Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  Violet couldn't make out more than an outline—big, bulky, again reminding her of Jack.

  “Pretty though,” the voice from the shadows said. She felt a hand along her tail. “Gonna be such a waste.”

  Violet curled up into a ball instinctively. She knew who the man was now, could almost make out his features around the smudges in her vision. She heard him laughing and the hand started to rise higher up her tail. Violet thought of the skipper then, thought of what she'd do. Violet could barely lift her arms and legs, encumbered as they were, but she could still move her head. So that was what she threw forward as hard as she could.

  Violet almost blacked out again from the impact, felt a thickening swimming sensation but her actions had resulted in a string of curses from the man. He wasn't touching her tail anymore but a second later he put a hardened boot into her stomach. Violet screamed and curled up again.

  She might have been hit again, it was hard to tell. Her darkened world was in danger of slipping out of her grasp. She heard someone moving away from her and caught snatches of conversation.

  “What are you looking at?”

  There was a reply, words she couldn't make out.

  “. . . care. Put her in with the others.”

  As the door slammed shut Violet could make out the outlines of other people, just out of sight. One was familiar to her—she'd seen that silhouette plenty of times before. A Kelpie like Quill. That thought made her unbelievably homesick.

  She curled up into a tighter ball, wrapping her arms around her knees and hugging them to her chest. Wrapping her tail over her arms. Something about that gave her pause. She reached down a hand, hesitantly, to her tail. What she found made her eyes widen in the dark.

  When had that happened?

  The Tantamount resembled a monster's playground. Shaky scaffolding framed her skin, a slapstick arrangement of poles and boards that hung together like a house of cards, the only thing holding it upright was its interlocking self. What was more incredible to Nel was the steady stream of troll labour that clung to the scaffolding like spider-monkeys, hammering boards and caulking fittings into the hull. Piper stood on the dock where he could oversee the whole operation and bellow orders to his work crew. His instructions were incomprehensibly repeated by the ever present Bandit, who found himself at home in the tangled scaffolding. The trolls ignored the loompa in the same way as they ignored Piper. Completely. They had their own way of doing things and weren't about to let a monkey or a human tell them differently. They caulked seams and fitted joinery, worked wood with an almost reverent, percussive therapy. Most importantly they had finally removed the mast from the ship's flank.

  And Nel had to admit, they did good work. The trolls had references from Troshka, a trollish word, or whatever their language was called, which translated to something like “road of bridges.” The group spanned multiple worlds and primarily dealt in bridge building, as their name suggested, but they had branched out into other engineering projects. Boat repair was evidently a lucrative sideline.

  Horatio wasn't convinced. He ran this way and that, from the stern to the bow of his beloved ship, stressing every time a troll's hammer struck the hull and pulling at his stringy hair. He was liable to go bald at this rate.

  “Cargo's coming,” Nel said in an effort to distract him. She pointed at the line of golems marching toward the dock, each steaming construct pulling a travois loaded with crates from Ebon's warehouse. The Vodyanoy sauntered along beside the lead golem, short legs moving briskly to keep up.

  “Your repairs seem to be coming along well now,” Ebon called once he was within speaking distance. Nel and Horatio met him at the foot of the gangway, the latter almost hopping at the sight of the golems.

  “Not on my ship!” he declared. “Not on my ship, not at all, I won't have them. Huge, ugly, loud, noisy, heavy . . .” The list went on, Ebon's brows rising incrementally with each adjective. By the time the captain finished his whiskers were wriggling as well.

  “If golems had feelings,” Ebon said when the moment arose to interject, “you would have hurt them.”

  “If golems had feelings they could feel me boot them off my ship.”

  “They're not on your ship,” Nel reminded him. “Captain.”

  “And they're not getting on it!”

  Nel considered the golems. Horatio had a point—each golem probably weighed close to a ton and their stance was wider than the gangway itself. The constructs would have to crab sideways just to get aboard. And that was without taking the cargo into consideration. Some of the crates were big enough to weigh in at several hundred pounds themselves.

  “He's right,” she said. “No golems on the Tantamount. That's a rule.”

  “A new one?” Ebon asked sceptically.

  “Old one,” Horatio snapped. “Very old one. Sacred. Sacrosanct, in fact. No golems on the ship. Bad luck.”

  “They'd never make it up the plank,” Nel pointed out. “Just have them pile the crates over there and we'll use the cranes to get it aboard.”

  “Some of these are fragile,” Ebon said. “Delicate, require careful handling. Is your crane operator competent, or should I put one of my people on it?”

  “You're getting one piece of shifting ballast aboard my ship, Ebon, that's it,” Horatio said. “One passenger. No golems, no crane operators, no one else! No one!”

  Nel chuckled. It was nice when she and the captain agreed on things.

  Ebon shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “But I'll be watching. Any damage to my property and you'll be up for it.”

  “You're the one who used steam-powered golems to haul his fragile, cold storage cargo to a construction site,” Nel reminded him.

  Ebon did not look impressed with her logic.

  “Where's your bill of lading?” Nel asked.

  “Oh, that won't be necessary,” Ebon said.

  “Won't be necessary,” Nel repeated him, deadpan. “It won't be necessary for us to sign off exactly what cargo we received and in what condition we received it in.”

  “No,” Ebon said, “it won't. My associate has the bill, she can inspect the cargo and accept responsibility for the condition it arrives in.”

  And if Ebon didn't have her and the captain over a barrel Nel never would have agreed to something like that. The deal was getting worse already.

  “Let's just get this over with.” Nel waved up to the deck of the Tantamount. No surprise, there were idle crew members hanging around gawking at the golems.

  “Someone get Quill out here, let's get some use out of him!”

  Word had spread about the situation and the obligation the ship was under. There had been amusement first at the fake papers, weariness over the captain indebting them yet again, this being the third time in as many years, and then finally resentment at the idea of being saddled with an unwanted passenger. There were odds, a book being compiled, a sweepstake on who would be the one to do the excess baggage in. Rumour had it Korrigan Jack was already sharpening a knife and Quill's name would be top of the polls as well. Nel had considered whether to put a stop to it or not, and she'd decided to wait until she met the woman. If she turned out to be trouble, or a threat to ship or crew, Nel would be the first in line to pitch her overboard.

  That was in the books too. Good odds.

  “Quill's missing.”

  That was Cyrus. Probably had his money on Quill.

  “Quill,” Nel muttered darkly. “Always bloody Quill. Where the hells is he?”

  Nobody volunteered an answer, which meant they didn't know. Or didn't want to say in front of Ebon.

  “Did you know about that?” she whispered under her breath to Horatio.

  “I haven't been here. Didn't you leave Quill in charge when you came ashore?”

  “Last time I do that.”

  “Is there a problem?” Ebon called. He'd taken a seat atop one of his crates, despite his warnings about their fragility. The golems had already built up a substantial pile. The sh
ip was going to be heavy going out.

  “No,” she said. “No problem.”

  She waved for the cranes to start loading. Crew came down to handle the dockside work, helping load the crates into the harnesses. A quick jog took Nel up the gangway. It wobbled even under her weight—it would never have survived even a single golem.

  “Where's Quill?” She grabbed Cyrus's arm. “Where the hells has he got to this time?”

  “I don't know.” He shook his head. “Sharpe is gone too, Skipper. Someone said Quill may have gone after him.”

  Sharpe. If there was one person who irked her more than Quill, it was him. And in the time since she'd last seen him she'd managed to put him completely out of her mind. Out of sight, out of mind, only now he was full front and centre on her thoughts. She'd assumed he would have finally got the hint and jumped ship. Now that it seemed he finally had, her navigator had chosen to go after him?

  “Hells,” she swore. Sharpe she could do without—he wasn't crew—but not Quill. The ship wasn't going anywhere without its navigator. Most ships the Tantamount's size carried two or three navigators, Quill was the only thaumatic they had capable of navigating. Right now Nel was cursing that fact.

  “Skipper,” Cyrus said hesitantly.

  “What?”

  Cyrus winced. “We've got another problem. That cargo, it's not all going to fit.”

  Nel grimaced. She'd already worked that out for herself. They were already carrying a near to full load with their current payload. Even running empty it would have been a tight squeeze.

  It was a problem.

  “That's not a problem,” Ebon said when she told him.

  “How so?” Nel replied suspiciously.

  “You can leave your cargo here, under my auspices,” he grinned. “It will give you another reason to live up to your side of our bargain.”

  Horatio fumed over that. But they didn't have a lot of options. Not with a half dozen golems squatting alongside their ship and no navigator to speak of.

  “Where's this associate of yours?” Nel put it to Ebon. “I want to know who I'm working with.”

  “Patience, my dear,” Ebon said. “She’ll be here. It'll give you time for the rest of your crew to turn up.”

  Nel glared at him.

  “Your crew talk,” Ebon said calmly. “Hard not to overhear.”

  “I'll bet.”

  “It's ironic really. It just so happens my friend could help us both out,” Ebon said.

  “They a navigator?” Nel folded her arms at the apparent convenience.

  “Something like that.” Ebon shrugged. “Could manage a ship your size easily enough.”

  “You're right,” Nel said. “That's ironic. And convenient.”

  The deal got worse and worse. She didn't like the idea of having anyone's paid man or woman aboard her ship, let alone them being the only capable navigator. That'd be giving Ebon far too much leverage over them. She had to stop herself thinking down that road though, it was only going to be a problem if Quill didn't show up. She wasn't ready to count him out yet.

  “Ah.” Ebon peered. “Here comes my friend now.”

  Another golem had appeared at the back of the assembly line that was still carting medical crates to the dock. This one was different from the steam belching wooden constructs that did manual labour on Cauldron. It was jet black stone, obsidian, volcanic glass polished to a mirror finish. The flaring torches set along the dock at regular intervals sent bouncing light off the finished surface. A geyser gushed up in the distance, a pillar of fire that reached twenty feet into the air, lighting up the golem with a cascade of reflections. This wasn't some cheap workhorse, this golem. This one was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, something someone very skilled had put a lot of work, likely years, into forging.

  Silently Nel braced herself for the coming storm. She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for Horatio to explode.

  “That?” Horatio pointed at the oncoming golem. “That's what you want to send with us? That thing? On my ship? No! Never! Never, ever, ever! I won't have it on my ship! I won't!”

  As the golem came closer Nel could see it was not as large as the other golems, not much taller than Piper, though much bulkier. The golem's arms were thicker than Nel's waist and it had no neck to speak of. And it wasn't alone. A woman walked along beside it, small but lithe, red tinted and gold framed glasses perched over a button nose. Straight black hair fell behind her shoulders, held back by an ochre band. The cut of her clothes was fine but with a hint of practicality—men's style, no dresses or skirts for this lass. She had a matched pair of wands riding low on her hips. They might look ornamental but would no doubt be fully functional.

  Shifting ballast, Nel had called their passenger. She was already shaking her head at the reference. And it seemed Ebon would be getting two people aboard the ship after all. She elbowed Horatio in the ribs. It wasn't necessary; his tirade had already been cut off.

  “Scarlett, so good of you to join us.” Ebon waved expansively to the woman. The woman, Scarlett, nodded cordially to Ebon, and pushed her glasses up a fraction of an inch as she looked the Tantamount over. She didn't look impressed.

  “Which one of you is the captain?” she addressed Nel and Horatio. Her voice had that haughtiness Nel had always associated with the moderately educated, or people who automatically assumed themselves smarter than those they were addressing. She didn't hold out high hopes for liking her newest passenger.

  “A curious point,” Ebon murmured.

  “I am.” Horatio thrust himself forward, taking Scarlett's hand in both of his before she could pull it out of reach. She managed a strained smile as Horatio made the handshake last longer than was necessary.

  “Horatio Phelps, my dear lady, Captain Phelps, that is, captain of the Tantamount, at your service.”

  Nel shook her head, caught the attention of Piper who had come down to inspect the new arrivals, and grinned. Horatio fancied himself a ladies’ man and he could be charming enough, to be sure, but she figured him out of his depth with this one.

  “Captain Phelps,” Scarlett started to say.

  “Horatio, my dear, no need to be so formal if we're going to be travelling together. No need at all.” He appeared anxious for a moment. “Uh, Ebon, she is the one you're sending with us, yes?”

  “Yes,” Ebon confirmed, to Horatio's relief. “Unfortunately, Scarlett, we seem to have a problem.”

  “What problem?” Scarlet asked, her tone suggesting whatever the problem was it was clearly beneath her notice.

  “Well, several problems actually. First, it seems our good captain's navigator has been mislaid somewhere.”

  “That's not a problem,” Scarlett said dismissively, plagiarising Ebon's earlier statement.

  “No,” Nel said firmly, already feeling annoyed at this woman. “It's not. Our navigator will be here by the time we're ready to leave.”

  Or, she thought, I'll skin the scaly runabout myself.

  “The other thing, Scarlett,” Ebon said rather heavily, “is that our good Captain Horatio Phelps here was just telling me about a most inconvenient situation they have aboard the Tantamount.”

  “What situation?” Scarlett asked.

  “They have a strict ‘no golems’ policy. I'm afraid Onyx here,” Ebon reached out and rapped his knuckles on the obsidian golem's shiny surface, “won't be able to go.”

  “That is a problem,” Scarlett said quietly. She turned to Horatio, the poor man wilting under her attention. “Tell me, Captain, is this a deeply entrenched tradition aboard your ship? This discrimination you enforce against my friend here?”

  “Friend?” Nel muttered under her breath. No one seemed to hear her.

  “Deeply, deeply entrenched,” Piper said in his deep voice, to Horatio's consternation. “It is a very old rule, a sacrosanct rule.”

  “Piper,” Horatio squeaked.

  “Such things are to be respected,” Piper went on to say. “Besides,” he added
, “golems are bad luck.”

  Bandit had come down as well. He hovered around the feet of the golem, inspecting it. One of the golem's feet lifted up slowly, covering Bandit under its shadow.

  “Bandit!” Piper called. The loompa's head came up but he seemed unaware of the massive weight descending on him slowly. Piper moved with considerable quickness for a big man and scooped Bandit out of harm's way. Nel wasn't fooled—she'd seen the golem, Onyx, moving much quicker when it was coming down the docks. Someone, either Scarlett or Onyx itself, was making a point.

  Which brought up one in itself; was Scarlett directly responsible for controlling the golem, or did it have something resembling a personality of its own?

  “Bad luck,” Piper reasserted. “Bandit could have been crushed underfoot.”

  “This is too bad,” Scarlett said. “Ebon, we'll have to rethink our arrangement. I don't go without Onyx.”

  “Well, that's not a problem at all,” Horatio blurted out. “Not at all, simple really. That rule, silly old thing, never really even on the books. Old wives’ tale, nothing to it. Rescinded in fact, just this morning. Yesterday, maybe even the day before. So there's no problem, no need to think . . . I mean rethink anything. Onyx is quite welcome, won't be discriminated against at all. Except maybe by Quill. But he's not here, so that's not a problem either.”

  “But you said . . . ,” Piper started to say.

  “I know what I said!” Horatio interrupted shrilly.

  “You said ‘no golems on the ship,’ Captain,” Piper continued.

  “Exactly!” Horatio exclaimed. “No golems, plural. Plural Piper, plural, as in more than one. No more than one golem on the ship at a time. And there's only one of Onyx isn't there? Singular, an individual, one of a kind, like his lovely friend here, Miss Scarlett.”

  “Scarlett. Just Scarlett,” the woman said.

  “Of course, my dear, of course,” Horatio gushed. “Anything your heart desires is my command. Uh, you are singular, of course?”

  “I don't have a twin sister, if that's what you're asking,” Scarlett said warily.