by Jon Skovron
Hope stared down at the frothy, white wake of their ship. She watched it grow wider as it receded toward the horizon. One ship, like one choice, leaving a trail that rippled ever outward. Who could tell how far it would go?
“Does it feel bad?” asked Sadie.
“Does what feel bad?”
“Whatever it is you’re becoming.”
Hope paused. “These past months have been hard. But they’ve also been some of the most wonderful I have ever known. As much as I miss Red, I feel like I have finally found a family of sorts. More than I did on Galemoor, and even more than when Carmichael captained this ship. What we are doing feels more right than anything I have ever done before.”
“The life of a pirate agrees with you more than any of us could have guessed,” said Sadie. “Maybe you should stop fighting it so much.”
“Am I fighting it?” Hope mused. “I suppose I am to some degree. I find myself getting… excited for conflict. But that’s something I was taught is bad to feel.”
“No feelings are bad,” said Sadie. “They’re just feelings. And if you feel something that makes you more alive, why in all hells wouldn’t you run with it?” She squinted up at Hope. “Maybe you should put that armor aside for a spell if it keeps shaming you. Ain’t no room for poncey stuff like that in the life of Dire Bane, champion of the people.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Hope. “Perhaps I’ve been clinging to something from the past that’s holding me back.”
“Get yourself a captain’s hat and coat to make you feel like a proper pirate.” Sadie tapped her nose and winked. “It might distract a bit from your flat-chestedness, too.”
Hope would have to wait on getting a hat and coat until the next time they made port. In the meantime, she decided to replace the top half of her armor with the loose, white linen shirt favored by many sailors. It wasn’t the most practical decision, since they would most likely be engaging in close combat the next day. But she felt that a gesture of some kind was in order.
She was astonished at what a difference such a simple change made. As she walked the decks the next morning, the wind ruffled her sleeves and braced against her skin in a way that made her blood surge. She felt an almost childlike freedom, and for the first time, she allowed herself to revel in it.
“Captain?”
Jilly stood at a respectful distance, her back straight and arms at her sides. No doubt two years in the navy had drilled that stance into her.
Hope smiled, trying to put her at ease. “What is it, Jilly?”
“Finn says the storm is nearly on us, sir. He wants to know, should we batten down or press ahead?”
Hope decided to let the sir go. Like the posture and salute, it would fade in time. “Tell him we’ll press ahead. Then go wake Brigga Lin and send her to assist Finn. She’ll be our bearing in the storm.”
“Yes, sir.” Jilly saluted and turned smartly on her heel. But then she stopped and looked back at Hope.
“Was there something else?” asked Hope.
“Oh,” said Jilly. “Uh… well… I don’t understand how you can call her a friend.” She bit her lip. “Brigga Lin, I mean. Sir.”
“I knew who you meant. And I understand why it seems strange to you. Brigga Lin is not like the rest of us. Raised in wealth, trained as a biomancer. Both things we’ve learned to hate, or at least distrust. And she certainly doesn’t make it easy to like her. But as aloof as she might seem, she cares a great deal about the welfare of those she considers companions. Watch her carefully, and you might be surprised to discover she’s more like us than you first thought.”
“Do you think we’re alike?” asked Jilly. “I mean, you and me?”
Hope smiled again as she thought back to when she was that age, looking with awe at Hurlo, desperate to gain whatever it was that made him so magnificent. He had seemed larger than life back then. Did Jilly see her the same way?
“In some ways we are a lot alike,” she told the girl. “Now, run along. I’m sure Finn is anxious to hear back.”
Jilly saluted again, then left.
Hope turned to the south and saw the thick bank of seething, purplish clouds bearing down on them. She watched the lightning fork through the sky and counted the seconds until the rumble of thunder. Not long now.
The storm overtook them before they had the biomancer’s ship in sight. The sky grew as dark as twilight and the wind came strong and capricious. The storm also brought a steady cold rain. Not the fat, heavy drops that came farther north. Southern storms brought thin sheets that hissed spitefully as they drenched everything in a biting chill.
Under normal circumstances, Hope would have struck as much as half the canvas in a storm like this. But if they did that now, they might lose all the headway they’d gained, and along with it, any chance of catching their quarry before it reached Vance Post, their most likely destination. As the third-largest island in the empire, Vance Post had anywhere from three to five imperial war frigates docked and ready to deploy. The Kraken Hunter couldn’t take on three frigates at once, even with all their tricks and tactics. They would have to catch this ship before it reached Vance Post. So they stayed at full sail and Hope watched the rigging, and listened attentively to the creak of the masts. Either they would catch their quarry, or the storm would tear them apart.
After her inspection, Hope made her way across the rain-swept deck to the helm. Missing Finn held the wheel with white-knuckled hands, his weathered face pinched as rain dripped from the tip of his nose. Nearby, Brigga Lin held an umbrella made from white waxed canvas stretched over a wooden frame.
“I offered to share,” said Brigga Lin, inclining her head to her umbrella.
“A little rain never hurt no one,” said Finn.
“Not rain itself,” said Brigga Lin. “But one can develop a range of illnesses from prolonged exposure to cold, wet environments.”
“That’s what the grog is for,” said Finn.
“Not before a battle, though,” said Hope. “I need your wits sharp.”
“Of course not, Captain,” said Finn, perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m dry as a dream. Well…” He wiped at his streaming face with his thick hand. “You know, on the inside.”
Hope decided not to press the issue. Even with a weakness for grog, Finn was still the best sailor on the ship.
“Aren’t you cold?” asked Brigga Lin. “You’re not even wearing your armor.”
Hope grinned. “I was raised in the Southern Isles. I don’t get cold.”
Brigga Lin sniffed. “Well, I’ll continue to enjoy some nominal dryness, if you two salty sea dogs don’t mind.”
“Are you able to track the ship in this storm?” asked Hope.
She nodded. “They seem to be slowing down.”
“It’s the safe thing to do,” said Finn. “If the ship is as big as that smith said, you don’t want to lose control of it in a storm this fussy.”
“Can you get a sense of exactly how far ahead they are?” asked Hope.
“I’ll try.” Brigga Lin closed her eyes, unconsciously spinning her umbrella so that droplets spun out in a pinwheel. A slight frown creased her face. “Approximately eight miles.” Her frown deepened. “Wait, no, ten.” Her frown fell into a pout. “Or maybe it is eight.” She opened her eyes. “Sorry, I’ve never tried something like this before. It seems to be shifting between two distances, but I probably just need more practice.”
“It’s alright,” said Hope. “At least we have a general idea.”
“If it’s eight miles, we should overtake her within the hour,” said Finn. “Assuming we don’t drown first.”
“I’ll let the others know,” said Hope.
“Can I do it, Captain?”
Hope looked up and saw Jilly sitting on the main yard above them, her bare feet dangling.
“What are you doing up there in this weather?” asked Brigga Lin disapprovingly.
“Sat up in the crow’s nest in worse storms than this when I
sailed with the Guardian.” A certain nonchalantly boastful tone crept into Jilly’s voice that reminded Hope of Red. “A bit of rain was no excuse to leave your post.” She winked at Finn. “Anyway, that’s what the grog is for.”
She dropped down to the deck. “You want me to tell everyone to beat to quarters, Captain?”
Hope looked inquiringly at Finn.
“I think it’s one of them imperial navy terms.”
“On a large ship with a big crew,” said Jilly, “they pound this huge drum to let everybody know it’s time to get to battle stations.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a drum, and the rest of the crew wouldn’t know the significance anyway,” said Hope. “So just tell them to get ready.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Jilly gave her a sharp salute and hurried off, her bare feet slapping on the wet wood of the deck.
“The next time we’re in port, remind me to get some shoes for that girl.” Hope pursed her lips. “And maybe a drum.”
“Do you really think we need one?” asked Finn.
“No, but I think it would make her happy to beat on it.”
Finn grinned. “Aye, Captain.”
A half hour later, the cargo ship came into view over the starboard bow, heading east-northeast. She was easy enough to spot, with lanterns lit at her bow and stern. The endless curtain of rain made it difficult to make out details, but from what Hope could tell, the smith’s description was dead-on.
As Filler, Nettles, Sadie, and Jilly trimmed the sails to slow down the Kraken Hunter, Finn turned to Hope and Brigga Lin.
“Why’s she all lit up, I wonder.”
“To see where they’re going?” asked Brigga Lin.
Finn shook his head. “Those lanterns won’t do more than let other people see you.”
“Maybe they’re afraid another ship will run into them?”
“Not likely out here,” said Finn.
Hope was only half listening to the conversation as she trained her spyglass on the cargo ship’s deck. She wanted to size up their crew. Once the ship’s sails and rigging were disabled with chain shot, the battle would be decided by close combat. She wanted to know exactly what they would be up against. Her heart gave a lurch of excitement when she saw a white-hooded form yelling animatedly at the helmsman. Of course, no true Vinchen would allow themselves such emotional indulgence. But she found herself less and less concerned by that, and promised herself that there would be one less biomancer in the world by the end of the day.
She watched the crew of the cargo ship begin to scurry around the deck in a panic.
“They’ve spotted us,” she told Finn. “No point being coy now. Take us north-northwest, and bring us around her port side.”
The storm was getting stronger. Thunder boomed close and loud. The lightning lit up the ash-colored sky above in flickering bursts.
“Filler and Nettles, to the grapple guns,” called Hope. “If we disable them on the first pass, maybe we can take them before the full strength of the storm is on us.”
Finn eyed the swaying masts anxiously. “That would be good.”
Hope slapped his sodden back and grinned. “I’d hate for you to get bored, Mr. Finn.”
Finn eyed her speculatively. “I wonder if Sadie the Pirate Queen has been rubbing off on you.”
Hope laughed, a spontaneous burst that surprised her as much as it surprised her crew. “You may have something there, Mr. Finn. Now, hard to starboard, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
There was a small flash on the cargo ship, and a streak of sooty orange light cut up into the stormy sky.
“Distress flare,” said Finn as he brought the Kraken Hunter around. They were running parallel to the cargo ship, a quarter of a mile between them, but closing rapidly.
“Why would they do that?” mused Hope. “For any chance passersby?” She frowned. “Or else…”
“Hope, the life force is split,” said Brigga Lin.
“What do you mean, split?”
Brigga Lin pointed off the starboard bow to the cargo ship. “It’s there. But it’s also there.” She pointed off the port side. “I couldn’t tell before because they were in line, but that’s why I was getting conflicting distances. There’s a second ship.”
Hope turned her glass to the port side and saw it through the murky rain: an imperial war frigate bearing down on them at top speed.
“Piss’ell, I should have realized!” said Finn. “That’s why they’re all lit up. So they wouldn’t get separated from their escort in this storm.”
“I need solutions, not blame,” said Hope tersely.
“Is it bigger than the Guardian?” asked Jilly from her perch on the main yard.
“No,” said Hope. “A little smaller, actually. But we could never have survived a head-on attack. The ghost ship, the mirage cloaking. We needed those elements. Those all take time—something we don’t have.”
Lightning stabbed across the sky, followed almost immediately by a hard clap of thunder.
“We could run,” said Finn, just loud enough for Hope to hear him over the rain. “We could lose them in this storm easy.”
“Abandon those girls to the experiments of biomancers?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t like it either, but what other options do we have? You and I both know those guns could turn us to driftwood before ours even get in range.”
Hope continued to watch the frigate. It would reach them well before they reached the cargo ship. There was a small flash from the bow, and a cannonball splashed less than fifty yards from their port side. A warning shot.
“It may be smaller than the Guardian, but I reckon it’s at least as well armed,” said Finn. “Looks to be twelve-pounders for bow-chasers. Likely twenty-four-pounders on the broadside, then. They’ll be in range in another couple of minutes.”
Hope collapsed her glass and nodded. Her body buzzed with the thrill of danger, but she felt calm. “Nettles and Filler, strike the remaining sails. Sadie, strike our colors and run up the white flag.”
“Captain?” Finn looked astonished, rain still streaming down his face. The rest of the crew stared at her as well.
Hope turned to Jilly. “Go tell Alash to close all the gun ports.”
Jilly saluted, but without her usual sharpness.
“Then,” continued Hope, “tell him that he gets to try his lightning experiment after all.”
6
The narrow room was filled with six thunderous gunshots in rapid succession, each flaring up for a moment and followed by the acrid smell of gunpowder.
Too noisy, too bright, and too pissing stinky, thought Red as he placed the now-empty revolver on the small table in front of him.
He was several levels underground beneath the palace. People mistakenly thought the important things—things that changed the empire—happened at the top of the palace. But Red knew the real stuff happened down here. This was where the biomancers conducted many of their experiments, and where they housed most of their weapons and creatures.
“An excellent grouping,” said Chiffet Mek, the biomancer responsible for Red’s weapons training. He inspected the target and pointed to the small cluster of holes in the center of the head. “I expect that once you adjust to the particulars of using firearms, the spread will be so small, it will only appear as one hole.”
“I don’t like firearms,” said Red. “What’s wrong with my throwing blades?”
“Nothing is wrong with them.” Chiffet Mek’s voice sounded like pieces of rusty metal rubbed together. “Every weapon has its use. In close range, with a limited number of targets and a need for stealth, your throwing blades are an ideal choice. But there will be times when you have a large number of targets at longer range and without a need for stealth. That is when firearms are the ideal choice.”
“You still haven’t told me who these targets are going to be.” Red began to reload the revolver.
“Enemies of the empire,” sai
d Mek.
“Whoever you decide needs to die.”
“Naturally. Now go again. This time, make sure you don’t pull to the left when you squeeze the trigger. You may need to counter slightly with your other hand. But don’t overdo it.”
Red reloaded the revolver and fired another six shots, taking a little more time between each one. This time, only the last one strayed from the center slightly, so that it looked like one large hole and one small hole.
“Better. But you lost your focus on the last shot,” said Mek.
Red affected a disinterested tone as he began to reload again. “Say, you didn’t let one of the little beasts you keep down here into the city, did you?”
After learning about that woodworker’s fate, he’d asked around. Servants, imps, anyone who ever left the palace on a regular basis and liked to gossip. Apparently, it was not the first incident where small groups of local wags had recently turned up dead. It had been happening for weeks now. It got him thinking that maybe the biomancers were behind it. Such underhandedness in the shadows was exactly their style.
“Beasts?” asked Chiffet Mek. “Not that I am aware of. Why do you ask?”
“Seems there’s been a string of murders in the city. Nasty work, I hear. Always with a small blade of some kind, but nothing’s ever been recovered at the scene. So maybe it’s claws? And nothing is ever stolen from the victims. The imps can’t seem to figure it out, although that could be because it’s been exclusively regular folk getting killed, and we know imps can’t be bothered to make much effort on account of that lot.”
Chiffet Mek’s lips quirked to one side beneath the shadow of his hood. “And you believe one of our experiments is responsible?”
Red shrugged dramatically. “The prince is getting a bit concerned, is all. Near as I can tell, he doesn’t know much about what you do here in these basements. If these deaths keep up, he might come down to investigate and find things you’d rather he didn’t.”
Red knew it was a bit of a gamble to bait Mek like this. But he felt deep in his bilge that it had to be something the biomancers let loose in the city. He knew it would be difficult to prove, but maybe if he threatened an imperial inspection of their more secret activities, they’d call their beastie back home and nobody else would die.
