Zaja hadn’t struck Shea as dying, but she hid her disbelief. “How long you got?”
“An Omati year. Which—” she quickly clarified, “is a bit longer than yours. A few years here, if I take care of myself. But on the road like this, out in the elements—”
“Hard to do,” Shea concluded. “No plans, say you survive?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead,” Zaja admitted. “Just trying to stay useful, for now. Have you?”
“Haven’t had reason. No place to go back, not sure what lies ahead.”
Zaja’s tone changed to alarm. “Well, there’s something out there.”
“Like I’d know? Talking other worlds, aren’t we?”
“No, I mean—” She pointed past Shea, who turned and looked in the direction they were headed. Shea leaned on the rail and squinted, but whatever was on the horizon was too distant to make out.
“Hold the wheel.”
“Gladly!”
Shea hurried quickly below deck, and found Chari in the meager kitchen, prepping dinner from their dwindling supplies. “Need to borrow this,” she explained, and snatched Chari’s rifle before its owner could let out a startled, “Hey!”
Shea returned above deck and began scaling the mast, her meager claws finding grip in the splintered wood of the crow’s nest. Even through the rifle’s scope, the distant object was blurry. Someone was climbing up after her as Shea found her reading glasses and slipped them on, then peered through the scope once more. The object had finally become clear.
“Is there a problem?” Flynn asked.
“There is. Have a look.” She passed the rifle to Flynn and he looked through the scope. “Trynan. Headed our way.”
“Could they know this ship was stolen?”
“Doubtful,” she replied. “Flying their colors, though. Likely think us friendly. Think what happens when they get too close.”
Flynn didn’t have to ask. He hurried back down the mast, and Shea quickly followed; Chari might soon need her rifle.
* * *
Flynn watched for a time from the starboard side. He had abandoned any hope that the approaching ship would cease correcting its course against them or that the southern winds might suddenly reverse favorably. A confrontation was inevitable. He joined Shea at the helm, where she was taking deep, deliberate breaths to calm her nerves, her hands clutched tightly to the wheel’s spokes.
“We should have torn the Trynan flag down, once we lost sight of the place,” Flynn said.
“Might see us as enemies without,” she replied. “Still a chance, this way.”
They were alone on the deck. The others had gone below, and Flynn had barred them in a storage chamber. It was a flimsy barrier, but there were no safe hiding places here, and he doubted the approaching ship was making a swift courtesy call. When it drew alongside them, less than a knot away, the other ship proved a poor counter to their own. Though larger than theirs, its sails were frayed and punctured, its hull patched in several places. Even its Trynan flag was damaged, hanging in fringes blackened from a fire that had nearly consumed it.
“Think our ship could have taken theirs in a fight?”
“Got no cannons on ours,” Shea reminded him.
A row of cannons lined the other ship’s port side like harsh iron eyes. From between, a smaller boat advanced, rowed by two soldiers—likely privates, like Shea. A woman stood at the fore of the boat, one boot planted on the bow. Likely the captain, Flynn guessed. Whoever sat at the back held higher rank than the rowers, but still acted at the captain’s pleasure. She advanced in plain sight of her own crew, and anything Flynn might have done to stop her from boarding was stifled by those cannons.
The moment the captain’s head eclipsed the railing, she spoke. “Had I not known any better, I’d have believed your vessel was trying to flee mine. Not exactly an act of camaraderie even in a time of peace.”
“We were,” Flynn replied plainly. “We had no desire to deal with you or your crew. We have outstanding orders from Sergeant Bodang, and they don’t involve inconveniencing ourselves for ships that are still floating on their own.”
“Then you were right to do so, but I am now superseding his orders,” she replied. “I am Captain Edia Longhart, and as of this moment, this ship’s crew reports to me.”
Flynn stifled an internal chuckle. The next part, he felt, would be a little funny. “You got that, Shea? You report to Captain Longhart now.”
Shea nodded, uttering a weary, “Lovely.”
It didn’t take Longhart much time to realize something was amiss. “There is more to your crew, yes?”
“Other than the spies we have locked below deck? This is it.”
“Spies?” Longhart asked.
“The attacks that devastated Belsus and Selif and saw the Cavonish overrunning the countryside? Private Bagwell and I discovered a band of spies as they were fleeing Tryna on this stolen ship.” Flynn gave a small laugh and added, “Well, she managed to get on board as they were sailing off. They had taken me hostage.”
“And who are you?”
“Just a hired hand, and one that’s been promised one hell of a payday.” Flynn extended a hand to shake. “Flynn Carolina.”
“Carolina?” she asked. “Unusual name.”
“It was my mother’s.”
Captain Longhart looked up at Shea, who remained at the helm. Shea saluted, keeping one hand on the wheel. “Alicea Bagwell. Private.” The last part was added reluctantly. “Carolina’s story holds. Messaged Bodang before ship left the Inland Sea. Got orders for delivery.”
“One of the spies is supposed to be the daughter of a Cavonish official,” Flynn explained. “Apparently we’re making a trade.”
“Apparently?” Longhart questioned.
“All we were told. Someone’s supposed to meet us on the Red Coast with details. They want this kept quiet.”
Longhart contemplated Flynn’s story, then retreated to discuss things with her subordinate. The two privates took to the fore and watched Flynn and Shea guardedly. He didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what Longhart was saying: she didn’t believe him or his story, but so long as there was a chance it was true, she couldn’t act against him. When she returned for discussions, the smile she wore was nothing more than veneer.
“It’s fortunate, then, that our ship limped your way. It seems without a proper navigator, you’ve been bearing too hard north. And perhaps you haven’t heard, but a naval war has broken out between the Follasi and the Gruuns. Even armed, a little ship like this would be torn to splinters just treading the borders.” Even if Longhart had said her farewells then, the plan had been dashed. They had hoped to sail to Thoris and figure out how to break into the forbidden continent from there. The prospect now seemed all but impossible.
Longhart continued. “What’s more, your mission sounds too important to leave to chance. My ship, the Callah, survived a devastating fight with three Cavonish warships, but we have lost supplies, crewmates, and morale. We are too far from Tryna to make a full recovery, so my crew will—ah, heh,” she suppressed a patronizing laugh, then concluded, “merge with yours.”
Flynn stifled any objections. Longhart was resolute. He hoped to approach the captain again and convince her of the needlessness of this ‘gesture’ but already too many soldiers were crossing over, leaving the Callah with only a skeleton crew. The full crew would have starved on their remaining supplies, but what they had was enough to navigate to a friendly port.
Shea was relieved from the helm, and any chance of a peaceful resolution sailed off with the Callah. Longhart made one last promise. “And after we land at the Red Coast and the spies are handled, we sail for Bheln. Our comrades struggle to hold the Inven River, and I am electing to charge to their aid.”
* * *
Chari sat on one of the barrels, her hands clasp
ed together. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt uneasy in the clammy atmosphere of their supposed cell. She was not the only one who was restless. Soldiers had been moving around the surrounding deck for the last hour, and showed no signs of leaving.
“Think they know about us?” Zaja asked in a hushed tone. She sat in the corner, wrapped in several blankets.
“Only reason they haven’t cracked this place open for a decent look,” Jean reasoned. Poe swept irately to the grated hatch and gripped a section of the bars; it held firm. “Chill,” she scolded. “I can bust through that thing the second ya need me to.”
“Without care, you may rupture the hull of our ship in the process,” Chari warned. “Did I yet possess any faith in my goddess, I would be praying right now.”
“Think things are that bad up there?”
“Break the door down, Jean,” Poe requested as he reached for the Searing Truth. “I shall drive the interlopers from our ship.”
Zella, who had been sitting peacefully up to this point, spoke. “No. These soldiers have done nothing wrong.”
“Then where’s Flynn?” Zaja asked.
“Perhaps he has been detained. This is a Trynan vessel we commandeered. Flynn may have been unable to lie his way out of that simple fact.”
Chari chuckled at the notion. “Ye of little faith…”
It was dark below deck, save for the gentle glow of Zella’s scars. They had their flashlights in the event of an emergency, and the more time that passed, the more it appeared one had befallen them. There’d been considerable activity just a little earlier, but it was subsiding.
“The footsteps are quieting,” Poe observed. “Our intruders may yet be leaving.”
Chari listened with new interest. It did sound as though the footsteps were fading, save for a single set that seemed to be hurrying their way. She rose, waiting for the hatch to be unbarred.
“’Ello? Chari? Poe?”
“Alicea,” Poe acknowledged in return. They could see her relief through the bars, before she startled and looked back down the corridor.
“Sorry, thought I heard a body. Not much time.”
“Why don’t you come in, then?” Zaja asked.
“Can’t bloody well bar the door from the inside, can I?” she snapped. “Problems up here. First, change of course: naval war up north, have to land. Have at Thoris on foot.”
“First means there a second,” Jean replied. “What’s the other problem?”
“Ship’s been accosted by a Trynan captain, Edia Longhart. Good reputation, that one. Ship and crew both torn to hell, still ready to dive back to the fray.”
Jean shoved her way to the front of the group. “And we didn’t have cannons lined up on these prigs why?”
“Kin-Kin doesn’t handle weapons. Passed by Fevell just ’fore the ocean. That was the place to gear up, ’cept our lack of personnel or papers. And, ’sides,” Shea added, “not about to fire on my countrymen.”
“What matter is their allegiance to you?” Chari asked. “You have forsaken your people and they attacked us. We have only enemies.” Shea was downcast but gave no answer. More urgent concerns gripped Chari’s mind. “Shea, we cannot stay here. These are not fitted accommodations, and the dank air will be especially hostile for Zaja—”
“I’ll be fine,” Zaja interrupted. More softly, she added, “Don’t worry about me.”
“Some fortune, still,” Shea continued. “Longhart bought the lie: dangerous spies below deck. Handle feedings myself till we reach Cavo land for the trade. Another week ’fore landing, so … time.”
Poe struck the grate with his fist. “Then release us, now! We shall rout them from the ship within the hour!”
“You daft?! Enough here to crew the ship, all armed. Only found a minute while Longhart gets assessments. Likely ’bout done with that.”
Chari fell back against the wall. A week, trapped in the dark? Or a blind gambit against an unknown number of experienced soldiers? Though her rifle trumped theirs, one lucky shot would still end Chari’s life. Were she back on TseTsu, she’d have led a meaningless prayer for divine intervention that would never be seen, nor felt, nor known. They were alone, buoyed by the cold waters of an infinite ocean. They would have to save themselves.
CHAPTER NINE: Captains of Destiny
While Shea had been forcibly integrated into Captain Longhart’s crew, Flynn had been escorted to one of the smaller cabins, where he was told he would remain for the nine or so days the voyage was expected to take.
It took him two to get free.
A rotation of guards had been placed outside Flynn’s door, and with little else to do, he conversed with them, piecemealing Trynan naval law along the way. When he requested an audience with Captain Longhart, the only question in his mind was whether he would be brought to the captain’s cabin or if she would deign to visit him.
“I was informed you wish to speak with me?” Longhart asked as she entered, her arms kept in a disciplined hold behind her back.
“Am I a prisoner of war?” he asked simply.
“A what?” She was genuinely surprised at the question.
“Trynan military charter dictates that prisoners of war must be classified as enemy combatants or traitors to the homeland. I have done nothing to define myself as either, yet I am being imprisoned against my will.” Longhart seemed surprised at this declaration. Perhaps she would take care in assigning less knowledgeable guards in the future. Flynn leaned forward in his seat. “You’ve passed judgment on me from the moment we first met.”
One of Longhart’s arms fell from behind her back, hanging limply by her cutlass. “Would you not strike vermin from your ship the moment you spied it?”
“You doubt me, but you can’t take the chance that I’m right and you ignored my mission. If the father of the brat down below has as much sway as we think, returning her might make him a little more sympathetic to Trynan interests. It wouldn’t stop the fighting—they betrayed us, after all—but it could make a day’s difference. And that could save a lot of lives.”
Flynn could sense her frustration. Were she less honorable, Longhart would have ignored his request for an audience and left him alone until they landed. Coming down to his cabin meant she was willing to meet him on his level, and that made her vulnerable.
“All true,” she conceded. “You have spoken plainly; therefore, so shall I. You are correct in your assessment: I do not trust you. I have met insipid con men as you before, Flynn, and I am not impressed. So I shall warn you thusly: if the spoiled brat and her companions are less than they claim to be, if your contact fails to materialize on the Red Coast, I shall execute the seven of you and leave the tide to wash your blood from the sands.”
Something in Flynn clicked at the number seven. “You’re counting Shea as one of us?”
“Unlike you, I know she is who she claims to be. I fought alongside her brother, Tevin Bagwell, and she is as described. Confess you’ve been leading her on and I will change course for Bheln now and forgive her of any transgressions. Who knows?” she added. “I may even leave you and those ‘spies’ in a lifeboat, a few days from the coast. I do not savor executions. There is no honor to be found in them.”
Flynn nearly took Longhart’s offer. Any attempt to retake the ship could end badly, and the group’s survival and continuance might be worth cutting Shea loose. But in the same breath, he considered her feelings, and was more troubled by his own. He’d grown comfortable in Shea’s company, and wouldn’t sacrifice her.
“I ask you again, Captain,” he returned. “Am I a prisoner of war?”
Longhart shook her head and admitted, “I have no right to detain you. I expect you may wish to speak with Bagwell, as you are previously acquainted, but do not interfere with the crew or their duties, or I may well suspect you of sabotage.”
“Sabotage?” Flynn asked. �
�What harm could I do? I’m just one man.”
In the days following Flynn’s release, he found Longhart’s crew running things better than his could ever have managed. Shea had been demoted from helmsman to deckhand, and Longhart’s aide—one Lieutenant Cloven—had taken her place. Save for some small talk with Shea, Flynn spoke with no one; he simply observed the crew at their labors, all the while feeling the wind, watching the skies. They were five days in with their unwelcome allies when a favorable opportunity arrived, and Flynn convinced a guard to take leave long enough to visit the hold.
“I daresay, I find these barbaric conditions simply deplorable!” a voice cried from below. “Why, when my father learns of how I’ve been interred … Flynn?”
Chari was at the base of the stairs, where the light from above met the darkness down below. Lit enough to see, but still difficult to discern. It warmed his heart to see her again.
“So you’re the ‘brat’ that Longhart complained about?”
Jean joined her at the fore. “Gonna let us out, ya smug bastard?” She was faintly smiling, less angry than impatient.
“Not yet. I’m working on a way to take the ship back. I’ve been biding my time … and there’s a storm coming.”
“A storm? That, like, a metaphor or somethin’?”
Flynn blinked. “No, Jean, it’s–it’s a literal storm.”
“Then we strike amidst the chaos and confusion?” Chari asked. “What if this promised storm misses us?”
“Better for us if it doesn’t. If we land with Longhart still on board, we break for it and hope everyone survives.”
Zaja chimed in from beyond Flynn’s field of vision. “That is the worst plan B I’ve heard in a while.”
“You’re doing alright down there, Zaja?” Flynn asked.
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