Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Not for long,” Sharpe said. “This is just . . . passing through.”

  “Passing . . . yeah, of course,” the man said, “why would you want to stick around this place?”

  “How long have you been here?” Sharpe said. “I thought you were all on Grange still.”

  Violet missed what was said next. Something brushed her arm, causing her to turn. Grey flesh, hanging ragged and dry, met her eyes. She looked up into that face and screamed, falling back.

  She heard the skipper swear before her scream had finished echoing, felt someone's arm wrap around her, Sharpe's. He was between her and the creature now, hugging her close to him.

  “Don't!” he called, holding a hand out. But it was the skipper that open palm was thrust towards.

  “I wasn't going to. It's just a Draugr.”

  A Draugr, like the one's from Sharpe's ship. Supposedly harmless. It didn't look it. Violet felt a whimper escape her, something incoherent.

  “It's okay,” Sharpe soothed, stroking the top of her head. He turned to look at his friend, the one who'd originally stopped him. “This isn't a good time,” he said firmly. “You should take him back.”

  “Back?” the man frowned. “Not a good time?”

  “You scared the girl.” Sharpe sounded angry. “Take the . . . Draugr home.”

  “Yeah,” the man said slowly, “guess we'll be going. Come on, you.” He motioned to the Draugr to follow him, setting off without waiting to see if it did.

  The Draugr wasn't quick to do so. It looked down at Sharpe and Violet, like it wanted to say something. Could Draugr talk? No one had ever said, not that Violet could recall.

  Sharpe scowled up at it and jerked his head in an obvious command.

  The Draugr reached towards Violet and Sharpe, hesitating when Violet flinched, wanting to bury her head against Sharpe's chest. She saw something when the Draugr's sleeve pulled away, coloured skin, some sort of marking.

  “Leave,” Sharpe told it firmly.

  The Draugr stared at Violet for a long time. It could, she realised, have been someone she knew. It looked like a person, the same way the ships at Rim looked like Tantamount. And it almost looked hurt by the way she stared at it. Finally it withdrew the withered hand and shuffled off, following the same route Sharpe's friend had taken.

  “That was odd,” the skipper commented.

  “Just scared her, that's all,” Sharpe grunted, brushing himself off. “You can probably put that away now.” He pointed at the skipper's's wand, which she held drawn and loose in one hand. The skipper did so, but slowly.

  “He startled me,” Violet apologised, ashamed at how she'd overreacted. “He . . . I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be,” the skipper said. Then to Sharpe: “Who was your friend?”

  “Wasn't a friend, just someone I used to know.”

  “You knew the Draugr was his,” the skipper said.

  “Had to be someone's.”

  “Bit unusual for someone in a slum to have their own Draugr.”

  Sharpe sighed. “Draugr get cast-off too, Skipper, same as people. They get used up and broken and lost. They end up in places like this same as regular folk and someone has to tell them what to do. Usually turns out to be whoever's nearby.”

  “Did you notice the brand on his arm?” the skipper asked him.

  “What brand?”

  The skipper grimaced. “Never mind then. Violet, you all right?”

  Violet nodded through a shuddering breath. “Can we go back to the ship now?”

  Sharpe put a hand around her shoulders. “Come along then, little princess.”

  He held her as they walked, talking quietly to her the whole way back to the Tantamount.

  Violet was in a bleak mood on the return to the Tantamount. She withdrew into herself, refusing to be drawn in conversation. Sharpe kept close, talking softly to her, words just out of earshot. Her mood seemed to rub off on Sharpe eventually, or perhaps he was still mad at Nel. Maybe he really did care about the plight of the refugees.

  Nel's mind kept flashing back to the Draugr. She'd called the markings she'd glimpsed a brand, like some mark of ownership, and in a way it was. Unconsciously she rubbed at her right arm, tracing the designs and the memories inked on her skin. It didn't feel any different, raised and rougher in some places but for the most it just felt like normal skin. That was her though, her life, her past, her stories. The rope around her wrist and palm when she'd first signed up, the winged compass when she'd made her first solo navigation, others that wandered along her arm from shoulder to wrist. Some were common to sailors but most were only found on those who'd served in the Alliance navy. Nel's fingers brushed across a cannon, wrapped in barbed wire. She recalled that one vividly, when she'd hailed under Heathen's watch. A routine patrol, herself still green and naïve, reports of piracy, the chase, the roar of cannons, the confusion when they'd boarded the other ship. An Alliance symbol to remember one's first battle, ship-to-ship warfare.

  The Draugr had the same marking.

  The crane was operating, hoisting cargo from the bowels of the ship onto the dry dock. Nel saw the captain leaning over the railing. On the docks hulked the golem, Onyx, finally free from its lair in the ship. The golem was as still as ever, it hadn't moved the entire trip. Its master was down amidst the unloaded crates, walking with one of the dock officials. By Nel's reckoning about a third of their cargo had already been unloaded.

  “Violet, go ask Scarlett what her plans are.” Nel nudged her cabin girl. “If we're offloading then we can start making plans to head back to Cauldron and get back to our original run.”

  The words came with only a hint of bitterness. They were weeks behind their scheduled delivery—the Tantamount's and Horatio's reputation would be in shreds. Horatio might protest otherwise, he might even believe his own speeches, but that was the cold, sobering truth. Horatio's reputation was the Tantamount's reputation; and with it the livelihood of all her crew.

  “That load looks too heavy for the crane,” Sharpe mused, looking up at the next payload. “What's Jack thinking? He's overloading it.”

  “What?” Nel glanced up and saw Jack hauling an ominously large crate towards the crane. She frowned. “It's big, but not . . .”

  Sharpe pointed. “And the other three next to it?” He shook his head in disapproval. “He must be overloading the crane, how else could he have got so much of this off already? I'm going to go talk to Jack. Before he breaks something.”

  Sharpe jogged up the gangway towards Jack. Nel shook her head that Sharpe had chosen now to become a productive member of the crew. At least he seemed to be in less of a mood. Much as she hated to admit it, she preferred the flippantly shallow, self-centred Sharpe to the bleeding heart version.

  She made her way over to Onyx. The golem gleamed in the glare of oil-fed lanterns, the light collecting on the curves of his body. Shoulders, forearms, his rounded head. There was no gleam of awareness in the golem's face, at least not now. Nel wondered, her gaze straying down the smooth curvature of the golem, at its construction. It had no discernible gender and she'd not once heard it speak but it seemed more natural to think of the golem as male. In the same way Nel knew the Tantamount to be female, a lady of dubious virtue maybe, but one who made her life on the high and free.

  “Seems like you'll be leaving us soon,” Nel remarked, hearing someone coming up behind her. From the elongated shadow she guessed it to be Scarlett.

  “They're not happy about letting the ship go any further,” Scarlett admitted. “We'll need to make arrangements to take the cargo the rest of the way in on domestic runners.”

  “This is as far as my ship can go,” Nel reminded her. “So this is as far as my crew goes. There's no point in us lingering in these parts. Captain's already had the ship patched once. Hanging around a warzone isn't healthy for ship or crew.”

  Scarlett's mouthed pressed together in a lipless line. “You were given a job to discharge your debt.”

 
“Fraudulent debt,” Nel corrected. “In a rigged game.”

  “Horatio is almost proud when admitting both sides cheated.” Scarlett tossed her hair back disdainfully. “The fact stands you have an obligation to see this delivery through to the end.”

  Nel was about to retort when both women heard a crashing sound come from the Tantamount. Nel couldn't see Jack or Sharpe near the crane. The crane itself was still empty.

  “What the hells was that?” she said out loud, glancing at Scarlett.

  The woman looked fierce. “Your man Sharpe,” she demanded, “where is he?”

  “My man Sharpe?” Nel echoed her. “Why?”

  The golem, so briefly before inanimate and lifeless, lit up like a harvest festival tree. At least its eyes did, smouldering fires at the back of two pitch black caves. A thin layer of dust, accumulated during the voyage, shifted from its body as the golem stirred itself awake, creaking like a stuck gate at first.

  “No.” Scarlett held herself back, shaking her head. “No. On the ship, damn it. Damn it!”

  Nel stared at her for a moment then bolted for the ship, taking the gangway in long strides. Her wand was in her hand by the time she cleared the railing.

  “Captain!” she called, looking around for Horatio.

  “Nel!” Horatio replied shrilly, descending down a level to meet her. “That noise, it came from below deck.”

  “The hold,” Nel said, hearing another crash, the sound of breaking wood and a scream of some kind.

  “Who was that?” Horatio gasped, wide eyed.

  “Not who,” Nel said grimly. She recognised Bandit's panicked shriek. He only made sounds that piercing when . . .

  “Piper,” she said, already running towards the centre of the ship, towards the screaming.

  “Piper?” Horatio called after her. “He was down in the hold, helping load the cargo.”

  The wooden grilling to the cago deck had been removed but inside it was still pitch black. She couldn't see anything. Certainly not Piper.

  “What's going on?” Jack had come up beside her, peering down suspiciously into the unknown black maw of the ship.

  “Where the hells have you been?” Nel growled at him. “Wait, never mind,” she cut him off, seeing the chargrilled haunch in his own meaty hand. “Where's Sharpe?”

  “Down there.” Jack gestured with the meat towards the hold. “Said he needed to check something.”

  Another yell from below, this one definitely not Bandit.

  “Hey, that sounded like Piper,” Jack growled. “What's he doing?”

  “Nel.” Horatio grabbed her arm, worry creasing his face. “We need to get down there.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “Jack, swing the crane around. Quickly.”

  “Aye,” Jack muttered, lumbering to the machine. He wasted little time in rotating the hoist round and over the open hold. Nel reached out and grabbed a hold, hooking one foot into the netting. She waved with her wand for Jack to lower her.

  Nel's eyes were already partially adjusted to dim light but it was difficult to make out more than vague shapes and darker shadows. Inside the hold the dark felt thicker, all around her instead of just looking in.

  Something dove at her out of those shadows and Nel lashed out with her wand instinctively. Her aim was off but the flare-like burst was enough to light up the hold briefly. Enough to see that it was Bandit diving at her like a crazed bat, if the raking claws clinging to her arm and shoulder weren't enough to tell that.

  “Get off me,” Nel hissed, trying to shake off Piper's pet. But the loompa was plainly terrified—he clung to her fiercely and refused to budge.

  “Damned rodent,” Nel said. “Fine. At least be useful. Where's Piper? Piper?”

  Bandit just shook on her arm, his mouth making small chittering noises.

  “Piper,” Nel repeated, softer.

  Bandit's head turned, chattered. Was he being useful? Either Piper was that way or whatever had spooked Bandit. Likely both, Nel mused. And only one way to find out.

  She took a step deeper into the hold, trying to pry the loompa off her wand arm but had to concede it was a lost struggle and settled for switching her wand to her other hand. She'd missed Bandit from close range, her aim could only improve.

  “Piper?” Nel whispered when she finally found her third mate. The big man was lying motionless in the space formerly occupied by Scarlett's golem. Fearing the worst she reached down to touch him. Bandit chirped quietly but refused to relinquish his hold on her, not even with Piper so obviously hurt.

  Her hands didn't find the sticky and liquid evidence she'd feared. She felt warm breath on the back of her hand so Piper was still alive. That made her breathe her own sigh of relief. Her fingers found and traced the contusions on his shaved head. He'd been hit and hit hard.

  A light flared into life ahead, just a few feet, an oil lamp. Nel winced, shielding her eyes.

  “That's far enough, Nel,” Sharpe told her. “Don't come any closer.”

  “Sharpe,” she growled, gripping her wand tighter. “What in the hells are you doing?”

  “What I came to,” Sharpe said quietly.

  “And what's that?”

  Sharpe moved the lamp slightly, bringing his face into view. Only half of it showed, the other half was hidden away from the one sided light. It was enough. Nel fired.

  She had enough to time to register the ghost of a smile on Sharpe's face as he swung the oil lamp into the path. Liquid fire exploded across the hold, showering the innards of the Tantamount.

  Nel panicked, wondering insanely if their cargo was flammable. Then reason took over and she cast about for a way to smother the flames. Nothing came to hand or mind. Fire was a nightmare risk during a voyage and not much better in a place like Rim. All she could do was escape and gather the crew to fight the fire. She'd already lost track of Sharpe—he could be gone or trapped behind his own conflagration for all she knew. Bandit was gone too. The loompa had scarpered at the sight of flames.

  “Hells,” she said to herself, looking down at Piper's dead weight bulk. This wasn't going to be easy. She manhandled him into a sitting position, his big head lolling uselessly against his chest. Getting her arms under his, she linked her hands and pulled, straining the muscles in her arms, legs and back to move his weight. She managed to drag Piper a few feet but between the heat of the growing fire and the sheer effort she was already sweating.

  “Skipper!” Korrigan Jack's booming voice barely precluded his entry. He arrived in a stomping flurry, squinting beady eyes to try and make out what was going on.

  “Jack!” Nel yelled to get his attention. “Help me with Piper.”

  Jack looked down at Piper, not moving. Nel thought he was going to argue, going to be difficult, but he stooped and levered Piper up onto his shoulders, hefting the big man up, grunting with the effort. Piper's arms dragged on the floor but at least he was moving.

  Nel trailed Jack out of the hold, casting about for any sign of Sharpe. There was none. She thought he must be long gone until she heard the ruckus above decks.

  “Jack, move!” she yelled, trying to push past him on the stairs. But Jack's bulk added to Piper's made for an impassable barrier. She had to wait for Jack to plod his way up the stairs before she could find out what was going on.

  There was a battle raging on the Tantamount's deck. Smoke rose through cracks and slats in the deck. Nel could only see a dozen feet, if that. People ran to and fro. She saw what could be weapons clutched by silhouettes, and thought she heard wands being discharged. Something came whizzing out of the smoke, a kettle. It nearly took her head off.

  “Gabbi!” she yelled into the smoke screen. It had to be Gabbi, none of the other thaumatics on the ship would be throwing kitchen stock around.

  Nel found Gabbi standing over Sharpe. The latter was bruised, bleeding, but still very much alive and defiant. He was caked in white powder—flour. It wasn't hard to deduce what had happened. The half empty sack, burst at the seams
, lay beside him.

  Gabbi turned to Nel, then caught sight of Jack and his cargo. “Oh, Piper,” she whispered. Rounding furiously on Sharpe, she raised a hand, a hand bright with writhing electricity.

  “Gabbi, no!” Nel lunged and locked her hand around her cook's wrist. A jolt ran up her arm. It went numb to the shoulder and she couldn't hold back a gasp, but she didn't let go, forcing Gabbi's arm upward. Again Nel found herself staring at the stark angry eyes of one of her crew.

  “I want to talk to him,” Nel said levelly, surprising herself at how steady her voice sounded. Her arm shook uncontrollably, the charge from Gabbi firing the nerves in her muscles. She felt the spasms start to move further into her body.

  “He hurt Piper,” Gabbi said stubbornly. “He attacked us, he set fire to the ship.” There were tears in Gabbi's eyes. “He . . . he went after the captain, Nel!”

  Nel's breath caught. She couldn't see the captain—maybe someone had hustled him off—but it explained why Gabbi was in such a state. And all because of Sharpe. The ship was burning, the crew injured, because of him.

  The spasms moved across her chest.

  “I need to know why,” Nel whispered to Gabbi.

  All the current running through her body suddenly died like Gabbi had flipped a switch. The tension went out of Gabbi's arm, lowering to her side, and Nel was able to let go. Her fingers refused to close again afterwards. The tattooed sleeve that ran the length of her right arm seemed to writhe and dance, the markings moving with an anarchistic freedom beyond her control.

  Gabbi held her eyes level with Nel's. “And when he doesn't want to talk?”

  Nel felt her features harden. “Then I make him talk.”

  The expression that came over Gabbi's normally soft face was not a nice one.

  Nel clapped her friend on the shoulder with her left hand. The right one was still numb. “Go help with the fire, save what we can.”

  “Aye, Skipper,” Gabbi said automatically. She ran off, apron flapping about her knees.

  “You too, Jack,” Nel said over her shoulder. “Get Piper off the ship and go help with the fire.”