The Sail Weaver

by Morrigan, Muffy

  It was there, hidden behind the mast and almost invisible—a small black canister.

  “Mr. Barrett?” he called.

  “Sir!” Thom answered.

  “Can you send someone up with a hazmat containment bag?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Tristan turned to the sails. Someone had deliberately poisoned them. He reached out and placed his hand in amongst the willowisps, feeling them wrap around his hand and arm. “I’ll get you fixed in a moment,” he told them.

  “Here it is,” Thom said as he reached the crosstree. “What’s it for?”

  “That, whatever it is.” Tristan pointed to the black canister. “We need to check all the masts and every single crosstree and set of rigging for more of those things. Whatever is in there is what is killing our sails.”

  Thom carefully picked up the canister and put it in the bag, sealing it and then turned to Tristan. “I’ll have the labs try and figure out what it is, too.”

  “Thanks, Thom, as soon as they’re all gone, I’ll fix the sails, I can’t really help until that poison is gone.”

  “I understand. Shearer!”

  “Sir!” The boatswain answered immediately.

  “We need to inspect all the masts, someone has been poisoning the willowisps. Check everything for small black canisters. Put them in hazmat containment and then get them to the labs for analysis and disposal.”

  “Yes, sir! On it now, sir!” Shearer said.

  “I’ll meet you on deck,” Thom said, grabbed one of the massive backstays and jumped, sliding all the way down the rope to the deck. Tristan sighed and decided it would be better to go back down the more traditional—and safer—way.

  XX

  It took almost six hours to find all the sinister canisters. By the time the last one was removed, Shearer was in a fury and most of the crew was avoiding the man at all costs. Thom was in a similar state, and even the officers were creeping past him as quietly as possible. The ship had grown silent, the usual calls between the crew were now hushed whispers as the Marines, led by Colonel Hall and the Dragon Corps with Chris Muher, swept the ship in hopes of finding out who had placed the poison on the sails. The captain was pacing on the quarterdeck, snapping at anyone who was foolish enough to get close to him. At the sounding of every bell, he would ask how soon they could sail, and with each postponement he would become more intractable.

  Fenfyr and Taminick had returned to the ship and were slipping silently through the decks trying to scent the source of the poison canisters. Whoever had placed them had waited until the dragons were gone to bring them onboard or Fenfyr and Taminick would have smelled them. The fact that the person who had done it was nowhere to be found worried Tristan. Their saboteur had known the routine of the ship and had also known most of the crew and officers would be on the station before the launch.

  Tristan was leaning on the rail by the Elemental Interface when Thom walked onto the quarterdeck. The first officer looked exhausted. He glanced around to make sure there was no one nearby, then headed over to stand by Tristan.

  “We have them all. The dragons confirmed it,” Thom said, pitching his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “We still don’t know who did it. Everyone is coming up clean. I’m beginning to think the person who actually placed those damned canisters was let onboard and is back on the station now.”

  “If Fenfyr can’t find them, that seems likely,” Tristan replied. “I’ll start repairing the sails as soon as Shearer and Aubrey give me the all-clear.”

  “About ten minutes now. How long do you think it will take to make them space-worthy?”

  “I’m not sure, I won’t be until I know how badly damaged they are. I’ll have to use a combination of Healing and Weaving to get them back to shipshape.” Tristan met the first officer’s eyes. “Thom, when I am Weaving, I am vulnerable…”

  “Say no more. I’ll be right here, and make sure General Muher is on the quarterdeck as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, Weaver,” Stemmer said, walking towards them. “I have been informed that the last of the canisters is in containment. You can start working now.”

  Tristan stared at the man. “I’ll start working, Captain, when I feel the moment is right. Weaving and Healing are delicate tasks to undertake. Usually we perform only one at a time.”

  The captain was staring back, undeterred by Tristan’s tone. “You are supposedly the Master Weaver. One would assume you are better at this sort of thing than the average Warrior Weaver.”

  “One would,” Tristan said mildly, smiling.

  “Everything is clear and ready, Master Tristan!” Muher called from beside the mainmast.

  “Thank you, General. Please raise the masts and loose the sails so I may begin,” Tristan ordered, turning away from the captain and towards the Elemental Interface.

  The masts rose slowly as far as they could in the dome. They couldn’t extend to their full height, but it was enough for Tristan to work on the sails. As the mast rose, he noticed that Fenfyr appeared on deck and perched so that no one could get onto the quarterdeck without going past him. Feeling safe, Tristan laid his hands on the Interface and began to whisper the Healing spell. He could feel the sluggish willowisps, the poison had sapped them of energy. They began to respond and he slowly added the spell for Weaving into the one for Healing, carefully crafting them together, and as he felt where the vulnerability had come from, he built in a shield so that the poison could not affect them any longer, in a way inoculating them against that particular attack.

  He had no idea how long he worked on the sails. The light on the deck changed as the willowisps began to glow once more. Tristan could feel the buzz of their energy in the Elemental Interface now, feel their connection with the ship sliding back into place. He followed that thought through the sails. The attack had been designed to make the sails reject the ship. He focused more healing into that spot, binding the sails firmly to the ship. As he finished, he spoke the final words of the Weaving, then lifted his hands off the Elemental Interface.

  It felt like the ship tilted, it took a moment for Tristan to realize it wasn’t the ship. His fall was stopped by a combination of human hands and dragon wing. He tried to focus on what was going on, but the magic had left him drained and the residue of the poison felt like it had worked into his bones. There was a flurry of activity around him, the shadows falling across his face made him sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes in hopes of easing the nausea.

  “He’s not been up, sir, no. I just checked on him,” Riggan was saying when Tristan opened his eyes. He was lying in his bedchamber. “His color has improved, though, sir, so I have high hopes he will wake any time.”

  “The doctor wants him in sickbay,” Thom said.

  “Aye, and I would agree, but Master Fenfyr won’t let me move him. You tell him you want to remove Master Tristan from the cabin and see how far you get.”

  Tristan sat up, he was still tired but it was no longer debilitating, although he could still feel some of the “sludge” from the sails in his system. He would need to speak to one of the ship’s Healers about that. Getting up, he realized he was still in his uniform, only his jacket, cravat and boots had been removed. He walked to his chamber door and opened it. “Riggan? Can I have coffee, please?”

  “Tristan!” Thom stepped into the cabin. “Thank all that’s holy.”

  “I told you Weaving left me vulnerable,” Tristan said.

  “You didn’t say it made you collapse,” Thom said, looking at him worriedly.

  “It was serious,” Fenfyr agreed from the main room.

  Tristan smiled. “I wasn’t expecting it to take quite that much out of me. It was the poison that caused the trouble.” He walked over to his chair in the cabin and sank down, gently laying his hand on Fenfyr’s head. “It was still there in the willowisps and some of it seeped back down the spell towards me.”

  “We were worried,” Fenfyr said softly, patting him with h
is head tuft.

  “Something beyond that,” Thom said, dropping into the other chair. “Webber wanted you in sickbay, but Fenfyr insisted you stay here.”

  “I can’t protect you in sickbay,” the dragon said.

  “Are you okay?” Thom asked.

  “I am, once I have coffee and maybe some food, I will be ready to sail.”

  Fenfyr huffed. “You sail when you are strong. Not before.”

  “I agree,” Thom said softly.

  “Here’s your coffee, sir,” Riggan said, coming back into the cabin. “The captain’s servant asked me if I knew when you would be able to sail.”

  “The captain’s servant can just wait,” Thom snapped.

  “That’s what I told him, sir,” Riggan said, setting down the coffee tray and serving them. “All the crew is onboard, although there is some talk that the new men brought on from the station are of a different type.”

  “Different?” Tristan asked.

  “They aren’t the type usually pressed, they seem to be more skilled than pressed men usually are.”

  “Are you saying they grabbed pirate crews?” Thom asked.

  “I’m just passing on what I heard, sir, not gossiping mind you, but the crew is wary of the newcomers, and there is talk of one that is very different that no one has seen since he was first pressed.”

  “Why was he different?”

  “Ah, well, that I don’t know, they just said different, sir. I will try and hear more later. I will go get you some food ready and perhaps someone will say something.”

  “Thank you, Riggan,” Tristan said. Once Riggan was gone, Tristan turned back to Thom. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve been trying to find who put the poison on the sails, so I haven’t had the chance to check the pressed crew as carefully as usual. Shearer hasn’t either.”

  “So the poison was helpful for that as well,” Fenfyr said thoughtfully.

  “What?” Tristan looked at the dragon.

  “Men came onto the ship without Thom or the boatswain seeing them. The poison was a distraction for many things. We were all so focused on the search for the canisters and the saboteur that we might have missed something important.”

  “It’s a good point,” Thom agreed. “But what?”

  “I have a feeling we’ll find out.” Tristan took a drink of coffee, letting the hot liquid slide down his throat.

  Thom got up and paced back and forth. “I don’t like it. Although it did give us a chance to get the one large hole in the hull patched. So that part of their, whoever they are, plan is hopefully stopped. If there was even a plan.”

  “You know there was, Thom,” Tristan said, watching the first officer. “You know what we found on the ship we killed.”

  “And there was the attempt on your life.”

  “What attempt?” Fenfyr growled.

  “A man on the station tried to kill Tristan,” Thom said, his eyes angry. “I stopped him.”

  “As long as he is food for the scavengers, I approve,” the dragon said.

  “He is, and we have his papers as well. He was a man called Whittington. He served as a hired killer, one of the best.”

  “One of the best no more,” Tristan added, remembering Thom’s easy handling of the situation. He was beginning to get the feeling there were things in Thom’s past that were more interesting than the man had let on.

  “Good,” Fenfyr huffed happily. “Oh good, grapefruit!” he added, spying Riggan coming into the room with a cart of food. “Let’s eat.”

  The crew was on deck three hours later, watching as the dome over the ship was slowly opened and the masts rose to their full height. Tristan was at the Elemental Interface waiting as the Winged Victory was readied for launch. The great engines pushed her out into space and the crew climbed the masts.

  “Loose the sails!” The sails began to drop, shimmering light sparkling over the deck, very different from the initial launch from Terra Secundus and the inner system stations.

  Then the call went through the ship, it still gave Tristan a thrill to hear it. “Ship to the Weaver!”

  “Ship to you, sir,” Thom said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrett,” Tristan replied.

  “Weaver has the ship!”

  Tristan eased the sails into the Winds, feeling the first puff of air brush over them. He moved them, canting them as the crew eased the ropes, and the great mainsail snapped into the Winds with a huge boom that rattled everything onboard. Men scrambled to roll up the smaller sails, for some reason the usually calm Winds were blowing at a rate unknown this close to the station. Tristan whispered the spell to the willowisps, and the ship wheeled into the current, tipped over so that—if they had been on the water and not in space—their deck would have been awash with the speed and force of the Winds. It was thrilling. Tristan could feel the willowisps arranging themselves for the most efficient use of the Winds. Once he was satisfied with the hum in the rigging, He stepped back. He was beginning to learn the music of the ropes and sails and could tell by the pitch when things were running smoothly.

  “Good launch,” Thom said, standing beside him.

  “Yes.” Tristan grinned. “I wasn’t nearly as nervous.” He looked up at the sails, watching them shimmer. It was a sight he never tired of, the beauty of sails. Even though this was his first real experience as a Warrior, there were many ships flying with sails he had created, and they were all beautiful. When he finally tore his gaze from them, he noticed Thom was watching something on the forecastle. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, I thought I saw…” He laughed. “It’s nothing. Out in deep space you see things sometimes.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, some people go completely insane. We still don’t understand everything that’s out here, and the unexpected comes up sometimes. Deciding what is real and what isn’t is the trick.”

  “Like?”

  Thom shrugged. “When I was on the pirate vessel, we went through this storm. It was the strangest thing. Out in the middle of deep space.” He shivered. “I never want to experience something like that again.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were four days out from a station and the Winds suddenly changed. We lowered the sails, but ended up being tossed around. The Rogue Weaver was at the Interface for two days, trying to keep us in one piece. Then, in the middle of the storm…” Thom swallowed. “Never mind. It was really something you don’t want to see. Trust me.”

  Tristan wanted to ask him more, but stopped when he noticed Second Officer Aubrey coming their way.

  “All’s well so far,” Aubrey said.

  “So far?” Tristan repeated.

  “Well, I’m not planning on anything bad happening, but I am making sure we’re prepared,” Thom said.

  “So you think something bad is going to happen?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Aubrey said. “We’re just trying to limit how bad it gets.”

  “How bad?”

  “Very, Master Tristan,” Thom said. “We’re preparing for the worst.”

  “And then some,” Aubrey added.

  XXI

  The Winged Victory was two days out from Terra Octodecimus and things were going smoothly. The last of the repairs had been finished and the crew had settled down for the long run to Terra Vingensumus. Tristan had spent most of the first day on deck, making sure the sails were functioning correctly. The Winds were still unexpectedly strong, something that was worrying the ship’s officers. They had contacted Naval headquarters and had been informed that there were no storms or anomalies in the area. Stemmer had taken to stalking across the deck from bow to stern through the daytime watches, and Thom was beginning to show the edges of exhaustion from serving the morning watch in addition to being on deck all day.

  Taminick had quietly left the ship partway through their first day away from the station. Fenfyr let Tristan know she was gone, but nothing else. He didn’t press th
e dragon for answers, there was a very good chance that whatever errand she was on was one Fenfyr knew nothing about. The dragon was making his presence felt throughout the ship, turning up at odd moments on every deck, and in every public space. Once every other watch he would check the soldered hatchway to the lower deck. The dragon told Tristan he smelled fresh solder: the hatch had been opened and closed while they were on the station. There was a hint of something else, but the dragon couldn’t explain what it was.

  Tristan had invited Thom and Muher to his cabin for tea, and Riggan was happily preparing a fancy meal, despite Tristan’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary. The servant had tsked in mock-horror and gone on setting up the tea service and a selection of food on a table that sat between the three wing-back easy chairs in the main cabin. Now that things were settling down, Tristan wanted to talk to the others about the rumors that Riggan had been relating to him. Riggan still regularly checked for listening devices and Fenfyr gave the cabin “a thorough sniffing” every evening, giving them a safe place to talk.

  The men arrived together. Riggan showed them in, poured tea into the cups and quietly absented himself. Tristan suspected he was standing outside the door to make sure no one got too close while the three were meeting.

  “You said tea,” Thom said, looking at the pile of food.

  “Riggan has his own ideas,” Tristan said with a laugh.

  “I told you, Thom.” Muher was laughing. “He didn’t believe me.”

  “I forget that Riggan is the only one that gets to push Master Tristan around, Chris,” Thom pointed out with a sly smile.