by Elaine McIonyn
The shoreline’s jagged edge surrounded the little fleet. Gannets wheeled around grassy cliffs as fishing vessels put out from a series of harbors. It was no ordinary shore, however, but a carefully crafted illusion.
An image of an island had been mathematically configured, transformed through vertical and horizontal planes, flipped across multiple axes. The results were projected by light-warping lenses into the aether at precise distances from the Hardweather—a recent and now indispensable addition to naval warfare: a mirage ship—to create the shield of false shore. Its aim was to confuse the enemy, adding a crucial layer of protection to both the island and the fleet that guarded it, which consisted of two first-class frigates, five brigs, and the fourth-rate frigate Hardweather.
Commander Sora Larking stood tall in her blue uniform jacket on the Hardweather’s quarterdeck. Her cocked hat was tucked under her arm, and the wind tousled her short sweep of dark hair.
“And how are the top-hands getting on with their new spyglasses?” she asked her officers.
“I can’t say we’ve had much progress,” the first lieutenant said. “Truth be told I had no idea that aether-spyglasses were quite so... puzzling to use.”
“I once looked though one out of curiosity,” Sora said. “All I could see was the back of my own head.” She broke into a smile and swelled with pride. “No, I suppose it takes a certain variety of genius to use such equipment...”
Several officers rolled their eyes. It was no secret that the commander’s lover was Lirren Harter, the mirage-master’s mate, who had joined the crew the preceding winter. Lirren had passed the Mathematickers’ Guild examinations with distinction, and was skilled in the use of aether-spyglasses and other aether-paraphernalia.
“With luck,” the lieutenant said, “we may find geniuses among the top-hands who can be trained in their use.”
“Indeed. And then we’ll have plenty of eyes to see through any aether-trickery the Elarans use to get at our miragers,” Sora said. “Continue with the training. Now!” She clapped her hands together and turned to the purser. “On to the matter of victuals! Do we have enough to keep us going until we next put into port?”
As they discussed provisions, raised voices were heard from up on the poop deck. The words disappeared on the breeze, but the ill-tempered tone was clear.
Sora sighed. “My apologies for cutting short such an agreeable subject,” she said, “but I suppose I ought to see what’s going on up there.”
* * *
Sora bounded up the steps, slipping on her commander’s hat to remind the miragers who was who. “Ahoy, my mathematical friends! Everything all right up here?”
The two miragers pivoted to face her. Hadden Darlett, the mirage-master and architect of the false shore, was poised at the aetherscope, a tall brass device that turned calculation into illusion. It was covered in lenses, gyroscopes, switches, and levers, and was bolted to the deck beside the stern rail. Darlett himself was a stocky man of middle years with a sagging face that seemed all the heavier when he frowned.
“All under control, Commander, it’s simply a... divergence of views.”
Sora’s glance shot towards Lirren, who was brushing away strands of her fair hair from her spectacles with one hand. Her other clutched an aether-spyglass, its shaft bristling with little brass switches. Behind her stood a calculation engine, a device that (as far as Sora understood it) was a large and complicated abacus with cogs and levers.
Lirren did not look pleased, and Sora fancied she knew why.
“Harter?” Sora addressed her directly.
Lirren resumed her customary composure. She held up the aether-spyglass. “I have seen something worrisome three points off the starboard quarter, Commander, and I believe we ought to take action. I can’t identify what it is yet, but I ran the parameters through the calculation engine, and the results aren’t consistent with the aether fluctuations from our own mirage alone.”
“I see,” Sora lied. “And Darlett—you presumably disagree?”
He sniffed. “I take Harter’s conclusions with the usual pinch of salt, Commander.” Sora frowned at Darlett’s insult towards Lirren, but did not reprove him. She and Lirren both needed his goodwill.
“I wished to verify her findings before reporting them to you,” he continued, “but she took umbrage at the suggestion.”
“If the anomalies are an Elaran trick,” Lirren said, “then we don’t have time to recalculate it all over again. They’re less than a mile from our stern.”
Sora saw nothing amiss out to sea. But she trusted that Lirren’s concerns were founded.
“Then perhaps I should raise the alert flag to warn the fleet immediately. Better safe than sorry.”
Darlett stepped up between Sora and Lirren.
“Commander, with all due respect, it would cause unnecessary panic to raise the flags prematurely. It is my professional duty to verify Harter’s findings, given her... previous record of competence, along with her wild theories about what an aetherscope is capable of.”
Lirren flushed and looked away. Sora swallowed an urge to rebuke Darlett. An aetherscope experiment Lirren had conducted aboard her previous ship, the Scallop, had led to a senior officer losing both legs and an arm. It had cost Sora several long-standing favors to keep Lirren in the navy, and only on condition that the “rogue mirager’s” discipline improved. Sora’s career fate and Lirren’s continuing service aboard the Hardweather—their future together—now hung on Lirren receiving a good report. As her immediate superior and a respected mathematicker, only Darlett could issue such a report. It would not do for Sora to fall out with him, even if he was a puffed-up old basket.
Sora nodded. “If you must. Get on with it.”
Lirren did not look Darlett in the eye as she handed him the aether-spyglass. While he took up position beside the calculation engine to check Lirren’s observations, Sora beckoned Lirren to her side.
“Sorry, darling,” she whispered. “Much as it pains me—”
“I know.” Lirren’s lips were clenched tight, but her grimace turned to a smile as she looked at Sora. “I want him on our side, despite everything. But at this particular moment, I’m concerned about whatever’s out there.” She gestured across the stern rail. “If my calculations hold, then it’s almost the size of the Hardweather. Perhaps a fifth-rated frigate, or a large sloop-of-war—”
Sora jerked back in alarm. “What? I thought you meant something small and obscure—how could something that size get so close without our noticing?!”
“The Elarans have been getting very good since they started kidnapping our miragers.”
Sora surveyed the surroundings. The other ships in the fleet were some distance away; the closest was a brig, the Cormorant, too far away to be of much use.
“Commander?” Darlett’s voice had a strained note to it. “Commander! My preliminary observations are incomplete... but I advise we raise the flag!”
“In fact,” Lirren continued, “they’re so good, they’ve just snuck up beside us.”
* * *
The mirage of empty sea and sky fell away from the enemy frigate just as the vessel came abreast of the Hardweather. Two gangplanks slammed down upon the Hardweather’s starboard gunwale, and Elaran sailors swung lines with grappling hooks into her rigging, lashing both ships together. A boarding party in green breeches and jackets poured across.
At more than three hundred strong, Sora’s crew likely outnumbered the boarders—but they were nowhere near ready for action. Top-hands scrambled down the rigging to join the fight; those off watch had to be roused from their hammocks; and officers rushed to distribute guns and powder.
From below came the first volley of enemy cannon-fire, puncturing the Hardweather’s hull.
After ordering the alert flag to be raised, Sora rushed the miragers down to their assigned hiding places. The navy had few miragers, and they were invaluable. Protecting them was a mirage ship�
��s duty. Darlett and Lirren were to be concealed in different spots to lessen the risk that both the Hardweather’s miragers would be lost in a single attack.
Darlett launched into a tirade as soon as they were below decks.
“Damn it all, Harter! If you’d worked faster, I could have checked your numbers and raised the alarm sooner! What’s wrong with you?”
Sora glanced sharply at Lirren, warning her not to rise to his words. Lirren simply scowled and rolled her eyes when she knew Darlett couldn’t see.
Sora marched them to the officers’ cabins at the rear of the gun deck, where a dozen or so officers were hastily arming themselves.
“That’s the way to do it, lads and lasses!” Sora cried. She gestured to the ceiling with her hat. “Get above and give ‘’em what for! Except you four—” She waved at a group of warrant officers’ mates. “I want two of you down here at all times to guard the mirage-master’s hiding place. The other two will follow me.”
Darlett was still spouting off about Lirren’s supposed inadequacies as Sora unlocked the bosun’s cabin with her master key. She promptly stuffed him inside.
“Stop blustering, man, and pull out that panel under the bed. Curl yourself up and get inside. You’ll find a pistol, powder, and shot down there—be prepared to use them if you’re found.”
Darlett huffed. “I’m a scholar, Commander, not a fighter, I—”
Sora grabbed his jacket and yanked him towards her to remind him of her physical strength. They were almost nose to nose. Darlett simply gaped.
“All that time you spent arguing with Miss Harter instead of listening to her—that’s going to cost lives, Darlett. The lives of ordinary crew who don’t have a designated place to hide. The least you can do is show some dignity.”
Sora shut the door, glad to see the back of him. If Lirren hadn’t needed his favor, Sora would have had him flogged for insubordination long ago. She ushered Lirren away and beckoned to the other two mates she had called upon.
“To the sick bay. We’ll hide Miss Harter there, and you will guard her with your lives. Understood?”
They nodded, though both wore grim expressions. Sora followed them out onto the cramped gun deck. A ragged contingent of crew members was making a belated start on loading the Hardweather’s nineteen starboard guns. Their iron wheels rumbled like a coming storm while shouts of combat came down through the hatchways from the top deck. As Sora stooped to avoid cracking her skull on the low ceiling beams, Lirren spoke into her ear.
“I have a cherished daydream about filling his bed with mirages of eels while he’s in it. Perhaps even real eels. But more pertinently right now, I think there’s a way to turn the odds in our favor.”
Sora glanced at her. “Is there? If you have some miracle idea, I’m all ears.”
“It’s simple—with Darlett out of the way, I could—”
The report of enemy cannon issued from their right-hand side: a great boom followed by a sickening crunch as another volley of eight-pound shot burst through the hull. Sora grabbed Lirren and hurled them to the floor to avoid the wood splinters slashing through the air.
The dust cleared, and Sora sprang up. Even through the thick smoke, it was clear the hull was badly damaged. One gun had been knocked on its side, and crew members lay groaning about the deck.
Sora helped Lirren to her feet.
“Are you all right?”
Lirren dusted down her uniform and adjusted her spectacles.
“Bruised, but unharmed.”
“Very well.” Sora turned to the gun deck at large. “Bring the injured to the sick bay, then return to loading. Let’s put a few holes in their ship. Hop to it!” She took Lirren by the hand. “We can’t hang about here. Come on. And tell me this miracle idea.” She gestured to the guards she had commandeered and marched along behind them. Lirren spoke rapidly.
“With Darlett gone, I could displace the boarders with the aetherscope. Just pick them off one by one.”
Sora’s stomach, usually dauntless, turned to ice.
“What?”
“You know very well what. Displacement! Moving matter with the aetherscope, not just light.”
“Ah.” It was not what Sora wanted to hear. “You mean picking someone up and flinging them somewhere else?”
Lirren huffed. “If you want to put it like that, yes. Pick them off our ship and fling them back to their own. They wouldn’t know what was happening. They have no counter-strategy.”
Sora winced. “Like you did on the Scallop?” Much as she cared for Lirren, she didn’t know what to make of her arcane aether-theories. But she did know that a repeat of the Scallop incident would go down poorly with the admiralty.
Lirren pulled Sora behind a thick support post by the center stairwell, where there was a little shelter from the chaos of deckhands hauling guns and running for powder.
“I wasn’t at fault! If that damned lieutenant had followed my instructions, he’d still be in one piece. It can be done. And what of it if a few Elarans lose the occasional limb?”
The two guards had stopped and were now peering back with impatience. Around them, gun crews worked ropes and ramrods while their lives hung in the balance. Their vigor and courage made Sora hungry for action.
“If that plan backfired, you’d be out of the navy, not just off the Hardweather.” Despite her mounting impatience, Sora’s heart sank at the thought. The two seasons they had spent together on this ship had been the happiest of her life. If they had to return to seeing each other only during shore leave, she might wither.
“I used all the influence I have to keep you in your post,” she said. “I can’t do it again.”
A pained look crossed Lirren’s face as she gestured to the deckhands around them. “So you won’t save your crew from the boarders?”
Sora opened her mouth to retort, but Lirren cut her off.
“And you don’t trust me any more than Darlett does?” Her brows drew together as she looked Sora dead in the eye.
Sora’s whole body tensed, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “Damn it all, Lirren, I have every confidence in you—which is why I can’t send you up top. We can ill-afford to lose our miragers.” She took a deep breath, softening her stance. “And I can ill-afford to lose you myself—”
There was a loud thud beside them. A young man in a blue jacket had tumbled down the stairs from the top deck. The hilt of a cutlass projected from his chest, blood spreading across his white shirt. His eyes were wide open in disbelief.
A deckhand in Elaran uniform leapt down after him and curled his hand around the hilt to pull it out. More Elaran boots tramped down the stairs, and Sora grabbed Lirren to run the few remaining yards. Just as they reached the bulkhead between the gun deck and the sick bay, another round of cannon-fire smashed through the Hardweather, scattering more fixtures and crew. One of their guards pitched forward, landing heavily on the boards. The other opened the door in the bulkhead and shunted Sora and Lirren inside before joining them.
The sick bay was cramped. Its three hammocks were already occupied and stained with blood. The heavy air stank of the stuff. At least a dozen wounded sat on the floor waiting for the surgeon. They saluted Sora when she entered, and the sight of them filled her with a prodigious urge to go up top and fight side by side with her crew.
The surgeon was at his operating table stitching a deep, gory cut that an older top-hand had taken to the belly. The man winced, but saluted Sora all the same. The surgeon glanced up at the newcomers before returning his gaze to his work.
“Commander!” he said, with a cheerfulness out of place in the circumstances. “I’ve been expecting you. I see our plans to hide Miss Harter are bearing fruit?”
Sora’s fingers swept the hilt of her cutlass; her impatience to join the action was rising.
“Indeed they are. Lirren!” She gestured to a wooden chest behind the operating table. A scatter of nasty-looking medical instruments lay on the floor beside it; the surgeon had
evidently emptied it in haste to accommodate Lirren. “Climb in there.”
Lirren turned to face her again.
“If you allow me,” she whispered, “I can put a stop to all of this.” She gestured to the wounded, who peered inquisitively at them. “I can get rid of the Elarans in no time flat, and we can save our lot from getting maimed and worse.”
Sora sighed. Her patience was running low.
“This is a mirage ship. Our duty is to support mirage work. The crew are here to protect you—it would be a poor reward for their hardship if you put yourself in the way of enemy bullets and blades.” She brushed Lirren’s cheek with her knuckles. “Let me get rid of the Elarans the old-fashioned way. It’s what I’m trained to do.”
Lirren’s lips were parted and ready for further protest. “But—”
Sora placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t make me order you. If it comes down to it, my duty has to come first.”
Lirren’s posture slumped. “Then there’s no more I can say.” She turned towards the hiding place with a resigned expression. Sora had no time to dwell on the disagreement. She took out her loaded pistol and drew her cutlass, calling on her reserve of impatient energy. The remaining guard stood beside the door.
“Stay here and defend Miss Harter at all costs,” Sora said.
“Aye, ma’am.”
Then the guard opened the door, and Sora charged out into the fray.
* * *
The gun deck was thick with the sour, sulphurous odor of gun smoke. On the wooden planks, fighters stumbled over the bodies of at least twenty crewmates, either killed or blacked out, but the Elarans were losing vigor, while Sora was still fresh.
She expended her single pistol shot almost straight away, right into the chest of a cutlass-bearing woman barreling towards her. Sora made for the nearest stairwell, where two Elarans blocked her path.
She was no stranger to close combat. She slashed away the first man’s cutlass with her own and followed by smashing his nose with the heavy pistol-butt in her left hand. She kicked the other fellow back onto the deck, dashing his head against a powder chest.
Silk & Steel Page 27
