by Greg Weisman
So before dawn, Makasa, Drella, and Hackle hid under blankets in Rendow’s boat, while Murky swam beneath the surface, slowly towing it around the Speedbarge to the southern end.
Hotfix, meanwhile, was keeping a close eye on the ogres. Days before, Gordok’s Elite had failed to follow Daisy and Hotfix without being noticed, but it was quite literally child’s play for Hotfix to follow them without even one of the massive creatures having a clue. Once he confirmed that they were all gathered on the northern side of the Speedbarge to keep an eye on Steamwhistle before the race, Hotfix raced to the southern side, where he leapt aboard Rendow’s boat before it even had time to dock. It docked anyway, however, to pick up Pozzik, who had been paid a quite handsome sum by Gazlowe to come aboard.
Of course, there was always the chance that one or more of the ogres might head south during the competition, but Daisy kept an eye on them and was ready to slip a warning—the code word gigantic—into her duties as race caller, using the speaking trumpet to be heard over the din of the crowd and the engines. Fortunately, it never became necessary, as the ogres all stayed on the north side.
Next, Aram did his part by winning … and by taking that victory lap. When he pulled around to the south side of the Speedbarge and came even with Rendow’s boat, he slowed down and popped the carapace open. Makasa threw him a line, and soon Steamwhistle and the rowboat were side by side so that Aram and Hotfix could trade places.
That was why Gazlowe had paid Pozzik to be there: to authenticate that the registered pilot of the Steamwhistle had, in fact, finished the race and had not exited the boat until after the eighth lap was complete. (Gazlowe had no problem with Aram escaping with his life—as long as it didn’t disqualify Gazlowe’s boat from taking home the prize money.)
The switch took a little time, but Daisy kept her banter going to distract anyone from noticing just how long that ninth lap was taking. Hotfix untied the rope and put on Aram’s helmet, which was way too big for the little goblin’s head but not quite wide enough for his long ears, which were uncomfortably pressed down against his cheeks. Still, without complaint, he closed the carapace and piloted the boat back around to the north side.
He pulled up to the dock, to the winner’s circle, where Throgg rather kindly “helped” him out of Steamwhistle.
Two very separate protests were lodged.
For starters, the ogres seemed rather unhappy that the pilot was a goblin and not Aramar Thorne. Throgg clumsily tore off Hotfix’s tunic looking for the compass, as if the goblin boy and the human boy might have traded more than places. Finding no compass, there was a moment when it seemed likely the ogre might squish little Hotfix like a grape. But the goblin bit Throgg unexpectedly. Throgg dropped Hotfix, who fell into the water and vanished below it. At this point, Throgg and his companions grew quite angry and started smashing things and hitting mooks. The mooks hit back, until both sides were bruised, bloody, and breathing hard—and actually a bit happier for having had the opportunity to blow off a little steam.
Meanwhile, Razzeric led a long line of pilots and sponsors to protest the results of the race with Fizzle, claiming that Steamwhistle should be disqualified for switching pilots. But Pozzik soon arrived, having been dropped back off at the southern dock, to confirm the switch hadn’t happened until after the race was over.
Gazlowe looked quite proud of himself.
Now, the pilot’s share was a fraction of what Sprocket made as engineer (an amount increased by fifty pieces of silver, since the leper gnome had won his bet with Gazlowe). And Sprocket’s share was a fraction of what Gazlowe himself made as the Steamwhistle’s sponsor, which in turn was a fraction of what the goblin made betting on his team. Nevertheless, Gazlowe dutifully collected Aram’s little share of the prize. From that amount, the goblin then subtracted the fee he paid Pozzik, the full replacement value of Rendow’s boat, the money Makasa owed to Daisy, and the price of repairing Steamwhistle’s carapace (not to mention—because he didn’t mention it—the cost of fixing the punctured diving suit Aram had worn the night before). Yet, even after extracting those expenses, Gazlowe still had nine gold coins, fifty silver, and twelve copper, which he was keeping in trust for the boy—with the promise that he would sail his yacht to Gadgetzan the day after the race and meet the travelers there …
As for Aramar Thorne, Makasa Flintwill, Hackle, Murky, and Taryndrella, they were all back on Rendow’s boat, following the compass south toward Gadgetzan …
It had been a warm day on the water. Aram had again spent most of it sketching. He had begun by drawing the receding Speedbarge horizontally across the page. When he finished, he tried to draw the Brute Squad from memory, but as he outlined the silhouette of the first hobgoblin, another impulse pushed his coal pencil another way. Before he even really knew what he was drawing, he had finished. It was an image from his dream, his nightmare: the silhouette of Malus blocking Aram’s path to the Light. He looked at it, shuddered, and put his sketchbook away.
Now, Aram yawned, stretched, and took out his map of Kalimdor. He stared at it. Squinched his eyes shut and stared some more. He felt like an idiot. He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and said, “We need to turn to the east.”
“What? Why?” Makasa said. “You said Gadgetzan’s directly south.”
“It is. But it’s not on the coast.”
“It is. It’s a port city.”
“It’s on the coast of the sea. Not on the coast of this lake. We need to sail east to get through the break in the seawall. Then we head south and southwest along the outer coastline to Gadgetzan. Otherwise, we’d have to cover the last leg across a mountain pass …”
Makasa’s eyes burned through him. “And risk leaving a trail for the ogres to follow. Show me.”
He had to climb over Murky, Drella, and the rowing Hackle to get to her. He showed her the map.
“We’ve already overshot the seawall gap. You could have mentioned this before,” she said bitterly.
“I—I should have noticed it before,” he said, embarrassed.
“Ships to east,” Hackle said, “heading this way.” He pointed.
They looked up. There were three ships on parallel courses, heading more or less in their direction. In the fading sun, the ships’ sails looked red as blood.
“Bloodsails,” Makasa growled.
Aram looked again. It wasn’t a trick of the light. The three ships’ sails were red as blood.
“We can’t go east,” she said. “In fact, your mistake may have saved us.”
“But—”
“Those are Bloodsail Buccaneer ships,” she said. “Pirates.”
Aram had heard of the Bloodsail Buccaneers. His father had called them the most notorious, bloodthirsty pirates on the seas.
Makasa turned the rudder until the boat was heading west. She glanced down at the map, still open on Aram’s lap. She said, “The Bloodsails appear to be headed southwesterly, probably looking to land here, at the mountain pass that leads straight to Gadgetzan. So we’ll make landfall in Tanaris, here.” She pointed to a spot on the map—on the western coast of the Shimmering Deep. “As far away from those ships as we can get. We’ll cross to Gadgetzan over land.”
Aram studied the map and said, “That’ll add days to the journey …”
“There’s no remedy,” she said sharply. “Row, Hackle.”
Hackle was already rowing, but he redoubled his efforts obediently.
Drella said, “You really seem to dislike these Bloodsail people.”
“They’re not people,” Makasa whispered. “They’re murderers.”
Something about the way she said “murderers” caught Aram’s attention. He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, and somehow, somehow, he knew. “Your brothers,” he said.
She nodded.
“Can you tell me?”
She was silent for a time. Then she nodded again …
Makasa Flintwill was the fourth child of Marjani Flintwill, captain of the pirate ship Ma
kemba. Captain Flintwill was tough and independent and not a little bit deadly, whether armed with cutlass, harpoon, iron chain, or her bare hands. Her four children—Adashe, Akashinga, Amahle, and Makasa—had four different fathers … or more accurately had no fathers whatsoever. Marjani was mother and father to them all.
The Makemba operated out of Booty Bay as part of the Blackwater Raiders’ fleet, and Makasa grew up to know that port like the back of her hand. However, Makasa and her three older brothers were raised not onshore but aboard ship, to the life of a pirate. Their mother was not a woman to knit sweaters or bake pies. She was tougher on her spawn than a hundred Greydon Thornes. The four children rose at dawn, worked their ship, and learned to fight, almost before they could walk or talk. Marjani was capable of tenderness. But only at the end of a good day and only if her children pleased her well.
Adashe was the oldest. He was handsome and smart, and he was being groomed to become a Blackwater captain in his own right. Makasa admired him, but he was so far above her star that she rarely spent time with him.
Akashinga was Makasa’s favorite. Though second-born, he was the tallest of the three brothers. When Makasa was little, she’d beg to ride upon his shoulders. She would pretend he was the mast and his shoulders were the crow’s nest, and she’d call out, “Land ho!” or “A ship to plunder!” until her mother yelled at her to hold her tongue.
Amahle was only two years older than Makasa, and they fought like Alliance and Horde. Strong as an ox, he’d hold her down and tickle her until finally she willed herself not to be ticklish anymore. This came as a great shock to all three brothers. Makasa believed that Adashe and Akashinga never forgave Amahle for eliminating that particular form of torture through overuse.
And Makasa was the baby. The baby and the only girl. Marjani Flintwill was particularly tough on her daughter, but every member of Makemba’s crew knew this was only because the captain saw herself in her youngest. And not simply because Makasa looked like a miniature version of her mother. No, there was a steel to the child that matched Marjani’s. If anything, little Makasa was even tougher and less forgiving than Captain Flintwill. Marjani thought that someday Makasa might rule the Blackwater Raiders and, with them, every sea and port in Azeroth.
The Blackwater Raiders were pirates, thieves, and warriors. But they were not murderers. If a ship surrendered, they’d raid its stores—taking absolutely anything of value—but they’d leave its crew and passengers unharmed and their vessel as undamaged as possible. Some called this a matter of honor. Marjani Flintwill believed it a matter of practicality: “If you burn a ship and kill its crew, that’s one less ship and one less crew to steal from the next time. Besides, a crew tends not to surrender if it knows the only reward for such cowardice is death.”
The Bloodsail Buccaneers took the opposite approach. No one survived a Bloodsail attack. So they were without a doubt more feared, but they were also without a doubt less wealthy. This engendered some frustration and envy toward the Blackwater on the part of the Bloodsails. Thus, there was no love lost between Buccaneers and Raiders.
By the time Makasa turned fifteen, she was already five foot nine. She had been taught to fight by her mother and brothers and the rest of Makemba’s crew. She could and did hold her own on raids of many a merchant vessel. She had taken lives—but only when necessary (by the lights of the Blackwater code). She took no joy in killing. But she wasn’t shy about it, either. It was said, “She doesn’t have Adashe’s smarts or Akashinga’s size or Amahle’s strength. But she’s swifter and thus deadlier than all three of them put together.”
Adashe Flintwill had finally earned his captaincy. Blackwater Fleet Master Seahorn himself presented Adashe with the Sea King. Many volunteered to join his crew. And the tauren Seahorn assigned the new Captain Flintwill his first mate: a worgen from Gilneas—a former Brashtide pirate—known as Silent Joe Barker. Adashe accepted Barker, of course, but his priority was to choose three he knew would be both competent and unquestioningly loyal: Akashinga as second mate, Amahle as third mate, and Makasa Flintwill as ship’s lookout. If it bothered Marjani to lose all four of her children from her own crew, she gave no indication. In fact, she simply shrugged and said, “I can always make more.”
Still, upon their departure, she kissed each on the forehead, wishing them “calm seas and rich pickings.” It was the last time she’d see any of them again.
Only a few weeks into its first voyage, the Sea King had just completed the successful plunder of the merchant ship Winter’s Knot—with no casualties on either side—and once the Knot had been sent on its way, the crew of the King was partaking of the three barrels of Lordaeron wine they’d taken aboard. Makasa Flintwill knew she should be back in the crow’s nest, but Second Mate Akashinga Flintwill urged her to enjoy herself. She looked to her captain, who winked at her, and even Third Mate Amahle Flintwill said, “Stay.” (First Mate Silent Joe said nothing.) So Makasa lingered … fatally.
Two Bloodsail ships, the Orca and the Killmonger, were upon them with little warning. They boarded from both sides, and within minutes had the semi-drunken crew of the Sea King dead or in chains. The captain, his three mates, and his lookout were among the latter group.
By this time, the Orca had sailed off with its share, and Captain Flintwill was on his knees before Killmonger’s Captain Ironpatch. The huge orc had a long, scraggly black beard, pointed ears, long lower tusks, and, of course, an iron eyepatch over his right eye. He also carried the biggest sword Makasa had ever seen. He held the tip of his blade beneath Adashe’s chin, used it to lift that chin up. Adashe matched his glare but spoke no words of defiance. There wasn’t time. Ironpatch had Adashe Flintwill’s head off before Makasa’s eldest brother could speak.
Makasa bit her lip until it bled, but Akashinga and Amahle—despite their chains—rose up and rushed the orc. It so caught Killmonger’s captain by surprise, they were able to knock him to the deck. Akashinga’s size and Amahle’s strength were something to behold. They had their chains pressed to his neck and were choking the life out of him. But he was hardly the only Buccaneer aboard. Within seconds, they had been pulled off by half Killmonger’s crew (and it took half its crew to manage it). Within minutes, Captain Ironpatch was back on his feet and plunging his giant sword through both brothers’ chests.
The surviving crew of the Sea King shook their heads at the waste of effort—if not the waste of life. But it hadn’t been a waste. The altercation had created its own distractions …
Ironpatch scanned the chained saltbeards before him, and his single eye alighted on Makasa. Perhaps he saw the dangerous hatred in her two eyes and decided he couldn’t risk leaving her alive for one more second. Perhaps he simply noticed the family resemblance between her and the three men he had already dispatched. Or perhaps it was merely a whim, her turn to die. In any case, he next raised his sword high, as if he would split her right down the middle. But he never got the chance.
Greydon Thorne parried aside that killing blow with nothing but his cutlass.
The crew of the Wavestrider had snuck aboard in silence. When asked later why he had intervened in a conflict between pirate and pirate, Captain Thorne would shrug and say, “I’d witnessed the attack through my periscope. It had been two ships against one. Didn’t seem quite fair, so I decided to even the odds.” His crew had boarded and secured the Killmonger first, where only a skeleton crew remained. But now, on the deck of the Sea King, they had a real fight on their hands.
The first order of business was to get some help, which meant freeing Sea King’s chained crew. This was done by the dwarf Durgan One-God and the human Mary Brown. As soon as his heavy chains were shed, Silent Joe likewise shed his human form. Within seconds, he had transformed into the wolflike worgen beast and was slashing his way through the Bloodsail crew like sheep brought to slaughter.
But he was nothing compared to Makasa. Unchained but weaponless, she snapped the neck of a Buccaneer, took his axe, and went to work. And b
loody work it was. Her goal was the orc captain, who was busy going toe to toe with Greydon Thorne, a clear master of the cutlass. She couldn’t get to them through the mass of combatants, but she did manage to get her hands on her eldest brother’s iron harpoon. She took aim and threw …
The harpoon pierced Ironpatch in the chest. The orc fell backward over the rail and plunged into the sea, never to surface again.
With their captain gone, Killmonger’s crew was soon finished.
The spoils of both boats now belonged to Wavestrider’s captain. But Greydon Thorne would have none of it. “I’m no pirate,” he said.
“Then take me,” Makasa Flintwill replied. “You saved my life. I offer it to you now as a life debt.”
“And the offer is appreciated. But I require no life debt from you, girl.”
Silent Joe, in human form again, cleared his throat and growled, “It is the custom of her people. You cannot refuse.”
Thorne had looked around then. He had lost his second and third mates in the battle. And he had seen how the worgen and the teenage girl had fought. He conferred briefly with One-God, then said to Joe, “I will take her on as ship’s third mate, if you will join my crew as second.”
Joe scowled, mostly because he knew he was going to have to speak yet again. He said, “I was first mate aboard this ship and failed my captain. I do not deserve to be second mate aboard yours. But she is Makasa Flintwill, daughter of Captain Marjani Flintwill, sister of Captain Adashe Flintwill. She will be your second mate. And if you take her as such, I will be your third.”
It was agreed.
Sea King’s quartermaster, O’Ryen Jones, took command of the Killmonger. Boatswain Enric Torque took command of the King. With skeleton crews aboard each, they’d limp back to Booty Bay and get word to Seahorn and Captain Marjani Flintwill—after Adashe, Akashinga, Amahle, and the rest were buried at sea.
