by Jon Skovron
Captain Vaderton nodded. “May it always be so for you, young Mr. Jillen.”
It was near twilight when a shout went up from the crow’s nest. Captain Vaderton was back in his quarters, dining alone, as was his wont. A fist pounded frantically at his door. “We’re under attack, Captain!”
Captain Vaderton grabbed his coat and hat, then threw open the door. “How many?” he demanded of the ashen-faced officer. “Is it pirates?”
The officer shook his head, his words stuttering as he tried to get them out. “Ghost ship!”
“Get ahold of yourself.” Vaderton shoved the officer aside, sending the young man sprawling. He strode across the quarterdeck as he pulled on his coat. Hecker stood at the helm, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel.
“Report,” snapped the captain.
“Coming up on the port stern, sir.”
“Give me your glass.”
Hecker handed it to him. “You won’t need it, though, sir.”
The captain frowned as he made his way astern and climbed the ladder to the poop deck. From that height, he could see plainly what Hecker meant. A ship bore down on them, its two masts crammed with as much canvas as they could hold, plus the jibs and trysail. What made it unusual was that the entire vessel, from hull to royals, glowed an eerie phosphorescent green, the sort he’d seen emanating from jellyfish beneath the surface of the ocean on a calm night. Even taking into account the amount of sail and the advantage of wind, it was coming at them impossibly fast. Evasion was out of the question. Not that he had any intention of running.
“All hands!” he bellowed. “Beat to quarters!”
The word went down the ship as the drums began to pound. Soon the mess hall was empty and the deck was crawling with men. The captain returned to Hecker at the helm. The cannon master, Mr. Frain, had just arrived, looking disheveled, his eyes wide with concern.
“Frain, tuck in your shirts. Hecker, bring us about and give them a look at our broadside. Ghost or not, we’ll make driftwood of them.”
Frain immediately began putting himself together, his expression calming. Hecker nodded and spun the wheel. “Aye, Captain.”
Often that was all it took. Show a bit of courage, and the men would find their own.
The Guardian turned slowly, its massive bulk driving against the prevailing current.
“Reporting for duty, sir.” Midshipman Kellert stood at attention, looking pale but steady, his uniform spotless and wrinkle-free.
Captain Vaderton had given him leave to rest after his lashing, and was pleased to see the young officer had declined. He put his hand on Kellert’s shoulder and nodded. “Very good, Mr. Kellert. We’ll make a man of you yet. Tell Mr. Bitlow to ready the bow chasers in case they try to come about suddenly.”
“Aye, sir.” Kellert saluted again and hurried off.
The Guardian had completed its turn so that the port side faced the oncoming ship.
“Mr. Frain, show them what they’re in for,” Vaderton called to the cannon master.
“Port-side cannons at the ready!” called Frain down to the gun deck below.
Vaderton heard the sound of twenty cannons slamming into position, their iron muzzles bristling from the hull. He could almost feel the destructive potential of the ship vibrating in the deck beneath his feet.
“She don’t seem intent on coming about, sir,” said Hecker.
The captain frowned. “A head-on charge at our broadside is suicide. Even at their speed, they’ll most likely be torn to pieces before they get close enough to ram or grapple. Surely their captain must see that.” He trained his glass on them, but it was difficult to make out details of the hazy green ship. He could see no men, no flags or markings. He felt in his bones there was some other trick at work here, but he had no idea what it was. He couldn’t show that to the men, of course.
“Maybe it’s because they’re already dead, sir,” said Hecker. “Could be our shot will pass right through them.”
“If that’s true, they’ll pass right through us as well. Either way, we’ll find out soon enough,” Vaderton said grimly. “Mr. Frain, fire as soon as we’re in range.”
“Aye, Captain.”
A stillness fell on the crew as every man watched the approaching luminous ship.
“Fire!” called Frain.
The line of cannons roared like thunder, sending up a thick cloud of smoke. Their aim was true and the shot struck the approaching ship square in the bow. But instead of merely taking on damage, the entire ship exploded silently into tiny glowing pieces that sprayed out in all directions before slowly sinking into the sea.
“What in all hells…,” said Frain.
A roar of cannon fire came from the starboard, and the Guardian bucked furiously from the impact. Captain Vaderton spun around, struggling to keep his footing on the swaying deck. He stared in disbelief at the ship that had suddenly appeared on the other side. It looked exactly the same as the first one, except it wasn’t hazy and glowing. This ship was all too real, and had just unloaded a volley of shot into their starboard hull at point-blank range.
“Captain,” said Frain, his voice pinched with fear. “Look at that flag.”
The flag that flew from this ship’s main had a white background on which had been painted a black oval with eight black lines trailing down from it. It was the sign of the biomancers, which Vaderton knew all too well. But cutting across that symbol was a thick, bloodred X. That, he had never seen. But he’d heard about it in all the old stories.
“The flag of the Kraken Hunter,” whispered Hecker. “It’s Dire Bane.”
“No,” said Captain Vaderton, his voice faltering for the first time. “It can’t be. He was slain some forty years ago by Vinchen hand. Dire Bane is dead!”
A sailor ran up from the gun deck and said something quietly to Frain, who flinched at the news, then turned to the captain. “She’s taken out most of our starboard cannons, sir.”
“Are we taking on water?” demanded Vaderton.
Frain shook his head.
“There’s that, at least,” said Vaderton, his voice steadying. He watched as the Kraken Hunter cut across the stern and came around to their port side. “They caught us in a neat trick, but this fight is far from over, gentlemen. I don’t know who is flying the flag of Dire Bane, but it’s time to show them what an imperial warship can do. Mr. Frain, how long until the port cannons are reloaded?”
“Should only be a minute or two,” said Frain. “We’ll be ready well before they are.”
“Excellent. Have them fire when ready.”
The Kraken Hunter came about fast and closed rapidly. But before the Guardian could fire a single shot, the Kraken Hunter unloaded another volley, this time at their port side. The ship shook again, and Vaderton could hear the screams of the dead and dying cannoneers below.
“How could they reload that fast?” Frain shook his head in disbelief. “I swear, Captain. It’s not possible.”
“Clearly, it is.” Vaderton watched as the Kraken Hunter hewed closer. The distance was still too great to throw a grapple, but they would likely cut across the bow and close for a grapple on the other side, now that they had no fear of cannon fire.
But instead they fired a third volley. This time, it was grapeshot that scattered across the main deck, tearing apart men and rigging with equal ferocity.
“How are they reloading so fast!” yelled Frain.
The Kraken Hunter continued on its trajectory across their bow.
“Where’s my bow chasers!” roared Captain Vaderton. He trained his glass on the bow and saw that the third shot had been concentrated near the forecastle. It had claimed fewer lives than if it had gone across the waist, but now there was no one manning the guns. Among the dead and dying, Vaderton saw Kellert lying dead across one of the guns, as if shielding it with his body. A cluster of shot had taken off the side of his skull, and his brains were spilled onto the iron bore.
Meanwhile, the Kraken Hunter had
come about on the starboard side again. It was still too wide to board, and Vaderton thought it might unload a fourth volley. He bellowed, “Hit the decks!” and the entire crew threw themselves down, including the captain.
But instead of the roar of cannon fire, he heard two pops, like springs snapping. He jumped to his feet in time to see two grappling hooks latch on to the Guardian’s starboard gunwale. The line went taut and the Kraken Hunter reeled itself in close.
“All hands on starboard side to be boarded!”
The crew stumbled to their feet, grabbing swords, pikes, and pistols as they hurried to the starboard side.
Before they reached it, four figures rose up from the Kraken Hunter.
On the far left was a tall, powerfully built man in a black vest. He had close-cropped dark hair and beard, his tan face grimy with soot. One leg was encased in a steel frame, and he held a heavy mace in his thick hand. His expression was calm. Almost disinterested.
On the far right was a woman with curly dark hair. She wore a short wool coat and breeches tucked into tall leather boots. In her hands was a strange weapon. It looked like a length of fine chain, but there was a heavy weight on one end, and a knife blade on the other. Her dark eyes glittered even more sharply than her chainblade, a slight snarl on her rich burgundy lips.
Next to her was the tallest woman Vaderton had ever seen. She stood erect, almost regal, in a tight white gown that flared out into long, billowing sleeves. A deep white hood hid most of her face. It reminded Vaderton alarmingly of those worn by biomancers. All that could be seen framed between locks of straight black hair was the lower half of her calm face, lips painted bright red.
The final figure was a woman with the pale skin and blond hair of someone from the Southern Isles. She wore black leather Vinchen armor and had a sword in place of her right hand. When she turned her cold blue eyes on the captain, they struck a chill in his heart.
“Surrender now, and there need not be any more bloodshed,” she said, her voice ringing across the ship.
“You have some surprises, I’ll grant you,” said Vaderton. “But you’re no Dire Bane, just a woman. And you’re outnumbered besides. I’ll see you dead before sunrise.” Then he drew his pistol and fired at her.
She flicked her sword arm. The blade gave an eerie hum as it swiveled around on a hinge at her wrist and slapped the bullet away. At the same time, the woman in white lifted her arms, the long white sleeves swirling as she splayed her fingers. Then every loaded gun on the deck suddenly exploded. Men screamed as they clutched at powder-burned hands and faces.
No one but a Vinchen could knock a bullet out of the air. And who else but a biomancer could make guns spontaneously explode? But Vaderton knew for a fact that women were forbidden in both the Vinchen and biomancer orders. So what was he dealing with?
The woman dressed as a Vinchen pointed her sword at Captain Vaderton. Then she kept her eyes locked on his as she hacked her way slowly through the now-disorderly chaos of wounded, frightened men. Mixed with the cries of pain was her sword’s dark, mournful song.
Her companions jumped into the fray as well. The man laid about him with his mace, caving in skulls almost casually, or sweeping men off their feet with his steel leg. The woman on the other side darted in and out, snapping her chainblade into a sailor’s throat, then another’s eye, all the while using the weighted end to defend herself from attack. The biomancer woman stood back from the rest, her hands weaving in front of her constantly, as if dancing. Wherever she pointed, death sprang up. Some men caught fire; others crumbled to dust. Still others clawed at their own skin and shrieked as if their blood was boiling them alive.
All too soon, the Vinchen woman gained the quarterdeck, leaving headless and limbless bodies in her wake. The air was thick with the smell of blood.
Captain Vaderton drew his sword, but his hand shook despite his best efforts to still it.
The Vinchen woman’s gaze was as ferocious and unfathomable as the sea. “Captain Vaderton, known servant of the biomancer council. Surrender, or die.”
“A captain never surrenders his ship,” said Vaderton, his voice shaking as badly as his hands. “I will do my duty or die trying.”
She nodded. “Perhaps there’s still some honor left in you after all. I’ll make it quick.” She brought her sword down.
“No!”
The boy Jillen threw his own slight body between Vaderton and the sword.
The Vinchen woman twisted her arm, and the blade swiveled to the side. She glared at the boy. “Move aside, or I will be forced to kill you, too.”
Vaderton could feel Jillen’s entire body quivering in terror, but he shook his head and didn’t move.
The woman nodded, her face sad. “I understand, and commend you for your bravery.” Then she raised her sword again.
“Captain, wait!”
The Vinchen paused and waited patiently as the woman with the chainblade ran over to them.
She stared at Jillen. “Little Bee? Is that you?”
It was a question that made Jillen shrink back when even a sword hadn’t.
“Filler!” called the woman with the chain.
The man turned his head toward her.
“Come here!”
He calmly brained the man he’d been fighting, then stomped slowly over, his metal leg clanking. “What is it, Nettie?”
The woman named Nettie pointed wordlessly at Jillen.
Filler’s eyes widened. “Jilly? What are you doing on an imp ship?”
Jillen moved forward cautiously. “Filler? Is that really you?”
“Of course it is, Bee. And why are you dressed like a boy?”
“She’s posing as a sailor, obviously,” said Nettie.
“But why?” asked Filler.
Jillen (or was it Jilly?) looked up at Filler like she wanted to move closer, but didn’t want to leave Vaderton undefended. “I’m looking for my mom. She enlisted, remember?”
Filler’s face fell. He touched something on his metal leg so that the knee bent and he knelt down in front of her. “I’m sorry, Little Bee. Red and I let you believe what that imp soldier said about your mom signing up for the navy. The truth is, she was taken by the biomancers.”
“No.”
“I knew your mom,” he said quietly. “There was no way she’d ever enlist in the navy. Fact is, she hated ships and imps both. I’m sorry, Jilly.”
The two stared at each other, Jilly’s face a battleground of emotions.
“I’ll just kill the rest of them myself, shall I?” called the biomancer woman. Then she made a sailor’s skull cave in with a gesture.
“Yes, thank you, Brigga Lin,” the Vinchen woman said absently, her eyes still on Jilly. “A friend of Red’s is a friend of mine. You are welcome to join my crew, Jilly.”
“I’m a part of this crew, though,” said Jilly.
“Are you?” asked the Vinchen.
Jilly turned to the captain, who had remained silent during this entire exchange. His expression had shifted slowly from shock, to horror, to outrage.
“Captain?”
“Deceiving an officer about your gender,” he said in a strangled voice, “is punishable by death.”
“Listen, you cunt-dropping,” said Nettie. “This girl just saved your life.”
Captain Vaderton drew himself up, his anger finally stilling his hands and burning courage into his heart. “I would rather die than be beholden to some… capricious New Laven pixie!”
“That is all I needed…” Nettie began coiling her chain around her fist.
“Stop,” the Vinchen woman said softly. “Nettles, go assist Brigga Lin with cleanup, then help Alash disable any remaining cannons, cut the rigging, and recover any shot or powder. Filler, go to the captain’s quarters and get the money chest.”
The two left without another word.
Jilly looked nervously between the Vinchen and Captain Vaderton. “What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m goi
ng to let him live, whether he likes it or not.” She turned her deep blue eyes back to Vaderton. “We will cast you adrift on your ‘guardian,’ with a crew of the dead men you were supposed to protect. If you somehow survive, you will tell everyone you meet about me.”
“Who in all hells are you?” demanded Vaderton.
“I am Dire Bane. And I will purge this empire of the Council of Biomancery, even if I have to dismantle it, ship by ship.”
2
Willmont Pavi frequently lost track of time. This was particularly true when he was in the middle of a big project. His friends had grown so accustomed to it, they generally didn’t even comment when he showed up at the Wheelhouse Tavern late, looking disheveled and unshaven.
But he knew that tonight’s meeting was different and he absolutely could not be late. So that entire afternoon, he forced himself to look up from his work at regular intervals and check the large clock that ticked solemnly on the shelf. When the sun finally began to drop behind the building tops and Mr. Blagely locked the front door of the furniture shop, Willmont was the first apprentice to finish packing up his work. Old Blagely gave him a surprised look when he saw the cleared worktable.
“You meeting a girl, Willy?” Blagely had no hair on the top of his head, and as he gazed speculatively at Willmont, the furrows of his brow went all the way up to the beginning of his smooth, spotted scalp.
“Just meeting some friends, Mr. Blagely.” Willmont was unaccustomed to lying, but it was only a partial lie.
“Make sure you aren’t rushing that piece you’re working on, is all, Willy.”
“I won’t rush, Mr. Blagely.”
“I don’t need to remind you how important it is to you, and me, and everyone in this shop?”
“No, sir,” said Willmont.
“Good boy.” Blagely patted him on the shoulder. “On your way, then.”
“Thank you, sir.” Willmont hurried out the back entrance, where they received deliveries of wood from Lesser Basheta, as well as jars of stain, crates of nails, and other things necessary for making fine furniture. Mr. Blagely’s shop was well known to nobles and rich merchants for producing some of the highest-quality pieces in Stonepeak. But that didn’t seem to be good enough for Blagely anymore. He’d set his sights higher, and was counting on Willmont to make it happen.
