The Sail Weaver

by Morrigan, Muffy

  “He doesn’t push me around; he just has very clear ideas of my dignity as Warrior Weaver.”

  “And Master Weaver of the whole Guild,” Muher said, sounding remarkably like Riggan. “He makes sure the crew knows and never forgets that little tidbit. It’s interesting, watching the reactions. Some of the crew is happy with it—others not so much, and the new crew is downright hostile.”

  “The new crew?” Tristan asked. “The men brought on board at the station?”

  “Yes. They are a very different group. All skilled sailors and they have all been moved into positions of relative authority, which is unheard of for pressed men. It’s making me a little nervous.”

  “It makes me more than a little nervous. When I asked the captain about it, he nearly took my head off. I was sure I was going to end up flogged in front of the crew.” Thom looked at them, and Tristan could see the man was not joking about the punishment. “They are being positioned throughout the ship too, gunners, communications, on the sails, everywhere.”

  “Then we have the problem of the men Hall and I wanted to get rid of that are still here—the ones that survived the attack. They are all anti-Weaver and very vocal about it. The attitude is being openly encouraged,” Muher added.

  “Is that why I am not allowed out of my cabin alone anymore?” Tristan asked with a half-smile.

  “Yes, and you are not to go anywhere on the ship without someone trustworthy with you. If you can arrange for Fenfyr to be with you, it’s the best option,” Muher said vehemently.

  “We’re being serious,” Thom said, meeting Tristan’s eyes. “There is something wrong onboard and removing you seems to be part of the plan. I only wish I knew what it was.”

  “Fenfyr told you that the hatch had been re-soldered?” Tristan sipped his tea.

  “Yes, and I went down to check it personally. There is no way to tell what went in or came out,” Muher said.

  “Fenfyr said it smelled different, too.”

  “I wish I had a dragon’s nose sometimes, but we still don’t know what any of it means.” Thom sighed. “And the Winds are behaving oddly, it’s almost like there is a storm brewing somewhere, but headquarters said no.”

  “A storm? You’re being literal?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes. I told you a little about the one when I was onboard the pirate vessel. They happen in space; the thing is, usually there is more warning. The one that hit us back then was like a squall, it came up out of nowhere. The Winds had been off for a few days, then we were hit.” Thom was quiet for a minute. “I am a fool.”

  “What?” Tristan and Muher said together.

  “The Winds, the storm—it came up out of nowhere and right behind it was a Vermin scout ship riding in on the backend of the storm.”

  “So you think that might be happening now?” Tristan was watching the first officer, there was more to it than what Thom was telling them.

  “I think it might.”

  “So how do we locate the squall?”

  “I’m not sure, it was just suddenly there—at least from my perspective. I wasn’t on the nav boards or communications. We need to get word to Terra Vigensumus to watch out for a possible storm and Vermin incursion.”

  “You think that’s where they will come through?” Muher asked, grabbing a sandwich.

  “No, I think they will come through someplace where there is a hole in our defenses, then head straight for the inner system. I think when they come this time, they are going to come in full force, and I think no matter what the Navy thinks, we have never faced them in force before. They are going to cut through our defenses like a hot knife through butter unless the Navy gets the fleet—the whole fleet—in to meet them.”

  “You think it’s come to that?” Tristan had never heard Thom talk this way.

  “I do! I have since I first started work on this ship. We are supposed to be the ship that stops them, but how can we if we are out here in deep space and they invade on the other side somewhere?”

  “Those pirates did a lot of damage to us, how can we stop the Vermin fleet?” Muher’s voice had a hint of sarcasm in it.

  “Those pirates, Chris,” Thom growled, “had copies of the plans of this ship. They knew exactly what they were doing to cripple her. The captain was fighting them as if they were simple pirates. If he had taken the time to notice, he would have seen that all the shot raining on deck was a distraction for the real damage being done to our hull.”

  “The attack also killed off a lot of the non-pressed crew, didn’t it, Thom?” The thought had just occurred to Tristan.

  “It did, they were on deck or manning guns that didn’t fire.”

  “I didn’t know,” Muher said. “Helps if you keep me in the loop, you know.”

  Thom looked away for a minute, then back, meeting Muher’s eyes. “I wasn’t sure who I could trust at that point, Chris. I know you are Dragon Corps, but…”

  “Yeah, I get it. You were all suspect too, until I got to know you,” the general agreed. “So far you, Aubrey, Webber and Avila seem okay. And Riggan, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tristan said with a laugh, then realized something. “You didn’t list the Air Weavers.”

  “No, I didn’t.” The words hung in the air between the three of them for a long time. “I still haven’t decided. They are Guild members, but they tend to run closer to the Navy than Warriors and Weavers, and the Navy is far more tolerant of them. They don’t rank senior officers, they can’t give orders. So, no, I don’t trust them completely yet.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Tristan said, remembering his first day onboard and how the Air Weavers hadn’t made a point of welcoming him. “Anyone else?”

  Muher laughed. “Everyone else.”

  They walked onto the quarterdeck after tea. Tristan checked the sails, listening to the hum in the rigging. There was a high-note to the sound, the Winds were still whipping the Victory through space at an incredible pace, even though almost all the sails were tightly furled. He noticed that Thom stared off into the empty space in the direction the Winds were blowing; the first officer shook his head and turned back to the ship.

  “What?” Tristan asked.

  “Nothing, I hope,” Thom replied. “What’s he doing?” He pointed towards the top of the mainmast.

  Tristan looked up and caught the gleam of Fenfyr’s scales at the top of the mast, in the Dragon’s Roost. He was standing up, his wings canted to catch some of the Winds as if testing them. Tristan noticed the dragon turned his head, and he suddenly leaped free of the ship, swinging out into space. Surprised, Tristan watched until the dragon was out of sight.

  “What was that about?” Thom was looking in the same direction.

  “I don’t know. Dragons are unpredictable at times.”

  “Very, excuse me for a moment,” Thom said, heading down from the quarterdeck. He got to the main deck as a fight broke out amongst the crew. Shearer appeared on deck, the shrill sound of his whistle cutting through the air. Tristan started towards the stairs off the quarterdeck when Muher grabbed him.

  “No, sir, sorry, but you are staying right here.” The general moved to stand in front of him. “I am not letting you down on the deck in the middle of a brawl. Thom is capable of handling this, he has Shearer and Hall’s Marines with him.”

  Tristan sighed. Muher was right, but it didn’t make it easier watching his friend walk into the middle of the growing fight. More and more of the crew were getting involved, he saw the bright flash of a knife and someone shouted in pain. Suddenly three loud shots rang out and the deck fell silent. Colonel Hall stood to the side of the group, his gun out.

  “Who started this?” Shearer demanded, his voice harsh in the quiet. The crew parted. A body lay on the deck, a knife protruding from its throat. “This is the man?”

  “Aye, sir, ’twas him,” the boatswain’s mate said.

  “Why?”

  “He were speaking against the Navy, sir, and saying unkind things abo
ut the officers, sir. There’s some of us that didn’t agree with that.”

  “Who killed him?” Thom demanded.

  The group stood still, none moving, none speaking.

  “Well?” Shearer snapped.

  Still no one spoke.

  “Fine,” Thom said, his voice clear. “Double duty for all on deck and no ration tonight.” There was an angry muttering. “Does anyone wish to disagree?”

  Tristan guessed that no one did when the group dispersed back to their duty stations. The med team arrived and took the body away, and after pacing out to the bowsprit and back, Thom came back onto the quarterdeck. “Damn all,” he said as he walked over.

  “What?” Muher asked.

  “He was one of the pro-Guild crewmen. I doubt he was saying anything about the Navy. I think he was being removed.”

  “You think he was killed on purpose?” Tristan asked, aghast.

  “Yes, like Anderson while we were still on station. They said he got drunk in the red light district and ran into a group of pirates. This death leads me to think he was killed. Horne and Anderson were close, they worked the same gun.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I am going to find out. I am not letting murderers run lose on this ship,” Thom growled.

  “Barrett, report,” Stemmer called from the other side of the quarterdeck. Thom stalked towards the captain, defiance in every line of his body.

  “Things are getting ugly, Master Tristan,” Muher said quietly. “I wish I knew why.”

  “I do, too, there has been something off about this ship since Darius first came to my office. I sometimes forget that. I’ve gotten caught up on life aboard her.” Tristan looked up and saw Fenfyr sweeping back in, angling down towards the stern gallery on his cabin. “Excuse me, General.”

  “Of course,” Muher said, then escorted Tristan to the staircase that led to the private entrance to his quarters.

  Fenfyr was just poking his nose through the door when Tristan walked into the cabin. “Fenfyr? Where have you been?”

  “Following a scent on the Winds. Taminick is flying further, but there is something happening. The Vermin are on the move, their stink is filling space, blowing on the Winds and fouling the stars with their passing.”

  “How many, Fen?”

  “Many, Tris. I’m not sure. That’s what Taminick is trying to find out, but there is a fleet coming, a big one. Bigger than the Jupiter Incursion. We have alerted our Guild, and Darius has spoken to the Weavers.”

  “We need to tell Thom.”

  “We do, we need to tell him to be ready,” the dragon said, sounding sad.

  “What is it?”

  “Unless we find more ships to fight with us, Tristan, we are dead. That’s how many are coming.”

  “Fen…”

  “We will fight, I know we will, but if they come through here, there is nothing we can do.”

  XXII

  The call for the crew to report rang through the ship several minutes after Fenfyr returned. The dragon slipped out of the cabin, heading up to perch on deck, and Tristan walked up to the quarterdeck to stand by the Elemental Interface. All the officers were gathered together by the taffrail and the captain was standing in front of them. He frowned when he noticed Tristan, his frown becoming a scowl as he watched Fenfyr settle on the main deck.

  “Quiet!” the captain called, his voice amplified by the ship-wide com system. “I have news!” The mutterings fell silent. “I have been informed by Naval Headquarters that a Vermin Scout has been sighted!”

  The crew growled angrily.

  “Listen!” the captain continued. “They have assigned us the task of tracking this ship and killing it! They know that nothing will stand between this ship and victory!”

  The crew let out a cheer.

  “Mr. Aubrey, change our course to a heading of one fourteen mark seven. We are on our way. Prepare for battle!”

  The cheer slowly built until it became a roar.

  “Dismissed.” The captain turned towards the officers. “I expect you to be every bit as ready as the crew.”

  “Yes, sir!” they said in unison.

  “Very good,” Stemmer said, then walked to Tristan. “I trust you are ready for battle as well, Weaver?” Tristan stared at the man. The quarterdeck grew quiet as the tension grew between them. The captain cleared his throat. “You will be ready for battle, Master Weaver, sir,” he said, grating over the last three words as if they caused him physical pain.

  “Of course,” Tristan answered, making a point of not using the man’s rank. “As will Lokey Fenfyr, I am sure.”

  “Of course,” the captain spat out and stalked away.

  Tristan turned to look at the settings on the Interface, trying to hide his annoyance. The captain was openly insulting him in front of the crew and officers. It didn’t bode well. When the time for battle came, who would they follow, the captain or the Weaver? It shouldn’t be a question of either or, they should work together as a team, but Stemmer’s hatred of the Guild was palpable.

  “One fourteen mark seven, very interesting,” Thom said, coming up beside Tristan.

  “Why?”

  “Remember what we heard from Harkins and Cook of the Noble Lady?”

  “About the pirates meeting in sector nineteen?” Tristan said.

  “Yes. Our new heading will take us right into the heart of that sector.”

  “That, of course, is followed by the question of where the captain got the information,” Muher said, joining them. “As far as I know, nothing has come over the comm in the last six hours.”

  “The Vermin are heading in,” Tristan said, telling them what Fenfyr had told him. “But he had no idea where they would break through. Taminick is still out, trying to find out where they are.”

  “So who is this mysterious scout ship?” Muher asked.

  “And why does it happen to be entering our space in a sector where pirates manning Vermin vessels just happen to be gathering?” Thom frowned. “Something stinks here.”

  The ship suddenly rocked to the side. The blast of the Winds that hit them was strong enough to tear one corner of the sail on the mizzenmast away. Tristan grabbed onto the Elemental Interface as Thom and the officers began shouting orders. Fenfyr launched himself off the ship, flying to the mast and grabbing the sail in his massive foreclaws and holding on while the crew scrambled up the mast. Tristan tuned it all out and focused on keeping the sails in one piece as the Winds increased in force. He was aware as the crew got each sail furled and tightly secured so only the smallest bit of sail on the mainmast remained. There was enough to maneuver and keep them on an even keel, but nothing else. As he did that, he spoke the spell for Healing into the mizzensail that Fenfyr was holding, feeling it bond to the ship again. When that was accomplished, he took a step back from the Interface and looked around.

  The Winds had caught them by surprise and the Winged Victory was showing the damage. A few ropes hung slack on deck and several large pieces of equipment had broken loose and rolled across the deck. One man was pinned under a large square box of some kind. He was screaming, his mates trying to keep him calm until the med teams could get to them. Looking across the quarterdeck, he noticed that Aubrey was holding his right arm very carefully and the Navigator Avila had blood on her face. A medical team arrived and took them both away. Tristan glanced around, looking for Thom and Muher, but they were nowhere to be found.

  On a hunch he went below and called Riggan. “Did you see Mr. Barrett and the general?”

  “I certainly didn’t see them get into the private elevator and head for the lower decks, Master Tristan, if that’s what you are asking.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t do that either,” Tristan said with a smile. He walked to the lift and punched the button. Considering the time it took for the car to get back to him, Thom and Muher must have taken the opportunity to go to the bottom deck. “Go tell Fenfyr what’s happening,” he said to Riggan then got i
nto the lift and hit the button for the bottom deck.

  By the time the doors opened, he was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. Stepping out into the semi-darkness of the lower decks, he could hear his heart slamming against his ribs and hoped that nothing else could hear that deafening noise. He walked silently along the corridor. He’d never been there, but Riggan and Fenfyr had both described it to him, so he knew where he was and where he was going. The hatch that had been soldered closed was at the fourth turning on the left on the passage.

  There was no one there, no crew wandering on errands, nothing, only the creaking of the ship and the soft sound of the atmospherics—the lower decks used forced air to reduce the strain on the Air Weavers. As he moved, he became aware of a soft break in the silence, it was not really loud enough to make out, the barest whisper of sound. Looking ahead, he guessed it was coming from the hall to the sealed hatch.

  When he reached the corner, he stopped and turned so he could look where he was going without exposing too much of himself. Peering around the wall, he could make out two uniforms, Thom’s Naval blue and the black of the Dragon Corps. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped into the hallway, still silent, wondering how to let the other’s know he was there without breaking the quiet—without letting anyone know they were there.

  That was when it hit him. It felt like he’d been punched. A wave of nausea engulfed him and he hit the deck, his cheek slamming into the cold plating. Trying to fight the nausea, part of his mind was telling him to keep quiet and not give into the urge to vomit while the rest of him was fighting to rid itself of whatever was filling him. As he fought it, he realized what it was—there was magic there, something vile and filthy in every inch of the hallway. Someone yanked him over, and he looked up at Thom’s white face, the magic was affecting him as well, although he probably didn’t realize what it was. Tristan shook his head and tried to stand. When he couldn’t manage that, he rolled back over onto his hands and knees and crawled out of the passage and into the wider corridor as far as he could go before he collapsed again.