Pirates & Privateers

by Jane Glatt

  “Thank you,” Calder said. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about salt fish; he was grateful to have any food, but the spices were a delightful bonus. “I’ll make you something with them when you return,” he said. “I assume we need to be careful with any fire.”

  “Yes.” Solvig led the way back into her quarters. “The stove burns fish oil and it smells, but it doesn’t smoke much.” She headed to a small door. “The privy is here.” She opened the door to a small room. A bucket was buried halfway into the floor. “Pipes lead away from here to the sea below the pier,” Solvig said.

  She closed the door and headed to the door at the end of the hall. She cracked it open. “Your friend is here already, I think.”

  Calder leaned past Solvig to see a narrow bed and a small side table. Dag’s blonde head was at one end of the bed, and a blanket covered her.

  “The trip here was hard on her,” he said.

  Solvig nodded and shut the door. She squeezed past Calder and headed back to the main living space.

  “It’s not much, but it should do you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Calder said. “I’m used to a hammock in a ship’s hold. This amount of privacy is a real treat.”

  “Good. I should be back in a couple of days,” Solvig said. “Get anything you need from beside the fire before I put it out and lock up.”

  It took Calder just a few minutes to gather his clothes and a few blankets from the warehouse. While Solvig made sure the fire was out he went back into her quarters.

  A quick peek showed him that Dag was still sleeping, so he started clearing the main table. After a trip to grab the spices, he put his selections on the cleared spot on the table. It had been so long since he’d had such an array of spices to cook with that he was almost sorry that they had fish pies for today.

  Solvig popped her head in to say goodbye, and after he heard the lock turn, quiet settled over the warehouse.

  Calder sighed. As a sailor he never had much free time or privacy, and here he had both. They had two, maybe three days to wait until Solvig returned—and that was the best case. She could run into bad weather or have trouble getting in to see Joosep, despite the patch.

  Calder filled a bowl with water and submerged some salt fish fillets. He might as well get started on tomorrow’s meal. Once that was done, he looked around the small space.

  What to do with his time? He sat down and pulled a tattered piece of rope towards him. Without thinking, he spliced it together, tossed it aside, and grabbed another piece.

  JOOSEP BLINKED WHEN the door opened. His lips were cracked and dry, and his throat felt scratchy; he’d lost track of how long it had been since he’d had a drink of water. Holt had threatened a day, but it felt longer.

  A figure loomed over him.

  “It’s curious that no one seems to miss the Master Intelligencer and his assistant.” It was Holt. He was holding a clay cup, and Joosep couldn’t help staring at it. He licked his lips and Holt laughed.

  “This water is yours if you tell me what I want to know,” he said. “Students, teachers, and Intelligencers. I’ll kill your assistant if you don’t tell me.”

  Condensation dotted the outside of the cup, and Joosep couldn’t take his eyes off it. But despite his preoccupation, his Trait could still tell that Holt was hiding something. “You don’t have Arnor,” Joosep croaked out. “You’d have brought him to me in pieces if you had.”

  “You’re right,” Holt replied. He tipped the cup, and water spilled out onto the dry dirt floor of the stall. He stopped pouring. “I still have half left. It’s yours if you tell me what I want.”

  Joosep closed his eyes so that he didn’t have to look at the cup. He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a croak that ended in a strangled cough. He took a deep, steadying breath before opening his eyes and meeting Holt’s gaze.

  “I swore an oath many years ago,” Joosep said. “The same one you swore when you became Grand Freeholder: to put the Three above even my own life.” He smiled. “I meant it.”

  “Vardya!” Holt said. He threw the cup at the wall.

  It shattered, and shards of wet clay rained down on Joosep. He desperately wanted to pick up the pieces and lick the moisture off of them, but he wasn’t going to do that in front of Holt. Instead, he smiled.

  “You really don’t have Arnor.” His smile widened when Holt swore again, left the room, and slammed the door shut.

  In the dark, Joosep hunted for shards of clay, picking them up and sucking them dry. Part of him knew that this small amount of water would simply delay the process of dying of thirst. But another part of him wasn’t ready to give up.

  He still had people out there, and Arnor was one of them: Arnor, who knew almost as many secrets as he did. Joosep might not be saved from Tarmo Holt, but the Three—the Fair Seas Treaty Alliance countries—still could be.

  DAG YAWNED AND stretched before pushing the blankets down to the foot of the bed. A sliver of light spilled in from around the cloth that covered the small window. Dusk, she thought, or could it be dawn? She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept. She’d felt warm, finally, after the mad escape through the rain.

  She stood up and stretched again. She was wearing her own shirt, but she’d laid her trousers out on the chair. She picked them up to find that they were finally dry, and she pulled them on.

  The hallway that led to the living area was dark. She hadn’t done more than pass through it, hunting for the bed, when she’d come in.

  “You’re awake,” Calder said from the gloom. “Sorry, no lights allowed. Not until Solvig gets back.”

  Dag could see enough to find her way to a second chair. Something on the table in front of her smelled enticing and unfamiliar. “She’s gone? Thanks for handling everything. I’m just so exhausted.”

  “Cold water steals all your energy,” Calder said. “It happens.”

  “Not to you.”

  “I’m used to it,” he replied. “Even on the trip to Strongrock I had to rig in the cold rain. I don’t think you’ve ever had to. Not rig, I mean stay out and work in cold rain.”

  “My first assignment was as a housemaid,” Dag said. “No cold rain.”

  “Housemaid,” Calder said. “You said it was for the next Grand Freeholder.” She paused, and he could almost hear him smile. “Joosep sent you there for a reason. It might help us figure out what Holt’s plan is.”

  “You’re right.” She gave him the same report she’d given to Joosep: was it just over a week ago? How had so much happened in such a short period of time?

  “So Timonis is next in line for Grand Freeholder,” Calder said. “Holt obviously knows that. Nothing you found out could derail his appointment.”

  “Holt wouldn’t be named his replacement anyway,” Dag said. “It’s not Nordmere’s turn.”

  “No, but could he benefit from a delay? You said he was trying to recruit Inger for some longer-term plan.”

  “But that would take years,” Dag said. “He was looking to pair her with some unknown man so they could have children with Traits.”

  “Which means he must already be working with someone—a male—with a Trait,” Calder said.

  “Probably a young man,” Dag said. “Inger would never have children with just anyone. I can’t think who it might be, and I know everyone’s Traits. I know even when they don’t know it themselves.”

  “Really?” Calder asked. “You can spot Traits?”

  “Sure. That’s how Joosep finds us all too,” she said. “We both have the same Trait, although mine’s stronger.” She paused. “I don’t always know exactly what the Trait does. Take Ursa Ozlinch. The closest I can come to figuring out her Trait is that she’s some kind of Keeper. She keeps a tavern and an inn and owns most of Strongrock. And she’s been able to convince Inger into staying with her even after I’ve exposed her lies.”

  “Interesting,” Calder said. “You heard what Jaak said when he came to my room. That what’s Ansdottir’s sta
ys hers, including people. Jaak was talking about himself.”

  “It might be Ursa who is behind that.”

  “It’s possible,” Calder said. “That could be another reason why Ansdottir hung Ursa’s spy. She knows Ursa is good at collecting people and wants to make sure she knows that anything that belongs to Ursa is Ansdottir’s if she wants it.”

  “That’s still part of a power struggle,” Dag said, trying not to think about how close Inger had come to being hung, “and maybe Ansdottir didn’t trust Hanne.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t trust Ursa.” Calder stood up. “We’re not going to figure this out right now. Solvig left us a couple of fish pies. I’ll put the stove on low to heat them.”

  DAG PUSHED HER plate away. The pie was bland but edible. She yawned.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I think I need more sleep.”

  “All right. You take the bed, and I’ll figure out something out here.”

  “No! Skit! I didn’t mean it that way. It’s tight, but we’ll both fit in the bed.” She hadn’t even suspected that Calder would assume she should get the bed all to herself. “Inger and I have shared smaller, believe me.” Not recently; they hadn’t needed to in the Hall. “If anyone sleeps out here it’ll be me. I’ve already had a chance at the bed, and you’ve been awake far longer than me.”

  “If you’re sure,” Calder said.

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  Calder headed for the bedroom, but Dag didn’t feel quite tired enough, not after sleeping so much of the day already. She peered out the window—it faced a dirt path that was lined with buildings. No lights were on in any of the ones she could see, so she assumed they were for work—shacks for curing fish or workshops for tasks related to shipbuilding.

  After a half hour of watching nothing, she headed for bed. She squeezed in beside Calder and stared up at the ceiling. She was aware of Calder’s breathing and his warmth, and she realized that sharing a bed with him wasn’t anything like sharing with Inger. As tired as she was, it took her a long time to get to sleep.

  CALDER WOKE SLOWLY. There was an unfamiliar weight on his shoulder, and when he turned his head, he felt Dag’s hair on his face. He froze: his left arm lay under her, and his hand rested on her hip. He gently moved his hand off her, surprised that they’d both been comfortable enough to get so close in sleep. He didn’t have a lot of experience sharing a bed: most of his time on the sea had been spent in hammocks strung in ship holds, and he’d never pursued a long-term romantic relationship. Between his work and his father’s bad example, he’d always figured he was a poor bet. But he had to wonder what it would be like to wake up with Dag every day. Not that she was looking for anything from him.

  Carefully, he pulled his arm out from under her. She stirred and rolled towards him, and in order to keep out of her way, he ended up pressed against the wall. He slid out from under the blanket and edged off the bed.

  In the main room he looked out the window. A gentle rain fell, muddying the path that ran along the landward side of the building. He saw someone wearing wet-weather gear enter one of the cabins, but other than that, it was quiet.

  He’d been to Lavais once before and knew that the ship building took place in a larger bay that faced Swyford, rather than this smaller bay that seemed filled with fishermen and craftsmen and Solvig and her warehouse.

  He drained the salt fish and refilled the bowl with fresh water, then filled a pot with fresh water and put it on the small stove. He lit the wick, keeping the flame low, put some tea in a mug, and waited for the water to boil.

  There was enough light to work by, so he picked up a tangled and torn fishing net. He wasn’t used to being idle. He was sipping his tea and working on the net when Dag entered.

  “Do you want some tea?” he asked. “Fish stew is still a few hours away.” He’d changed the water again but would need another fresh soak to leech more salt out of the fish.

  “Tea would be great,” she said. She grabbed a mug from a shelf while he lit the stove again.

  “The tea’s in the pot on the top shelf,” Calder said. Dag pulled it down and shook some leaves into her mug.

  “I hope Solvig forgives us for using up all of her supplies,” Dag said. She put the tea away and sat down across from him. She picked up the net. “At least you’re repaying her with repairs.”

  “It’s more to keep busy,” Calder said. He met her eyes and grinned. “I’m not even sure she’ll thank me. The warehouse is almost empty, so this might be the only work she has to keep her occupied.”

  “Why is that?” Dag asked. “The warehouse, I mean. It is empty. Shouldn’t it be full?”

  The water was boiling, so Calder put down the net he was working on, turned off the stove, and tipped the water into Dag’s mug.

  “Trade’s been interrupted,” he said. “Because of the pirates. Remember the names of ships on the crates of weapons stored on Strongrock? Every single one of those ships was carrying something besides those weapons. Those trade goods would have been taken or lost when Ansdottir’s people attacked: trade goods that would have otherwise ended up in this warehouse and other warehouses like it all around the Pale Sea.”

  “I guess I knew that damage was being done to the Fair Seas Treaty Alliance countries,” Dag said. “But it seemed so hypothetical. This empty warehouse makes it seem more real.”

  “Trade affects everything. Before long there will be whole industries that are no longer functioning.”

  “I still don’t see why they wouldn’t just build more ships.” Dag said.

  “They could eventually,” Calder replied. “Once they know the ones they have are lost. But merchants are in business to make money, and losing a ship and its cargo is expensive. And that doesn’t even consider the loss of sailors. Even if a merchant can recover from that, why would he risk sending a ship through the pass? And what crew would be willing to sail for regular pay?”

  “Solvig is right,” Dag said. “The pirates need to be stopped. But Joosep hadn’t even assigned you to that. He might want this to happen.”

  “Maybe.” Calder didn’t want to believe Joosep was working against the Three but if he wasn’t, then the Master Intelligencer had missed something huge. “I don’t see how any of this benefits Tarmo Holt. He and the rest of the Freeholders stand to lose fortunes with trade disrupted.”

  “But lumber will be less expensive, won’t it?” Dag asked. “If no one needs it?”

  “I suppose. But who would want it, even if it was cheap?” It was time to change the water for the salt fish. When he was done, he sat back down. Dag was staring into her mug.

  “There’s something there,” she said. She shook her head. “I just don’t have enough information to uncover the answer.” She looked up at him and sighed. “In the meantime, why don’t you teach me how to fix this fishing net?”

  “Sure.”

  Teaching Dag how to splice the rope and then tie the knots to fix the netting took most of the afternoon. The fish stew was simmering: along with the salt fish he’d added the carrots and onion and had been liberal with the spices.

  It was almost dark by the time they ate. After two bowls each, Calder added more water to the pot and turned the flame on the stove as low as he could.

  “More of the same for tomorrow,” he said. He was still hungry and had to assume Dag was too, but they had to ration the food.

  “It was good,” Dag said. “Thanks. Where did you learn to cook?”

  “My father. He’s Pilalian, as you might have guessed.” He laid his arm on the table beside hers. Even in the waning light the difference in skin tones was apparent. “Although my mother has your colouring.” He felt heat where their arms touched. “Pilalians use a lot of spices when they cook.” He pulled his arm away from Dag’s, but his awareness of her only intensified. “Whenever I had the chance, I badgered my father into teaching me how to cook.”

  “You don’t like boiled potatoes and cabbage?” Dag asked. She smiled and his heart st
uttered. “Or pickled beets and herring?”

  “I ate plenty of those,” Calder said. “When I was at the Hall. My mother knows better than to feed me that when I visit. I cook for her.”

  “Then we make the perfect team,” Dag said with a laugh. “I can’t cook at all. Not even the traditional dishes.” Their eyes met, and Calder couldn’t look away. Something shifted between them, and Dag’s smile faded.

  “A perfect team,” Calder repeated softly. He put his hand on the table palm up, and Dag laid her hand on his. He closed his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. His heart racing, he leaned over their hands.

  She met him halfway—warm lips and hot breath mingled, and then soft skin met soft skin and he forgot to breathe. Her hand tightened on his as their lips—the only other place where their bodies met—melded together. He felt her smile against him, and he pulled away to stare into blue eyes that seemed to see right through him. And maybe they did.

  And then she leaned across and kissed him again. He wasn’t sure who moved first but they were both on their feet, arms wrapped around each other, and he felt heat all along his body where they touched. Their lips parted, and he took a shaky breath, inhaling her scent.

  “I hadn’t planned on that,” Dag said, and he looked up in surprise. “I don’t think you planned it either.”

  “We should stop,” he said. Whatever this was, or could become, would it jeopardize their mission?

  “Do you want to?” Dag asked. She leaned away from him but didn’t let go.

  “No, I don’t want to stop.”

  “Me neither.” She led the way to the bedroom.

  Once there, he felt almost shy. He’d spent countless hours sailing shirtless yet when he took his off in front of Dag, he felt self-conscious. Until he felt her hands on his chest and the need surged for his skin to be against hers.

  Clothing gone, he revelled in the feel of her against him. He pulled her onto the bed on top of him as he placed feverish kisses down her neck to her shoulders, stopping to suck one nipple into his mouth. Dag pushed into him—into his arousal—before she straddled him. With his mouth still on her nipple, he felt between her legs. She arched away from him, panting. Then he was in her.