“Soooo pretty!” Sourtongue said. “Soooo shiny!”
Annabel picked up the ring and examined it. “A lovely thing, this.”
“Mine?” the glashtyn said hopefully.
“We'll find you something else shiny later. This one's mine. Captain's claim.” Annabel slipped the ring into a pocket as Sourtongue sighed.
The sun was setting as the Peregrine approached Cerindel. It was the largest of the sky realms, stretching over 500 miles across, home to hundreds of thousands. Under the rulership of King Archibald IV, Cerindel was a land of peace and, for at least some of the populace, prosperity.
The towers nearest Cerindel's rim glowed like beacons, the light of dusk reflecting off the glass and the filigree trim. Annabel watched from the helm as Hardwicke guided the airship in towards land. She couldn't care a whit for those who worked and lived in those towers, the powerful and wealthy, but she still had to admit, if only to herself, that it was a beautiful sight.
Pilfor had cast one of his masque spells on the Peregrine as it had neared Cerindel's skydock. To those who were not on board, the pirate airship appeared to be just another airship, docking for supplies and shore leave for the crew. Each crewman also had a personal masque spell, and even though the troop of dwarves led by the young woman in the white and blue dress and her companions attracted some attention as they disembarked from their airship, it was nowhere near as much as a pirate captain and a swarm of glashtyn would have.
Annabel and her crew stayed away from the inner city, sticking to the neighborhoods that ringed it, where Cerindel's poor and working class residents toiled and dreamed of bigger and better things. They walked past farmers and crafters, bakers and brewers, before they reached the Barrows, the Cerindel neighborhood where deals could be made without questions. Supplies were bought, to be delivered to the Peregrine the next morning, and the crew split up, heading for their favorite pubs and taverns.
Annabel's destination was the Blackrock Castle Tavern. The original builders of the tavern had claimed that they had used leftover stones from the construction of the Cerindel royal palace; no one believed them, but it was as good a name as any. It was crowded and raucous, but it was a safe tavern by the standards of the Barrows, meaning that though there were arguments and fistfights aplenty, there were no stabbings or shootings allowed. After all, dead patrons couldn't pay their tabs.
Annabel and Big Tom, their masque spells removed, found a table in a dark corner of Blackrock Castle and hurriedly polished off a large meat pie and three tankards of ale between them. “Another fine day's work,” Tom said with a rumbling sigh. “Even though you said we'd feast like kings.”
“I'll bet even Archie on his golden throne wishes he had a meat pie from time to time.” Annabel half-smiled.
“And some ale instead of that watered down wine they drink in court!” The troll grinned as he reached for a tray loaded with cheese and crackers, shoveling half the contents into his mouth.
“Aye,” Annabel said, staring at the tabletop. “I suppose.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Too much ale already, Cap'n?” the troll said as he chewed.
“What makes you say that?”
“You usually complain about me eating all the cheese.”
Annabel nodded. “It was almost...too easy, wasn't it?”
“Easy? Those goblins actually knew what they were doing.” Tom scooped up more cheese and crackers.
“Not that. There's something missing.” Annabel rested her chin in her hand and stared wistfully into the distance. “I can't quite explain it, Tom, but I know it's there, deep inside.”
“More ale will take care of that.” The troll raised his hand to wave down a barmaid.
“Cap'n Skyblade!”
Annabel glanced over at the tall, heavyset man in the shabby clothes who was waddling over to her table. Half-Pint Harry had earned his nickname not for his size, but for the amount of ale he could down in one gulp, preferably from someone else's mug. “Harry!” Annabel said, forcing a smile. “How the devil are you?”
Tom sniffed. “And why do you smell more like ale than usual?”
“One of the local girls,” Harry said as he sat down. “She didn't take too kindly to me telling her how pretty she was.”
“Some women don't want that kind of attention,” Annabel murmured.
“She wasted a perfectly good beer, if you ask me.” Harry grinned. “But it's odd that you should be here. There's a rumor going around that seems up your alley.”
“For a price.”
“As always. I need the money to get these clothes properly cleaned.”
“Usual deal, Harry.” Annabel stared down the rumor trafficker. “You give me the story, and I pay you what it's worth to me. If it's nothing, it won't leave this table.”
“It's a hard bargain you drive,” Harry said with a sigh. “Now, you know tomorrow is the Midsummer's Festival?”
“Another excuse for pampered noble louts to eat and drink to excess.”
“Well...I've heard there'll be a surprise there.” Harry leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They'll be putting the Amulet of Glena on display.”
Annabel's eyes widened. “The Amulet of Glena?” she said softly.
“Aye. They've already moved it into the Cathedral of Glory, in the lobby.” Harry grinned.
“Without telling anyone?”
“There are dignitaries from all the island realms here. The Council wants to surprise them and show off its power.”
“And rub some salt into the wounds of the Mezaran emissaries,” Tom said as he took a fresh cheese tray from the barmaid.
“It hasn't been displayed in centuries,” Annabel said thoughtfully. “It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, from everything I've heard. And...they wouldn't be guarding it well tonight, since no one's supposed to know it's there.”
“Cap'n...” Tom said.
Annabel stood up. “Such a pretty bauble,” the pirate said with a grin. “It'll go well with the ring I just acquired.”
“And they just brought out the goat cheese.” Tom started to stand.
“Nay.” The troll froze as Annabel continued, “I'll be doing this on my own.”
“Cap'n!” Tom scowled. “Don't be a fool.”
“Do you take me for one?” Annabel folded her arms. “Tom, this job will take stealth and silence. You'd be bad at that even without a belly full of ale and crackers.”
“But the Cathedral Guard—”
“Won't know I'm there until after I'm long gone.” Annabel handed two gold pieces to Harry. “Find yourself some new clothes, and someone more welcoming of your attention.”
Tom sighed. “If you don't return—”
“I'll be back before first light,” Annabel said as she walked away.
The troll shook his head as Annabel left the tavern. “It's the ale talking,” he muttered.
“That went well,” Harry said with a jovial smile. He glanced at the cheese tray. “Are you going to—”
Tom picked up the tray, glared at Harry, and poured a good portion of the cheese and crackers into his mouth. “You could have just said 'yes',” Harry grumbled.
Chapter Two
Sergeant Fosdick stuck his head out of the door. “Major Brassfeld?” the aide said. “The admiral will see you now.”
Victorie Brassfeld nodded at Fosdick as she turned away from the picture window in the lobby. Admiral Stenholt's office was on one of the highest levels of the Admiralty, the headquarters of Cerindel's Navy. It was one of Cerindel's tallest towers, and the view it provided was spectacular, looking down on the city below, the royal palace to the east, the farmlands beyond, and the distant horizon, with stars scattered as far as the eye could see.
The major was slender, with braided blond hair that went past her shoulder blades. Her eyes were gray and seemed to have the faintest twinkle, as if deep down, she found things endlessly amusing. She wore the Cerindel naval uniform, a red tailcoat over a white bl
ouse and black trousers; the coat had gold trim, and there were two stripes on each shoulder. She wore two overlapping belts, one for her rapier and one for her pistolere.
Victorie walked into the office, stopping short of the desk that dominated the room as the aide stepped outside and closed the door behind them. She silently saluted the admiral.
Stenholt returned her salute. “At ease,” he said. “Major Brassfeld, I wanted to review the plan that you and Admiral Stamford have made for tonight.”
“Of course, sir,” Victorie said. “Captain Skyblade has been a scourge to airship traffic for the last three years. Just two months ago, Duchess Cantille was relieved of all her jewelry and several bottles of fine wine by Skyblade and her crew.”
“The noble families of all the sky realms want her brought down.”
“And were we to be the ones to capture her, it would be a prestigious moment for Cerindel and her navy.” Victorie smiled.
Stenholt nodded. “Feathers in all our caps. And a nice little bounty for whoever brings that damned pirate in alive.”
“Our sources tell us that Skyblade has come to Cerindel, most likely to take on supplies,” Victorie said. “This ties in nicely with the palace's plans to put the Amulet of Glena on display for the Midsummer's Festival tomorrow.”
“How?” the admiral asked.
“We have paid people to pay certain underworld contacts to spread the word of those plans. Once that word gets to Skyblade, she'll be tempted to try to steal the amulet.”
“She's done this sort of thing before, I've heard.”
Victorie nodded. “Last year, on the estate of Baron Von Hoffener of Ristadt. She still wears the bracelet she stole that night.”
Stenholt idly drummed his fingers on the desk. “Are you certain this will work?”
“It will,” Victorie said with a confident smile. “Captain Skyblade seems just as motivated by a challenge as she is by her ill-gotten gains.”
“And who will be at the cathedral besides their guard?”
“I will be there myself to take Skyblade into custody.”
“And collect the bounty?” Stenholt raised an eyebrow.
“To be shared with those who have helped prepare this plan,” Victorie said. “There will be backup in place if needed.”
The admiral leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Victorie. “Capturing Skyblade would be a proud moment for all of us, Major Brassfeld. If this plan is a success, it could lead to further opportunities. I expect the best from you.”
“As do I,” Victorie said.
“Of course.” Stenholt paused. “And perhaps other considerations will come into play. Sergeant Fosdick will have a little something for you when you leave.”
Victorie froze, fighting to keep from blushing or saying something she would regret later. “Of course, sir,” she said softly.
“Dismissed,” the admiral said with a salute. “Good luck, Victorie.”
“Thank you, sir.” Victorie saluted, then turned and calmly walked out of the office.
Victorie had managed to hold her temper in check and thank Fosdick as the aide handed her a small pouch. As she strolled through the tower, on her way to the airship dock and the Navy shuttles, she felt her anger rise. That old lech! she thought. How dare he!
The major had worked long and hard to earn her rank and position in the Cerindel Navy, which handled defense, policing and other security functions for the sky realm. She had graduated at the top of her academy class, been recruited for the intelligence corps, and had already earned one royal commendation for her work.
And yet, Victorie thought with a quiet sigh, Stenholt still undresses me with his eyes every time we meet. The other admirals respect me, but he just wants to bed me. She had no interest in being courted, let alone by a superior.
“Brassfeld?” Victorie snapped out of her thoughts as two men walked up to her. “What the devil are you up so late for?” the older one, with a fierce mustache and corporal's stripes, said.
“Stamford's plan, Greaves,” Victorie answered. “It's happening tonight.”
Greaves chuckled sharply. “The bait's in place?”
“It will be by the time I get to the cathedral.”
“You know—” Greaves pointed a thumb at the tall, bespectacled man next to him. “Castleton here has been studying up on the amulet. Fascinating stuff.”
“Really?” Victorie said.
Castleton nodded nervously. “The historians all agree that Queen Glena the First was wearing the amulet when she and the 206th Legion faced down the Mezaran invasion force in front of the royal palace. After that, the accounts differ.”
“How so?”
“Well...some say that it was just a coincidence that the lightning struck when it did, decimating the Mezaran forces and letting the Legion have the victory that day. Others claim divine intervention. But there were healing mages who tried to save the lives of those who were badly burned that day.” Castleton swallowed. “The burn victims claimed that the lighting came from Queen Glena's amulet.”
“Poppycock!” Greaves snorted.
“Possibly. Their stories were dismissed as delirious visions caused by pain.”
“One should keep an open mind,” Victorie said. “There were always rumors that Glena had learned great sorceries from her mother.”
“Those were never proven,” Castleton said quickly.
“Does it matter?” Greaves said. “The end result was the same. Damn shame about the queen, though.”
“But the pursuit of historical truth is always important.”
“Castleton, it's late. The only things I wish to pursue are sausage rolls and a pint of dark. Come along.” Greaves took Castleton's arm and pulled him away. “Good luck, Brassfeld,” he said over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Greaves,” Victorie said as she started back down the hall. At the end was a set of opened double doors, with two guards in full armor, and beyond that was the dock where the Navy shuttle airships were waiting.
Victorie nodded to the guards as she stepped onto the dock. A cutter airship was waiting near the doors; it could seat four, but there was just one person on board, the pilot. “Major Brassfeld?” he said with a salute.
She returned the salute and carefully boarded the airship, taking a seat in the back. “When you're ready,” she said to the pilot. “I'll need you to let me off a short distance from the cathedral.” The pilot nodded and started the propellers.
As the airship moved away from the Admiralty tower, Victorie opened the pouch. As she expected, and to her disappointment, she found a piece of jewelry inside, a filigree silver bracelet, along with a note that she left unread. Trying to win me over with this bauble? she thought. I wonder if his wife knows what he's up to. Or his mistress. She snorted as she put the pouch into her coat pocket, turning her attention to the mission ahead.
The Cathedral of Glory, built to celebrate the gods of the seven heavens, was one of Cerindel's most beautiful buildings and grand tourist attractions. Seven narrow spires rose a hundred feet from the roof, each the exact same length per tradition. The sanctuary could hold thousands of people, but many visitors and locals never made it past the lobby, which was topped with a glass roof and used to display historical and personal treasures of the royal family.
It was well after dark, and the many display cases had all been covered with sheets. Annabel carefully peeked into the lobby through a window and realized that she couldn't tell what case held the amulet, what the amulet looked like, or how many guards there might be. Maybe, she thought, this wasn't one of my better ideas. She briefly considered turning back, returning to the ship. I could tell them that Harry's tip was wrong, she thought. No one would know I backed down…
Annabel gritted her teeth. No one except me. I'd know I'd given up on a challenge. And I won't. She moved away from the window, keeping close to the cathedral's wall, looking for a way inside.
The cathedral was far wider than it was tall, and it took Annabe
l a quarter hour just to work her way around the building. There were numerous doors, but all them appeared to be locked or set with alarms. She was relieved and surprised when she saw one door that was slightly ajar. She glanced around to be sure no one had spotted or followed her before she slipped inside.
She had to stifle a laugh when she realized that she had found the entrance to the cathedral's dormitory. So one of the students of divinity sneaked out and came back late? she thought with a smile. I've known those types. She crept down the corridor, only to pause when she heard footsteps.
Annabel spotted an alcove across from the dormitory doors. She quietly hurried into it, pressing herself against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. “Look here,” she heard a voice say. “What do you make of this?”
The footsteps stopped, and Annabel tried not to breathe. “I'll tell you what,” another voice said. “One of these days, Friar Brent is going to get himself in trouble for his late night jaunts!”
“Especially if he forgot to bring a bottle back for us!” the first guard shouted. They both laughed loudly as they slammed the door shut, the noise covering up Annabel's relieved gasp.
As the guards' footsteps faded. Annabel started off down the corridor again, moving slower and more cautiously than before. After what she figured to be half an hour, though it seemed much longer, the corridor came to an end in a door that almost certainly led to the lobby. There was a window in the door; she lifted her head and peeked through the glass
Annabel's view of the lobby was limited, but there were no guards in her line of sight. They wouldn't leave the amulet off to one side, she thought. It would be against a wall, or somewhere in the center. Easier to find and guard it. Now if I can just—
“Up rather early, aren't we, Captain Skyblade?”
Annabel straightened up and slowly turned. She saw the tall blond in the red tailcoat pointing a rapier at her, a glowing crystal in her left hand lighting up the corridor. “I'm early?” the pirate said. “Costume Day isn't for another four months.”
The blond didn't blink an eye. “Major Victorie Brassfeld, Cerindel Navy. You've been caught in the act, Skyblade.”
Plundered Chronicles: Skyblade's Gambit (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Skyblade Saga Book 1) Page 2
