Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  A true bolt of anger shot through Liam, catching him by surprise. “I will assess my hard currency,” he interjected coldly. “But for ten thousand, I want the air and water included in the deal.”

  Long glanced at him, but then turned his attention back to Virtue. She was still smiling, but she nodded at Liam’s words. “I think my lord has an excellent suggestion, Mr. Long. A fair compromise?”

  The big man hesitated for a moment, then finally offered a bow. “Let me contact the guild master, my lord, and see what I can organize. But I will need to deliver payment before any work can commence.”

  “I will return to my ship at once. Meet me there as soon as you’ve arranged for discussion with the guild master.”

  Long departed with purpose, his limp barely slowing him as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Liam and Virtue headed back toward the docks.

  “You know that’s all our money, right, milord?” she commented.

  He sighed. “Yes. But I don’t see that we have any choice. We have to get out of here before someone in the Navy recognizes either us or the ship. And we have that damn gold to deliver and get paid for.”

  “This isn’t going to go down well with the crew,” she warned with sudden seriousness. “I think I could have negotiated the price down at least some.”

  Liam bit down his response, annoyed at his own reaction to Long’s lasciviousness toward Amelia. He understood well her warning—if the crew found out, the grumblings to date might turn into something more dangerous.

  “I think my compromise is about as much as we could hope for with the pressure we’re under,” he said shortly. “And it gets us everything we need in a single go.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance, but didn’t say anything more than “Yes, sir.”

  They returned to Daring’s berth without another word.

  The next few hours were a strange dance of frantic activity mixed with cloak-and-dagger operations. When Long arrived on the ship as promised, Liam assigned Mason Swift to accompany the merchant with the strongbox of ten thousand crowns, both to assure the money went to where it was intended, and also for Swift to get exactly the equipment and materials he needed.

  The work began quickly enough to patch Daring’s hull, but the propulsors were limited to no more than six outside the hull at any one time. A merchant ship like Sophia’s Fancy would run on a skeleton crew, and if dozens of sailors were to suddenly emerge from within her, any observers would conclude that she was either a pirate or a military vessel. Progress was going to be slow.

  “So we’ll be able to make sail in two days? That’s not bad, considering.” Riverton was unusually animated, pacing her cabin. She’d finally returned, having been gone much longer than her intended hour, and Liam was briefing her on the status of the repairs.

  “I’ll use the time to further investigate the pirate data we recovered—try to pick up some new clues. I’ll work out an alternate route to Silica, as I want to keep clear of that Sectoid ship.”

  “They have extremely long-ranged sensors,” Riverton said, head cocked slightly. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to hide from them.”

  “We know what region she was in before, so I’ll estimate from her last known position.”

  “Sectoids employ remote drones as well, all linked to the central mind. They’re small and slow-moving—they can be very hard to spot until it’s too late.”

  Liam had heard of such things, but never experienced them in person. He considered this new information.

  “My point,” Riverton continued, “is that hiding from the Sectoids may be too difficult. I want you to focus your attention more on finding the pirates.”

  Liam knew his captain well enough to recognize when her words were an order, no matter how softly she said them.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll track outgoing messages from Windfall as well; see if there’s anything unusual.”

  “What sort of things would you look for?” she asked suddenly, stopping to stare at him.

  “I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug. “Unusual things. Is there something in particular you’d like me to search for, ma’am?”

  She shook her head, resuming her pacing. “Just be mindful that with the Navy here, there will be a lot of encrypted comms, and more traffic than usual heading out of the station.”

  “Are we running out of time, ma’am?” Open talk of war was everywhere on the station, Liam knew from his visit, and Riverton’s shift in expression didn’t fill him with confidence.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “We need to find out what this dark star is, reveal the true source of the pirate strength, and destroy it.”

  “I’ll have Sublieutenant Brown start the searches immediately, ma’am.”

  “Do you think your friend Mr. Long might be feeding information to the pirates?”

  “It’s a possibility.” He considered the idea further for a moment. “But a remote one, I think. He genuinely makes money with his legal merchant activities, and the pirate activity is hurting this. He’s a petty thug and local kingpin, to be sure, but I think the pirate threat is separate from his local brand of crime.”

  “I agree. The pirates are operating with a sophistication I didn’t expect.” Riverton stood. “We have our work cut out for us. Thank you for stopping by.”

  Liam recognized the dismissal and with a slight bow retreated. Riverton had turned to her main console and was bringing up information before he’d taken three steps, and seemed to hardly notice as he departed her cabin.

  The ship’s interior was bustling with activity as propulsors ferried new hull plates up to where the repairs to the gunports were under way. The gunners themselves were busy refurbishing those weapons that had been damaged in the battle, cannibalizing what they could from the guns that were beyond repair. Liam looked into several gun bays and noted with satisfaction the industrious activity, but the view into one of them stopped him short. Amid a trio of sailors, stripped to his shirt and sleeves rolled up to reveal grubby forearms, was Cadet Highcastle. The lordling muttered something too quiet for Liam to hear, but the sailors all burst into laughter.

  Highcastle suddenly noticed Liam in the doorway and rose to his full height, absently wiping his hands with a dirty cloth.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Blackwood.”

  The sailors started, scrambling to their feet and knuckling their foreheads.

  “Relax, gentlemen,” Liam said as he stepped into the compartment. “It’s good to see you learning all aspects of shipboard life, Mr. Highcastle.”

  “I think it’s important to understand my ship intimately,” he said, before grinning and smacking one of the sailors with his cloth. “Next week perhaps I’ll go swinging with the mast monkeys.”

  “Stick with us, sir,” the sailor growled with good humor.

  “This is where the glory is,” said another with more seriousness, patting the breech of the long cannon. He then looked at Liam. “Are we going to get more ammunition, sir?”

  “We’re well stocked already,” Liam replied. “Once the hull repairs are made, and you lads have all your guns in order, we’ll be setting sail again.”

  “Well, if you need anyone to go ashore for supplies,” he said, “I’m in.”

  The other sailors echoed him.

  “Hardly anyone’s going ashore for now. We have to keep our cover as a merchant ship.” Liam offered a wry smile. “And trust me, you’re not missing much by missing Windfall Station—except an interesting set of smells.”

  “Still,” Highcastle chimed in, “it would be smashing just to have a change of scenery. Stretch the legs, so to speak.”

  “Understood. But with Navy ships in port right now, we have to be especially careful to maintain a low profile.”

  “The Navy’s here?” Highcastle asked, new light in his eyes. “Why don’t we just request help and supplies from them?”

  “It could have saved our prize money from being spent,” muttered a sailor.


  Information spread quickly on a ship, Liam knew. He sensed a shift in the entire atmosphere of the room as the crew continued to look at him.

  “As I said,” he emphasized softly, “we need to maintain our cover. If we don’t, we’ll never accomplish our mission, and there’ll be no prize money for any of us.”

  “But we’ve destroyed four pirate ships already,” Highcastle protested. “Surely that’s accomplishment enough for us to claim victory.”

  “Not when there are twice as many still out there, plus a base coordinating them.”

  “That’s the Sectoid ship,” a sailor said with certainty. “And we’ll need an entire squadron to take her down.”

  Nods and murmurs revealed to Liam that the crew was drawing their own conclusions.

  “We don’t know that,” he said. “But as we gather more information it will become clear.”

  The tinny voice of the bosn’s mate over the loudspeaker interrupted any further discussion. “Captain Stonebridge requested on the jetty.”

  “Time to play your role again, sir,” Highcastle said with a bow.

  Liam took another look around the room, noting the mix of resentment and frustration on the faces of his sailors. Maybe a bit of a perk was in order for the crew.

  “Good work, lads,” he said as he headed for the passageway. “An extra tot of rum for each of you after dinner.” It was the best he could do for now. He hoped it would be enough.

  Able Rating Flatrock was on the docks when he emerged; in his shabby civilian clothes he looked and sounded every bit the merchant sailor. With him was a civilian, whom Liam recognized as Tom from Matthew Long’s office. He greeted Liam with a polite knuckle to the forehead.

  “Captain Stonebridge,” he said, “Mr. Long would like to invite you and your cargo master to dine with him this evening at the Rooster’s Perch.”

  Where he would no doubt ply Virtue with wine to see where things went, Liam thought immediately. But to refuse an offer to dine at the finest restaurant on the station would seem very odd, and he had to maintain appearances—especially to Matthew Long. But such an invitation certainly gave him enough freedom to stack the deck in his favor.

  “Mr. Long is very kind. I would be happy to attend, but please let him know that we’ll be accompanied by my second mate as well, who has been working tirelessly and who deserves this welcome break.”

  “Of course, my lord. Mr. Long will expect you at eight.”

  Liam retreated into the ship, doubting that Chief Sky had any other plans for the evening.

  At times it was difficult to maintain the façade of a fallen nobleman, but as dinner dragged on at the Rooster’s Perch Liam felt increasingly comfortable in his role. Mr. Long had arranged for a back room to ensure privacy, but the close quarters made the deficiencies of the station’s air system that much more apparent. The food was well prepared, but the quality of the ingredients was questionable. Virtue and Sky both ate with gusto, and Liam conceded that the food was a step up on the rations served up after Daring had been in space for a while, but a Passagia gala dinner this fare was not. It was easy, Liam found, to express a general distaste for his surroundings even as he kept up polite conversation.

  Long had ensured that Amelia sat next to him, with the shipwrights’ guild master, a Mr. Carpenter, on her other side. The wine flowed freely, and Liam was pleased to see Long’s frustration at the fact that Virtue kept her consumption to a trickle, keeping her wits about her as she verbally parried the increasingly less subtle advances of the two civilians. Liam was disgusted at how these men so completely objectified Virtue, but actually found himself admiring how nonchalantly she handled them. It was both painful and fascinating to watch.

  The dinner lasted the obligatory several hours, but finally Liam was able to extract himself and his crew. Long and Carpenter were thoroughly drunk, but happy enough simply to have enjoyed a pleasant evening. They both made elaborate farewells involving long hugs of Virtue, then staggered off down the promenade.

  “Well,” Sky muttered dryly, “that was a lovely evening.”

  “I think I need a thorough wash,” Virtue replied.

  “Thank you both,” Liam said. “That was a necessary activity to build our relationship—I’m sorry that you in particular, Amelia, had to endure it. Now let’s get back to the ship.”

  Despite the hour, the promenade was bustling with activity. All the market stalls were still open, and the patios of the drinking establishments heaved with merrymakers. Navy uniforms easily outnumbered the civilians, but Liam felt confident they could slip through the throng. Sky led the way, her stern face helping to part the crowd before them, and Liam tucked in behind Virtue to cover the rear. She reached back and took his hand, pulling him steadily forward.

  He appreciated the gesture, and the warm embrace of her hand in his. Tucked in close behind her, he couldn’t help but notice her silky hair falling past her neck.

  But now was not the time to be distracted. First, they needed to get back to the ship.

  He kept his head lowered into the high folds of his collar, but in truth was carefully watching their surroundings. Most of the uniforms were young sailors intent on revelry, none of them even glancing his way. The occasional flash of gold indicated a group of officers, but no one Liam recognized. They passed the Cup of Plenty, where the gambling tables were barely visible through the open doors for all the patrons crowded around them. As they slowly weaved past the doors, Liam spotted Captain Silverhawk. The nobleman was on his feet, and appeared to be arguing with the Theropod table master. He looked quickly away.

  In front of him, Sky suddenly halted and pivoted. Amid the noise of the street Liam and Virtue both leaned in close to the assaulter. She subtly pointed toward one of the nearby taverns.

  “Sir, it’s one of ours,” she muttered.

  Liam followed her gaze and, with a sinking heart, spotted the tall, sandy-haired figure of James Highcastle. He strolled with the easy confidence of a man well into his cups, his glazed expression a mixture of curiosity and disdain. His eyes passed over the tavern he was passing, then fixed with new interest on the Cup of Plenty.

  “Darkness and damnation,” Liam hissed.

  Even from the crowded promenade, Liam could hear the rising voices of conflict inside the Cup of Plenty. Curious stares were already turning from all directions, and he spotted a junior officer moving with purpose through the crowd back toward the Navy berths, calling for guards. Highcastle sensed the new focal point of attention as well, and quickened his pace.

  “Come on,” Liam said, abandoning stealth to push through the crowd and intercept Highcastle.

  The lordling didn’t notice his approach until Liam physically stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. He stopped, looking down in outrage before recognition kicked in. But whereas Liam might have expected fear or at least guilt on the expression of a sailor caught ashore by the executive officer, Highcastle simply smiled conspiratorially.

  “Ah, Lord Blackwood. No, wait . . . Stonebridge! Care to join me for a turn at the tables? Some ruffians back that way told me there’s gambling at this Cup of Plenty.”

  “What are you doing ashore, Cadet?” Liam said, leaning in close.

  “Oh, don’t worry—I won’t spoil our disguise. I just had to stretch my legs, you know.”

  Liam sensed Sky tensing to forcibly control Highcastle, but he gripped her arm firmly. The youth seemed to have decided that military ranks only applied inside the hull of the ship—to try to apply discipline in this moment would only cause indignant, and possibly violent, protest from the drunk lordling.

  “How did you get ashore?” Liam was genuinely perplexed—he’d given the brow’s mates strict instructions.

  “I just waited for Hedgie to be at the brow,” he said, as if they were a pair of mates. “Butter up a girl and promise her the worlds, and you can get whatever you want.”

  Liam didn’t have time to be angry at Able Rating Hedge, or with Highcast
le, for that matter. A commotion had broken out in earnest within the Cup of Plenty. He could see armed soldiers already deploying along the docks, being directed by the young officer who had hurried back. Looking back at the café, Liam knew that Silverhawk could emerge at any moment. He had to get Highcastle away from here.

  “Come,” he said quickly, pushing the cadet toward the tavern they stood in front of, “let’s have a drink. Let that trouble in the gambling hall boil over and then we can visit.”

  “Yes,” Virtue said, taking Highcastle’s other arm, “come have a drink with me, my lord.”

  Together they led Highcastle through the doors to the tavern. The large room within was dimly lit by lamps on each table, dark pillars rising from the floor to meet matching beams overhead. The air was thick with the smell of greasy food and a haze of smoke lingered over everything. There was no Navy in here, and many a glance passed over Liam and his group as they found their way to an empty table. The tavern noise continued without interruption, though, and no one seemed to take any particular interest in the newcomers.

  “I say”—Highcastle frowned as he ran a finger across their greasy table—“this is a bit rough, Blackwood. Do you usually slum it when ashore?”

  “It depends on the port, James. Sometimes this is all that’s on offer.”

  Highcastle rolled his eyes and scanned the room. Liam did as well, noting the clothing of the patrons and guessing that this was a tavern frequented mostly by sailors and dockworkers. Merchants would be a rare sight in here, and the Navy was clearly not welcome. In short, it was the perfect place to hide for a while.

  Sky appeared with four tankards and placed them on the table.

  “Let me sit there please, my lord,” she said to Highcastle, “so that I can better view the room. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “Gladly,” Highcastle scoffed, rising and moving to a seat with his back to the room. He suddenly seemed to notice Virtue next to him. “I can think of much more pleasant things to look upon.”

  “Is that what I am to you?” she said with a smirk. “A thing?”