The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel

by Patrick McClafferty

  “But... but Corsairs never attack from the front. They always attack from the rear.”

  “Not this time, we won’t, Mister Idzy. Not this time. Prepare the men for a boarding action and tell Radoslaw that I want to see him right now.”

  The grizzled gunner looked at the young captain with thinly disguised contempt. “Sure y’aint getting too big fer yer britches, boy? Taint been so long since we fished ye out of the water. Fell offn that very ship out there, didn che?”

  “Yup, I fell off her. Now I plan to take her. So tell me mister gunner Radoslaw, do you think that you can tear that ship’s sails to shreds, without sinking her, of course? I don’t think so, myself, but I thought I’d ask you first.”

  The gunner turned red. “You let me do what I want an I’ll have them sails in ribbins fer ye. Hell, ye won’t even have to attack. They’ll jes give theyselves up to ye.”

  “That’s what I hope, Mister Radoslaw. Feel free to indulge your, ah, fantasies. We will be attacking from her port bow. Then we’ll swing hard to starboard and board off our starboard side. We’ll never have to cross her damn stern. You will have to shoot well and shoot quickly. Can you do it?”

  “Raiders don’t attack from the bow, don che know that?” The gunner grumbled.

  “Why not?”

  The gunner frowned. This was an original thought - and he probably hadn’t had an original thought in a decade. “I dunno.”

  “Well, let’s try it my way this time.” The gunner walked off with a puzzled look on his face while Jorse looked at the hour glass sand and the ship’s passage through the water and tried to calculate their speed. He hoped he figured right.

  “Gunner, ready?” A nod from the foredeck. “Hard a starboard!” The Donner-kind swung over hard to the right. The icy wind lashed his face and Jorse felt his knees tremble.

 

  He chuckled.

 

 

  Just as he’d planned, the Dagfred appeared in front of them as if by magic. “Gunner, fire at will!” It was a new command and many of the men on deck looked around confused, to see what was happening. The bow gun crashed, wreathing the deck with smoke. Then it crashed again, then it crashed again. Jorse didn’t know the gunner could fire the thing so fast. When the smoke cleared he saw the Dagfred. True to his word the gunner had reduced the sails to ribbons; yards hung askew and part of the foremast had been cleanly shot away. As the Donner-kind drifted closer the Dagfred dropped her remaining sails and lowered her flag.

  ~~~

  It had been a rushed struggle for Jorse, with more than a little help from Lin, to get back into his fine black and silver clothes. When they were done Lin took a step back to look at him: taller (finally), lean, finely dressed and with an air of competent authority. The sword, she thought, helped. The slash across his cheek, still red and puckered, and the slung arm helped too. Well, now. She murmured to herself. Well, now indeed. And he could fly...

  Jorse pulled the brim of the large floppy courtier’s hat low over his eyes as he stepped aboard the Dagfred. The other Raiders, following the lead of their new captain were heavily armed, but silent as death. In a way, he thought as his feet hit the deck, it felt like coming home, but only in a very small way. After losing Captain Jolenta he wondered if he would ever have a home.

  He heard footsteps approaching his group of silent Raiders.

  “I surrender my ship to you. I hope you will be merciful, Captain?” It was Captain Svetla’s voice.

  “Captain Schwendau.” Jorse replied calmly. “Captain Jorse Schwendau.” He looked up, caught her eyes, and then removed his silly hat - dropping it to the deck.

  Captain Svetla sagged, and was caught instantly by the hulking Hudak, who looked as stunned as his captain.

  “So,” the big man holding Captain Svetla began, “that be why the cannon shot were so surgical, if ye will. Ye took out our sails, but killed no one. Ye...” Jorse shook his head, indicating that the man shouldn’t continue this line of conversation. Hudak nodded.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” Jorse bent to Captain Svetla’s side and his knees began to buckle. Idzy grabbed one arm and Lin put an arm around his waist. The deck seemed to pulse in and out of focus for a moment.

  “Jorse?” It was Captain Svetla.

  “He’s been hurt, ma’am, badly hurt. He shouldn’t even be conscious, let alone on his feet.” That was Lin, and Jorse didn’t need to look at her to know that she was glaring at him.

  “Ladies.” Jorse stood up straight, well, as straight as he could. “I would like both ships to head back toward Vaigach. About one hundred leagues west of Boktor, along the southern coast is a small secluded bay. We can hide both ships there until we affect repairs. After that, we will see.

  “And how will you dispose of the Dagfred and its crew?” Captain Svetla’s voice was cold and worried. Jorse bent slowly and put his mouth to her ear.

  “Can you say partnership?” Captain Svetla’s eyes grew big. “We’ll talk about it later. Idzy, place a prize crew aboard the Dagfred. Lin, if you could navigate the Donner-kind and Dagfred back to Vaigach then...” His knees chose that moment to fold and the world about him turned dark.

  The bed was soft, and the rocking of the ship was gentle. Jorse just lay there and wondered, for the hundredth time, what he could have done to save Captain Jolenta.

  The door swung open and Lilith walked in, flanked by a concerned looking Lin.

  “I ear yer not eatin, boy.” Lilith said bluntly. “Fool thing to do. Ye have a ship to run, ye do, two of em, if I count right.” She put her hands on her thin hips and glared down at him, her bright, bird like eyes glittering in the cabin’s light. “Ye think yer responsible, do ye? Think ye might o saved her do ye? Codswallop! She knew, she did. She knew her time was up.”

  Jorse sat up in the bed. “What? How? How did she know?”

  “Why, I told er meself, I did. Cast the auguries right in this very room. Told her that the ship she attacked twice and never defeated would kill er. She knew what ship she was attackin. She could see it was the Dagfred and she knew what it meant. She loved you, boy; knew you would take er place when she fell. She was so proud. So proud o ye.”

  “She never said, never said anything.” Jorse’s eyes were suddenly full, and old Lilith looked away.

  “She couldn’t, boy. Ye see, she knew that you...” Her voice trailed off. For a moment the old woman looked ancient and sad. “It’ll not be good fer one as young as ye to know too much o yer future.”

  “But...” Jorse cut his own sentence off abruptly. Then he nodded, swinging his feet to the floor. “It will be as you say, Lilith.” He pushed himself to his unsteady feet. I think I’ll get something to eat, after I change into fresh clothes.” The two women turned toward the door.

  “Lin, could you stay for a moment?”

  Lilith shot a wide-eyed look back over her shoulder as she pushed the door shut behind her. Lin looked at him with a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “And how can I be of service, Captain?” Her voice had an enticing note in it, and Jorse swallowed.

  “Help me put this silly sling on over my shirt, if you will.” He started to remove the shirt he had worn for the past two days and Lin moved forward, her hand reaching out to help him.

  “Wait, your shoulder...” She gasped and stopped when the shirt dropped away. Jorse had had Anya leave the pink scar on his face to remind him of the fragility of life every time he looked in the mirror. His shoulder and arm showed tanned healthy skin, without even that telltale scar. “But you... but you were...” Lin’s voice trailed off, her eyes big and scared.

  He looked up sadly. “Mostly dead isn’t the same as all dead, Lin
. I left the scar on my face to remind me of that, and I will leave it there in the future to remind me of a good and kind woman who loved me.” Lin backed toward the door and Jorse struggled into his shirt and sling alone. If the crew saw him healed so soon after the battle there would be talk. “Do you think...?” He said to Lin, but she was already gone.

  “Drop the anchor!” Jorse looked over the side of the Donner-kind to see the great stone anchor disappear into a green bank of waving seaweed. The heavy cable pulled up tight and a shudder passed through the length of the ship. “Have the boat crews warp the stern around and drop a kedge anchor so our bow can cover the entrance to the harbor. Do the reverse with the Dagfred. Between those stern guns of hers and bow gun of ours we should be able to stop anything that might care to stick its nose in our bay.”

  “It would be a rude surprise, wouldn’t it, Cap’n?” Mister Idzy was grinning. The whole crew seemed to be sporting a fresh batch of idiotic grins ever since he had showed up unannounced at the crew’s mess for breakfast. For the crew life was good. Their young captain was up and about, despite the sling and scar on his face, and he was walking and joking - and they had taken the PRIZE!

  “Have my boat lowered, if you will. I have to talk with the crew of the Dagfred. They have, you know, just been taken by the dreaded Corsairs of Aethelia, and for all they know we will be inviting them for dinner... as the main course.”

  Idzy roared with laughter. “Aye, sir. Invite em fer dinner. That be a good one.”

  The torn sails and damaged mast had been repaired on the Dagfred, and she looked almost as good as new. There was, however, a defeated look on the faces of the crew, and they knew that their fate was uncertain. Jorse kept his face hard as he climbed aboard and men he had known for years now looked on him with something like terror in their eyes. The very air smelled of it, the sour reek of fear. A crewman from the Donner-kind, one of the prize crew, came up, knuckling his head in a salute and grinning.

  “What can I do fer ye, sir?”

  “Fetch me the First Mate of the Dagfred, and have the galley send a bottle of wine. We will meet...” He paused as if thinking. “We will meet in the Captain’s cabin.”

  “Aye Cap’n.” The man saluted and left, already yelling orders.

  Jorse descended the familiar stairwell and made his way to Captain Svetla’s stern cabin. The door was closed and he knocked politely.

  “Come!” The familiar voice called out.

  “Good morning, Captain.” Jorse was smiling as he stepped into the cabin.

  “Jorse!” There was a glad note in the woman’s voice and she rushed toward him. Jorse shook his head and put a silent finger up to his lips, glancing over his shoulder at the open door. She nodded.

  The big shoulders that squeezed through the door a moment later had to be Hudak. His face brightened when he saw Jorse and his own captain talking amicably. A small scrap of a man, one of the galley attendants, slipped by the First Mate and deposited an open bottle of wine on the table. He closed the door on his way out and Jorse let out a breath he didn’t realized he’d been holding. Taking three glasses from the captain’s convenient wine cabinet, Jorse poured the wine and passed the glasses out, starting with Captain Svetla.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve remembered your manners, Marko, or should I call you Jorse now?” She sipped at her wine.

  “Jorse, Captain. It’s my real name.”

  “And the Schwendau part? Was that made up too, or are you a distant relative?” Her eyes were intent.

  Jorse set his glass on the table. “Hedric and Silla were my father and mother.” He said simply.

  “That would mean...” There was a crash from behind him as Hudak dropped his glass on the hard floor.

  “Sorry, Captains... sorry.” The man looked as if he wanted to crawl into the deck.

  Jorse looked up at Captain Svetla and smiled. “Good help is so hard to find, don’t you think, Captain Svetla?”

  The woman laughed and the tension was broken. “Yes, Captain Schwendau, good help is certainly hard to find. Now tell me, what are your plans for us?”

  Jorse sipped at his wine. “This is very nice on the palate, Captain. Let’s assume this: your ship has been captured by a Corsair, therefore your cargo is forfeit.” Captain Svetla grimaced but nodded. “Now, if the Raider had been anyone other than me, your ship would have been sunk and your crew killed, am I correct?” Again, a reluctant nod. “This is going along just fine, don’t you think?” Jorse poured more wine for the three and ignored their grimaces. He held the glass up to the light to admire the deep red color. “Almost the color of blood.” He murmured. “Piracy is getting more and more difficult. Pirates attack from the stern so merchants put guns in their sterns to prevent those sorts of attacks. Now Raiders will attack from the bow, until merchants start putting cannons in the bow too. Then it will be who has the faster ship and the most guns. Raiders will be killed and merchant crews will be killed. I suggest a new strategy.” He took a sip of his wine and looked across the table to the two who were staring at him. “I suggest convoys.” They blinked. “A merchant ship, or maybe two, is escorted by a fast, well-armed escort. The escort’s job is to drive off Raiders. One Raider won’t attack another Raider. There’s no profit in it. When the convoy gets to port the cargo is unloaded and a portion of the profits go to the escort. The profits will go down for the merchant, but now the merchant can invest in higher risk cargoes, knowing that he,” he nodded at Captain Svetla, “or she will have armed support in the venture. More runs with less chance of being sunk by Raiders. On the other side of the sheet, the Corsairs won’t get as much profit as they did before, but they get a smaller profit more regularly, and with less chance of getting their asses kicked by an armed merchantman. On this run the Dagfred gets to keep half the profit from her cargo, although I could take the whole thing. Upon our arrival in Little Wassaw, I assume you were going to Little Wassaw.” The captain nodded. “On our arrival you sell the cargo, secure a new cargo and pay for our repairs and victualing. You have nets and we don’t. We could share food and cut expenses on the way.” Jorse looked down at his empty wine glass and sighed. “You taught me to be a good merchant, Captain Svetla. Captain Jolenta, bless her, taught me to be a good Raider. The combination is—disconcerting.”

  There was something oddly sad in Captain Svetla’s appraising look. “You cared for your Captain, didn’t you?”

  “Yes I did, Captain. I think I loved her. She was a friend and almost a mother to me. I was there when your cannonball took away her life, and things will never be the same for me.”

  He stood and stretched his back. “That was, if I might say, some damn fine shooting. I have a favor to ask.” He didn’t bother to wait for a reply. “I need to get to Boktor. I will only be there a few days and then we can leave. Obviously, I can’t just sail in with the Donner-kind. If we go in the Dagfred you can say you were attacked by a Raider. Say that the ship was damaged and that you will have to take a small shipment of high risk goods to Little Wassaw to make up the loss. It’s a good story - just enough truth to cover the lie and it will increase our profits.” He looked across the table to the woman he had learned so much from. “Do we have a covenant, Captain?”

  She stood up and held out a tanned, weathered hand. “Aye, we have a covenant, Your Majesty.”

  Jorse winced. “Not Majesty. Not now, and maybe not ever. Please!” He shook her offered hand and then turned and disappeared through the cabin door.

  Chapter 8

  Boktor hadn’t changed. The harbor was the same sludgy cesspool he had left, and the air was so bad he thought that he might cut it with a knife. Shuddering, he swallowed and tasted the filth: take one part chamberpot, one part dead fish, one part unwashed body and one part carrion, mix well and you had the scent, and taste, of Boktor harbor. It made his eyes water. There had been a fire at some time, and most of the decrepit tenements had been reduced to burned rubble. The scent of charred timbers actually improved th
e overall smell of the harbor. Jorse wondered what had become of the poor people who had lived there.

  A fat merchant, dressed all in green velvet was running down the dock toward the Dagfred.

  “Why...” He puffed, trying and failing to catch his breath. “Why are you back? You should have been well on your way to Little Wassaw by now.”

  “Bloody Corsairs.” Hudak replied to the merchant, giving Jorse a slow wink. “We took some damage and need to get us some new sails before we head down the passage to Little Wassaw.”

  “They... they should do something about those barbarians.” The merchant wheezed, finally getting his breath back. “They’re a menace, I tell you, a menace!”

  Jorse stepped onto the dock and looked down his nose at the pea green clothes of the merchant. “Thank you. I will consider myself told.” He said in his best imperious tone. “Now fetch me a carriage. I have business elsewhere, away from this stench.” The merchant looked offended and then outraged, but he did stop to pick up the handful of rappen Jorse threw at his feet. “Come come, good man, time is money.” The merchant ran. Jorse turned back toward the boat and slowly winked back to Hudak, who seemed to be trying—and failing—to suppress his laughter.

  The battered brown carriage was small, only fit for two people and maybe a tiny bag or two, but it was big enough for Jorse. His thoughts were elsewhere. How many years since he had last seen Dala? He was between fifteen and sixteen now. That would make Dala, he frowned, eleven or twelve? He wasn’t sure. Would she even remember him? Would she even be there? He clucked at the old sway backed nag pulling the carriage, and lightly flicked the reins. It wouldn’t be long.

  The Temple of the Moon was the same as when he left it. The dark green waxy-leaved bushes at the left of the massive front door were a bit larger, and the road leading to the Temple a bit dustier. The sky was a washed out blue. Jorse tied the nag to a hitch and straightened his doublet and sword. He felt a bit more comfortable with the weapon now that Hudak had worked with him a few times. He thought he could even draw it without cutting off his own nose. Anya didn’t share his optimism.