Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Fine, just don't lose the rest our advance, Captain.”

  “Rays, Nel. You saw the rays. And one day you'll come around to my way of thinking,” Horatio predicted. “One day you'll know what it's like to be in charge of a ship like this.”

  “I like things just the way they are, Captain,” Nel said.

  Horatio grinned. “Me too, Nel.” He waggled a finger at her. “But nothing lasts forever. Don't forget that.”

  His words reminded her of something. “Speaking of which, Captain, I need to go find Jack.”

  Jack was meant to have been doing a stock take of all the stores on the ship, like the captain had ordered, working out if anything had spoiled, in an attempt to get to the truth of the matter that had affected Quill. Nel wasn't optimistic about a resolution to the mystery but going through the motions was better than nothing.

  Jack wasn't doing just nothing when she found him. He was eyeing up the rays, particularly a smallish one that had drifted close to the ship. Jack seemed to be weighing up whether it was within harpoon range. He held one ready in his hands. His big, burly hands with their scar tissue wrist bands. Scar tissue that came from manacles and fetters, a signature from time incarcerated. Everyone had a past and Nel didn't hold Jack's scars against him. Scars to Jack were like tattoos to Piper—they held hidden stories. Nel had never asked about most of those stories, they just reminded her that he was capable of violence.

  “Don't even think about it, Jack,” Nel warned, stamping her boots as she walked to make sure he knew she was there. Jack turned his big head to regard her with small dark eyes.

  Jack had things in common with Piper, as far as first impressions went. They were both big men, large and imposing, and both had strange ways of talking. Both were good sailors, earning their keep on the Tantamount. Jack had done hard time and Piper looked like he had. But that was where the similarities ended, Nel thought. Piper was . . . deranged, but his actions always followed a strange sort of logic. Most could be traced back to Bandit. Jack was just plain crazy, in a colder-than-Quill sort of way.

  “Skipper,” he said in his coarse, gravelly voice.

  “What are you doing with that harpoon, Jack?”

  Jack looked at the harpoon; his big hands easily encircled the shaft even though it was nearly twice his height.

  “We need fresh meat. Those rays look like they got enough on them.”

  “There's also a lot of them out there, Jack.”

  “So?”

  “You kill one of them, the rest will attack,” Nel pointed out.

  Jack's head bobbed as he counted the breadth of the pack. “I don't got enough space for them all, especially not that big one.”

  Nel frowned. That hadn't been her point. “We'll be at Cauldron soon. You can pick up supplies there.”

  “Won't be as fresh,” Jack argued.

  “Crew's used to that.”

  “Yeah, but we got fresh meat flying right alongside us. Waste not to take advantage of that.”

  “Didn't Gabbi give you another job to do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Course I did,” Jack growled.

  “So?” Nel didn't budge. She wasn't about to let Jack intimidate her, not on her own ship. “Find anything wrong with the stores?”

  “The meat ain't fresh. Rest of it tasted all right.”

  “You shouldn't have to taste everything to check if it's gone bad, Jack.”

  “That's how you know if it's gone bad.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “So what made Quill sick?”

  “Kelpie's got a weak stomach.”

  “He eats raw meat, Jack. That's rarer than what you like, and I've seen you at mess.”

  “Kelpies,” Jack grunted dismissively. “You sure you don't want me to hook one of those rays? They're just floating there. Asking for it.”

  “They're swimming, Jack.”

  “In what?” Jack shook his head. “Fine. I got work to do.”

  “Then get to it. Where's Gabbi?”

  “Where a woman should be, in the galley.”

  “You looking to be scraping the hull, Jack?”

  Jack shrugged. “If it needs scraping get your cabin girl to do it.”

  “Get off my deck, Jack.” Nel shook her head in disgust. She went searching for Gabbi next, doubting she could handle any more male company.

  Shards of ice flew as Violet chipped away at the hull's frozen covering. She stepped back and eyed the bucket at her side speculatively. That ought to be enough, she thought. The metal pail was about two-thirds full, anymore and she'd just be digging out the dirty ice, not the clean hoarfrost she wanted.

  Violet shivered, rubbing at her arms. It was cold in this part of the ship, deep in the hold. This close to the edge of the envelope ice would form, so it was where perishable stores were kept. And once every few days the captain would send Violet down to fetch ice.

  Violet hefted the pail, carrying it awkwardly with two hands and started the climb out of the hold. There was more than one level to climb and her shoulders had started to ache by the time she reached the main deck.

  She could hear voices before she reached the captain's cabin, mostly laughter. Mostly the captain.

  “Violet.” Sharpe was downcast as he faced her. “Your captain is killing me.”

  “Experience, my boy,” the captain chortled as Violet set the bucket of ice down near to him. “Years and years of experience. Thank you, Violet, that's just what we needed.”

  He started to fill his and Sharpe's glasses with handfuls of ice.

  “I didn't realise your ship ran cold, Captain,” Sharpe said as he accepted his glass.

  “Perks of the trade, my boy,” the captain beamed. “Can't make a proper brandy without ice.”

  “It's better than the coffee, I must say,” Sharpe agreed, setting his glass aside as he considered his cards.

  “Tried Jack's coffee, didn't you, Mister Sharpe?” Violet grinned.

  “Just Sharpe, princess, I told you. And yes, gods help me, I did. Nel didn't even warn me, evil woman that she is.”

  “Aye, she's got a mean streak to her, no doubt.” The captain nodded conspiratorially. “You don't want to get on her bad side, you'll never get off it. Holds grudges, that woman.”

  “I believe you.” Sharpe took another card, scrutinising the captain over his hand. The captain returned a dead pan stare, ignoring his own cards. Sharpe sighed and leaned over towards Violet.

  “Put me out of my misery, princess. What was in that coffee?”

  Violet fought back a smile. “Toast,” she admitted.

  Sharpe blinked. “Toast?” he repeated.

  “Burnt toast,” Violet confirmed, watching the distaste grow on Sharpe's face with amusement. Maybe the skipper isn't the only one with a mean streak.

  “A run,” the captain announced loudly, laying down his cards. “Queen high.”

  “Queen?” Sharpe exclaimed. He stared at the cards on the table before throwing his own away. “I give up, Captain. Your whole crew's against me. I can't compete.”

  “Ah, well, more's the pity,” the captain said, looking over his winnings.

  “Your captain's cleaned me out, princess,” Sharpe confided to Violet.

  “I can see.” Violet grinned, eyeing her captain's newly acquired collection of matchsticks and buttons. “Barely a stitch to your name, Mister Sharpe.”

  “Aye, he left me that dignity, barely,” Sharpe grumbled. “How did a sweet girl like you end up crewing for a crooked poker player like Captain Phelps?”

  Violet shrugged. “Not much of a story there.”

  “I recall it involved a tavern brawl,” the captain mused.

  “All the best stories do,” Sharpe said.

  “Nel had been drinking,” the captain said, his eyes becoming distant. “She didn't do that often but after Thyme got stabbed she started again.”

 
“Again?” Sharpe said, his eyes narrowing. “Who was Thyme?”

  “He was . . . before me,” Violet told him. She looked unhappily at the captain. Sometimes . . . he got confused. This was the first time Violet had seen it happen without the skipper or someone else around.

  “Captain,” she said, touching his shoulder.

  “I sent Quill to go find Nel, can't sail the ship without a skipper,” the captain rambled, like he hadn't heard. “And we found Violet on the way. Found her on the way and . . .”

  The captain looked at both of them, seeming to notice Violet's touch. “What was I saying? Something about a tavern brawl?”

  Sharpe reached out and carefully gathered the cards from the table.

  “Another hand, Captain?”

  The galley was in better shape than the last time Nel had visited. Pots and pans were still flying around but not as vigorously as when Quill had been their target. Gabbi stood in the middle of the galley, directing her utensils like a pudgy choirmaster. There was a queued up procession for the stove, brimming pots cycling over it as they were required. Gabbi's control wasn't quite fine enough to manage tasks like cutting and dicing ingredients but she could haul the heavier items in the kitchen around, cutting down on the number of assistants she needed. Mostly she just made do with Jack. He'd learnt to duck after the first day on the job. They dented less pots that way.

  “Jack was looking to bring you a side of manta ray,” Nel announced her presence dryly. “Freshly caught.”

  “Ray?” Gabbi's head came up, shaking. “I saw them before, pretty things, if you don't annoy them. Shooting them full of harpoons annoys them. Besides, those things are tough and dry. Taste terrible.”

  “You should try them battered and fried in oil,” Nel suggested, though she was pleased Gabbi agreed with her.

  “I'm trying to teach Jack more than butchery,” Gabbi said. “But that boy is pure hunter-gatherer. If you can't skin it and fillet it, he doesn't want it.”

  “At least he's easily amused. Unlike some.”

  Gabbi cast Nel a cock-eyed glance. “Watch this,” she said, taking a cracked walnut shell out of a box on the table. She tossed it into the air, catching it with her power and floating it out the door. Nel watched as Gabbi guided the nut case down the deck towards the back of the ship, towards the bridge. Quill stood there, feet splayed, and tail swaying. He seemed to be on edge.

  With a flick of her wrist Gabbi sent the shell skittering across the deck right behind Quill, sliding off the back of the ship and out into space. Quill turned like someone had prodded him with a lightning rod, trying to spot where the sound came from. Nel could hear his snarl of frustration all the way from the galley.

  “Been doing that long?” she asked her.

  “Day or two,” Gabbi admitted. “He's been jumpy lately. Still thinks I tried to poison him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Skipper,” Gabbi protested.

  “Ok, ok.”

  “He'd be dead if I had, anyways.”

  Nel raised an eyebrow.

  Gabbi shrugged. “Just saying.”

  “Ease off on him, Gabbi. The ship's in rough shape enough, don't need Quill twisting us apart because you scared the scales off him.”

  Gabbi snickered at the idea.

  “Gabbi,” Nel warned.

  “Aye, Skipper, I hear you. No more tricks.”

  Chapter 3

  It was bells that woke her from a comfortable but dreamy sleep this time. Jack had tried to spear one of the giant rays and it had taken him for a ride, doing loops around the Tantamount while Jack clung to the harpoon. Gabbi threw giant walnuts to try and knock him free while the crew cheered and for some reason Sharpe stood on the bridge waving a flag to conduct the aerial display. And then, as so often happened in her dreams, clouds of ash and dust erupted to cover the scene, cloaking the Tantamount and all aboard her in choking billows. Nel woke to the sound of her crew shouting landfall amidst the pealing bells.

  “Landfall,” she muttered, rolling out of her hammock and reaching for her boots. It was a gross exaggeration. She stood, trying to ignore the sheen of sweat that often accompanied her bad dreams. And the best way to do so was to join her crew on the deck, as Cauldron grew larger on the forward plane.

  Cauldron was so named because it was settled in the bowl-shaped crater of a giant asteroid, one that could have made a case for being a small planetoid, but not a planet itself. The active, volcanic vents and flaming geysers were fuelled by underground gas chambers that provided heat and light to an otherwise desolate rock.

  Old Smoky was what some of the locals called the biggest vent, a miniature volcano that rose in the centre of the crater. Much of the industry on Cauldron was powered by steam, rather than ether like it would have been on a more developed world. Huge machines could be found around most of the vents, mills and wheels powered by the constant gush, with clusters of buildings around the contraptions, the only places on the rock it was warm enough to live. Cauldron was cold and generally miserable but survived because it happened to be roughly in the middle of two intersecting trade routes. Accessible but still off the high traffic lanes, a place where less than legitimate exchanges could happen and where not too many questions would be asked.

  Having begun as a bare and airless rock, breathing came at a premium on Cauldron. Piers extended out from the rim of the crater to which ships could dock, or alternatively they could tie up to the floating moorings left adrift in space above Cauldron and lower bubbles down to the township. Either way would be met with eager toll collectors.

  “Used to be they shipped air in the hard way,” Nel explained to Violet, leaning over the railing as Quill brought the ship to one of the piers. She would have preferred a mooring for the lesser expense and detachment it offered but repairs necessitated a proper berth. They needed scaffolding and skilled labour. They were going to have to bring materials onto the ship and there was no way they could do that with just bubbles and the ship's cranes. Not if they wanted to make their delivery within the next month. And they still had to get that damned mast out of the hull—it was already drawing attention. She could see people on the docks staring and pointing.

  “How'd they do that?” Violet looked over the township with fascination. The girl always got fidgety whenever they made landfall. Nel put it down to youth; Violet had the attention span of any other teenager. She'd be over Cauldron soon enough once she got an idea of the place. Nel just had to keep her out of trouble 'til then.

  “Brought it in by ship,” Nel explained. “All bottled up. Or sometimes they'd just siphon it straight out of the bigger ships once they'd put an envelope around this dust ball.”

  “How'd they do that, Skipper? Put an envelope around a big rock like this.”

  “Same way we do it on the ship, fill the hull full of ballast.”

  “You mean ether,” Violet said, trying to appear knowledgeable.

  “Right,” Nel grinned, ruffling the girl's hair. “That thing that throws up a field around the ship. The more ballast, the bigger the field and envelope, and the more gravity there is. You can do the same for stations like this, just takes a lot more ballast.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “It was. It is. So they keep telling us. There's enough stunted shrubbery in this crater now to keep pumping out the air but the tolls are still here.”

  “What are those?” Violet asked, pointing at a group of lumbering figures across the docks.

  Nel squinted. “Golems. Steam powered.”

  The golems were roughly man-shaped, boxy constructs made of wood and metal, gushing steam from various orifices. They had the same crudely painted symbol she could see all over Cauldron, a spider's web. She knew it for the sign of the group who controlled Cauldron. The Spider's Web, mercenaries, the strong arm employed by whichever shady trading company had set up the first trading posts on Cauldron, back before it had been called that.

  Nel knew the Web for a big group, as far as
mercenaries went, that used to have something of a reputation. Over time the mercs had taken over more and more of the day-to-day operations of running Cauldron until eventually they'd just cut out the middlemen altogether. They administered the tolls to anyone who stepped foot on the surface proper and made sure they got a piece of whatever else went on in their territory. The fees were high but not enough to drive people away. It was part of the price of doing business on Cauldron.

  The golems Nel could see were mules; made to handle heavy lifting and transport at the docks—for a price of course. They'd probably started off as siege engines, war machines, and run on things other than steam. But mercenaries, being the most practical of people, could never justify anything that didn't bring in coin. Steam was cheaper than everything else on Cauldron and the golems were free labour sitting idle. So they'd been put to work.

  Smart, Nel conceded. Their presence everywhere reminded everyone who ran Cauldron.

  “How do they work, those golem things?” Violet twisted round to ask.

  “I don't know,” Nel said. The girl had endless questions, answer one and half a dozen more were blurted out. “Go ask Piper if you're so curious, maybe he'll tell you.”

  On cue the lesson was interrupted by Piper's arrival. Bandit crouched on his shoulders, black clawed hands gripping the sides of Piper's bald head for balance. The loompa's own head turned excitedly left to right and then back again as it steered Piper towards Nel and Violet.

  “Skipper.” Piper nodded, causing Bandit to squawk in alarm and almost lose his balance.

  “Piper,” Nel said, “either kick that disgusting creature over the railings or tie it up somewhere out of sight. But for goodness sake don't cart it around like it's the one in charge.”

  “I'll take him,” Violet declared, extending one arm to the loompa. Bandit chirped and transferred himself to the girl, scampering along her arm and taking a perch on her shoulder. He peered around with interest from his new vantage.

  “Don't fall.” Piper appeared concerned for his pet. Bandit turned his head to regard him, then went back to Violet. He seemed crestfallen that his new transport was so much shorter, until he discovered the handholds Violet's tangled hair provided.