Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “All right,” Gabbi said. “If you see Jack send him my way and tell him I said fresh. He's meant to be making stew and I still can't work out where he's put some of our stores. All the stuff in the hold seems to have moved.”

  “Fine,” Nel agreed. She climbed the stairs to the bridge, where Quill was on watch. He'd been pulling longer shifts lately, still trying to make up for someone else having launched the ship from Cauldron. It meant shorter shifts for the other watch-standers, so for once Quill was finding favour with his shipmates.

  “Here are your charts.” Nel held them out. Quill took them stiffly, with a quick glance for any damage they might have incurred. They were swiftly stowed in a cylinder that went into a satchel draped over his shoulder.

  “You're welcome,” Nel muttered. “Seen Jack?”

  “Below,” Quill said.

  Likely he was getting Gabbi's stores then. Still, Nel had rounds to make and that included below decks.

  “You look perturbed,” Quill commented

  Nel snorted. If Quill was getting concerned about her, she must really look a sight.

  “It's nothing,” she said. “How long 'til we reach Grange?”

  “Two days, possibly three to the planet itself,” Quill said. “I won't know its orbit for another day yet.”

  “Good enough. Carry on.”

  “Skipper.” Quill inclined his head.

  Nel made her way below decks, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the reduced light. She moved slowly at first, thinking the layout had changed since her last rounds. It shouldn't have changed throughout their entire trip but sometimes cargo shifted. The only obvious difference was where their foodstuffs were stored, the pile gradually diminishing as the bells tolled. Still, some things seemed different this round.

  She passed Onyx, the golem nestled amongst their cargo from Cauldron. The golem was directly under the lattice, crisscrossing, dappled lights patterning its upper body, the lower remaining shadowed. The golem, as far as Nel could tell, hadn't moved at all since it had been hoisted onto the ship. Whether it was waiting for the journey to be over, some command from Scarlett or something else entirely, the construct appeared entirely lifeless and inanimate now.

  “You must have stories,” Nel said quietly, standing in front of the golem, studying it. The light danced across its polished hide as her crew went about their duties above deck. “The tales you could tell me . . .”

  She started at a sound, half drawing her wand as she turned. She heard cursing, recognised Jack's voice. Nel glanced at Onyx, half expecting the golem to have become alive, as if her misapprehension could cause it to spring into action. But it hadn't. If the golem had triggers, her safety and concern didn't seem to be amongst them.

  “Jack!” she called out angrily.

  “Yeah?” the big man replied. “That you, Skipper?”

  “What in the hells are you doing?”

  “Banged my knee,” Jack complained. “It hurts.”

  “Take a light, that's what they're there for,” Nel said. “Gabbi was looking for you. Supplies for tonight's stew. She can't find them.”

  “’Cause I ain't got them yet,” Jack grumbled. “Where's Bandit?”

  “Bandit?” Nel shook her head. Everybody's looking for someone today.

  “Yeah, he was just here. Where'd he get to?”

  “Jack, why are you looking for Bandit?”

  “I wasn't,” Jack grunted. “Was looking for meat to put in the stew.”

  Nel snorted. “Don't let Piper hear you say that. Or Quill. You'll give him ideas.”

  “What ideas?” Jack glowered at her.

  Nel shook her head in resignation. There was no talking to Jack. “Never mind, Jack. Grab those supplies and get topside. Gabbi's waiting on you.”

  “I know she is,” Jack growled.

  “And she said to tell you only fresh stores. No poisoning the crew.”

  “I know,” Jack grumbled. “That's what I'm doing.”

  Nel shook her head as Jack fumbled his way towards the stairs, leaving to make the rest of her rounds.

  Violet had found a seat at the forecastle, legs dangling over the edge as they passed a nebula. Passing was a relative term, Violet conceded, as the nebula was an unfathomable distance away. In fact it was only a break in the miasma surrounding the ship that let her see it now. Looking out at all the mist made her glad she didn't have Quill's job of navigating through it.

  “Move over,” the skipper told her, shuffling Violet aside when she didn't move fast enough to suit her mood.

  “Pretty,” Violet commented.

  “Such an understatement.” The skipper shook her head. “Infinity above, eternity below, us just stellar dust on a solar wind. I've heard it said that nebulas are the artwork of gods on the canvas of the void. You're looking at something vaster than I can even comprehend, something divine. And you call it pretty.”

  Skipper's stealing Piper's best lines. Lucky he ain't here to hear.

  “Very pretty, then.”

  The skipper chuckled. The woman's mood made Violet think she might get away with a question.

  “What do you think of Scarlett?” Violet asked.

  Something in the way she said it made the skipper sit up and take notice.

  Not good thoughts then.

  “What do you think of her?” the skipper asked instead.

  “Sharpe watches her.” Violet shifted, holding onto the rails tighter. Sharpe watches everyone. “I don't think he trusts her.”

  The skipper hesitated—maybe it was the reference to Sharpe. She has never liked him, not since he came on board. Didn't stop her on Cauldron though, just like Piper was saying.

  “You know Scarlett is Guild?” the skipper said suddenly.

  “Guild?” Violet repeated. The name was familiar, with some dark connotations.

  “Sharpe didn't mention that part then,” the skipper said.

  “No,” Violet said. “What do you mean Scarlett is Guild? What's the Guild?”

  “The Guild is . . .” The skipper hesitated, seeming to struggle for an explanation. Violet expected her to dismiss it as another too complicated subject but she pushed ahead. “The Guild is a contractor. A specialised one.”

  Violet frowned, confused. “Like us?”

  The skipper grimaced and shook her head. “Imagine you have a job that needs doing, you want something retrieved from the other side of nowhere. You want something made but have no idea how to make it, what you need, or how it's done. Imagine you have a problem and the person to solve it just doesn't exist. That's what the Guild is.”

  Violet nodded slowly. It made sense. A very vague sort of sense.

  “The Guild is who you go to when something needs doing,” the skipper said. “The harder the job, the more complicated the problem, the more likely it is to end up at the Guild's doorstep. They don't come cheap, but they get things done.”

  “So Scarlett is part of this Guild?” Violet craned her neck, looking around the deck.

  “Yes.”

  “So what sort of problem is she solving on our ship?”

  The skipper chewed on her lower lip. “Everyone uses the Guild,” she said. “Alliance, free traders, local governments, everyone. They'll work for pirates, for mercenaries, for the town barber if he has the right job and the right coin.”

  “So she could be working for anyone?” Violet asked.

  “She could be,” the skipper said. “That doesn't mean she is. The Guild will work with anyone, but not always. They have their own rules, the gods only know what those are. Anyone can hire them, but they still have to agree to work with you.”

  “Skipper,” Violet said, “what do you think Scarlett is doing on our ship?”

  “If we're lucky,” the skipper said, “she's just here to make sure the cargo gets through.”

  “And if we're not?”

  “I want you to keep an eye on her for me,” the skipper said, avoiding the question. “Nothing overbearing, Vi, I don't w
ant you hiding under her bed. Just keep an eye on her.”

  Violet lowered her voice. “Like Sharpe does.” And like Sharpe was saying I should. He and the skipper got more in common than they'd both like.

  “Right.” The skipper nodded, not happily though. “Like Sharpe. If you see her do anything that seems wrong you come tell me.”

  “What if there's no time?” Violet asked. “What if she wakes up that golem and it tries to kick a hole in the ship?”

  “Then it'll fall out and you come tell me about it,” the skipper said. “Promise me?”

  “I promise, Skipper,” Violet said earnestly. “You can count on me.”

  “I know, Vi.” The skipper ruffled the girl's hair. “I know. Now,” she said, “about that tail of yours.”

  Violet craned her neck. “Which one?” she asked with a sigh.

  The skipper pointed. “The second one.”

  “What about it?” Violet dropped her head, concentrating, 'til her tails untangled. They tended to twine if she wasn't conscious about it.

  “Two tails is one too many. I don't like greedy crew members on my ship, Violet.”

  “Skipper?” Violet didn't see where this was going.

  The skipper pulled a knife from a sheath attached to her boot. “I think we should get rid of one. I'll let you choose which.”

  “Skipper!” Violet yelped, jumping to her feet, flinching when the steel caught the light, putting her back against the railing. The skipper pointed the tip of her knife towards Violet, her eyes flicking between Violet and her tails. Her sides shook and eventually a smile cracked her face.

  “You're hateful, Skipper,” Violet said, sliding down the railing.

  “Violet, really?” The skipper shook her head. “You really thought I would?” She slid the knife back into its sheath.

  “Jack would’ve,” Violet muttered. “He's always going on about how Kitsune tails are good luck.”

  “Well, Jack does need all the good luck he can get,” the skipper agreed. “And he could do with a new belt.”

  “He can get his own sodding tail,” Violet said grumpily.

  “Does that mean you won't be getting any more then?”

  “I hope so.” Violet sat down again. “But not for a while at least.”

  “So it's supposed to happen?”

  Violet gave the skipper an exasperated look. The skipper had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “How many tails are we talking about here?” the skipper asked.

  “Nine, eventually, maybe,” Violet said. Though that ought to be a long, long time away.

  “So you grow more tails as you get older?”

  “No.” Violet screwed up her face. “As we grow up.”

  The skipper frowned, not following. “Isn't that what I said?”

  “Not quite, Skipper,” Violet said, amused to be on the other end of the explanation for once. “Everybody gets older, not everybody grows up.”

  The skipper chuckled. “You've been spending too much time with Piper, Vi.”

  “He reminds me of folks back home,” Violet said. “Always got some story about everything.”

  “Piper does like to talk,” the skipper agreed. “If he doesn't have a story he probably makes one up. Don't hear you talk much about home though.”

  Violet looked out over the railings into the mist, resting her head on her hands. “Home's out there somewhere, Skipper. One day I'll go back.”

  “One day?”

  Violet smiled. “One day, when I'm all grown up.” She turned to look at the skipper and was surprised by what she saw. Misery.

  “Skipper?” she said quietly.

  The skipper shook herself, a forced smile on her face. “It's nothing, Vi,” she said quickly. “Just be glad you've got a home to go back to someday.”

  The skipper got to her feet. “You've got galley duty tonight. Go help Gabbi out after the next bell.”

  “Aye, Skipper.” Violet agreed, half raising a hand in salute. The skipper was already gone though, leaving Violet on the forecastle. She cast a last look out over the stars, some with planets.

  Wonder which one is the Skipper's? And why she can't go back.

  Chapter 7

  “Now that,” Gabbi marvelled, “is a big ship.”

  And indeed it was, a massive all big gun Alliance vessel, a dreadnought, with two smaller frigates in attendance. The frigates alone out massed the Tantamount; the dreadnought, a hulking behemoth blocking out more stars than the miasma, was so much overkill it seemed almost ludicrous it had been pulled in for blockade duty.

  “Skipper?” Gabbi said. The three of them, Nel, Gabbi and Horatio stood on the bridge—it was Nel's watch and the captain had come to join her for the end of it. Nel had sent Violet off to fetch Quill, as it was likely they would need to heave to soon. One of the frigates had already altered course to intercept them.

  “Big,” Horatio muttered. “Stupidly big, isn't it? I mean look at it, a floating shed, ridiculous. It couldn't wallow its way out of a nebula, let alone chase down a blockade runner. What is something like that even doing here? Really.”

  “Presence,” Nel said, squinting at the incoming frigate. “Something big and scary to make the locals think twice.”

  “And the tourists,” Gabbi commented. “If they tell us to turn around, are we really going to argue the point?”

  “That's the idea,” Nel admitted. “Does anyone have a spyglass?”

  “What for?” Horatio grumbled. “I can see all I want to of that lugger. Oversized tub. What do you think the captain is compensating for? I'll bet he's a small man. Tiny. A midget. Has to be.”

  “I'm more interested in the frigate about to cut across our bow,” Nel said. She plucked Horatio's spyglass out of his belt. “Thanks.”

  Horatio didn't appear to notice.

  Nel fixed the glass on the incoming ship. It took her a few tries to find what she was looking for; inky black space and whirling miasma made for poor reference points.

  “That's not good,” she muttered once she could make out the name of the ship.

  “What isn't good?” Quill asked, having come up the stairs to join the bridge crew. Violet was trailing after him, practically stepping on his heels. He was none too pleased about it.

  “Alliance,” Quill noted the blockade, annoyed, unimpressed. “Typical.”

  “Hardly unexpected,” Gabbi reminded him, for which she received a near miss lashing from Quill's tail. “What's the issue, Skipper?”

  “Read the name of that frigate, the closest one,” Nel said.

  “I can't make it out from here,” Gabbi said.

  “Violet.” Nel handed the girl the spyglass. Violet skipped to the edge of the bridge, bringing the telescope up to her eye.

  “Loneliness, the Killing Loneliness, Skipper,” she called out.

  Gabbi shrugged. “That's an unpleasant name. But hardly cause for alarm.”

  “Loneliness is not such a bad thing,” Quill said. “At least it would be quiet for once.”

  “Go stuff your mouth, skink breath.” Gabbi raised her voice as she spoke.

  Quill hissed angrily.

  “The issue isn't the name, but the type of name,” Horatio said unexpectedly. The crew turned to look at their captain. Except for Nel—she already knew what he was going to say.

  “The Alliance follows a specific pattern for naming their ships,” Horatio explained. “See the floating beast out there? Even from here you can see the name, Mangonel Falling.”

  Mangonel Falling, in garish, gilded Alliance calligraphy ran along the length of the ship.

  “Sharpe's ship was the Falchions Rise,” Violet chipped in.

  “Exactly, Violet,” Horatio told her. “Alliance ships are named after weapons, bigger weapons for bigger ships. The names have two parts, the weapon and another word, usually a descriptive one.”

  “What of it?” Quill said. “I couldn’t care less what the Alliance scrawls on the side of its boats.”

>   “Pay attention, you cold-blooded crow bait,” Gabbi told him spitefully. “You must have spent too much time down in the chiller.”

  “Insolent meat puppet,” Quill muttered, seeming more interested in exchanging insults than following the thread of the captain's words.

  “The other frigate is the Distant Morningstar,” Violet called out, peering through the spyglass.

  “Even the youngest meat puppet on this ship catches on quicker than you,” Gabbi taunted Quill.

  “That's quite enough,” Horatio said, forestalling another round of bickering. “The point is that the frigate that just signalled us isn't an Alliance vessel.”

  “But they're part of the blockade,” Gabbi objected. “How does that work?”

  “Likely they're a privateer,” the captain said. “Contracted to fill a gap. Either the Alliance can't spare adequate resources for a full blockade or is still waiting on reinforcements. It's not unusual for them to use auxiliary resources in a situation like this.”

  “Mercenary scum,” Quill spat, earning a disapproving look from his captain.

  “Are we going to let them board us?” Gabbi asked, looking nervously at the approaching ship.

  “Of course we are,” Horatio exclaimed. “With that monstrosity out there? It's as much to keep the hired help in line as it is to scare away everyone else. If you can only commit a few ships to a situation like this you might as well make one of them a big one. None of which changes what an eyesore it is.”

  “They're here,” Nel announced, watching the Killing Loneliness pull up alongside the Tantamount.

  The navigators on the other ship—Nel could make out two on the bridge, both obscured by the blue lightning circling them—crabbed the frigate in sideways, very slowly. The air distorted visibly where the envelopes meshed, a difference in pressure, not a massive one given the difference in size between the two ships, but enough that the navigators were content to let the excess bleed through. If the procedure had been done quicker or more forcibly, such as in a combat boarding, the ship with the lesser pressure would take the full onslaught of the differential.