by E. S. Bell
One of the men in front got close, feeling for weapons. Sebastian head-butted him with a swift, violent blow to the nose, then thrust his head backward, striking the man behind him. He felt the man’s grip on his bonds fall away. Sebastian stomped on his foot with the heel of his boot, then drove his elbow into his gut.
“Shoot him!” one cried, followed by Eleanor’s frightened, “No!”
The ropes were still looped about Sebastian’s wrists, but loose now. The man behind him was bent at the waist, moaning. Still blind in the sack, Sebastian found the man’s neck and wrapped one arm around it. He twisted the man forward, snapping his neck, and then hoisted him up, like a shield. The rapport of a flintlock cut the air and Sebastian felt the slug strike the dead man. He shoved the corpse forward and drew his scimitars. Rope hung in long loops from his wrists, no longer a hindrance. Instincts guided his motions, and he felt his blades slice and bite flesh, and heard the gurgle of blood flowing from an opened throat.
One man left, he thought just as agony exploded across his brow and blue stars danced across the dark canopy of the sack. Blood flowed. He went down on one knee, thrusting his sword blindly across his body, and found nothing but air. He raised his right arm and took the next blow on the meat of his shoulder. The pirate’s blade bit deep and then tore free. Sebastian grunted and twisted upward like an uncoiling snake, his left scimitar slicing sideways. It met steel and Sebastian flipped his right scimitar in his hand so that the blade was facing up, and sliced upward. The man’s scream came a second before the dull wet smack of his amputated hand hitting the ground.
Sebastian could see his opponent clearly now, even from within the sack. He dropped his blades and looped the rope that hung between his wrists around the man’s neck. He pulled and twisted, holding tight as the man writhed and jerked. Rage gave Sebastian strength, driving the agony in his arm and head away. Finally, the man’s struggles quieted and Sebastian let him fall to the ground.
The assassin tore at the rope that held the sack over his head, gasping for fresh air. His gaze swept the dock for other attackers but there were none. Some gawkers had stopped to watch but kept their distance and then scampered away when they caught Sebastian’s eye.
Three dead bodies littered the ground at his feet. Sebastian spat a wad of blood on the one nearest him, the one he’d strangled. Pain wracked his body but was a small flame to the white hot furnace of his rage. He retrieved his scimitars and sheathed them, forcing his pulse to slow, his breath to become even. He glanced about, sure he had forgotten something, and then realized Eleanor Rathbone was gone.
“Good.” He spat again and strode to the docks, to his ship, to refuge.
The street rats of Uago waited until the assassin was gone, then swarmed over the dead bodies like locusts. In moments, they dead were stripped naked and left to rot on the street as the clouds broke and rain came down again.
Meeting the Storm
A message from Captain Tergus came to Selena at the Wayfarer Inn that morning, written in immaculate, precise script, that one of the captain’s crew would meet her at the east quay. The note said she would know the sailor by “the distinct expression of dismay on his hoary old face when he realizes I wasn’t lying about sharing a skiff with a dragonman and a sirrak.”
The storm had passed on and the docks were bustling. Flocks of screeching gulls wheeled above, while dozens more perched on posts, muttering and preening and staining the wood white with their droppings. The air was heavy with fish scents, as vendors hawked skewers of crabmeat and boiled bowls of lobscouse stew over portable cauldrons.
The vendors fell silent as Selena passed with Ilior flanking her and Svoz bringing up the rear. The sirrak had taken the guise of a sailor that, at a distance, seemed common enough until one saw his colorless eyes, pale skin, and black fingernails, to say nothing of his weapon. He had told her that if he were forced to wear the “weak meat suit of a human” he must be permitted to at least carry a weapon of real menace. And so the sirrak wore a humongous cudgel far too huge for his human size slung over his shoulder.
The crewman Captain Tergus sent was a grizzled old sea dog with a white beard and a well-worn coat and cap. As Julian promised, the man’s eyes widened under bushy brows to see the Vai’Ensai. At Svoz, the crewman made the sign of the full moon over his heart and grunted. He grunted again as he nodded his head at the skiff that was to convey them to the ship, and grunted yet again that Ilior needed to take up an oar. It soon became apparent that grunting was the only sound the old man was capable of making. But for Svoz’s periodic grousing about the sun that had broken through the clouds, the skiff set off in silence.
As they rowed across the bay, Selena saw that many other captains were of the same mind as Captain Tergus: more ships bobbed anchor in the bay than were docked at Port Sylk, each manned by wary crew who gave Selena and her companions dirty stares from their decks, and kept their flintlocks in plain view. Most of the ships they passed were merchant vessels, judging by their standards, though many ship’s captains were more cautious and flew no standard of any kind. Others were proudly pirate vessels, flying flags depicting skulls, cutlasses, dripping blood, and any other manner of intimidating motifs that designated one ship or another as a member of a collective. In the northeast, Selena saw a quartet of ships bearing the insignia of a burning flame, like the one Julian revealed on Mallen’s arm.
At last, the skiff fell into the shadow of Julian’s brig. A rope ladder came down and Selena climbed up. Captain Tergus was there, waiting to help her up. She took his hand—his left, she noticed, as he was favoring his right arm slightly— and he offered a faint smile that was ruined by the bloody gash creeping into his hairline.
“Are you all right?” Selena asked. “Gods, what happened?”
“Press gang tried to recruit me.” He smiled darkly. “They failed.”
“What? When?”
“Last night, after you departed.” He waved aside her concern. “There were only three, each a bigger fool than the last.” He jerked his chin at Svoz in his sailor form. “The sirrak?”
Selena blinked. “Uh, yes. This is Svoz. Svoz, this is Captain Julian Tergus.”
“A pleasure,” Svoz said. His pale eyes studied the captain. His laugh sounded as though it came from the Deeps. “A genuine pleasure.”
“And I don’t believe you were formally introduced to Ilior oth’Makir,” Selena said before Svoz could make things more awkward. “Ilior, Captain Tergus.”
But that introduction was almost worse. Neither Ilior nor Julian offered a hand; the Vai’Ensai nodded coolly at the captain, and a silence fell amongst them that was especially acute since the crewmen on deck and up on the yards made no sound either.
“Shall we?” Julian said finally.
“Your arm looks pained,” Selena said. “I can heal you…”
“I’ve had worse. Do you want to see the ship or not?”
He didn’t wait for a reply but started around the main deck.
It was immediately apparent to Selena that the Black Storm was Julian’s pride and joy. The hull was unmarred, the decks immaculate, the rigging all neatly coiled. She glanced up at the sails furled tight to the yards and the small crow’s nest atop the main mast. A simple ship, she thought, but already I like her. I like her more than her captain.
Julian moved to muster his crew before he took her belowdecks, and Selena pulled Ilior aside.
“What do you think of him?” Selena nodded to where Julian Tergus sauntered to the edge of the main deck, put his fingers to his lips and let loose a piercing whistle. The morning wind whipped at his black long coat and he cut a dark, slender figure in the gray light. The gash on his face gave him a sinister mien.
Ilior’s words ground together like stones. “My opinion of him from last night remains unchanged. I don’t like him.”
“I told you, he was not responsible for my injuries,” Selena said. “He killed Mallen.”
“After he watched you fight
off three pirates first. You had Mallen defeated when Tergus sliced his throat open.” Ilior shook his horned head. “I don’t like him.”
Selena sighed. “You said that already.” She watched Julian muster his crew. “He’s young for a captain. Perhaps thirty years? But he looks as though he were born on board.” She was trying to be light but Ilior was immovable as stone.
“Someone attacked him last night,” the Vai’Ensai said. “Perhaps they were men of Mallen’s crew.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Or perhaps it was a press gang as he said. Press gangs are a common sight on many islands. Especially Uago.” She sighed. “But I will admit it’s an inauspicious start to this voyage.”
“You’ve paid him nothing,” the Vai’Ensai reminded her.
“There’s no one else, Ilior. You know that. And I can’t delay this mission another minute. Captain Tergus is the best we can hope for from Isle Uago.”
Ilior nodded once. “I understand. But if the captain is revealed to be a scoundrel or criminal, I’ll tear him apart.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Svoz.”
Ilior grunted. “In matters of your protection, the sirrak and I are in accord.”
Selena smiled fondly at her friend, and then the captain was addressing them.
“This is my crew,” Captain Tergus said, as the six men lined up. They were all dressed in the same salt-and-wind-worn garb, with bare feet and sun-burnt skin; the eldest appeared in his fifties, the youngest hardly more than a boy.
“You’ve met Grunt.” The old salt who had taken them across the bay nodded his head. “The rest are Spit, Cur, Helm, Cook, and Whistle. They don’t say much, but they’re as good a bunch of sailors as you could want.”
“They haven’t proper names?” Ilior asked.
“I suppose they do.”
“You’ve never asked?”
Selena laid her hand on her friend’s arm. “Ilior…”
Julian cocked a brow. “Are you questioning how I do things on my ship?”
Ilior crossed his arms over his massive chest and shrugged.
The captain laughed. “Tell him your names, men. Make a proper introduction.”
Grunt grunted, Cur growled like a feral dog, Spit spat, and Whistle whistled. The crewmen named Helm and Cook snickered soundlessly.
“I don’t know their real names because they can’t tell me, nor can they read or write,” Julian said. “I hire men who’re either mute, like in the case of young Whistle here—” he tousled the boy’s hair— “or have had their tongues cut out, as have the rest of these fine fellows.”
Ilior’s hands clenched into fists. “You cut out their tongues?”
Captain Tergus regarded him, incredulous. “Did I say that? I hire men who’ve met that particular misfortune. And not many captains would. I’m doing them a favor by employing them where others won’t. Isn’t that sweet of me, dragonman?”
“But why?” Selena asked.
“You’d be amazed at how much more productive a crew is when they can’t stand around jawing all day. If you’re used to shanties sung every damn minute of every voyage, the silence will seem strange at first, but you get used to it. You’ll be able to appreciate the quiet,” he said, “and just sail.”
Selena glanced at the six mute men. They looked no different from any other crew on any other ship she’d ever been on. But they can’t speak, can’t sing shanties…and they can’t tell what they’ve seen on board.
“Have a question?” Julian asked, and Selena realized she had been silent too long.
“I was wondering, Captain, how it’s possible to give and receive orders to a crew that can’t speak. And aren’t you a bit short-handed?”
“Ilior and Svoz can pitch in,” Julian said. “No one stands around idle on my ship.”
Svoz, who had been roaming the decks, slipped up to join them when he heard his name. He waggled a black-nailed finger at Julian. “If you think I’m going to spend the voyage pulling on ropes and tying knots like some common—”
“You will,” Selena said, “because I command it. You will do whatever Captain Tergus requires.”
“I won’t ask you to do anything that is beneath you,” Julian told the sirrak.
“Everything that is not extermination is beneath me.”
“Lovely.” Julian clapped his hands together. “That should do it. The watches will be long but the voyage to Saliz is not. The Storm won’t give trouble if we all pull together.” Julian turned to Selena. “Care to see your lodgings?”
Selena left Svoz on deck while she and Ilior followed Julian to the galley with its big iron stove and water barrels, and the forecastle where eight hammocks were strung up.
“When you’re not on watch,” he told Ilior.
The Vai’Ensai frowned. “How far am I from Paladin Koren’s lodgings?”
Julian gave them both a peculiar look. “This is a brig, not a Guild barge. We’re all within hailing distance. But, don’t take my word for it.”
He led them through a passage so narrow, Ilior had to fold his wing in tight and duck his head. The cabin was small, six spans long and three across, but it had cots instead of hammocks, one to a side, and a trunk to stow belongings. There was no porthole as it was amidships, but Selena thought it more than adequate.
“It’s very fine.” Selena noted that while the bunks were spare and plain, they also looked clean, like everything else on Julian’s ship.
“My cabin’s under the quarterdeck,” Julian said, “but there is no reason anyone aboard needs to be anywhere near it unless invited, yes? And you,” he said to Selena, “are invited to plot our course and discuss the financial particulars. After provisions are bought and stowed, we sail. Tomorrow.” His gray-green eyes looked between Selena and Ilior.
“He stays with me,” Selena said, answering his unspoken question. “He’s a better sailor than I, and I rely on his judgment in all things.”
The smallest of shadows crept over the captain’s face. “Very well. It’ll be a bit cramped, but if you insist.”
“I do,” Ilior intoned.
Julian led them back up to the main deck, to his cabin, which was situated beneath the quarterdeck. It was twice the size of Selena’s cabin, and three large, slanted gallery windows afforded an expansive view of the Marauder’s Sea spread out before them and the sun hovering above the horizon.
The port wall of the cabin had several trunks lashed to it and was covered itself in an old, beautiful chart of Lunos. At the starboard wall was a bunk, wider than those in her cabin, but it was the captain’s desk that commanded attention. Two merkind, carved in intricate detail, met at the front of the cherry wood piece, their hair flowing and tangling together. Long ropes of finely wrought sea kelp climbed up each leg.
On top of the desk were several charts, an inkpot, a ledger book, and some drawings. When Selena drew nearer, she saw the drawings were schematics of ships, highly detailed and drawn with great precision. That Julian possessed the skill to create something so fine surprised her.
People are multi-faceted like jewels, she told herself, not plain and flat like steel.
Julian saw her eyeing the sketches and hurriedly laid a chart of the Heart Waters and most of the Eastern Edge on top of them. He unlashed a small stool for Selena to sit on while he took the chair behind the desk.
“I will stand,” Ilior said.
“As you will.” Julian turned the chart around so that Selena might read it. “As I told you last night, I believe we should take a more northerly route, out of these pirate waters.” He folded his hands. “But that is unsatisfactory?”
Selena nodded. “How far south can we sail?”
“Safely?” Julian frowned over the chart. “The pirate collectives here sail the Marauders’ Sea in droves. Given the situation with pirates who attacked you last night, we’ll be lucky to get out of here without a tail.”
“You killed a captain,” Ilior intoned.
“And she let the sole witness go free,” Julian returned. “Mine wasn’t the lapse in caution.” He turned back to Selena. “To sail farther south, into the Heart Waters, is to invite the wrath of the merkind. I’d rather take my chances with pirates, who I can outrun, rather than a merkind’s maelstrom, which I can’t. Of course, I’d much prefer avoiding both and sailing north along the Ice Isles.”
“It’s not possible,” Ilior said. “For her sake.”
“Nor for yours,” Selena told her friend. She looked at Julian. “I don’t want to risk your ship or the lives of you and your crew but this whole endeavor will be moot if we freeze to death. Is there no other passage that we can take?”
“Not unless you wish to sail south along the boundary between the Western Watch and the Heart Waters, then tack east past your homeland,” he said with a nod at Ilior, “and lastly sail north through the entire Eastern Edge.”
“No,” Ilior said. “No,” he said again, softer. “That route will take half a year or more. The Bazira trail will be long gone by then.”
“Of course it will,” Julian said, studying the chart.
Selena bit her lip. He’s going to change his mind about this and we’ll be stuck all over again.
But Julian said, “Well, business has been slow as of late and I’m not one to turn down real gold. We’ll sail as south as we dare and take our chances. My Storm can outrun the pirates, I’m sure of that.”
Selena eased a sigh. “Thank you.” She rose to go but the captain halted her.
“Speaking of gold, there is one last matter. My fee. And for this discussion, I prefer privacy. In fact, I insist on it.” He smiled thinly at Ilior.
Ilior hesitated. Selena gave him a reassuring nod and he strode out of the cabin. She was sure he took up position outside the door, just as he had on Jarabax’s ship.
Julian shook out of his long black coat. Beneath he wore a white linen shirt, loosely tied at the collar. Patches of blood darkened his right shoulder. He reached behind him, wincing, for a bottle of wine and a glass.
