They stepped back on the deck and made their way further down the corridor, finally stopping at the massive mainmast. Even though they were nearer the topgallants than the mainsail, the mast towered above them. Tristan immediately looked over the exposed sails, still tied to the masts like giant glowing worms. He let his eyes travel over them, checking them. He could hear Shearer speaking to someone to his left. Without thinking, he stepped forward and looked down into the depths of the ship, trying to see if there was something wrong with the sails further down. As he bent over the edge he felt a hand grab his ankle, yanking his foot out from under him. It was only his surprised shout and Shearer’s speed that saved him from a fatal fall.
“Are you okay, sir?” the boatswain asked, concerned.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Someone grabbed my ankle.”
Shearer growled. “Not on my ship they won’t.” He headed towards the edge where Tristan had been and swung down over the opening with the ease of a circus performer. Tristan walked back over and, staying back from the edge, tried to see what was happening. He could just make out the boatswain on the rigging of the mainsail. There was another figure ahead of him, but as Shearer got closer the man let go of the ropes and dropped, bouncing off rigging and masts as he fell. The thud when he hit bottom was barely audible.
Tristan took a moment to look over the sails, all the while aware of Shearer swinging back up through the rigging. There was nothing wrong with the sails, they were sparkling gently with their golden glow, waiting for their release. It was then that it hit Tristan—there had never been anything wrong with the sails. It had been a set up. But who and why? Stemmer had ordered Barrett below, and Tristan had gone instead. Traditionally, the captain would have checked the sails first. So—who was meant to be standing there?
Without a word, he and Shearer headed back to the lift. “I couldn’t see who it was. Not that I know all the men by sight. Especially if he was one of the new crew.”
“This is not your fault, Shearer.”
“This is my ship, my men and I am more than a little annoyed that one of them tried to kill our Weaver,” the man growled. “You know how long I have worked to serve on a ship like this? This is unacceptable. I am just going to settle this now.” He got off the lift at deck ten. “I will see you for the raising.”
Tristan nodded and leaned against the wall of the lift as it traveled up to the top deck. It had been close, and he didn’t like that feeling. The question of why kept bouncing around in his mind, but since the “who” was an unanswered question, the “why” wouldn’t be answered anytime soon. The lift slowed and he stood, straightening his jacket and stepping out of the lift when the doors opened. The corridor was empty, the soft lights of the crew decks a contrast to the lights below. He decided to stop by his cabin and return to the quarterdeck via his private staircase.
He closed the door to his cabin and walked to his desk, turning on the secure line to the Guild Master. Rhoads was in his office when he called and Tristan related the latest incident. Brian muttered something about security, then signed off without another word. Tristan hoped he wasn’t going to be saddled with more security traipsing around behind him.
Once that was done, he headed back up on deck. It was time to raise the masts. As much of the crew as possible was crowded on the decks. The quarterdeck was crammed with all the officers. Tristan stood by the Interface, watching as the last of the crew jockeyed for positions to watch the raising. Fenfyr had appeared and was sitting on the stern gallery with his head over the taffrail.
“Prepare to raise the masts!” Stemmer called.
“Prepare to raise the masts!” Shearer repeated.
“Masts at the ready!” a call came from in the decks.
“Masts at the ready!” Shearer said.
“Raise the masts!” the captain ordered.
“Raise the masts!” Shearer said.
The massive plates rolled slowly open again, and the first tip of the main topgallant mast came into view. Tristan had the impression that the entire crew drew in a breath. The fore topgallant mast eased up, and as the main topmast came up the mizzenmast began to rise from the depths of the ship. They continued slowly up, like massive trees rising around them, towering over their heads until finally with a huge boom that rocked the entire ship, the great masts locked into place.
It was silent for a long moment, then the crew let out the breath they had been holding in a collective cheer.
The bells were chiming the change of the watch when Tristan stepped off the gangway into the shipyards where Fenfyr was waiting for him. He smiled up at the dragon, then stopped in shock when he noticed Brian Rhoads and Darius standing there as well. “What’s going on?”
“We decided the ship needed a proper send off, since they were trying to sneak it out of port on us,” Rhoads said.
“Yes, Tristan Weaver, it is true. We have gathered loyal vessels and all the dragons in the area to give you a proper launching. There will even be fireworks,” Darius added.
Tristan’s stomach lurched. “Oh?”
“It is a wise thing, Tristan, the more people who know, the better,” Rhoads said. “The more public this event, the better.”
Tristan couldn’t disagree with the logic, he only wished they’d warned him. He was nervous enough about this as it was. “Sounds fun.”
“It will be,” Brian said, looking a little disappointed that the docks didn’t have good enough acoustics to give his voice the boost he liked. “About the attacks…”
“We are concerned,” Darius finished.
“I’m not even sure who was supposed to be the victim. Stemmer should have been down there, he told Barrett to go, and I volunteered. If the man hadn’t committed suicide I wouldn’t even have thought it was an attack, more a mistake.”
“But he did, and when he hit the deck, he smelled odd,” Fenfyr said. “Taminick could smell it as well.”
“That was Taminick?” Tristan asked. He’d only met the other dragon twice before, she generally served in deep space, hunting Rogue ships or Vermin. She had lost her siblings to a Vermin attack and was right on the edge of being a renegade.
“Yes, she came to smell. She said there is something wrong, too, she can tell. They have done something so we can’t tell what it is, but there is a wrong smell there.”
“Wrong how?” Rhoads asked.
“Wrong, I can’t explain it to a numb nose,” Fenfyr grumbled. Tristan hid a smile.
“But it is wrong?” Darius looked at Fenfyr.
“Very. We want to know why it is sealed down there. Taminick almost tore the door off, then we realized—it is booby-trapped.”
“What?” General Muher said from behind Tristan. “Booby-trapped?”
“Damn, Chris, you walk like a cat, scare a man to death,” Brian said.
“Yes, booby-trapped, if we had tried to open it, we would have been hurt if not killed, there are anti-personnel and anti-dragon traps on it.”
“Which means we need to get in there,” Muher said, frowning. “Once we are in space, we will get on that.”
“We who?” Tristan asked.
“Some Dragon Corps members were accidently pressed the other day,” Muher laughed.
“Accidently?”
“Okay, planted,” the general said, grinning. “But we have Corps on board as well as the Marines. Hall is a bit of an ass, but loyal.”
Tristan leaned against Fenfyr, feeling overwhelmed. It felt like it was all getting out of control. Fen made a soft thrumming noise—the dragon equivalent of a purr—and Tristan relaxed a little. “Okay, how many ships and dragons are going to be here?”
“Just don’t hit anyone and you will be fine,” Rhoads said.
“Oh.” Tristan sighed. “I am going to get a few things at the shops before we sail.”
“Oddly enough, so am I,” Muher said.
“We’ll be waiting,” Fenfyr said, stretching out on the doc
ks.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tristan said to Muher as they walked into the shopping district.
“No, I don’t think you do out here during the day, I actually want a few things to take with me. When I got shipped out to join Victory, I didn’t really have much time to get luxuries for a long deep-space cruise, and I would like a few things to keep me from going insane.” As he spoke, he was absently rubbing his arm. Even though the break was easily healed by the tissue-binders, Tristan knew it would ache for a few days after. His left leg had been broken in the blast that leveled the Council Chambers in the Stars Plot attack and even now ached, along with the scar on his back.
As they made their way through the shops, it became clear that Muher had been telling the truth. Even if he was also keeping an eye on Tristan, his main objective seemed to be getting things to take with him on the ship. In two hours the man had collected enough stuff to require a porter to take it back to the ship. He tipped the man and grinned at Tristan. “Told you.”
“I’m impressed,” Tristan said wryly. “I don’t feel bad at all.”
“I am used to a certain lifestyle, I know I can’t always maintain it, I do have to go out in the field now and then, but that doesn’t mean if I have the chance to take luxury with me I’ll pass it up.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.” Tristan laughed.
When they reached the docks, Fenfyr was still stretched out, his eyes turned towards the corridor that led into the shopping district. He raised his head when Tristan and Muher walked out. The dragon stood and stretched, then fluffed his feathers before heading to the Dragon’s Portal. “I’ll see you for the sailing.” He gently touched Tristan with his head tufts, then hopped up through the portal.
“Almost time,” Muher said.
“Yeah,” Tristan said, swallowing nervously.
The ship was set to sail at eight bells in the afternoon watch. The crew was assembled on the ship, ready to lower the sails. Tristan stepped out on the quarterdeck and slipped the Elemental Interface into its pedestal. The lights hummed to life and when he laid his hand on it, he could feel the power of the sails connecting to the Interface.
The hiss of the atmospherics was all around him as the dome’s massive metal shields dropped and the Winged Victory was free to her first gentle touch of the stars. Tristan stood on the quarterdeck as the call went out to the ships gathered around them and the escort moved away from Terra Secundus, smaller ships and dragons winging ahead and around them. With a soft sound the engines began to hum and the ship came to life. Winged Victory edged away from the dock, the propulsion system pushing it slowly forward, moving them towards the vast expanse in front of them. Fireworks exploded overhead, their bright sparks blending with the stars around them, the lights slowly dying as the ship slipped further away.
Tristan was aware of the activity around him, the crew moving up into the spider webs of rigging over his head as they prepared to drop the sails for the first time, the officers watching them nervously, wondering if the magic was right and the massive sails would fly—If the dream of Winged Victory would become a graceful reality. Tristan held his breath, not wanting to show the uneasiness that was thrumming though his body. If the sails refused to catch the Winds—then what?
A soft rustle of sound shimmered down from high up in the masts. Glancing up, he saw Fenfyr settle onto his place in the tops of the mainmast, his great silver, ebony and pearl wings canted to catch the first whisper of the Winds. His head was up, tasting the air as he, too, waited for the moment.
“Loose the sails!” the captain ordered.
First the royals, then the topgallants dropped into place, the first small puff of the Winds fluttering through them, making the willowisps sparkle. Tristan stood transfixed for a moment as the sails glittered with soft waves of light, the glow reflecting on the faces of the crew hundreds of feet above him. Knowing the moment was quickly approaching, he concentrated and focused, placing both hands on the Elemental Interface, the black stone warm in the center of the silver wood. He softly recited the first of the spell and felt the answering hush in the sails as they readied themselves for their first flight.
“Loose the mainsail,” the captain called and the sail rolled into place, slack, the tiny movements lost in the vast expanse of the mainsail.
“Ship to the Weaver!” the captain snapped.
“Ship to the Weaver!” The order echoed down the decks and slithered up the masts to whisper there for a moment before Fenfyr’s confident “Ship to the Weaver!” dropped back down to settle on the quarterdeck.
“The ship is yours, sir,” Barrett said.
“Thank you, Mr. Barrett,” Tristan said crisply.
“Weaver has the ship!”
Tristan closed his eyes and began the final part of the spell, the words building around him. The Interface began to tremble under his hand as it focused the magic and guided it outwards. He felt the whisper of the Winds now, their breath pressing against him as he reached out and let the magic go. He knew the instant the sails caught, the great boom of the massive mainsail snapping into place resonating through him. The rigging was beginning to sing as the Winds found them, the pitch changing as the Winds increased until the sails filled with them and the huge ship began to pick up speed, the mainsail taut as the ship wheeled and slid into the center of the channel leaving Terra Secundus far behind them in seconds.
xIII
There was a soft hum in the rigging as the ship wheeled through space, the tone like a baritone singing softly in the distance. The sails were sparkling as the willowisps moved through the Weaving, a continual movement to catch each tiny whisper of the Winds to use them to their best advantage. After the exit from space dock, most of the sails had been furled, the Winds were heavy between Saturn and the outer planets and only the large sails were in use. Further out they would need the topgallants and perhaps even the royals, but for now Tristan could retire to his quarters and take a break. He would be required on deck to check the sails again at the changing of the watch, but all was well at this point and he was ready to sit down.
The ship had pulled away from Terra Secundus a full watch—four hours—before, and Tristan had stayed on deck as they had adjusted the sails to suit the ship. He made sure as each set of smaller sails were furled they were tucked in correctly, so they could wait patiently until they were needed. That was his excuse at least. He was caught up in the excitement of the sailing of Winged Victory. The escorting ships had peeled away about an hour after launch, but even now a few of the dragons circled the Victory, swinging around her in playful arcs. Tristan could see Fenfyr and Taminick, as well as a few dragons he didn’t know by name. The group with Fenfyr, though playful, seemed to have more purpose than the other dragons, and they swept closer to the hull on their passes than the others. He meant to ask Fenfyr about it later, but for now, he needed to get ready for dinner. He’d invited the Air Weavers and several of the officers and wanted to make sure everything was ready.
“Riggan?” he said as he entered the cabin—then stopped dead, the table was set in the center of the room, silver and crystal shining in the soft lighting.
“Sir?” Riggan appeared from behind him.
“I was about to tell you that we needed to get ready for dinner.”
“Way ahead of you, sir,” the man said with a grin. “It was the Air Weavers, Mr. Barrett, General Muher, Colonel Hall and Mr. Aubrey, yes?”
“Yes.” Tristan grinned. “I shouldn’t have worried.” He sighed and dropped into one of the comfortable chairs by the stern gallery windows.
“The ship is sailing well, sir,” Riggan said, bringing him a cup of tea. “They’re saying below decks, you’ve lifted the curse that was following us. Some say at least, others aren’t as sure, but they said they would be willing to wait and give it a chance before deciding.”
“Kind of them,” Tristan replied with a wry smile.
“They’ve noticed the dragons and w
onder what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sir, usually dragons don’t fly with a ship this long, they head back to their own ships or business as soon as they can. No one is sure why they are with us so long.”
Tristan eyed the man seriously. “Winged Victory is a special ship, maybe that’s why? The biggest yet?”
“That could be it, no one was expecting Darius to come to the launching, and there he was, flying alongside us! I can tell you, that set a few tongues wagging.”
“He was flying with us?” Tristan asked, he was surprised, he knew the dragon had been there for the launch, but he hadn’t expected him to fly with the ship. “I didn’t see him once we were moving.”
“You were a little preoccupied, sir, it was to be expected,” Riggan laughed. “I saw him, though. I remember him from the Jupiter Incursion. A fierce fighter. They are such wonderful creatures, then when you see them fight—I just can’t describe it! It’s amazing. When I was a lad, on one of my first voyages, we ran across some pirates which were using a Vermin ship—horrible, I have no idea how humans could do that, but they did—and the dragon swept in, killed the ship humanely, then tore it apart with her claws, including the humans that were stupid enough to still be on board. I think they all should have died, for a crime like that, but those that got off the ship were sentenced to hard labor in the Mines.” Riggan shook his head. “Horrible things, those Vermin ships, sir. The dragon, she found the Rogue Weaver and, well, he met an unfortunate end as her dinner, I believe, and more power to her is all I have to say.” He refilled Tristan’s cup. “Ever since then, I wait for them to come, to watch them end those poor ships’ anguish and then destroy those that fly them. I think the humans that use Vermin ships are worse than the Vermin themselves, humans doing that. And that’s all I have to say about it.”
Tristan grinned. “Oh?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I won’t say more, but the Weavers that fly for the pirates are no better than pirates and Vermin themselves.” He refreshed Tristan’s cup again, then smiled. “Dinner is in fifteen minutes if you wish to change, sir.”
The Sail Weaver Page 11
