Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  Three sailors were crouched around the dismantled components of the main cannon. They were stripped to the waist in the heat, all eyes down as they worked together to slide a heavy piece of machinery back into place in the gun’s pivot mechanism. The blond ponytail identified Hedge. Next to her was the thick, hairy form of Master Rating Flatrock, and across the gun, muscles flexing under a sheen of sweat, was Cadet Highcastle.

  Amelia waited in silence as the three finished their delicate task. Despite herself, her eyes lingered on Highcastle’s sinewy form. His sandy-blond hair fell over his forehead, and his sharp features were locked in a determined grimace that relaxed into a grin as the piece dropped into place and he sat back.

  He was the first to notice Amelia standing there, and she blinked and blushed as she realized she’d been staring.

  “Ah, Quartermaster,” he greeted with a friendly wave. “Come to bring us refreshments?”

  “More tools, actually,” she replied, stepping forward and dropping the pack on the deck next to Flatrock. The senior technician used the top of the pack to wipe the sweat off his brow, then flipped it open to look inside. He grunted approvingly.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Cadet Highcastle.”

  “I find I quite enjoy this technical work,” he said breezily, glancing at Hedge. “And I have excellent teachers.”

  “Are we going to be able to rebuild the breech, now?” Hedge asked Flatrock, smiling her appreciation at Highcastle. She untied her ponytail and flipped her long hair from side to side, stretching back her shoulders in a way that, given the fact she was in only a practical bra, left little to the imagination.

  Amelia could see Highcastle’s eyes dip down over Hedge’s chest. Her first instinct was disapproval—but then she remembered her own thoughts just minutes earlier about the other nobleman officer on board. And Hedgie was smart and spirited—maybe a handsome toff was exactly what she needed. Amelia’s eyes wandered back to the young lordling’s taut frame. One could do worse. Too bad he was a self-centered little prat.

  “Yeah,” Flatrock finally replied, his breath slowing. “This is the stuff we need.”

  “Obviously very important,” Highcastle mused, “for the quartermaster herself to be charged with delivering it.”

  “Oh, I just had a spare moment,” Amelia answered, sitting down cross-legged in their impromptu circle. “Not many people have that luxury right now.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a tough go,” Hedge agreed. “I just wish we’d got something for it.”

  “I told you,” Flatrock muttered. “We picked that wreck clean. There was nothing left of value.”

  “Perhaps the decision to use missiles was a bit hasty,” Highcastle offered. He took a slow sip of his water and surveyed the sailors. “But we were under attack by three ships. I don’t blame the captain for panicking a bit.”

  “She panicked?” Hedge asked.

  “No, no,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “That’s the wrong word. It was a stressful situation on the bridge—as it was everywhere on board—and she had to act quickly to get us out of danger.”

  “Well, I for one approve,” Amelia said quickly. “We weren’t boarding anybody at that point. Not with both boats destroyed.”

  “I don’t know why we didn’t board sooner,” Flatrock said. “If we’d launched right away, we could have been aboard Golden Wind and then Daring could have laid waste to the other two ships.”

  Hedge and Highcastle both nodded.

  “But at least we’re in one piece,” Amelia said. “And a quick stop back at Windfall will see us in fighting shape again. I was just—”

  “And all our coffers will be emptied into those greedy shipwrights’ hands,” Highcastle interrupted. “Of course, I don’t need the prize money. But I care about all of you.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you,” Hedge said, turning the full charm of her doe eyes on him.

  “He has a point—we’re basically back to square one,” Flatrock observed with a frown.

  “No,” Amelia countered. “As I was saying, I was just talking to the XO”—she ignored Hedge’s raised eyebrow—“and he’s narrowing down likely positions for the pirate base. We aren’t going to have to search the entire sector—we’ll have just a few places to focus on.”

  “On the bridge I’ve been tracking errant signals from time to time,” Highcastle added. “It gives me clues to where there might be pirate ships operating.”

  “Really?” Hedge asked, leaning forward with interest. “How do you do that?”

  Highcastle gave an elaborate shrug. “Officer stuff.”

  Hedge reached over and smacked him on the bare chest.

  “But seriously,” Flatrock said suddenly, looking at Amelia, “how much treasure do we have stored away right now?”

  “We have a prince’s ransom of gold,” she said matter-of-factly. “But it’s scheduled for delivery to the Iron Swarm.”

  “So they’re paying us to deliver the cargo?”

  “No. We buy it from the merchant in Windfall, and then we sell it for a higher price to a merchant in the Iron Swarm. In this case, the cargo is very valuable and we’ll make a huge profit when we deliver it.”

  “Like, how much?”

  “Enough for all of us to retire, and for you to drink yourself to death.”

  Flatrock grunted appreciatively.

  “Why don’t we just keep the cargo?” Hedge mused. “Split it between us all.”

  Amelia was too startled by the question to answer, and she instinctively looked to the officer. But Highcastle offered no help, his expression bland and unresponsive.

  “Because,” she said finally, “it was Navy money that bought this cargo, so if we scarpered with it then we’d be pirates and the Navy would hunt us down.”

  “Yes”—Highcastle weighed in—“let’s focus on our task of capturing the real pirates. There’ll be plenty of booty for everyone once we finish our mission.”

  “But didn’t you say the Sectoids are involved?” Hedge nibbled her lip, worry clouding her features.

  “Without doubt,” Highcastle replied. “We’ve seen the acid weapons used by the pirates, and that damn ship is always lurking in the darkness.”

  “Damn bugs,” Flatrock agreed, his massive frame shuddering.

  “We don’t know if they’re involved,” Amelia said carefully. “There haven’t been any on the pirate ships we’ve seen.”

  “No,” Hedge exclaimed, pointing vaguely outward beyond the hull, “they’re out there, in their giant ship, watching us. And pretty soon they’re going to decide to take us out.”

  “I’ve heard enough stories,” Flatrock muttered, “that I don’t ever want to fight the bugs hand to hand—or whatever blasted appendages they have.”

  “Chief Sky has fought them,” Highcastle commented. “She’s told a few grim tales over drinks of an evening.”

  “How are we going to fight them?” Hedge persisted.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out,” Highcastle replied intently. “I have every confidence in this crew.”

  There was an unspoken meaning in his sentence, Amelia could tell, and she caught a return glint of something in Hedge’s eyes. Suddenly this friendly discussion felt supremely uncomfortable. She rose to her feet. “Good luck with your repairs,” she said lightly. “I’m off to solve my next crisis.”

  “Shaving the coxn’s back?” Flatrock asked, to a sudden burst of laughter.

  “Or the assaulter’s legs?” Hedge threw in.

  Amelia couldn’t help but laugh as well as she headed for the door. Her uniform was already slick from the heat and she tugged at it. “As delightful as that sounds, I think a cool washdown might be next on my priority list.”

  “Just use water the captain’s touched,” Hedge said. “It’s sure to be cold as ice.”

  Hedge snorted, and their laughter echoed behind Amelia as she exited the gun bay. All harmless fun, she told herself. Just sailors compl
aining as usual—and it was nice to be counted as one of them.

  So why did she feel so uneasy?

  Chapter 15

  “I know we’re here to work,” Virtue said, “but I almost feel like we’re coming home.”

  Liam paused beside her as they gazed up at the soaring chamber that was the Windfall Station promenade. It was bustling with activity, with a cluster of new market stands crowding the central thoroughfare and competing with the established facilities for the sudden surge in patronage. Bright Navy uniforms mixed with the dull clothes of civilians, and there was a festive quality to the air. He watched the movement of Navy personnel for a moment.

  “We have to keep a very low profile,” he said, speaking past Virtue to where Riverton and Sky stood, “and stay clear of the Navy. Drunken sailors aren’t fussy about who they cause trouble with.”

  “I’ll be no more than an hour,” Riverton said. “How long do you need?”

  “To make arrangements, probably the same.” He gestured back to the airlock that led to Daring. “But we’ll have to bring a few crewmembers out when we load stores.”

  They’d taken the most distant berth on the station. It helped to keep their ashore activities out of view from the main promenade, and it also physically shielded Daring from the squadron of Navy ships tied up at the prime berths. With her battered hull and external cargo holds, she bore little resemblance to the sleek, modern warships, but Liam knew it took only one sharp eye to spot her true form through the disguise and start asking questions.

  And with those sleek, modern warships as slashed and cratered as they were, the Navy was hyperalert to anything unusual. There had been a skirmish between this squadron and a single Sectoid mother ship, and from the damage he could see through the clear berths even from here, Liam doubted the Navy was calling it a victory. The festive air on the promenade had a grim undercurrent to it, as sailors drank, whored, and gambled away their cares. If war was coming, this might be the last respite any of them had.

  “The crew will stay aboard until then,” Riverton said, “without exception. I think I made myself clear earlier?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The captain’s announcement to the ship’s company had been made in no uncertain terms—anyone caught ashore unauthorized would forfeit their share of the prize money.

  Riverton adjusted the scarf on her head and started forward, Sky close behind. It was another mysterious outing for the captain, and one that again she’d felt no need to explain.

  But at the moment Liam had bigger things to worry about than Riverton’s assignations. He motioned for Virtue to follow him.

  Once they were past the waist-high gates guarding the jetty, the mass of Humanity closed in immediately. The arrival of the Navy certainly supplied a large number of boisterous new bodies, but in addition, an entirely new ecosystem of products and services seemed to have materialized to support them. The brothel windows were empty, he noted, the lads and ladies he’d seen before advertising their wares now no doubt busy inside. The taverns were brimming over with laughing sailors, and the new market stalls were laden with trinkets and snacks for purchase. Overall the mood was buoyant, but among the civilian locals Liam also saw a cool sense of purpose. This Navy visit was a rare opportunity to bring fresh currency into their lives, and they intended to get it, by whatever means necessary.

  His left hand slipped down to touch the hilt of his dagger, and his right reached out to take Virtue’s. Her slender fingers wrapped around his and he sensed her moving closer to him. Her presence reassured him, and steeled his own nerve as he swore to himself that she would come to no harm. He glanced down. She gave him a serious expression and subtly tapped her coat where the pistol was hidden.

  The Cup of Plenty stood out clearly with its red-brick frontage, its patio crowded with tables, patrons packed close together with their coffees and treats. Liam skirted around chairs, carefully scanning the Navy uniforms for any familiar faces while trying to avoid eye contact. Virtue’s hand remained pressed in his, and as far as he could tell no one paid them any mind.

  Stepping into the café brought welcome relief from the cacophony of the street, and Liam’s eyes swept the room in search of Matthew Long, lingering on a section of tables that had been draped in green.

  A Theropod dressed smartly in black and gold stood there, small hands expertly shuffling and dealing cards. Most of the patrons were Human, a mix of Navy officers and well-to-do locals. There was a focused hum in the room, with most of the gamblers playing in silence and the nongaming patrons leaning close over their coffees in hushed conversation, until one Navy officer threw down his cards in disgust.

  “Damnation,” the man hissed. He snapped his fingers at the nearby waitress. “Brute, get me another cup.”

  His back was to Liam, but there was no mistaking that broad back and sandy-blond hair, nor the rank of captain on his shoulders. Liam squeezed Virtue’s hand and immediately led her back out onto the patio. Amid the sudden resurgence of noise, he had to lean down to hear her question.

  “What’s wrong, sir . . . milord?”

  “It’s Captain Silverhawk,” he muttered, discreetly checking the patio anew for any officers who might recognize him.

  “Oh . . .” She swallowed down her first choice of word. “Damnation.”

  “We can’t stay here, but we need to meet Long.” Liam assessed the street beyond quickly. “Silverhawk won’t recognize you. Get in there, find Long, and bring him out to that stall over there, the one with the juices for sale. I’ll be waiting.”

  She nodded and slipped back through the doors. Liam edged his way past the seated patrons and eventually cleared to the main thoroughfare. He joined the line at the juice stall and did his best to blend in. The juices on offer were all local fare, and Liam listened to the orders of those in front of him to reveal the most popular choice. When the merchant finally cast questioning eyes at him, he paid for the pale yellow beverage and was provided a cup without a second glance. He moved to the side, eyes once again on the doors to the Cup of Plenty.

  To his relief, he spotted Virtue emerge onto the patio, the wide, shuffling form of Matthew Long behind her. As they cleared the crowd and approached, Long’s hooded eyes revealed more than a hint of annoyance. Liam cared little if he inconvenienced this petty kingpin, but reminded himself that right now he needed Long’s help.

  “Mr. Long, milord,” Virtue said as they met. “I explained your distaste for gambling.”

  Her excuse to get Long out here. Liam appreciated her not bringing the Navy into her reasoning. He assumed his usual air of foppery.

  “Yes, ghastly habit—ruins households.” He nodded to Long. “I appreciate your indulgence, Mr. Long.”

  “Of course, my lord,” he said with a slight bow. “I am here to serve. But I confess your message took me by surprise—I wasn’t expecting to see you return to Windfall for at least several weeks.”

  “A storm caught us unawares and caused some damage. Very disruptive to our schedule, and I’d like to get back under sail as soon as possible.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear of such misfortune, my lord. How can I help?”

  Explaining the need for air and water was easy, but it took several minutes to explain the technical requirements for effecting repairs to Daring’s hull and masts. Long listened carefully.

  “Those facilities do exist, my lord, but it may be several days before the yard is ready to receive your ship.” He gestured at the heaving crowd around them. “With this visit by His Imperial Majesty’s Navy, many resources have been diverted.”

  “My own crew can do the work. I just need access to the equipment and materials.”

  “An excellent suggestion, but there may be some difficulties. Our shipwrights are very protective of their trade. They will resist the idea of someone else doing their work.” He paused as if in thought. “You are clearly an honorable man, my lord, and I know you would normally give this work to the yard. But this is a unique situation. I k
now the guild leader well—I would be happy to speak to him on your behalf.”

  “Your assistance will be much appreciated, Mr. Long. I wish to set sail as soon as possible in order to deliver your very valuable cargo.”

  “It is your cargo, my lord, and I wish you every success with it.”

  Liam realized his misstep. He’d already paid Long in full for the gold—the merchant had no interest in its fate now. He switched tack.

  “And I hope to be able to return for future cargoes. If I prove I can deliver, I’m sure you and I can build quite a reputation for high-value goods.”

  “Quite right, my lord,” Long said with an easy smile. “And as I said, I am happy to speak to the shipwright guild master to support you. But the master may take some . . . convincing to rent you his equipment.”

  Liam didn’t pretend not to understand. “How much convincing?”

  While Long made a show of considering, Liam quickly retallied the reserves he had, knowing that Daring’s supply of currency was quite low—most of their prize money to date was currently tied up in the gold shipment locked on board.

  “I would suggest ten thousand, my lord, to secure the equipment and materials and to ensure that the guild master sees the situation our way.”

  It was an effort to keep from showing his frustration. That amount would wipe out his hard-currency reserves. He didn’t relish the idea of asking any of his noble officers if they could spare some cash.

  He raised a brow. “That’s outrageous, Mr. Long.”

  “The shipwrights are very busy right now,” the man said with a slow shrug. “And so am I.”

  Virtue lifted her hand to rub it against Long’s arm. “But surely, Mr. Long,” she said with her most charming smile, “you must know that we don’t have that kind of currency on hand.”

  He turned his entire, jowled head and gave her a simpering smile.

  “I am sympathetic, Amelia, and open to finding a solution. Perhaps some other arrangements could be made to offset the costs?”