“Saw that fine figure of a man take down three armed Marines with nothin’ in his hand but a belayin’ pin.
Decided right then and there that he was the gent for me.”
I blinked, heart still thumping from my near-dunking. “Pretty good imitation. Had me goin’ for a second. So where’s Roberta? Still in the galley?”
The lady put her free hand on her hip. “You know, fer a Stone-Warden you’re pretty dim.” She let me go and stepped back a pace or two.
Sure sounds like Roberta. I looked her up and down. About as tall as me, but rounder, she had long frizzy chestnut hair flyin’ in the breeze from beneath a black old-timey tricorn hat similar to Pitcairn’s. This one was trimmed in gold and had a dusky silk rose pinned to it. Her generous bosom half-spilled out of a black boned bodice with loose lacing across the front. A pearled dagger hilt peeked out of it. The stranger wore tight leather trousers with a gold brocaded half-skirt over them. Just like the ship’s captain, she had on tall boots, only hers had suede cuffs at the top. Belted around her waist, a beautiful tooled sword belt held a cutlass with a handle that matched that of the dagger in her bodice front. A well-oiled flintlock pistol accented the other side of the belt. She looked like your aunt, the fun one who played with you, not the pinched maiden aunt who tried to make you sit up straight, keep your feet off the furniture, and memorize Bible verses.
“Nice duds,” I said with a shrug. “Still haven’t told me where Roberta’s got to.”
With a roll of her chocolate-brown eyes the piratical lady sighed, “You’re welcome for savin’ your ungrateful hide, by the way.”
Oops. “Thank you very much, ma’am.”
Her head fell back and she laughed out loud. “Let’s have none o’ that. You just call this old bird Roberta, or Bert, or Bob in a pinch. First Mate o’ the Penelope’s Kiss I am.”
Word-for-word what Roberta had said to me when we’d first met at Washington’s Monument a week before. My mouth dropped. It’d been doing that a lot since I’d left home. “You can’t be!”
“Can’t? All the magick you’ve been tossin’ around and that word’s still in your vocabulary? Ain’t no such thing as ‘can’t’ in this wide world any more, girlie.”
I kept one eye on Tyrell as his rescuers worked at reviving him. Behind me Alcibiades rose from the sea as if he could still fly. “But I thought you’d been---”
“Witched into that other shape? Sure was. Still am, as a matter o’ fact. But part o’ the curse is that I’m human when sailin’ on the Kiss.” She paused to give me a wicked smile. “That’s okay. This old skin keeps Aloysius warmer than the feathers would.”
Certain that I blushed at that, I gave her a hug. “Well, I like your old skin just as much as your old feathers.”
“Bless your heart, shrimp,” she cooed, squeezing me back. “Now let’s take care of your friends.”
While the crew carried the Redeemer below decks to the surgeon I watched Alcibiades get his wing seen to. Roberta, being the only one with direct wing experience herself, felt around on the horse’s busted limb. In no time she announced that it seemed more a bad bend than a real break. She reckoned it’d knit as good as new in a couple of weeks. Fergus rigged a hasty splint out of a broken yardarm. Al’s other wounds proved minor and we cleaned them up with some rum, which had to hurt and which he resented at the top of his lungs. With the aid of half a dozen apples and lots of nose rubs, he soon showed signs of life.
I feared Tyrell might not come off so lucky and we went down to check on him. Mr. Rochester, the ship’s doctor, a long-nosed fellow with muttonchops who looked like a country parson, kept checking his patient’s pulse and peering into his eyes. The captain hadn’t come to, but his breathing seemed normal to me and no more blood leaked out. One thing for sure, though, the injured Reb and his Valkyrie mount wouldn’t be leaving the ship for a good long while.
“If it were up to me,” Rochester said in a Maine Yankee accent, “and now that I think of it, ‘tis, he’ll be confined for several days. Looks like a concussion, at least. Won’t know till he comes round if it’s any worse than that.”
Roberta pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Hmm. Guess I’d better send one of Mabel’s girls landward to tell his people to head off without him. No sense them waitin’ over there and gettin’ jumped by who knows what.”
“They’ve got three Shades prisoner, held by trees,” I told her. “And there’s hordes of Merchantry troops on the beach. Plus, the ravens might still be on patrol. Make sure whoever goes knows to be real careful.”
As we went back top side I caught her up on everything that had happened since we’d parted company. My flight to the coast, meeting Sha’ira, digging in against attack, sending dreams to anybody who might be able to help us, fighting half the bad guys in the world, dodging elephants and Shades, escaping to the ship. All of it. Roberta thought it sounded like great fun and wished she hadn’t missed it.
“Clever shrimp you are, sendin’ dream messages out. Not many landlubbers can think on their feet like that.” We got up into the fresh air. The Kiss had come about and headed out to sea by tacking almost into the wind on a zigzag course. As scruffy as most of the crew looked, they sure seemed to know their business. Men darted all over the deck hauling on lines, untying here and lashing there, without much fuss or bother from De Latte, the second mate. It resembled a well-run beehive, giving the appearance of being so much chaos but actually having a purpose and getting the job done. Seeing all that efficiency it struck me that I’d been awful lucky the past week to fall in with professionals at every turn, with those who knew their business inside and out. I said as much to Roberta as she led me aft toward Pitcairn and the helmsman.
“’Tain’t luck, sweetheart,” she said, her skirt swooshing against barrels while we walked. “The sort o’ experience Marshals, Redeemers, and the Kiss has got comes from years of fightin’ against the Honourable Merchantry and the Obverse. We work good now ‘cause we’ve learned from our mistakes. And every mistake gets paid for with a funeral or two. Remember that.” She waved me up some steps. “As for you always meetin’ up with them’s as has that experience, that ain’t luck, neither. Equity’s been lookin’ out for your little self ever since you was born. Before, even. Redeemers, too.”
Huh? “You mean to say I’ve had guardian angels my whole life and never knew it?”
Roberta made an impatient sound with her lips. “How else do you think not one but two Marshals just happened to be around your house and that theatre? Think there’s so many of ‘em that every street corner has ten or twelve? And long before that there was always somebody assigned to watch you and yours. In Maryland, too. Every hired hand your Ma’s had since she lost your pa, plus half your livestock. Good thing, too. Merchantry tried to get you half a dozen times that I can think of, maybe more.”
I remembered Flossie, my favorite milk cow, and imagined her being an intrepid secret agent for the Resistance. “And all this has been goin’ on without us knowin’ about it?”
“Without youknowin’ ‘bout it. Your Ma’s been in on it ever since she knew you was on the way. Who do you think called for the help?”
My head spun, and not just from missing a whole night’s sleep, eating almost nothing, and trying to walk on the rolling deck. “Ma? Ellen Sauveur, the costume designer? Short round lady, likes pies and needlepoint? My mother knows all about magick and the Merchantry and the Equity?”
“She ought to. Your Ma’s a Songline mage. Or at least, she used to be, before she gave it up and tried to be a normal housewife on a Maryland farm. That lasted all of nine months.” Roberta stopped, turned, and looked down her spectacles at me. “Don’t tell me this is a surprise. I’d have to take back that comment ‘bout you bein’ clever.”
All that actor practice with Eddie at Ford’s came in real handy. I made like it was such common knowledge that even Mr. Lincoln’s cleaning lady had to know about it. My ma, a mage? Are you kiddin’ me? By the ti
me I ran out of ‘Heck, I knew it all the time’ facial expressions, we’d stopped in front of Commander Pitcairn, who snapped his compass shut and gave me a kind look. Roberta got a whole different sort of look, which she returned in full, and I may have blushed again.
“My lady here says we’re to get you to Merchantry headquarters in London,” he said, straightening the lace at one cuff. “Lucky for you that we have to go to Gaulle on a profit-making run. It won’t be much more trouble to cross the Channel.”
His first mate repeated everything I’d told her about my adventuresome week. When I got to the part about getting Sha’ira to try sending dream messages he slapped a palm against his thigh. “Hah! I thought something was odd about that daydream! There I was, peering through my spyglass at the ship that’s been shadowing us and all of a sudden my head filled with pictures of giant insects and Bonaparte’s legions. Damnedest thing! I’m not at all given to idle fancies, so I decided to give it credence. When my mind’s eye saw you and Ernie in peril on a beach I found myself giving orders to move toward shore. Didn’t care if the whole Yankee fleet sat in my way. Crew thought I’d come down with sunstroke.”
“Stroke o’ genius, more like,” Roberta said with a smile, rubbing my head. Will everybody knock that off, please! You’ll smush my hat.
The pirate captain nodded agreement. “Well-cogitated, young lady. I’m beginning to think you may be the oldest twelve year-old I’ve ever seen.”
“Mature little shrimp,” his first mate grinned, threatening to muss my hair again. I sidled over to Pitcairn to escape, pretending to admire his sword. Well, half of it was pretending, anyhow. A fine piece of work, that.
“A gift from an enemy,” Pitcairn told me. “He thrust it through my hip and it got stuck. I took the opportunity to drop his head onto the deck, then took his blade for good measure.” He cocked an eyebrow at his lady. “Remember, honeybunch?” Honeybunch?
“How could I forget that?” Roberta cooed. “We met durin’ that fight. Boarded the same Merchantry frigate from different sides. Saw that fine figure of a man take down three armed Marines with nothin’ in his hand but a belayin’ pin. Decided right then and there that he was the gent for me.”
Pitcairn blew her a kiss. Awful lovey-dovey for a pirate king. “Thanks for the loan of your cutlass, all the same.”
She slunk over and cuddled into his shoulder. “And thanks for keepin’ the ship. I adore every plank of it.”
“You two met attackin’ this very ship?” I asked. “This is stolen from the Honourable Merchantry?”
“I look upon it as more of an exorcism than a theft,” Pitcairn said. “Had to change the name, of course. Proprietor’s Fist would never do for a buccaneer vessel. His personal command ship. They fought to the last man—last thing, I should say--to keep it, I can tell you. When we eventually took charge we found out why. It’s special.”
I looked around, seeing Sha’ira wobbly but vertical, standing at the bow, her long hair streaming back in the breeze. “Nice ship and all, but don’t look all that different from any other to me.”
“Oh, ‘tain’t the looks, it’s the preparation,” Roberta told me. “They spent a lot o’ magick on her. Drilled holes in every plank and put in witched soil from all the continents. Layered the hold with it, too. No matter where you go you’re walkin’ on enchanted dirt.”
“So?”
“So,” the commander said, motioning us to walk toward the dreamwriter, “that means that, in a way, we are on dry land that happens to be moving across deep water. Almost an island.”
The clever girl given to strokes of genius finally grasped what they were saying. “You can do magick here? In the middle of the ocean?”
“Yep,” Roberta said. “A Merchantry experiment. Not perfect. Shape-shiftin’ and some o’ the bigger spells are still dangerous, but a lot o’ things that should be impossible can be done.”
“Not that we bother with it much,” Pitcairn added, bowing to Sha’ira as we arrived at the starboard bow. “Not my style.”
“Aloysius thinks he’s too good to use the Merchantry’s weapon,” his first mate chuckled.
Pitcairn shrugged. “Like playing tennis with the net down. Where’s the sport?”
Sha’ira greeted us the same way she had when I’d first met her, with that circling hand movement. “Salaam, Commander Pitcairn, Lady Roberta. I am grateful for your care. My people place a premium on hospitality. Thank you.”
The pirate lord raised his tricorn to her. “It is a distinct honor to have a dreamwriter on board. I didn’t know any were left.”
“Few are, though our numbers grow.” She looked at me. “I hope to add one more while we journey to the Scepter’d Isle.”
Me? A dreamwriter? That’d sure cause a ruckus at school.Wonder what my composition grade’d be if I gave nightmares to that obnoxious punk Artie Radley?
“As long as you’re strong enough,” Pitcairn said.
“Oh, my recovery is complete. Songline energy is intensely wearing, but that passes within an hour or two. I am not a natural employer of magick, like those born to it.” Again she gave me the eye. Did everybody know my history but me? “A true mage would hardly notice the effects.”
“In that case,” Pitcairn observed, “I stand even more impressed, ma’am.”
“Unlucky word to use on this ship, sir,” Fergus croaked from our left, “most of the crew havin’ been pressed by the Merchantry gangs at one time or the other.” The crusty older seaman pointed aft and a bit to port. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but she’s still shadowin’ us. That whaler. Just does keep in sight.”
I turned in the direction his finger indicated, but saw nothing even with my Stone-sight. Squinting hard, I could just make out what might’ve been a sail on the horizon. How could Fergus see that far when it was all my magicked eyes could do to pick it out?
“Gaining?” Pitcairn asked.
“No, sir. Just tackin’ as we do. Stayin’ out o’ range and almost out o’ sight. But she’s followin’ us fer certain.”
“Well, keep a sharp eye on her. If she’s out for honest whaling my name’s Jeff Davis. Let me know if she tries to catch us. Good luck to her, we’ve the fastest ship in the Atlantic. How’s the wind?”
“Startin’ to shift, just like you said it would. Pretty soon we’ll have it behind us and then we’ll show that fellow some real speed.”
“Excellent.” Pitcairn looked at his watch, a beautiful silver piece with pearls inlaid on the case. “Past my bedtime. Have De Latte log anything run of the mill. Wake me if something needs my attention.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Past your bedtime, too, lass. I hear you slept not a wink last night.”
Now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t. The mere thought made my eyes start to shut. I yawned. “You heard right. My bones are gettin’ all rubbery.”
“I’ll bet they ache, too, with all the fightin’ and runnin’ you’ve been doin’,” Roberta said.
Sha’ira steered me toward the nearest hatch. “If mine feel that way, I know yours must. Let us all rest in safety, for once.”
We made our way to the berths that Roberta had set aside for us. On the way I checked on Tyrell. His condition hadn’t changed. Rochester said he’d notify us if he got worse or if he woke. The doctor also let us know that Alcibiades had been stowed below in the area of the hold where the other livestock were kept. Our Valkyrie horse, well-supplied with hay and oats, stuffed himself and acted as if he had two working wings. Reassured that my friends were in good hands, I flopped on my narrow bunk, still dressed. My clothes hadn’t been tended to in so long that I must’ve smelled something awful. Tomorrow it’s bathin’, laundry, eatin’ till I’m sick of chewin’, and takin’ as many naps as I can stand. Poor Romulus snored across the way, jammed into his berth like a sardine in a tin. He’d curled up like the loyal mutt he’d once been and looked no worse for being in such a small space. I resisted the urge to scratch him behind his ears and let gravity clutch at me.<
br />
There were no dreams at all. Not good ones, not bad ones, not old ones, not new ones. I got the feeling that Sha’ira might’ve arranged that somehow. Whether she had or not, I appreciated it. The last thing I remembered was hearing Jasper’s voice in the back of my mind, cooing a lullaby Ma used to sing to me when I was little.
38/ Lady Freya’s Eyepatch
Freya clapped her hands, squealing with glee as I flopped about on the deck like a speared fish and expired.
“I like her! She dies good!”
They told me later that I slept all of the next two days. Once or twice I sort of woke up, more like sleepwalking, and Romulus got some food down my gullet. Roberta shooed me toward the head (what sailors call their privy), changed my icky clothes, and scrubbed the exposed skin. I didn’t remember any of it. All I knew was that when I opened my peepers for good, somebody said that Tuesday afternoon of July 1, 1862 had come. At least, I considered that to be the year. From what I kept hearing it could’ve been 1508, 1642, 1804, or any of a hundred others, depending on where you stood. And with the sea being a magickally-confused neutral place, hard telling what that meant for us on the Kiss. When I asked Pitcairn what year it was to him he just smiled and said, “Summer of whenever.”
Romulus told me that as far as he knew no place went beyond 1862, so maybe that counted as ‘modern times’. He went on to say that in the Obverse things were a lot different, but didn’t explain. In fact, nobody would go into detail about the Obverse, except to say that the less I knew, the better. All the pirates turned gray just saying the word.
Jasper hadn’t spoken a single syllable. I started to think that the lullaby had been my imagination and worried that our magick connection wouldn’t work on the ship, despite what I’d been told about the Merchantry’s preparations. Over and over again I tried to talk to him in my head and only heard silence. It occurred to me to try making Morphageus appear, but I wanted to keep my new identity as secret as possible until I could be sure it was safe.
Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures) Page 39
