The Sail Weaver

by Morrigan, Muffy

“They were pretty sure it was you,” the captain persisted.

  “Well, they were wrong,” Webber said firmly. “How are you finding the station, Master Tristan?”

  “It’s very different than the inner system ones. I really enjoyed the crafters’ market. I bought a backgammon board from an artisan there—his work was extraordinary.”

  “Backgammon? Isn’t that a little old-fashioned?” Fuhrman spoke up for the first time.

  “Not really, it’s popular at the Guild. When Weavers go out to find Elements, sometimes they go in pairs, and a game that doesn’t rely on power is handy. I started playing when I was first at the Guild.”

  “I know a lot of the Medical Corps out on the Rim play backgammon, chess or cribbage. During the wars, we never could be sure when we would have power for anything other than life support, so we found a lot of other ways to amuse ourselves,” Webber said.

  “I just bet you did,” Muher said, winking at her.

  “Enough!” Stemmer snapped. “Serve the main course!” The servants took the plates away and brought in the main course. The conversation at the table fell silent again. “We will be sailing in two days,” Stemmer said with a sly look at Tristan.

  “Two days? Will the repairs be done then?” Aubrey asked.

  “Shearer assures me we will be fit to leave dock then, assuming the Weaver is up to it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Tristan looked at the captain.

  “No reason.”

  The table was silent again. Tristan was happy he hadn’t had to endure this before now. If the captain chose to insult him and never invite him again, it would be fine. He did take the time to observe his fellow diners. He knew all of them except the two midshipmen sitting with the captain. In fact, he’d never seen the two young men before, and he wondered if they were new recruits. It seemed odd that they would take on new officers at the station. He did know there had been a pressgang from the ship roaming the station to replace the men killed in the pirate attack.

  He suddenly realized something that had been bothering him since the attack. It had been at the back of his mind, but it was clear now. The attack did far more damage than it should—because of the Victory’s inability to return fire, because of the fact the pirates had the plans of the ship and knew exactly where to hit them, and the fact that the first shots from the former-Vermin vessel were anti-personnel rounds, not the larger shot designed to take apart the ship. He let the facts roll around in his head, and the more they pinged back and forth, the more he became convinced that someone on board had to be working with the pirates. Tristan glanced around the table again, trying to get an idea of who it might be—of course it didn’t have to be an officer. But how had they gotten their hands on a copy of the plans?

  A soft tap brushed against the stern gallery window. Tristan looked over, trying to hide a grin. Fenfyr wouldn’t –would he? Tap, tap, tap. Stemmer’s servant opened the window and Fenfyr’s nose appeared.

  “Sorry I’m late, my invitation seems to have gone astray,” the dragon said. “Have I missed dessert?”

  The look of shock and outright horror on the captain’s face would keep Tristan laughing for many years.

  XIX

  Tristan was up before his usual time the next morning. He actually wasn’t asleep when the call came down from the quarterdeck. Since dinner, he’d been mulling over the various interactions and reactions he’d witnessed at the captain’s table. It was obvious that Stemmer, Fuhrman and the midshipmen were anti-Weaver. Rose Webber was definitely pro-Guild and—judging by the looks she was exchanging with Chris Muher—pro-Dragon Corps as well. There was tension between the officers, more than Tristan had realized before and the captain, unlike Thom Barrett, did not consider either the ship’s master or the boatswain fit to dine at his table. The Air Weavers were also notable by their absence. Fenfyr’s arrival had upped the tension, although for Tristan it had been hard to keep a straight face after that. The captain kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected the dragon to eat him.

  Sighing, he pulled his focus back to the task at hand. He’d been called on deck to check the sails on the mizzenmast. Shearer had said they looked “sickly.” After examining them, Tristan found himself agreeing with the boatswain and had spent an hour working on a spell to Weave the sails back to health. He had no idea what was causing the problem, but as soon as he was finished with the mizzen sails, he asked Shearer to inspect them all. He had a funny feeling that they would all need care before they left dock. Something was draining their energy and he needed to find the source.

  It was just past six bells when he and Thom headed down to his cabin for coffee and breakfast. Riggan was waiting, the table already set. Tristan couldn’t help smiling, the longer Riggan served him, the bolder the man was getting—up to the point of sending notes on deck for “the Weaver to eat his meal before it gets cold.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, already tired, and wondered if he should go into the station one last time. They were due to sail the next day and there were a few things he still wanted to pick up.

  “I’m going to the markets later,” Thom said, picking up the coffee pot as Tristan set it down. “Do you want to go?”

  “I thought you and Muher had decided I couldn’t go?”

  “The markets are very public places, and if we go early and you are in uniform, no one is going to make a run at you. The station is heavily pro-Guild. I’m actually surprised at just how pro-Guild and Dragon they are, for all that it acts as a pirate port as well.” Thom waited while Riggan served them food. “Asking around, I discovered that very few of the pirates that use Vermin ships ever dock here, and most that do either don’t stay long or, um, don’t last long, if you get my meaning.”

  “Accidentally blow up?” Tristan asked with a laugh.

  “Usually, since the raids last year the anti-Vermin feeling has grown, and that is automatically transferred to anyone flying their ships.”

  “That’s good to know. I do want to go one more time. I should check in with Brian—um, Rhoads, the Guild Master—and the Guild too.”

  “We can leave after breakfast, if you want. I plan on wearing my uniform on today. I heard that Muher really is escorting the doctor in today. I think a lot of the crew will be off ship. It’s the last chance before we get to Terra Vigensumus.”

  “Fenfyr and Taminick are off for one last cruise around the station as well.”

  “They won’t find more Vermin ships. Not that I’m saying anything, mind you, but I heard that since the explosion yesterday, the ships that were inbound to the station turned around and headed towards Terra Septemdecimus,” Riggan said, pouring more coffee. “Them that was Vermin ships at least.”

  “Huh, I wonder why?” Thom said with a grin. “Can I ask something personal?”

  Tristan looked over at the officer. “What?”

  “You don’t have to answer, but you are Master Sail Weaver for the whole Guild, so I guess it makes sense that you can step into the Warrior’s role, even though you are not Master Warrior, but what about the other facets of the Guild?”

  “You mean like the Air Weavers or the Healers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All of the Masters of the Guild—in other words the chief Master of that portion of the Guild—have to be able to perform the spells for all the different areas of the Guild. Maybe not well—I know for a fact that Sullivan and Sheea are far better Air Weavers than I could every dream to be, but I do know how, I know the spells. I adapted to the Warrior role because I am usually responsible for attuning the Warrior to the sails, so I’m more familiar with that part of the craft than others. The former Master Warrior used to tease me about it.” He swallowed back the lump of grief. “As you know, she was killed in the Stars Plot attack. We haven’t found a permanent replacement yet.” Tristan sighed.

  “You were fond of her?”

  “Very. She was…” Tristan broke off, surprised at the sudden upwelling of grief. He still missed her. It was q
uiet for a few moments. “I want to go back to the crafters’ market and get that other backgammon board, and then go to a sweets shop. Fenfyr is fond of chocolates.”

  “Chocolate? I didn’t know dragons ate chocolate.” Thom shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t know they liked grapefruit either. What kind of chocolate does he like?”

  “The dark kind with stuff inside—that’s a quote,” Tristan said, laughing. “Which doesn’t really narrow it down a lot.”

  “No, not really,” Thom agreed.

  The station was already busy when they walked into the plaza by the Guild offices. Tristan decided to wait to contact Brian until the end of the day in case something happened. They wandered through the market. Thom went in several places and then stopped at the sweets shop. Tristan was surprised by the variety the store offered. Thom grabbed a tray and started filling it from various bins, but Tristan headed straight for the huge glass case at the front of the store filled with gourmet chocolates.

  “Can I help you, Master Weaver?” the shop girl asked as he approached.

  “I want some filled chocolates.”

  “What do you like?”

  “I’m buying them for a friend, mostly. None filled with alcohol.”

  “No alcohol at all?” she asked.

  “No, it’s poison to dragons.”

  “Dragons! You’re buying chocolates for a dragon?”

  “Yes, Lokey Fenfyr of the Guild Dragons.” Tristan was eyeing a collection of citrus-filled chocolate. “Maybe some orange nougat, and the dark chocolate…”

  “Do you have any with grapefruit?” Thom asked with a laugh.

  “We do, would you like some?” She smiled at Thom, blushing at the same time.

  “Yes, definitely. What else, Tristan?” Thom set his tray on the counter.

  “I’d like that one.” Tristan pointed to a candy that was shaped like a tiny shot glass made of chocolate with three pieces of salt on top. “A dozen of those. And then seven dozen each of all the other ones as well.”

  “That dragon is going to get fat,” Thom pointed out.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem unless he talks Riggan into giving them to him. The salted ones are for me.”

  They paid for their items and headed to the crafters’ market. After buying the other backgammon board from the artist, they went across the plaza to a restaurant with a garish sign out front. Like the place they had dined in the day before, they were led to a back table. Thom ordered several items from the menu and they sat back to wait for their food.

  “Tommy boy,” Harkins said, walking up to the table. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “I heard the ship is sailing tomorrow.”

  “That’s the captain’s plan.”

  “Is she ready to fly? The gossip on the docks is it’s not in any shape to head out to Terra Vigensumus. In fact, one worker said he was in the dome yesterday and there’s a bloody gaping hole in the side of the ship still.”

  “I know there is,” Thom said calmly.

  “How can you leave dock? Your Air Weavers can’t keep that hole patched if you get hit in space!”

  “I know. Shearer is working on it right now. It’s a priority. I ordered people off other jobs to get that done. I didn’t bother to inform the captain, of course.”

  “Of course not.” Harkins sat down and set his drink on the table. “We’re shipping out soon, too. We’ve heard there’s a collection of former Vermin ships heading out towards sector nineteen, and we thought we might do a little hunting. The captain is keen to get himself one or two of the bastards, and maybe a little extra along the way.”

  “Sector nineteen? There’s nothing out there,” Thom said, frowning.

  “I know, it’s making us a little curious.” Harkins finished his drink. “I’ll get word to you if I can. Usual channels.”

  “Thank you, Harkins. Take care of yourself.”

  “Always, Tommy, always, you too. I think you’ll need it more than I will.” The man clapped Thom on the back and offered his hand to Tristan, shaking it hard enough to make him wince. “Look after yourself, Weaver. There’s a price on your head, big enough that if I weren’t reformed I might go after it myself.” He grinned.

  “I will, thank you, Harkins.”

  The man saluted them and left.

  “Hmm,” Thom said thoughtfully, waiting while the waiter served their food. “That was an interesting bit of information.”

  “What?” Tristan asked, taking a bite—then pausing as the spice from the food seared its way across his tongue, down his throat and exploded in his brain. He was pleased he managed not to start coughing.

  “That he knows where we stand as far as repairs, that there is a fleet massing and the bounty on you is common knowledge. Is the food okay?”

  “It’s great,” Tristan said. “Why is it interesting?”

  “It means someone from the ship is talking, for one.” Thom narrowed his eyes. “I wonder who? It’s hard to tell, the crew often go to the secondary docks—the red light district is down there as well. You just found out about the bounty yesterday, but Harkins knows today. He didn’t mention it yesterday, which leads me to think it’s new. And then that fleet of former Vermin vessels. Why are they meeting out there? That’s empty space.”

  “Why would they be meeting at all? I thought the pirates tended to sail in small groups.”

  “They do,” Thom agreed. “It’s odd. I want to know more. Who ordered them out there? Why? Maybe the dragons have heard something.”

  “Maybe they’ve heard something at the Guild. I need to report all this anyway.”

  “After dessert.”

  “As long as it isn’t this spicy.”

  “So the chili ice cream is out,” Thom said, laughing at him. “Fine, spoilsport.”

  After reporting to the Guild, Tristan and Thom made their way back to the ship. The call to the Guild had been frustrating, Brian couldn’t offer any answers and said that he would have to speak with Darius. The call left Tristan on edge. It was hard to shake the feeling of being followed as they headed through the docks. It kept getting worse as they walked through the last of the corridors before they reached the main docking area. Tristan stopped. This was more than the paranoia that had been haunting him since he’d received the note about the bounty on his life. No, this feeling was concrete. As a Weaver and spellworker he was mildly psychic, and whatever was ahead of them was casting off enough malevolence to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  Without asking what was going on, Thom had stepped in front of him. “Something’s there,” he said in a nearly silent whisper.

  “Yes,” Tristan agreed. Thom must have sensed it as well.

  “Stay behind me.” Thom eased his gun out of the holster, thumbing the safety off. “Show yourself!” he demanded.

  “I have no quarrel with you, I want the Weaver.”

  “Oh, well then, we have a problem,” Thom lowered the gun. “I’m not giving up the Weaver.”

  “The bounty is mine, I don’t mind killing you. I will have him, though, and take his hands and feet to prove he’s dead.”

  “No,” Thom said. “He’s mine.”

  “No,” the other said. “However, I would be willing to split the bounty, it is most generous.”

  “It will never be paid, you can’t be that stupid. Everyone in the Worlds will be hunting the killer of the Master Weaver of the Guild.”

  “I will be paid. I guess you’ll be a little extra bonus.”

  Tristan saw something shift ever so slightly in the shadows, and without hesitation Thom lifted his gun and fired three rounds. There was no noise, only the pfft of the firing gun, then the sound of a body falling. Thom stepped forward, his gun still out. “Whittington, figures.”

  “You know him?” Tristan asked, staring down at the body.

  “He’s been around for a long time, and will work for anyone who’s willing to pay the price. You s
hould appreciate it, really, it means that the bounty is very high.”

  “I think I would be more comforted if it was low.”

  “Why is that?” Thom asked as he inspected the body.

  “Because if they can pay for the best, it means that people are going to keep coming after me until I’m dead.”

  “True,” Thom said grimly as he stood, a piece of paper in his hand. “The bounty is new. Listen to this: ‘Tristan Weaver, Master Weaver of the Guild, Bounty Five Million. Dead, with proof.’ It’s dated yesterday and handwritten, so they are being careful, whoever they are.”

  “I’m getting sick of them.”

  Thom laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “If it helps, I am too.”

  “By the way, Thom? Thank you.”

  “What?”

  “You saved my life.”

  “Well, if I hadn’t, who would play backgammon with me? Everyone else is already in the hole by a thousand or so.” Thom laughed again.

  “What do we do with him?”

  “Leave him for the scavengers. I have his papers, let someone else have use of everything else.”

  Tristan decided he didn’t want to know exactly what Thom was talking about.

  The docks were busy, crew members from a dozen ships mixing with the longshoremen for the station. Thom walked briskly across the plating towards the gangway to the Victory. Tristan noticed he hadn’t holstered his gun. In fact, the tension in Thom’s shoulders didn’t relax until they were onboard the ship. As they stepped onto the deck, he slid the gun away.

  “Master Weaver, the sails on the foremast are getting dim again,” Shearer said within moments of their arrival.

  “Again?” Tristan started to walk across the deck, then stopped. His hands were full of packages.

  “I’ll take those, sir,” Riggan said, appearing at his elbow.

  “Thank you, Riggan.” Tristan handed them over and continued across the deck. There was definitely something wrong with the willowisps. They were sparkling sluggishly on the one sail that was unfurled. He walked closer to the sail, laying his hand on the mast and looking up. Even though they were in the dome and the masts were partially down, they still soared over the deck. He needed to get a better look. Toeing off his shoes and taking a deep breath, he began climbing up the rigging to reach the top set of crosstrees where the sails were. He leaned against the mast and stared at the sails. The willowisps weren’t moving. Grabbing one of the ropes, he walked along the crosstree, trying to see if something there was causing it. Not finding anything on the port side, he turned and headed to starboard.