don't overdo it," she warned with a shake of her head. "These people don't like things that are too different. Be careful."

  After that, Aaron still worked out on the deck, but he practiced pulling his gun in his cabin when it was empty.

  They were four days from final port, running easily before a south easterly wind, when Fitzbeth called him to the portside rails for a talk about what they would do once they hit land. Whatever she wanted to say Aaron did not learn. Moments after reaching the rail, she stiffened and peered over the water.

  "Mister Turner. " Her voice remained low, calm, but it carried the force of command. She pointed. "Tell the captain two ships are following us. Pirates, I think. I saw signs of them half an hour ago."

  Aaron squinted. Try as he might, he saw nothing untoward. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes" Fitzbeth replied. "Fetch the captain. Now!"

  Aaron found Captain Hardesty just outside the wheelhouse, standing beside Emus Montpass.

  He broke into their conversation. "Major says you better come see this. "There's something going on out there."

  Turning her gaze, Hardesty gave him a hard-eyed stare. "You are interrupting a private conversation, Mister Turner. Again. Tell the major I'll be along shortly."

  Aaron waved toward the stern. "Do you want me to say the same to the two ships the major says are behind us?"

  Hardesty's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me."

  "Two of them," Aaron reiterated.

  She looked to Montpass. "We better see what we have brewing. Lead on, Mister Turner."

  Fitzbeth remained where Aaron had left her, eyes still fastened on the far horizon. When the captain stood beside her, Fitzbeth pointed to their rear and a tad to the port. "They're hard to see now, but two ships changed course to follow the Lady."

  Squinting, the captain tried to make out distant sails. "I don't see anything."

  "I lost sight of them a couple times myself," Fitzbeth explained. "If you look close, you can see a bit of something that isn't a breaking cap every now and again. That's them."

  Hardesty looked for a few moments before shaking her head. "I'll get my far glass. " She left with quick long strides.

  Trying as hard as he could, Aaron saw nothing except waves and whitecaps. He strained his eyes until they hurt before the captain came back with her telescope.

  "Where abouts are they?"

  "I lost them again," Fitzbeth admitted. She pointed a finger. "Should be around there."

  The telescope tracked in the indicated direction. More than three minutes passed before Hardesty lowered it and released a groan. "Aye, there they are. The sneaky buggers dyed their front sails sky blue. Two of them right enough. I'm betting they're some faster than the Little Lady or they'd not have chosen to come up from our behind."

  She raised her voice to a roar. "Bandits on our backtrail, Mister Montpass! Shift course for a run!"

  She turned back to them. "Thank you Major Fitzbeth and Mister Turner. Find someplace out of the way and go there."

  "Come with me. " Grabbing Aaron's shoulder with one hand, Fitzbeth led him toward the cabins.

  The next several hours were tensely uneventful. Captain Hardesty occasionally called out orders, and sometimes the ship changed direction by a degree or two. About every half hour, sailors climbed the ratlines and shifted sails so they would catch more wind. Nobody seemed satisfied once the task was complete.

  The ships following them grew closer and clearer to the eye. Considerably smaller and lighter than the Lady, they rode high in the water and boasted far more sail. As Hardesty had guessed, the front sails were indeed dyed powder blue. It was only when the ships grew nearer the white from the sternward sails could be clearly seen.

  The captain had no choice. Land was hours away, and her ship was a heavy merchantman, quick enough for general work but a lumbering tub in comparison to the corsairs. She could not outrun or out-maneuver the pirates.

  Their only hope was to arrange matters so only one pirate ship could engage them at a time. Between them, the pirates would number between fifty and sixty-five crew, perhaps more. Counting her passengers, the Lady had fifteen people.

  The pirates spread apart until a bit over a quarter mile separated them. They had grown so close the Lady could not shift position quick enough to avoid them both.

  "Break out the weapons!" Captain Hardesty called. "Standard shields."

  Crew ran across the deck, dragging lengths of
wood covered by laminated hide behind them. While some began fastening the shields to the ship's railings in a staggered pattern, others hauled up sea water and filled barrels. The first mate handed out short swords and long knives as crew passed him. Another crewmember brought out crossbows and slings.

  Waving the offer of a weapon away, sweat poured off Aaron's face as he dragged another bucket of sea water over the rail. The salty moisture from the splashing ocean stung and blurred his eyes.

  "Port shields!"

  The pirate ships were so near Aaron saw small figures on their decks. The ships moved closer to each other. Contained fires burned on their decks, a precursor of the ultimate fate the pirates planned for the Little Lady.

  Shields up, the crew fastened crossbows and bolts to the railing. Buckets of lead shot next appeared, and every sailor had a sling fastened to his belt.

  A ball of fire rose into the air, flashed through the sky, and extinguished itself in the ocean waves. Disappointed catcalls sounded across the distance between the ships. One of the Lady's sailors released a loud fearful groan.

  "Catapult throwing pitch," Fitzbeth calmly explained to Aaron. "A warning for us to heave to, but it won't stop there. They know the Lady is treated against fire. Most of it won't burn, but the people will. I better see to my weapons before things get too personal."

  Leaving him, she went into her cabin.

  Aaron belatedly realized he had his own weapons. After giving the pursuing ships another long look, he raced to his cabin. It seemed to take forever before he managed to free his locker's key from his pocket. Hands quivering, he fumbled the lock open, pulled out the twelve gauge pump, and loaded his pockets with slugs and number two buckshot. Unlike the shells filled with number six shot, these were new, never fired, never reloaded. Aaron had no idea how they patterned and prayed to the Lord and the Lady the pirates wouldn't get close enough for him to find out.

  Pausing for a brief moment, Aaron quickly renounced his agnostic views concerning the Lord and the Lady and cast a quick prayer up to the One God just to be on the safe side. Gods, what he wouldn't do for the use of his Talent Stone again. Why the hell was he on this ship anyway?