Scimitar Moon

by Chris A. Jackson

  “They probably are, but to that fact I cannot attest. The only road my feet have trod this day was the one from the pier to this door, and it, as you undoubtedly know, is cobbled.”

  “You came in on a ship?” one of the sailors asked, his tone skeptical.

  “No ship, sir, for the Flothrindel is barely thirty cubits from stem to stern, and is but a wisp of flotsam alongside the great galleons that crowd your fair harbor.”

  “Out in a blow like this in a scrap of kindling not much bigger than a fishing smack? You must be daft, man!”

  “Would that I had the prescience of wind and wave that is found in the priests of Odea. We were caught unawares by the weather as we came through the Shattered Isles. The entrance at Scarport was untenable with the wind direction, so we reefed thrice and made for deep water, then tacked for our destination when the wind shifted with the passage of the storm. It was a close reach into the harbor, but the waves were not so high as they may have been.” He bowed as someone thrust a cup into his hand, breathing deeply of the steaming vapors wafting from its lip.

  “You say yer destination was Southaven,” Koybur said, his one good eye still appraising the slim man. “What business is so important as to bring you here in such weather?”

  “I come here at the behest of one of your local shipwrights, one Morris Keelson. He sent me some designs that I found—”

  “You’re Ghelfan?” Cynthia lurched to her feet, her outburst catching the man off guard. “But it’s been near a month since we sent word! Did something happen? Is the messenger boat all right?”

  “Ah, and you must be Cynthia Flaxal. I am indeed Kloetesh Ghelfan, and I am at your service, lady.” With this he bowed low, took Cynthia’s hand and embarrassed her by kissing it. Mouse lit on her shoulder and giggled in her ear, pointing at the display.

  “My apologies for the delay, but the messenger boat did come into some weather of its own, and was somewhat damaged. The crew is quite fine, but I took their small craft up for repairs before I put to sea. We sailed with all haste, and Flothrindel is a speedy craft, but this storm did delay us somewhat.”

  “I, uh… Well… Nice to meet you.” Mouse tugged at her earlobe and giggled again.

  “The pleasure is entirely mine, lady, for your designs have stirred a fire in me that I thought quenched fifty years ago. I would know where you came upon such a radical marriage of dhow, gaff-sloop and traditional square rig, unless you hold the impetus of your genius too dear to divulge.”

  “Uh, well, I’ve been working on the sketches for some time.” Cynthia covered her embarrassment with a sip from her cup. “I thought that a ship needed to be faster, kinder to her crew, and sail closer to the wind. I’ve watched the different ships in the harbor for years; each had their own strong points. I put them together, that’s all.”

  “That is, indeed, all. All that will change the way ships are built for the next half millennia.” He reached for his satchel and withdrew a long chart case. “I took the liberty of making some notes and adjustments to the rigging specifications that, with your approval, I think will work well with your design.” He looked around at the crowd and smiled thinly. “Perhaps a private room would be more conducive to our needs.”

  “Right away on that!” Brulo said, ushering the newcomer, Cynthia and Koybur away from the curious throng. Mouse danced a jig on her shoulder and stuck his tongue out at the scowling sailors as they climbed the stairs.

  *

  Cynthia’s breath caught at her first glimpse of the renderings that Ghelfan had made from her comparatively rough drawings. Art finer than any she’d seen spread across the table in sheets of fine cotton parchment. Ink of three colors graced the pages in precise lines and script. Footnotes explained every minute detail in flowing characters whose beauty left her eyes watering.

  “Unbelievable!” she whispered, her fingers brushing the beautiful pages. Mouse trundled down her arm to land on the parchment, but she snatched him up and put him on her shoulder. “No, Mouse. No sprite footprints on these, my little friend.” He sulked, but stayed put.

  “I see you have the amity of a seasprite, lady. That is surely a sign from Odea that this venture is blessed.”

  “Mouse has been with my family for longer than I’ve been alive, Master Ghelfan. Whether it’s a sign from Odea, or just that he likes me, I have no idea.”

  “Well, I welcome the presence of Master Mouse,” he said, nodding at the sprite, who puffed up and sketched a sweeping bow. “And as to these plans, I must make my apologies for any liberties I have taken with your creation.”

  “No apology necessary,” she assured him, noting for the first time that his eyes had a slight upturn, and his ears a faint point. His elven blood was disguised, but still detectable. “These are beautiful.”

  “Ah, the beauty is in the design itself, lady. I have but traced the lines and jotted a few crude notes.” He pointed to some of his changes and their accompanying footnotes. “The design is sound, and can be put out with only slight modifications. Her profile is low, so she’ll ship seas in heavy weather, but the rig can be managed by fewer crew, and in a blow, once the fore tops’l yards are housed, no one need go aloft to reef. A kinder vessel indeed, and I estimate she will sail two points closer to the wind than any galleon. That is all to the good.”

  He paused, and took a deep breath. “The stresses invoked by so much sail area require some modifications. Most can be taken into account with some reinforcing measures; for example, the shrouds and stays will be made of wire-rope, tensioned with triple deadeyes, and affixed to the hull by bronze chain plates.”

  “Won’t that put too much weight aloft?” Koybur asked.

  “The weight is more than made up for by strength, and this rig will need the strength. Spar and gaff ends will be whipped with chord and lacquered to handle the added load. Gaff jaws and blocks will all be reinforced with bronze. The keels can be shaped and laid immediately. Your notion of lowering the center of mass by using laminated beams inlaid with lead is masterful, lady. It will require a bit of labor, but the savings in ballast space will make up for the expense. The hulls will be cross-planked as you suggest, and those materials are fine.”

  “Good. Most of it’s already ordered and should be here in a few days, except for the spars, of course.”

  “Very good, lady.” He smiled at her, and she thought her cheeks would catch fire. “Now, this adjustable bowsprit design. Absolute genius. The rake of the masts can be altered with only minimal tuning of shrouds and stays, and could be done underway to adjust weather helm. I’ve taken the liberty of redesigning the block systems for tightening the fore, thwart and bobstays.” He leaned back with his hands on his narrow hips and grinned like a kid with a new toy. “With any luck at all, the hulls will be roughed in before winter solstice, framed, planked and decked by the spring equinox and in the water by the first of storm season.”

  “That’s fast work,” Keelson said from the door, his hair and beard dripping from the stormy trek up to the inn. “Especially since you don’t know my crew.”

  “Master Keelson, I presume.” Ghelfan bowed low. “Know that your messengers are well and that their vessel is being repaired in my yard. They will be back, I am sure, by month-end, and will bring a few indispensable members of my own crew. I know you only by reputation, sir, but that is a good reputation, and I do not think I am overestimating the abilities of your people, or your yard.”

  “Well, now I don’t know about takin’ on any of your people here, Master Ghelfan. I was under the impression that the lady here was just to contract you for some modifications to the design.” He rubbed his jaw and approached the table, his eyes widening as they took in the artful renderings. “Modifications that I see you’ve nary well completed before any agreement as to your fee!”

  “As to your fee, Master Ghelfan,” Cynthia said, cognizant of her ever-dwindling funds, “I realize that you are accustomed to contracts with some of the largest shipping firms on the—
”

  “Please, lady,” Ghelfan said, palms raised and head bowed, “an endeavor that may very well change shipbuilding for centuries cannot be demeaned by attaching a price. Let us just say that—”

  “Let us just say that I will have a contract drawn up tomorrow that will reflect our discussion regarding your fee for services from this time forward.” Cynthia stepped back from the table, tearing her eyes from the beautiful plans that she suddenly realized might never come to fruition. “Forgive me, Master Ghelfan, but you must know a few things about me before this entire undertaking is ruined by a misunderstanding.”

  “Please, lady. I wish there to be nothing but clarity between us.”

  “Good.” Cynthia steeled her nerves and tried to banish the buzzing in her ears, the product of adrenalin and too much rum. “While it is true that I am young and have only recently come into control of my family’s business, I am neither dim of wit nor particularly deep of pocket. My grandmother spent the last fifteen years trying to destroy our shipping business, and nearly succeeded in ruining us financially. I have consolidated my holdings into a tidy sum of ready capital that should be enough to float two, maybe three of those.” She nodded toward the parchment-littered table. “Do not tell me that money is of no matter. We will discuss your fee, sir, or we have nothing further to discuss, so name a figure.”

  “Nothing.”

  Three pairs of eyes blinked in unison. Mouse slapped his knee and giggled incoherently, flopping onto his back, kicking his heels in the air and rolling right off her shoulder.

  “Excuse me?” Cynthia said, blinking again when Mouse’s mirth ended as sprite met floor. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I will take no money from you for my own or my crew’s services for the design modifications and assistance in the construction of these vessels.” He looked from one face to the next and smiled. “You must understand that my association with this project is more valuable to me than any sum you could pay.” At their mystified looks he elaborated.

  “You see this as a family venture, a few new ships, two or three for a start, perhaps as many as a dozen later, maybe even more. I see this as a chance to place my name among those of the greatest naval architects of history. I merely wish to ride your coattails, as it were, Mistress Flaxal. When you no longer need or wish to use these plans, I want the right to modify them as I see fit and produce like vessels for other shipping interests all around the world.”

  “But that won’t be for years,” Cynthia said, flabbergasted by the notion. “Decades! As I said, Master Ghelfan, I’m young, and I plan to produce a fleet of these ships if they prove to be as profitable as I think they will be.”

  “I have been building ships for a hundred and a half years, lady, and when your children are old and gray, I will still be building ships.” His almond eyes narrowed with his smile, and he somehow looked different, as if he had grown taller, or become a thing chiseled from alabaster. “I can afford to take the long view in this. We can draw up any contract you wish, and set any time limit or other constraints you deem fair.”

  “Well, I— uh.” Cynthia looked to the other men for support. Keelson shrugged, and Koybur looked as bewildered as she felt. “I can’t imagine keeping the plans secret for too long. I mean, someone will eventually copy them.” She bit her lip while everyone stared expectantly at her. “Shall we say that fifty years hence you have the right to do with the plans as you wish, excepting to sell them outright, and that I, or my surviving family, retains the right to use them for our own purposes regardless and forever?”

  “Wise, fair, and totally agreeable, lady.” Ghelfan bowed again. “You may have a scribe draw up a contract, and I will sign it.”

  Mouse whooped, flew up to the shipwright’s shoulder, tweaked his pointed ear and clapped him on the neck. Ghelfan smiled at the sprite’s antics and nodded to the rest of them.

  “So, I daresay, we have a good deal to discuss regarding these hulls, do we not, Master Keelson?”

  “Aye to that, Master Ghelfan, we do indeed.” The door creaked, and the old shipwright accepted a warm towel from a maid who bore several. Rowland entered with a platter of pastries, cold meats, cheeses and a pot of steaming blackbrew, and placed the entire array out around the plans. He couldn’t help but gape at them, however, and smiled at Cynthia, proud of her accomplishment. Careful to avoid dripping on the plans, Keelson bent forward to examine the points of structural modification.

  “Now, these joints that support that monstrosity of a bowsprit the girl’s dreamt up. I dunno if they’re stout enough fer the strain…”

  The conversation quickly devolved into discussions about joints, planking, framing, resins, different woods, and even what type of nails and bolts would be used. In less than an hour Cynthia found herself sitting in an armchair watching the men pick apart her designs to the last sheave, bitt and belaying pin, feeling simultaneously bored, excited and put out that the subject matter had so suddenly gone beyond her.

  “Why so sour-faced, lass?” Koybur eased his maimed frame into the chair beside her and gave her his best lop-sided smile. “I imagined you’d be chompin’ at the bit like a stallion in a draft harness right now.”

  “Oh, I am.” She shrugged and sipped at her cup, pursing her lips and scowling. “I just didn’t think it would be taken out of my hands so quickly. I’m feeling a bit like a fourth wheel on a three-wheeled cart, if you know what I mean.”

  “How so, lady?” Ghelfan stood before her, a puzzled look marring his graceful features. “You are the driving force behind this entire endeavor.”

  “There just doesn’t seem much left for me to do.” She shrugged again and sighed.

  The three men looked at one another, exchanging smiles that only annoyed her, as if they knew some private joke of which she was the butt.

  “What’s so entertaining?”

  “Your pardon, lady,” Ghelfan smiled apologetically, “but our work is all lying upon that table. Your labor, as I see it, is much more difficult, and will involve quite a bit of travel and many of the skills that we do not possess.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about building ships.”

  “Aye, but you know about people and business, lass,” Koybur countered. “And you know more about sailors than anyone here but me. You’ve also got that ‘innocent-as-a-yearling-lamb’ look about you that’s more dangerous than any pirate in the Shattered Isles.”

  “I what?”

  “He’s got ye there, lassie,” Keelson said with a grin.

  “What Master Koybur is saying,” Ghelfan added with a nod, “is that these ships will need crews and officers, and that you are the obvious one to hire them.”

  “Me?” She looked to Koybur, ignoring his horrific grin. “But I thought that you would just hire from around here. You already do the hiring for the other ships.”

  “No, and fer two reasons, lass. First, I only hired for yer gram because she had no taste or talent for it. Second, you’ll want to hire the best, and you don’t have enough to choose from here to find it. We’ll have to go further than Scarport or even Rock Harbor, I’d guess. Probably up to Tsing or south to Vonja.”

  “And third,” Keelson put in, “it’ll keep your nose out of my business for a few months!”

  They all laughed, and Cynthia found herself smiling at the prospect of a sea voyage, her first since the one that had cost her parents their lives. “Winter Gale’s still on the dry. As soon as she’s refitted, we could take her north!”

  Mouse whooped with glee and did a back flip on her shoulder.

  “Could?” Koybur scowled at her and chucked her on the shoulder. “That’s no way fer a Mistress of Ships to talk, lass!”

  “Fine then!” She vaulted to her feet and strode for the door, barking orders all the way. “I want Winter Gale back in the water and a cargo ready to fill her holds in three days. Inform Captain Uben that we’ll be sailing north to Tsing, but will stop in every decent port along the
way to hire crew for my new ships.” At the door, she turned and scowled, unaware that Mouse stood on her shoulder wagging a finger at them, ruining the effect.

  “And tell him that he’ll need berthing space for two passengers, and as many as six on the return trip. You got all that, Koybur?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He pushed himself to his feet and managed a stiff bow.

  “Good.” She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile, muttering, “I’ll show you ‘innocent as a yearling lamb’.” Her eyes flashed at their poorly-hidden amusement. “Don’t you three have shipwright things to discuss?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” they all chimed together, bowing as one.

  “I thought so. Make a list of anything that needs my attention, and I’ll have a look at it in the morning. Goodnight, gentlemen.”

  “Goodnight, Ma’am.”

  Cynthia closed the door and grinned openly at the thought of going to sea in one of her own ships. “My ships,” she said softly, and Mouse kissed her noisily on the ear. For the first time she understood all that those words meant. It was really going to happen. Her dream, living for so long only in her mind, would come true.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Voyage

  “Leaving?” Bloodwind jerked the golden chain, dragging his gilded slave up the slime-covered steps to Hydra’s scrying pool. “What do you mean, crone? Why would she be leaving, and where in the name of Odea’s scaly hide would she be going?”

  He leaned close, peering into the bloody seawater as her clawed nails stirred its surface. The wavering image of a beamy galleon easing away from the Southaven quay drifted in the murk; a slim woman in a blousy shirt and blue skirt stood at the taffrail, gazing up as the mizzen and topsails unfurled.

  “You’re sure that’s not some captain’s trollop?”

  “This is the one, my captain.” She stirred the bloody water, willing the image nearer to show the woman’s sandy-blond hair and, as she turned, her face. “This is the spawn of the seamage whom you destroyed. This is the get of Orin Flaxal.”