Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “I think they were in cahoots,” Horatio muttered. “I'm sure Sharpe was in on it with Quill.”

  Nel shook her head in disgust. “Captain,” she sighed.

  “Captain,” Horatio said loudly. “Dammit, Nel, you distracted me there. I came to talk to you about your old captain.”

  “What about her? She's out there, probably towing a big rock towards us as we speak.”

  “Nel, you know normally I don't like bringing up my crew's past.”

  “Normally our past doesn't throw giant void rocks at us, Captain,” Nel pointed out fairly.

  “True enough,” Horatio conceded.

  “So,” Nel asked her captain, “what did you want to know?”

  “Nothing,” the captain told her. “You already told me everything when you signed on. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.”

  “Captain?”

  Horatio clasped her shoulder. “For getting out of the Alliance when you did.”

  Nel bit down on her bottom lip, hard. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Nothing to it, lass,” Horatio said. “Now that we're done with the emotional stuff, why don't you tell me how in the hells we're going to launch a bunch of mothballed ships without any navigators?”

  “We do have navigators.” Stoker turned round to face Nel and the captain. “Leading seaman Loader is a certified apprentice navigator.”

  “And you can still push?” Horatio asked, squinting. “Aren't you a little bit dead?”

  Leading seaman Loader had died young, possibly from a wand discharge if the blackened scorching under the neck of his uniform was anything to go by. He had the swarthy, cratered skin of those late out of adolescence, reinforced by swept back greasy hair. His skin was paler now, with a touch of grey, but for all that he didn't look as visibly far gone as many of his comrades.

  A section of Rim's foundation, pried loose in the recent work, lifted off, hovering a few feet in the air. The weight was more than Jack and Piper could have lifted together.

  “Aye, Captain,” Loader confirmed. “Can still push.”

  “Lad hasn't sat his rating yet, but I don't think we'll be filing any reports over that,” Stoker said.

  “That's one,” Nel said. She didn't add that one wasn't nearly enough. Sharpe's plan was mad and brilliant all at the same time. He wanted to break up Rim, use the derelict and decommissioned ships to fly the population of Grange out into the void. Jack's idea of stowing the Draugr had got them from Grange to Rim but it was no solution for the long term. They needed ships and lots of them. The problem was how to get them flying. It was possible to fly ships out in the void without navigators, barely, but solar winds and currents did exist. Launching them, that was the problem.

  “Remember when you took us for a walk through the shanties when we were first here?” Sharpe asked.

  “I remember you preaching a fair bit from atop a soap box,” Nel recalled.

  Sharpe ignored that. “Do you recall a friend of mine?”

  “Thought you said he wasn't a friend, just someone you used to know,” Nel said, though she hadn't believed it at the time either.

  “He was,” Sharpe said. “I was thinking of the one that looked like Stoker.”

  “Like me?” Stoker said.

  Sharpe nodded. “Dead, like.”

  “Ah. Like that. You'd be meaning Wallace then,” Stoker concluded. “Always liked him. Knew when to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Have I told you how much I dislike you, Sharpe?” Nel said.

  “It's come up,” Sharpe conceded. “Quill swears by it, in fact. So I hear. Wallace was one of the Falchions’ crew. He stayed here when we passed through.”

  “Been making some contacts,” Stoker informed her. “Squirrelling out thaumatics amongst the locals.”

  “You've been planning this for a while then,” Nel said.

  “Not planning.” Sharpe shook his head. “This, this was never the plan. The plan was to get out on the Falchions. After that, the plan was swipe the cargo when we unloaded it at the dock.”

  “Not to set fire to my ship?” Nel said darkly.

  “That damned golem really complicated things,” Sharpe said, looking genuinely annoyed. “Having Violet run off with that one box was the only way I could get it away from the ship long enough for Quill to launch it.”

  “I can't believe you talked Violet into that.” Nel shook her head. “You put her at risk. And you risked what happened on Grange happening here.”

  “Give the girl her due,” Sharpe said, “she felt bad about screaming at Wallace. I meant for him to pick up the box from her and lead Scarlett and her pet rock on a merry chase. Turns out Violet is a better person than all the rest of us. She really did give the goods away. Made some friends, though. Wallace and the others got to the stuff in time, lucky for us.”

  “Then the locals have agreed?” Piper asked, speaking for the first time. “They will come with you on this grand exodus?”

  Stoker and Sharpe exchanged a look.

  “Some of them,” Sharpe said.

  “The ones originally from Grange,” Stoker said. “Those who claim descent from Thatch . . . they don't want anything to do with us. They blame Grange for what's happened.”

  Horatio and Nel shared a look.

  “How many altogether?” Horatio asked.

  “How many people?” Stoker asked. He shrugged. “Don't know, I ran out of toes. The boys don't like it when I start counting on theirs. Have to take off their boots. Ain't pretty no more. Weren't much before but now it's worse.”

  “How many thaumatics did you find?” Nel clarified irritably.

  “Seven,” Stoker said. “That many I can count on my own.”

  “Seven is being overly optimistic,” Sharpe said. “We have seven people we'd rate to push a tug boat through a decent fog bank, that's not the same as launching a dry docked vessel, especially the sort of luggers we're talking about here.”

  “Those luggers are part of the bulkheads keeping this place together,” Nel reminded him. “Are you even going to be able to pull them out in the time you have?”

  “No, we're not,” Stoker said.

  “The Tantamount is shipping out with all hands before Heathen and the Mangonel come back,” Nel warned. “You do not want to be here when they arrive.”

  “Actually,” Sharpe grinned, “we do.”

  There was a silence round the group as everyone processed that.

  “You realise what Heathen is going to do?” Nel said. “She's going to slam a ploughing great rock into this scrap heap of a station. It's going to be ripped apart.”

  Sharpe chuckled. “I'm counting on it. Here.” He took a nail, pried loose in the deconstruction, and etched a rough map against the boards of Rim's foundation. “We've found six hulks that suit our purposes. All located on the sunward side of Rim. But they've been here so long that Rim has actually grown up around them. So . . . Rim needs to go.”

  “You're going to wait for Heathen to smash her rock into Rim before you try and launch.” Nel stared at him. “Gods below, Sharpe, you really are mad.”

  Horatio studied the crude diagram. “No,” he said. “It makes sense. If they ran too early, Heathen and the Alliance would chase them down. If they wait until after, there would be a field of debris for the Alliance to wade through.”

  “If they're even able to launch,” Nel said. “There's no guarantee, none at all, that you'll be able to pull those wrecks free when it all happens.”

  “Worried about me, Skipper?” Sharpe grinned.

  “This isn't about you, Sharpe. And what about everyone else on Rim? The people from Thatch?”

  “We're spreading everyone out on those six hulks,” Stoker said. “Hedging our bets. The people from Thatch have until Heathen arrives to change their minds. If they don't . . . ,” he shrugged, “they'll go down with Rim, same as they would anyhow. It's not their fault, but it is their choice.”

  “So that's the plan.” Sharpe ros
e to his feet, chucking the nail away carelessly. “Unless anyone has a better one that's what we're doing. Skipper, Captain, it's been a pleasure.”

  “Mister Sharpe,” the captain shook his hand gravely. “Midshipman Stoker.”

  “Captain,” Stoker saluted. “Perhaps we'll see you again under less trying circumstances.”

  “I'll bring the brandy,” Horatio promised.

  “You're an idiot. You're all idiots. Let me tell it to you again, slowly so you can all understand. There is a thaumatic Kelpie out there with a case of scale itch to make a Draugr turn over in its grave and a warship bigger than this damned outpost. She is going to grab the biggest rock she can find and slam it right between your docks, just because she can. She is going to rip this place apart and there is not a damned thing anyone here can do about it. If you don't start running now, you're all dead. There are ships, waiting, on the far side of Rim. But they won't wait long and if you don't go now you won't be around to complain about that. Forget about arguing, forget about packing, forget about everything except running. Because that's the only chance you have.”

  It was fun watching the skipper yell, Violet thought. Fun when she was yelling at other people. There was some shifting and restlessness amongst the crowd she was addressing but it looked like that mule-headed stubbornness was going to prevail.

  The skipper thought so too. She turned away from the crowd in disgust, making her way back to where Violet and Wallace waited. This was the third group Violet had seen the skipper deliver her speech too.

  “We're out of time,” Nel said, looking past Violet to the direction the Alliance blockade ships were expected to come from. “Time to head back to the ship and weigh anchor. I'm not risking the crew or the ship over this. Not any more than we already have.”

  “You tried, Skipper,” Violet said. The skipper turned away, hands turning into fists as she raked them through her hair in frustration.

  “For all the good it did,” the skipper said bitterly. “I got out of the Alliance because I never wanted to have to see this again. How the hells did Heathen and I end up here, doing this again . . . ?” her voice trailed off and she ground her teeth angrily.

  “Why'd she do it?” Violet asked. “I mean back when you were in the Alliance . . . what . . .”

  “It doesn't matter why.” The skipper met her eyes. “The point is that she did it. The point is that she's about to do it again. And we can't be here when it happens.”

  The skipper looked at Wallace, who'd been standing there, quiet as always. “You need to go too. Get back to Stoker and the others, tell them to leave while they still can.”

  The Draugr turned to her. He raised his hand to his forehead, holding a salute. Nel returned it, adding a wistful nod at the end. Wallace came to Violet last.

  “Goodbye,” he said, voice little more than a whisper.

  “Take care,” Violet told him, feeling her eyes start to tear up. “Watch out for Kelpies.”

  Wallace smiled and turned away. He walked back through the crowd of refugees, pausing when he came to a small child. The little one was alone with no sign of parents, dirty, ragged, and following Wallace with wide, fearful eyes.

  Wallace bent down and scooped the urchin up. Ignoring the rest of the crowd he marched towards where Stoker and the others were waiting.

  “Better than nothing,” Violet heard the skipper say.

  The clicking of Quill's feet on the wooden deck echoed the length of the Tantamount. Nel could hear it all the way from the bow, punctuated occasionally by the whip-like cracks of air as the nervous Kelpie snapped his tail.

  “Violet,” Nel grumbled. “Go tell Quill to stop his damned pacing before I nail his miserable tail to the helm.”

  Even to Nel the threat was starting to sound old and Violet didn't seem to have even heard. Like most of the crew she was glued to the rails, watching the mist shrouded horizon for the Alliance blockade vessels. Rim drifted ahead of them, hopefully positioned between them and the incoming Alliance vessels. The Tantamount was running without lights, a dark shadow compared to Rim, which shone with hundreds of lights and torches against the mist. The Alliance ships would have to run with lights too, or else run the risk of crashing into each other, or worse, their rocky payload, amongst the mist.

  “Violet!” Nel snapped. The girl's head jerked round in response.

  “Skipper?”

  “Go tell Quill to keep his peace,” Nel lowered her voice, aware she'd drawn the attention of half the crew. They were all on edge, sitting here waiting. But none had voiced any complaint. Nel had been on her own in that regard.

  “I couldn't live with myself, Nel,” the captain had told her when she put her concerns forward. “Not knowing what happens here. We're involved already, so we're staying to see it through.”

  Nel's concern was the ship and the crew. This wasn't their fight, whatever their personal feelings might be. It made no sense for them to be drawn in any more than they already had. But privately, if she admitted it to herself, she was glad it wasn't her decision to make. She needed to know how it turned out as well.

  “Heck of a run, hey, Skipper?” Gabbi commented, looking back at her.

  Nel nodded brusquely.

  “Feels good to be back on the ship,” Gabbi said. “No golems or passengers shifting ballast, just our crew.”

  Nel glanced at her. “Thought you had your eye on Castor Sharpe.”

  “Man's too complicated for me.” Gabbi waved a hand. “I like my men plain and simple.”

  “Explain Jack to me then,” Nel muttered.

  Gabbi frowned. “He didn't give you any trouble out there, did he?”

  “I thought he would,” Nel said. “I fell out of that damned rowboat when we found the Tantamount. Jack caught me.”

  “Told him he better keep you safe.” Gabbi shrugged. “Jack's not so complicated as you seem to think, Skipper. He either likes you or he doesn't. Nothing more to it.”

  “Skipper,” Piper called out from the other side of the ship. “Signal from Rim. They've seen them.”

  “Here we go, then,” Nel muttered. Then, raising her voice, “All hands stand ready!”

  The whole crew visibly flinched. The pall of silence cast over the ship broken, they stuttered back into life, moving to take up their posts with jerky movements that became smoother as familiar routines took over. There was no chance of any of the noise making it back to Rim, let alone the Alliance, and giving away their position, but that hadn't stopped the crew from clamming up as if it would. Back doing their jobs, that weight seemed to have been lifted. Nel could see them all sneaking glances towards Rim, hoping to catch first sight of the Alliance, but at least they were moving again, not frozen like gaping statues. Voices started to echo up and down the ship as she came alive again, sails hauled into position but not unfurled, winches manned, the sounds of the Tantamount stretching her muscles. Nel felt a moment of pride in the ship and its crew. Both were beat up and had been through rough weather, but stood ready.

  “Movement at the ships,” Piper announced, offering Nel a spyglass. He had Bandit perched on his broad shoulders again. Both appeared happy to be reunited.

  She brought the spyglass to her eye. “I see it.” She couldn't make out individuals but there was a lot of activity around the breakaway ships. “Looks like some of the Thatchers have decided to come after all.”

  “A prudent decision,” Piper agreed sagely.

  “They seemed bent on staying, wonder what changed their minds,” Nel commented, lowering the spyglass.

  Piper pointed. “That.”

  Nel watched as the mist started to boil, billowing and pushing out. Massive shadows started to darken the horizon as vast shapes moved closer to the edge of the bank.

  “I've never seen the mist do that,” Piper said to Nel.

  “It's Heathen,” Nel explained tersely. “She's making heat when she pushes on the rocks. Normally the envelope swallows the heat but those rocks don't have one. So th
e heat is evaporating into the mist, like when you breathe out on a cold day.”

  “Interesting,” was all Piper said. “I thought she would bring one big rock. It appears I was mistaken.”

  Nel chewed on her lip. She counted three giant rocks tumbling their way free of the mist. Cratered and jagged, spinning relentlessly towards Rim, all were bigger than the Tantamount, one almost bigger than the Mangonel Falling. Following that realisation came the appearance of the dreadnought itself, emerging from the mist like some behemoth predator. Only the flanking lights let Nel make out the dimensions of the ship, reminding her just how massive it really was.

  Heathen would be on that ship, she suspected. She needed the biggest possible anchor to brace herself against the forces she was manipulating. Who would she have left in charge of her own ship then? Some trusted deputy, no doubt, someone who wouldn't second guess her captain and argue with her over morality.

  The thought made Nel bite down hard on her lip. She tasted blood in her mouth, spat it out over the side. As a captain Nel still respected Heathen. She was typical officer material; cold, unflinching, and carried her orders out no matter the course. And some of those orders . . . some Nel hadn't been able to look at herself in the mirror afterwards. This wouldn't be the first time she'd watched Heathen do something like this. It was just the first time she'd been near the receiving end.

  Which she wasn't really, she thought, watching Rim with a strange sense of anxiety. The station was a hive of activity now, though most of the hive workers had retreated to the ships. Scaffolding and other structural debris had been cleared from around the ships but they were still firmly anchored to Rim, they were Rim. It was going to take some substantial demolition to free them. Demolition Heathen and her Alliance compatriots were going to provide.

  “Any sign of the Loneliness or the Morningstar?” Nel asked.

  “Both hanging back.” Piper pointed. “Flanking the Mangonel.”

  “Staying clear of the firing zone,” Nel reckoned. “They won't advance until after Heathen demolishes Rim. They're probably not even expecting to have to. They'll be looking for blockade runners before the hammer goes down. Nobody will be expecting to have to chase a whole damned fleet after the fact.”