Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Gabbi told me not. Says I'm con . . . conus . . .”

  “Concussion,” Nel supplied. “Means you'll get dizzy easy.”

  Jack made a face. “Why didn't she just say that? Stupid woman.”

  “Sit down, Jack,” Nel said. “Before you get dizzy.”

  “Aye,” Jack grumbled, sitting down heavily. “I can do that.”

  “Good man,” Nel said, moving onto the captain. Gabbi was leaning over him; so was Violet. Horatio pushed them away, sitting up as he did so. The concussive charge had fried his hair, the ends were slightly blackened and clumps stood out all over the place, and his eyes wouldn't co-operate with one another, determinedly staring in separate directions, giving the captain a manic, crazed look.

  “Get off me, women,” he cried. “I don't need attention, I need my hat! Nel, is the battle over, can I have my hat back?” He looked at her in concern. “Where's my hat? You haven't lost it, have you? I've only got the one.”

  He jumped to his feet. “Golems! No golems on the ship, sacred rule! Where is that blasted rock? Somebody find me a hammer. And a chisel!”

  “Sit down, Captain,” Gabbi said firmly, dragging the captain back down.

  “It's not over yet, Captain,” Nel said.

  “Then don't call me captain.” Horatio sounded annoyed. “You're captain 'til we get through this. Go find my hat!”

  Gabbi caught her eye as she left, mouthing a name silently. Nel shook her head in a negative. Gabbi's eyes misted over for a moment, but she caught herself. Time for that later.

  “Aldy,” Nel said, hauling the man up by his elbow. “You hurt?”

  “No, Skipper.” He shook his head. “Just some scratches.”

  In Aldy's case that could mean anything. No time for that now. She had orders for him. “Grab whoever you need and stand by the guns. But don't fire 'til I give the word.”

  Aldy saluted, running off to collect whoever was still standing. Nel ran back to the bridge, breathing hard by the time she got there.

  “Quill . . . ,” she started to say.

  “Look,” he said.

  Hells, she thought, what now?

  Quill had brought the ship close to the running battle. It was one sided as before. None of the breakaway ships were able to return fire. They could have made the job easier by splitting up again, tacking and gybing, anything to make themselves a harder target. Instead they just ran, straight as they could, and it wasn't enough. Except . . . where there had been three ships, counting the pursuing frigate, there were now four.

  “What is that?” Nel exclaimed. What she was looking at was not so much a ship as a collection of conglomerated flotsam and debris. There might be a hulk under all that but it was hard to tell. It hurtled at breakneck speed towards the frigate.

  “Sharpe,” was Quill's guess, though even he sounded unsure. “They came through the debris field?”

  “Crazy sons of . . . ” Nel shook her head in disbelief. “All that trash got caught up in their envelope.”

  “I think that was what they intended,” Quill growled. He grabbed hold of the helm, throwing the ship wide. There were cries of alarm from the crew at the sudden, violent movement. The ship groaned in protest, joining in the chorus.

  “Quill!” Nel yelled at her. He didn't answer her, his gaze fixed on the junkyard hulk.

  The ship ploughed straight for Heathen's ship. The Kelpie crew seemed to realise the danger it posed, the stern cannon began to fire on the incoming vessel. The assault had little effect, those shots that struck home seemed lost in the concentrated wreckage the ship had collected on its sojourn through the debris of Rim. The ship kept coming.

  “Gods,” Nel whispered. She saw the envelopes start to mesh but this was no gentle melding like was meant to happen. This was fast and explosive, the different pressures in the two envelopes creating a storm around both ships, a storm that found ample ammunition with all the debris Sharpe's ship had collected. Crew were ripped off the deck of the frigate, followed by rigging, barrels, and even cannon as the hulk drove directly over the top of them. The two ships disintegrated under the combined pressure.

  “You said something, Skipper,” Quill said, “about the risks of ignorance?”

  Nel could only shake her head wordlessly. She didn't think she'd ever witnessed anything so brazen in all her life.

  “Survivors?” Quill said.

  Nel gestured. “Take us in, Quill. I'll start . . .” She turned and examined the ship. The bubbles were gone, all of them destroyed in the battle. “Just take us in, Quill. Any idea where that dreadnought got too?”

  “It couldn't chase down a one-winged ray,” Quill dismissed it. “You are safe to give the captain his hat back.”

  “Later,” Nel said. “Take us closer.”

  He nodded. “Aye, Acting Captain.”

  “Just fly the ship, Quill.”

  Quill did so, taking them in close and beginning a slow circle of the wreckage of the two ships. It was already starting to expand, having been tightly contained at first by the combined ballast of the two ships. It drifted apart now, settling into minute envelopes that evaporated as they collided against each other. Bodies were easy to make out, that distinctive silhouette against void and mist. But from what Nel could see they were all Kelpie.

  “Did you see any of your lot on Rim or Grange?” she asked Quill.

  “My lot?” Quill hissed.

  “Kelpies.”

  “That does not make them my lot! Do you consider the Alliance monkeys out there to be your lot?”

  “Godsdammit, Quill,” Nel complained, “did you see any on Grange or not?”

  “Not,” her navigator said huffily.

  “Well, me neither, so who was flying the other ship?”

  “Skipper.” Nel felt a tug on her arm and found Violet standing by her side. Bandit was still riding her shoulders, hands tangled up in her fairy-locks. “Is it over?”

  “It seems to be, Vi.” Nel pursed her lips.

  “Was that Sharpe that crashed into the Kelpie ship then?” Violet asked.

  “We think so.”

  Violet ran to the edge of railing, like always practically climbing to see over it. Bandit stood atop her shoulders, scouting. To Nel's surprise he immediately began emitting a series of shrill shrieks, gesturing insistently.

  “That's not a Kelpie,” Nel said, seeing what Bandit had. It was easy to miss, deep blue, with only scraps of white cloth showing up against a dark background. Drifting out on the periphery.

  “Would you stop saying things like that,” Quill hissed at her. He eased the prow of the Tantamount in, but soon slowed the ship to a halt. “This is as close as we go,” he said, daring Nel to challenge him.

  It's doable. Nel measured the distance. Just barely.

  “What are you doing?” Quill said, as she started to run towards the bow. “Dammit, what are you doing now?”

  “Violet, rope!” Nel ordered as she ran. She cleared the steps to the forecastle in a jump, throwing up hands to catch herself against the front of the ship. She could see the figure clearer now.

  “What's going on?” Gabbi looked up in alarm from her patients. “What are you doing?”

  “Tie this off somewhere,” Nel said when Violet trotted up with the rope bundled in her thin arms. Nel grabbed one end, looping it around her waist and over one shoulder.

  “Nel, what in the hells are you doing?” Gabbi repeated, eyes going wide. Beside her the captain pushed himself up again, staring about in confusion.

  Nel clinched the knot at her waist, pulling hard to make sure it was secure. Then taking a deep breath, she backed up as far as the forecastle would allow. With all eyes on her she ran forward, taking the length of the deck in a few steps, up onto the bowsprit, pushing off at the last second as hard as she could.

  She rose for a moment, the gravity of the Tantamount's ballast plane insufficient to pull her back. Then she hit the edge of the envelope and passed through it and all she felt was cold.
She didn't slow, there was nothing to slow her. Nothing to change her course. If she'd measured this wrong, misjudged the angle . . . but no, there it was, a blue clad figure in scraps of torn uniform, tumbling against a cold miasma background.

  Nel reached out, her arms spread wide as they crossed paths. The impact stunned her, knocking what breath she had left out in an icy plume. Her arms closed around the body, hugging it to her. That was what it felt like, a body. Cold and stiff, frozen. Nel couldn't see anymore, she'd closed her eyes against the cold for what little it would do. The two of them spun around each other, tumbling in the void.

  She didn't feel the tug of the rope, there were no other sensations than that numbing cold. But she felt it when they passed back through the envelope. The shock of air burned her skin, then gravity as they really did start to fall. She held on tighter, too numb to unclench her arms even if she wanted to, not even when they both slammed into the side of the Tantamount. Someone was pulling them up, then onto the deck. She felt hands on her.

  “You idiot.”

  Nel opened her eyes to find Quill's maw inches from her own. The navigator was furious. An unending stream of curses spilled from his mouth, all directed at her. He ranted, raved, threw his arms around, lashed his tail, gnashed his teeth. He stopped, glaring at her. Then started again.

  “You stupid, inconsiderate, selfish excuse for a captain,” he growled at her. “How could you do something like that? How dare you!” He leaned over her again. “You will never do such a thing again, ever! You are not . . . not to leave me!”

  “Quill?” Nel could only stare.

  “With them!” Quill stabbed his clawed finger at Violet and Bandit, both keeping their distance from the enraged Kelpie.

  “Are you all right?” Gabbi asked, kneeling down beside her. She rubbed at Nel's arms and shoulders, trying to get some warmth into them. “I've never seen Quill act like that. He tried to pull you back in himself. Didn't work of course, he just about hit us with the things he did grab though. I had to push it all away from the ship.”

  Nel laughed, then wished she hadn't. Her throat was raw and painfully dry. “He just didn't want to be stuck with the little ones.”

  “What little ones?” Gabbi scowled. “Never mind, are you all right? You look all right . . . apart from being frozen solid. You should be better in a few bells as long as I keep Jack away from you. And you don't do anything else so stupid,” Gabbi admonished her sternly.

  “For myself I'm glad she did what she did,” said the person Nel had plucked from the void. He raised a hand, staring at the fingers. “Frozen solid, all right. Can't move a one.”

  “Stoker?” Nel said.

  “I ain't the patron saint of good fortune,” Stoker groaned. “Or if I is, I was a lousy choice.”

  “Skipper thought you might have been Mister Sharpe,” Violet piped up.

  Nel glared. “I did not, Violet.”

  “Sharpe? Just as well I ain't him, little girl. Was out there a while.” With some effort Stoker moved his head to look at Nel. “Gods below, Skipper, I need to thaw. Sharpe ain't dead like me, but he would have been.”

  “What?” Nel growled at that. She tried to get to her feet and stumbled. Violet steadied her, holding onto her arm. Nel leant on to the girl for support. “Sharpe said he was infected, same as the rest of his crew.”

  “His crew?” Stoker looked affronted. “Sharpe weren't part of our crew. I figured he was from Grange, never did know how he talked his way onto the Falchions after we rebuilt her though. But he weren't dead. Not like us.”

  “He said he was,” Nel said.

  “Which?” Stoker asked. “Said he was part of the Falchions or the other?”

  “Both.”

  There was a thump, then a bitten off curse. Nel saw Quill clutching at his tail.

  “Did you just bang your tail?” Violet asked.

  Quill chose to ignore her. “Sharpe told me he was part of Heathen's crew,” he said. “That he fell out of favour with her over the attack on Grange and the Falchions.”

  “Well, that don't sound right, neither,” Stoker said. He grimaced, touching a frozen hand to his face. “Want to shake my head here, never realised how much you use your head when you're talking.”

  “Mister Sharpe said a lot of things,” Violet said.

  “Sharpe played us,” Quill said through gritted teeth.

  “Clever boy, wasn't he?” Horatio said. “Nel, my hat. You better not have left it out there.”

  “It's on the bridge, Captain,” Nel assured him. “Violet, go get the captain's hat, it's in a locker.”

  “Where is Sharpe anyway?” Horatio asked. “Anyone seen him?”

  “Wanted to visit some old friends on the Distant Morningstar,” Stoker said. “We dropped him off on the way.”

  “You did what?” Gabbi exclaimed.

  “Climbed into a barrel and Loader pushed him out there. Said he was going to do for their navigators.”

  “By himself?” Quill asked suspiciously. “Himself, against a whole ship?”

  “I asked him that too,” Stoker agreed. “Said it wasn't the whole ship, just the navigators. Must have too, ’cause we saw the Morningstar drifting all over the place on the way over. Looked like a drunken donkey, she did.”

  “And what would you have done if not for this act of miracle working?” Quill asked him. “Rammed the Morningstar as well, I suppose?”

  “Course. It was just me and the lads on the wreck. And Sharpe. We always knew somebody would have to play hare to the hounds. Figured we were the best ones for them to choke on. Sharpe jumping ship just meant we had a shot at both frigates. Glad it worked out this way, wouldn't have felt good about ramming the Morningstar. Might have known somebody on there and that would have felt all kinds of wrong.”

  Nel considered something. “Captain,” she said slowly.

  “A moment, if you please, Nel.” Horatio beamed as Violet returned with his hat. He spent a minute fussing with it, getting it to sit just so. “That's better,” he pronounced.

  “Captain,” Nel repeated.

  “Yes?” Horatio turned to face her.

  “What did Sharpe tell you about himself?” she asked.

  Horatio froze, hands on his hat. “What do you mean?”

  “He told Quill he was with Heathen and me he was with the Alliance. Stoker thought he was from Grange. So what'd he tell you?”

  Horatio hung his head evasively, mumbled something under his breath.

  “Captain,” Nel's voice hardened.

  “He might have mentioned something about the Guild,” Horatio admitted reluctantly.

  There were exclamations of dismay and disgust from those assembled.

  Nel glared. “And you didn't tell me?”

  “He asked me not to!” Horatio protested. “A captain's word is a serious thing. Besides, I thought he was full of himself, never believed it for a second.”

  “Now why don't I believe that?” Nel muttered.

  “Nel!” Horatio exclaimed.

  Nel glared at her captain. “He said you were a lousy card player, you know that?”

  “Lousy?” Horatio exclaimed. “He did not! I was teaching him how to play! How to spot tells and underhanded dealing . . .”

  “And this was right before you lost the ship in a game?” Nel said.

  Horatio spluttered, drawing himself up. “I'm insulted. And that's no way to speak to your captain. I'll be on the bridge when you've quite sorted yourselves out.”

  The captain strode off in a huff. Nel motioned for Violet to follow and keep an eye on him.

  “So?” Quill demanded. “Who was he? What was he?”

  Nel snorted. “Hells, I don't know, Quill. He could have been any of those things. Maybe none of them. Maybe he just liked telling stories.”

  She extended a hand down to Stoker. “Can you move yet?”

  Stoker considered. “I can't feel my feet. That may or may not be a bad thing.”

  Nel stared at
him, then, raising her voice, “Jack!”

  They spent another bell circling the remains of the Loneliness and Stoker's ship. They found no more of his Draugr shipmates. Still running without lights, the Tantamount sailed at a cautious pace to a prearranged rendezvous point. They did find the four surviving breakaway ships there. There was no sign of the Alliance dreadnought, the Mangonel Falling. It was during the short journey that Nel finally had time to take stock of the damage to ship and crew.

  The Tantamount was in a state, worse than Nel had ever seen her, but she would fly. The crew were worse off, seven dead, including Piper. Five bodies were laid out on the deck, wrapped in sail cloth, weighted with cannon shot. Two others had been lost overboard, gone ahead to see what awaited their former shipmates.

  Nel knelt down beside Piper, easily recognisable as the biggest shroud on the deck. In her hand she held small chunks of obsidian, flakes of stone chipped off the golem during the fight, possibly by Piper. She liked to think so. She laid the black handful along the length of the funeral shroud.

  “Look after the others, Piper,” she told her friend.

  Nel was the last to say her farewells. Once she stepped back the bodies were pushed down the ramp leading off the Tantamount. One at a time they slid feet first to the edge of the envelope, helped by the weights wrapped in with them. The result was a solemn line of white wrapped bodies, marching out into the void. The crew stood silent by the railing until the last body disappeared into the miasma.

  “Where will you go?” Nel asked of the Alliance midshipman. He'd more or less thawed out though he still moved somewhat stiffly. There were similar funerals taking place on the other ships—not all of them had escaped without casualty. It seemed even Draugr could die, fail as it were, given sufficient damage. In spite of that, Stoker had insisted on staying for the funerals aboard the Tantamount.

  “That ways,” Stoker said vaguely. “We didn't really think so far ahead. Suppose we should be thinking about what's best for the children and such. I reckon we'll manage though.”

  Quill snorted at this, taking the opportunity to stomp his way back to the helm. “I'll be waiting,” he said.

  “Strange one, isn't he?” Stoker commented. “Skipper, it's been an honour. I'd shake your hand but I'm still trying to make mine work properly and I dunno how it would go.”