by Shae Ford
“What do you mean?”
“Well, would you rather have your fleet surviving storms or winning races?”
Lysander pursed his lips.
Shamus held out a hand. “And there’s your answer.”
“Still … Perceval.” Lysander glared at the vessels ahead, the furthest no more than a dot on the horizon. “At this rate, that trinket-trolling scab will have Harborville laughing at us a good three days before we make berth.”
“I would’ve stopped him if I could, but there’s only so much give in her sails and guide to her rudder. She’s a monster in the sides,” Shamus added, peering over the rails. “You wouldn’t have given me the helm if you didn’t think I could steer her.”
Lysander frowned. “No, I gave you the helm because it seemed to be the only way to keep you from leaping off.”
“Aye, perhaps you’re right about that. It’s bad luck to board a ship you had a hand in building.” Shamus pawed worriedly at his bushy sideburns while his other fist stayed white-knuckled upon the wheel. “Bad luck, indeed. No good’s going to come of this, Captain — you mark my words.”
Lysander didn’t see how their luck could possibly get any worse.
They’d returned from the mountains to discover the whole region in turmoil. Chaucer had gone missing — a fact that Lysander found neither upsetting nor surprising. He’d been cad enough as a manager, and the chancellor’s office had only given him room to grow. There’d likely been three different plots on his life before he’d even warmed the chair.
No, Chaucer was bound to have run off or been killed at some point. It was what had happened after that caused all the mess.
Without a high chancellor to rein them in, the council began writing its own rules. There were different writs and decrees pasted on the docks in every port, and a whole host of new taxes. Each one seemed to be designed for the sole purpose of capturing another merchant’s fleet — and each time a ship was detained or a councilman got his wares confiscated, he’d write a new law to retaliate.
Things were starting to get a bit ridiculous. There were rules about how many barrels a ship could have on her deck and how tall the crates could be stacked. Ships with a mast over a certain height could only make port in certain places, and at least one merchant had ordered that they all be docked by the width of their sails. Colderoy would only allow ships to port between the hours of midnight and two bells.
But the worst, by far, was Alders.
“Twelve knot-lengths from the docks,” Lysander muttered, his stormy eyes fixed upon the dark horizon. “That’s all he said. No mention of what sort of knot, or how far apart they ought to be spaced. It isn’t possible. How in high tide is anybody supposed to be able to measure that?”
“Eh, I think that might’ve been the point, Captain. He doesn’t care if you can measure it. More broken laws is more gold for Alders.” After a moment, Shamus inclined his head. “Not a bad way to make some extra coin, if you want my —”
“I don’t,” Lysander said shortly. He peeled his hands from the railing and clamped them smartly behind his back. “By the time we’ve paid all the blasted fees, we limp home with hardly enough coin to cover our wares. It’s not worth it anymore. We can’t go on like this.”
“Well, you’ve tried all you can,” Shamus offered. “If the council won’t listen to the shipbuilders or the plains, then they’re not likely to budge on much else. Maybe we’re doing right, Captain, getting the merchants together like this.” He waved a hand at the ships sliding further into the distance. “Alders can’t ignore us if we pack up his harbors. And once we’ve freed your men, maybe it’ll be best if we just cut our ties and drift on home.”
Lysander shook his head, his mood growing darker by the moment. “We shouldn’t have to cut our ties. A man ought to be able to sell his wares for a decent price and anchor however many knot-lengths from the dock as he blasted well pleases.”
Shamus was quiet for a moment. His thick hands twisted nervously about the wheel. “Maybe we should’ve brought Miss Aerilyn along. She knows a thing or two about merchanting.”
“I’d rather put a hole through my ship than drag my wife into this mess. She doesn’t need anymore to —”
“Ahoy there, gents!” Jonathan called. He loped up the stairs, his boots thudding loudly against each step and a ridiculous grin plastered across his face.
If Lysander hadn’t felt the night’s exhaustion wearing on him before, he certainly did now. “Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?”
Jonathan sighed. “I should be, but I can’t.”
“How about a swig of something strong, lad?” Shamus called. “That’ll make you forget your troubles.”
“So would a crack over the head,” Lysander muttered.
Jonathan didn’t seem to hear them. He dragged his feet across the deck and slumped miserably over the rails, his arms dangling above the waves.
“Seasick?” Shamus guessed.
“Heartsick,” Jonathan moaned. “I’ve tried to sleep. But every time I shut my eyes, I see my sweet giantess.”
Lysander frowned at him. “Really? I don’t remember you being quite so mopey the last time we set sail.”
“That was a quest, mate — we were marching out to clobber evil and set the mountains free.” Jonathan’s voice grew muffled as more of his body sagged over the rails. “It was worth the leaving because we were doing something right, and I knew Clairy would be proud. But this is just a load of talking and squabbling over coin. I don’t think I could stand the sight of another powdered wig.”
“Or another whiff of that musk,” Shamus agreed, wrinkling his nose. “Half of the councilmen smell like they’ve drenched themselves to their collars.”
Jonathan let out another heavy, moaning sigh. “I thought tossing my cap in with a load of pirates meant life would never be boring. But we haven’t done any pirating in ages.”
“Well, there hasn’t been any need for it,” Lysander said stiffly.
Jonathan’s head swung up. “No need? Last I checked, we were sailing to the top nose of the Kingdom to rescue one of your ships from the paws of some over-stuffed merchant. And what did we pack to fight with? A mound of gold.”
“We aren’t rescuing them. They aren’t in any danger.” Lysander shifted his weight. “They couldn’t afford Alders’ docking tax, so he’s just … holding them until he’s paid.”
“Aye, holding them to a tax he had no right to levy,” Shamus muttered out the side of his mouth.
Lysander shot him a look. “The seas are just a bit frayed, at the moment. Once the council elects a new high chancellor, everything will be back in order.”
Jonathan slung his body up with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want things to be back in order — I want us to be proper pirates again! Sheath our mercy and draw our blades!”
He tore the cutlass from his belt and swung it in a series of wide, dramatic arcs — so wide and dramatic that Lysander had to leap back to avoid having the scruff nicked off his chin.
Shamus pounded a thick fist against the helm, eyes shining brightly. “Oh, imagine the look on old Alders’ face when he sees us coming —”
“We aren’t storming Harborville,” Lysander said firmly. “I won’t risk it.”
“There’s nothing to risk, mate. The council is so busy fighting each other that they’d never suspect it was us. I’ll bet we could sack a dozen ships before they even thought to check their wake for pirates.”
“The council has always been after our trade. It wouldn’t take much to convince merchants to go to war over us, and I won’t be the enemy that unites them. I haven’t got the army to take on the seas.”
“Midlan does,” Shamus mumbled, glaring at the shadowy lands to their east. “The King can’t be pleased about what happened to his Duke. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to throttle us already. A man like that can smell weakness a hundred miles out. If the seas don’t get their problems settled, Crevan’ll be coming to settle t
hem for us. You mark my —”
“No, I’m all out of marks,” Lysander jabbed a finger between Jonathan’s eyes, “and I’m all out of patience. If I hear so much as a whisper about bad luck or piracy again, I’ll toss you both in the brig. Understood?”
“Aye, Captain,” they mumbled.
“Good.” Lysander straightened the hem of his shirt roughly before he marched down the steps.
It was a long, quiet walk to the bow. Lysander passed the watchman on his way. He listened for the call of the bell behind him, timing each step with its strokes. Twelve. The very middle of the night. No sooner had the last echo faded than the deck shuddered beneath him.
The ship trembled for half a moment as she struck the choppy northern waves. She groaned, trying to get her footing. But her nose plunged ahead the moment she found her pace.
Lysander walked until the deck ended. There was an ache in his back. It stabbed between his shoulders and made him long to slouch against the railing. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sigh as Jonathan had, or worry aloud like Shamus. But there was plenty of worrying and sighing as it was.
What his men needed now was a strong back — and no matter how he ached, he was determined to stand tall.
A crest of rocks rose from the waters to the east. They would go on like that for miles, until the jagged shore finally gave way to a ring of sheer cliffs. He wagered they were still a week’s sail from Harborville. It was agony, to be so far adrift while his men sat in prison. He would’ve given anything to be there with them.
There’d better not be a single sick or starving man among his dogs — and if anything had happened to Anchorgloam, Alders had better set sail before their bow crossed the harbor.
Lysander wouldn’t need much of a wind to catch him.
“Perceval,” he muttered, scowling at the vessel ahead if them. The lead ship had slipped out of sight, gliding into the shelter of the dark horizon — a curtain that hung down from the edge of the night and hid everything beyond.
The stars above him were shrouded. Still, Lysander watched for them out of habit. He couldn’t help but try to find some bearing written in the skies, some idea of where this all might be headed. But there was none.
His hand slid from his belt loop and to the whittled hilt of his sword before falling limply to his side. He’d gone to turn away when a flash of something on the horizon turned him back.
A flare of light, a golden orb that burst to life before it flickered and died. Lysander turned just as the last of the light faded, but it was enough to bring him back to the railing. He leaned out as far as he could, his gaze locked unblinkingly upon the darkness and his mouth sealed shut.
Such a long moment passed that he nearly gave up his watch. It’d probably only been the flash of a storm, after all. The Valley and the northern forest still struggled against a long winter, and the storms that rose from this stretch of the seas were quiet and fierce.
Lysander leaned back, his lips pursed amid his scruff.
Then, quite suddenly, the light shone again.
It was closer this time. He watched its fall: from a thin streak in the clouds to a burst upon the seas. Lysander’s hands froze to the railings. When the light came again, it illuminated the faintest shadow on the horizon — so small that it was difficult to distinguish its bow from its sails. But when the light faded, it didn’t matter how clear the ship had been.
There was no mistaking that it was gone.
“What in high tide was that, Captain?” Shamus called from the helm.
Jonathan was already sprinting. He crashed in next to Lysander. White ringed the darks of his eyes as another bolt appeared. “Fire! It’s falling straight out of the clouds.”
The next streak fell close enough that it illuminated the lines of shock on his face. Ahead of them, the ships had begun to turn. Lanterns flared to life all across their decks. The sailors’ cries were faint, but sharpened by panic. They worked the rigging and moved the sails as their helmsmen tried desperately to steer them towards the open sea.
“Fire from the clouds? That can’t …” Shamus’s mouth parted into a wide O when a fresh bolt devoured one of the scrambling ships. “No time to wonder, I suppose. I’ll turn us west —”
“No, east! We have to go east!” Lysander grabbed Jonathan by the back of his tunic and flung him for the stairs. “Wake the men. Shamus, work the lanterns. See if you can’t get the others to follow us.”
“But Captain, east’ll send us on top of those rocks,” Shamus sputtered as Lysander reached him. “We’ll be wrecked!”
“Better wrecked with a chance to swim than burned with no chance at all. We can’t hide on the seas. But if we can get close to land —”
“The lads can make a run for it. Aye, Captain. Sorry, my beauty.” Shamus’s hand fell heavily on the wheel before he jogged for the lantern.
The pirates woke to the resounding screech of Jonathan’s fiddle. It carried through the hammocked chambers and startled the sleep from their eyes. They poured out across the deck, tugging on bits of clothing as they went.
Lysander took the helm, barking a stream of orders as he spun them towards the rocky shores: “Down to your tunics and trousers, dogs — no cloaks, no coats, nothing that’ll drown you. Hang your blades across your shoulders and leave your arms free for swimming.”
“What about the longboats, Captain?” one of them called.
“No boats!”
“But, Captain —”
A whoosh and a blast of light sent the pirates sprinting to the rails. The fire cast the shadows from their faces and drew horror across their eyes. They watched as a ship three ahead of them went down — moaning and crackling beneath the power of the flames, its flesh split open by a bright red swell of embers. A mix of steam and smoke billowed up as the waves dragged it under.
The pirates didn’t need any more convincing:
“Aye, Captain — no boats!”
“Come on, mates! Help me clean out a few of these barrels,” Jonathan said. He tipped one over and heads of cabbage came rolling from its top. “It’ll all be burned up anyways, so we might as well have the barrels to float with.”
The pirates leapt to help him while Lysander’s eyes stayed locked upon the eastern shores. “Shamus?”
“No luck, Captain.” The shipbuilder worked the latch of a signal lantern quickly, opening and closing its shutters in a pattern of lights. “They all think we’re mad for cutting inland … wait, here’s one!”
The ship just ahead of them rocked so violently that it nearly tipped over as it swung east.
“Perceval,” Lysander muttered as the ship out-paced them. It bounded up and over the waves in a desperate sprint while its crew held on tight.
The other ships paid their signal no heed. They split away and raced towards the open sea. Lysander grimaced when a fresh bolt of flame roared through the air behind him, but he kept his grip. “Move to the railings, dogs! Jump at my order and swim for your lives.”
Sweat poured down his face; fire singed the air at his back. Screams rent the night as the last of the west-heading ships went down. Shamus stumbled from the lantern, his face ghostly pale. He dragged a hand through his hair and whispered:
“Fate … poor souls.”
“Could we reach them?” Lysander called, but Shamus shook his head.
“Reaching them wouldn’t do a blasted thing Captain. The heat’s in the water around the ship — I can see the bubbles popping up. Those poor lads are boiling alive. They’ll be dead before we’ve turned around.”
Lysander’s lips pulled back from his teeth and he leaned against the helm. He shoved forward each time they struck a wave, as if he might be able to will them through. A loud crack to his left told him that Perceval’s ship had just run aground. His shallower bottom carried him a greater distance inland. A few of his sailors had already paddled their way to shore.
Lysander watched the men duck into the woods — nothing more than shadows, at firs
t. But then the details of the garments and faces became bright by a growing light in the clouds.
He watched as their dark gray bellies were boiled away, churned aside by a heat so fierce that he could feel it burning across his face. The light went nearly white before Lysander had to look away: it ached his eyes so badly that he feared he might be struck blind. He’d just managed to blink the dark patches aside when the light finally broke.
Flames spewed down upon Perceval’s wrecked ship. Their roaring drowned the pirates’ cries and a wave of heat dropped them to their knees. Lysander bared his teeth against a searing pain as the hot air scraped across the back of his neck. But he spun the wheel hard — aiming the ship’s nose between two jagged spires of rock.
Even when Perceval’s ship sank and the fires went dark, he held his course. The pirates dragged themselves to their feet only to drop once more and grip the rails.
“Captain?” Shamus said, eyes widening when he saw where Lysander was headed. “Captain!”
“Hold fast, men!” Lysander cried. “Jump the moment we’ve stopped and get yourselves to shore!”
Shamus crouched and wrapped his arms around the railing just as the ship reached the spires.
Her sides scraped as she charged through. The sound of her splitting flesh cracked through the air. Lysander managed to hold on until the ship’s belly struck the rock. Then the force of the sudden stop threw him over the wheel.
“Jump, mates!”
The pirates followed Jonathan’s wild, flailing plunge into the waters below. He wore a barrel like a dress, secured to his lanky frame by a coil of rope. The pirates clung to barrels and crates — any bit of wreckage they could salvage. Once they struck, they beat their legs through the violent waves towards a thin strip of shore.
Lysander lay alone upon the upper deck. He rolled over onto his back, gasping in pain. His stormy eyes fixed upon the sky above him; his chest went tight. The night was dark and silent, for now. But in a moment, the fires would come. His breaths deepened, his eyes closed …
“That was the wildest bit of sailing I’ve ever seen! You’re blasted lucky to be alive,” Shamus bellowed as he grabbed Lysander under the arms.
