Pirates & Privateers

by Jane Glatt

  Despite the trail leading directly to it, if her foot hadn’t sunk into the soggy loam, Dag wouldn’t have noticed the small spring. It bubbled up from the ground and pooled under some fern leaves before saturating the ground. After checking to make sure nothing dangerous was nearby, she scooped some water up in her hands and drank.

  It was refreshing despite its slight metallic taste. And the spring was so well-concealed that Dag wondered if anyone else had ever found it. Once she’d drunk her fill, she stood up and wiped her hands on her trousers.

  She peered up through the trees at the sun. She’d been gone for three hours. Would it be better—take less time—to finish circling the island, or should she go back the way she’d come? She’d decide once she made it back to the shore.

  She only had a small knife with her, but she did her best to mark trees as she walked back along the trail. If she needed to find this spring again, she liked to think that she could.

  Once on the beach, Dag decided to push forward. She wasn’t sure her sister would actually miss her for a few more hours, and if she turned back now she’d be late enough that even Inger would wonder what she’d been up to, which meant Ursa would as well.

  After the captain’s threat, she thought that neither Ansdottir nor Ursa would like Dag exploring the island. She might not get another chance to uncover some of the secrets that she felt Strongrock was hiding.

  The sun was just starting to dip down below the tree line when she stepped onto another beach. At the far end there was a small, natural bay. A dinghy had been dragged up and overturned on the sand in front of rocks that rose sharply at the end of the bay.

  Dag crept deeper under the trees. Was someone here, or had the boat been abandoned?

  She watched for half an hour but nothing moved near the boat. Staying under the trees she paralleled the beach as she made her way toward it. She crossed a path that had been worn into the dirt of the forest: made with human feet, not animals, she thought. It led deeper into the woods and she felt the itch start between her shoulder blades. There was a secret at the end of this path: she took a last look at the boat before following it.

  A rough structure stood in a clearing. The walls were made up of fallen trees lashed together into a square and set onto a layer of rocks. A weathered canvas cover was tied at the corners. The wind lifted the canvas and she saw a stack of wooden crates.

  Dag circled the clearing but there was no one there, although she did see the old remains of a campfire.

  She stepped into the clearing. The boat had no owner, not right now, so she should have time to find out what was hiding in the crates.

  When she got to the structure, she realized that the canvas was a worn and patched sail, probably one no longer fit to use. The logs were as high as her waist, and there didn’t look to be any door to allow a person to walk inside.

  She untied one corner of the canvas and lifted it up.

  Boxes and barrels of varying sizes were all stacked neatly inside. It looked like a warehouse of sorts, but why was it so far from the town?

  There were words stamped on many of the crates. Merja, Windswept, Stormrunner. Were they the names of ships? She lifted the canvas higher. And there, in the middle, was that a cannon? She climbed up onto the logs and with the corner of the canvas in hand, walked across a few crates drawing back the cover as she went.

  The cannon was a dull black and it rested heavily on a layer of rocks that kept it off the ground. Diamanto was embossed on one end.

  She pried the lid off of a nearby crate: it was filled with long guns and pistols. The wind gusted and powder from the top of a barrel pelted her face. Her hand came away black when she wiped the grit from her forehead.

  She looked out at the crates, wondering why the pirates were stockpiling weapons. Who were they for? She counted twenty-two crates, six barrels, and the cannon. Were there other weapons hidden in other parts of the island?

  She walked back to the edge of the structure and jumped from the logs onto solid ground. She quickly retied the canvas at the corner and went to the edge of the clearing. Another secret uncovered but whose secret? What were the weapons for and why were they being kept here?

  All questions she’d need answers to, if she was to uncover any risks to her sister. For now, she needed to go back to the beach and try to find a way past the rock face. She still wanted to circle the entire island: she had a feeling that there were more secrets to discover.

  She was halfway back to the beach when she heard a shout. She scrambled off the path into the dense trees and underbrush and carefully made her way to the beach.

  A ship was in the bay and a dinghy was being rowed towards shore. Someone in the stern was shouting and sailors pulled the oars in time to his commands. When the dinghy got close to the beach, two people jumped into the surf and dragged it towards shore. Half a dozen sailors swarmed over the sides and hurried over to the upturned dinghy. They righted it and had it in the water in minutes, heading out through the waves back to the ship.

  The other dinghy had been pulled up onto the beach and crates were being handed from it into waiting hands. Sailors lifted them onto their shoulders and waded through the surf and dropped their burdens onto the sand.

  Pirates—because who else could it be—unloaded another three crates. The second dinghy arrived back on shore with three crates and three barrels.

  Once everything had been unloaded, teams of pirates—an even mix of men and women, from what Dag could see—hauled them up to the path. A couple of women stayed with the boats, either guarding them or making sure they weren’t swept away by the waves.

  Half an hour later the rest of the pirates returned, empty-handed. Some helped overturn one dinghy before they boarded the other one and rowed back out towards the ship.

  It was dusk by the time the ship rounded the edge of the island and out of sight, heading towards the town of Strongrock.

  Dag let out a big breath. It was already almost too dark for her to travel. She stared out at the jut of land the ship had disappeared behind. Now she knew for certain that Ansdottir’s pirates were storing and hiding weapons. She didn’t see how this wasn’t a threat to Inger.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. She stood up and stepped out onto the beach. Already the footprints of the pirates were being swept away by the wind and the waves.

  It was too late for her to reach Strongrock before dark. Her only option was to find a safe place to spend the night. And it wasn’t going to be this beach; not when pirates had claimed it.

  It wasn’t until she stepped up on top of the rocks at the end of the beach that she saw the other, smaller inlet. There was no path down to it: just a drop into water from where she stood, but there was a tiny beach edged by a few trees. The beach ended at another sheer rock face on the far side of the inlet.

  Dag stared down at the inlet. The water was clear enough that she could see the bottom. It looked sandy, but in the dusk, it was hard to tell exactly how deep the water was. There was a six- or seven-foot drop to the sea, but once she was in the water it looked like an easy swim or wade to the beach.

  Concentrating on the water below her, using her Trait to see the Unseen, she walked out along the rock to a point where she felt that the water was deep enough. With a prayer to Jebris, God of the sea, she jumped, clutching her knees to her chest.

  She bobbed to the surface and stood up to find herself in water that reached just past her waist. In only took a few minutes to wade to shore.

  The sun didn’t reach the narrow beach she stepped onto, and she shivered in the cool air beneath the trees. She pulled her wet boots off and left them where the beach met tall grass. It was dark now: too dark to travel any further tonight, so this protected beach would be where she slept. She sat down, her bare toes digging into the sand, as the stars started winking overhead.

  It took her a while to realize that not all of the sounds of water were from waves. Underneath
the rhythmic sound of waves there was a faint trickling. Her shoulder blades itched; her Trait had been triggered by something hidden.

  Concentrating on the sound, Dag walked to the far end of the beach. She stopped and grinned. There was enough light for her to see that the rock wall glistened where a small trickle of water flowed down it. She dipped a finger in the water and raised it to her lips. Freshwater: the second hidden spring she’d found today.

  She scooped water from the rock to her mouth, drinking her fill. By the time she was finished, a crescent moon had risen.

  She stretched out on the beach with her bare feet to the water and a small clump of grass beneath her head. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

  Chapter 6

  CALDER DUMPED THE potato peelings into a separate pot and put it on the fire. Cook had welcomed him back with a grunt, but Calder was aware of the exact moment when the older man learned about his poor showing as a rigger.

  Calder didn’t care—in fact that was the response he’d expected: whispers and glares and sailors avoiding him. It was Charis’ reaction that he hadn’t expected. Or wanted.

  “What are you doing with the scrap?” Cook asked. He sniffed the pot. “It should be in the slop bucket.”

  “A trick I learned on the Sapphire Sea,” Calder said. “From a man who had cooked for the most powerful nobles. Boil up the scrap ends of everything to make the base for your next stew or soup.” He leaned over the pot and waved a hand, bringing the steam towards his nose. “The flavour of everything is enhanced.”

  “Never heard of it,” Cook said. “Seems a waste of time.”

  “You should try it,” Calder said. “It makes even the plainest of ingredients taste better.” It would be up to Cook to use this tomorrow. Calder would be leaving the ship as soon as it reached Strongrock.

  “I would hate to waste the water you used up making it,” Cook said. “Now leave my galley. Not sure the crew will be able to enjoy the meal with you standing in front of them.”

  “I understand.” Calder grabbed a bowl of stew and a spoon and headed off down the corridor.

  The hammocks were empty at this time of day. Everyone not on duty would be heading to the galley for dinner. He almost didn’t expect to see his own hammock, or maybe to find it down on the deck but it was still strung up above two others. That didn’t mean it hadn’t been tampered with: he’d check to make sure it was secure before climbing into it. Falling on men below him was not something he was willing to risk.

  Failing his duties as a rigger had demonstrated his incompetence, and some of his fellow crew members were angry. As far as they were concerned he’d put the whole ship at risk. But disciplining him for mistakes made on duty was the Captain’s responsibility, not the crew’s, and Calder didn’t expect any of them to violate the chain of command.

  But if he were to injure another sailor—say by falling out of his hammock—the crew would mete out his punishment. And they would be harsh.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Calder looked up to see Jaak glaring down at him from a second level hammock

  “Eating.” Calder sat down on the deck. “Cook thought my presence would turn the crew off their dinner,” he said cheerfully.

  “You think this is funny?” Jaak rolled over and out of the hammock, landing on his feet. “You got both of us in trouble.”

  Calder spooned some stew into his mouth and ate it, enjoying the flavours despite Jaak’s glare. “I think that I’m the only one who’s in trouble,” he said when he finished chewing. “I took the blame and so Captain blamed me.”

  “Yeah? So what? I’m still getting sideways looks from the others.”

  “Sailors can look at people however they want,” Calder said. “It doesn’t mean they blame you.”

  “They do,” Jaak said. “Especially First Mate Charis.”

  “I doubt it,” Calder said. If Charis blamed Jaak for anything—and he shouldn’t—it would be for not seeing what Calder had: that the ship was in danger if that sail had not been taken down. That blame lay with Captain Olmar.

  Calder finished his stew and set the bowl down beside him. “You’ll miss dinner.”

  “Not hungry,” Jaak said. He paced the small area. “Everybody hates me already; this will just make it worse.”

  “Why would anyone hate you?” Calder asked, genuinely interested. He hadn’t gotten that impression from anyone on board.

  “Because I used to be one of them,” Jaak said. “A privateer. No one trusts me.”

  Calder’s focus narrowed at the word privateer. His Trait was activated.

  “But you’re not a privateer now,” Calder said.

  “That’s not how they see it,” Jaak replied. “Some of the crew have been boarded and stolen from. Think that’s my fault. Not like I chose that life.”

  “Then it must have chosen you,” Calder said. “And I’d think you’d be even more trustworthy since you obviously gave up that life.” Although to be honest, Calder could think of very excellent reasons why the pirates would want spies on board other ships. But he would never choose someone like Jaak.

  “I see it that way too,” Jaak said. “Privateers picked me up from the streets of North Tarklee. I was starving after my brother went to jail. For stealing food to feed me! They took me to Strongrock; fed me; clothed me; taught me to fish and read. Then when I was big enough they put me on a ship with Captain Margit Ansdottir herself. The greatest captain on any sea.” Jaak hung his head. “Not that I understood what they were about then. Stealing.” He spat on the deck. “That’s what done my brother in so I wanted no part of that.”

  “So that’s when you left them?” Calder asked.

  “Not right away, I’m ashamed to admit. I felt like I owed them, for saving me. But there was one ship we boarded where two people were killed.” Jaak sighed. “I couldn’t stomach that. Stealing is bad enough, but killing? I volunteered for the next trip to North Tarklee. As soon as my feet hit the dock, I was gone.”

  “Yet you stayed with the sea,” Calder said.

  “Been at sea for over five years,” Jaak said. “Don’t know anything else, really.”

  Calder sat silent for a few moments. There was something he was missing, something . . . “That’s how you know the Teeth can be navigated through,” he said. “You’ve gone through the Teeth yourself, with the privateers.”

  Jaak nodded. “No one believes me, not even the captain.”

  Calder wanted to say that was because the captain couldn’t imagine anyone having such skills because his were so poor. Instead he said, “Charis does. The First Mate even said how he thought it could be done.”

  “Yeah,” Jaak agreed. “The way he described it made me wonder if he’d been through them himself.”

  “Or maybe he’s seen it done,” Calder said. “From afar. He’s seen a ship enter the Teeth and not founder.”

  “That could be,” Jaak said. He scratched his head. “Maybe I will go get some dinner after all.”

  “Take this back with you.” Calder held up his bowl. “Please.”

  Once Jaak had gone, Calder went to his hammock. He untied it to check the ropes. There; one had been cut almost through. He pulled out his knife, cut the rope completely and spent a few minutes splicing it back together. Once it was as good as new and he’d made sure nothing else had been tampered with, he strung the hammock up.

  He’d take a quick turn around the deck; he had to visit the head anyway—and take note of who was here when he came back to climb into his hammock. It never hurt to know who your enemies were: at least the ones who wanted to really see you hurt.

  “ARNOR,” JOOSEP CALLED. “Arnor!” Where was his assistant?

  “Sir?” Arnor stuck his head through the open door. He swallowed. “Sorry, I was just eating my dinner.”

  “Any news?” Joosep asked, ignoring Arnor’s comment. He had yet to eat—and it was late—but a gnawing feeling in his gut was making him too uneasy to do anything
but worry.

  “About?”

  “Calder or the Lund sisters,” Joosep said. Then he took a deep breath. Arnor didn’t have a Trait—he didn’t know what it was like to know he should be able to grasp something and yet have it just out of reach.

  “Sorry, I’ve had no word,” Arnor said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” Joosep said. “Wait, yes. Have Gustav Gunnarson come see me after his meal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Arnor said. He closed the door, leaving Joosep to brood alone.

  Something was being hidden from him, he knew it. His weak Trait was strong enough to tell him that. But what was being hidden and by whom? It had something to do with the Lund sisters, but he wasn’t sure which one. And Tarmo Holt, of course.

  There was knock on the door and Arnor opened it, a smile on his face.

  “Gustav is here,” Arnor turned and grinned at the young man who entered.

  “Thank you, Arnor,” Joosep said when Arnor made no move to close the door. He smiled at Gustav himself—he couldn’t help it. It was the boy’s Trait, after all.

  Gustav took the chair in front of the desk. “Thanks!” he said to Arnor who beamed and finally closed the door.

  “Gustav, how are you?” Joosep asked. He did his best to keep his voice level and serious, not an easy thing when Gustav’s Trait—Charisma—seemed to seep out of him, infusing the air around him.

  “Very good, Master Intelligencer. Thank you for asking.”

  “Good. I hear that you are doing well in your studies.” Although after seeing the boy, Joosep had to wonder if there could ever be an impartial assessment of his progress. The lad was just so likeable. Even with his Unseen Trait he had a difficult time ignoring Gustav’s Charisma.