She waved in the direction of the Institute, accidentally tapping the carriage window, and the raccoon’s gaze came up, meeting hers.
For a second, Sophie saw something bigger in the woods behind it. A wolf? A pack? Or was it just a moving shadow, enhanced by smoky Erinthian glass?
“We did come off well,” Garland agreed.
“We are gonna steal their whole damned war out from under them and leave ’em choking on peace and love,” Sophie said.
“Spoken, a little, like a pirate,” Bram said. She nudged his ankle with her toe, not quite kicking, and he grinned.
They had been in the traffic jam for an hour and had covered perhaps half of the distance to the hotel when Cly joined them, mounted on a gray mare. True to form, he began obliging the traffic cops to pass the pumpkin carriage forward, bypassing the line at every intersection. Soon they had cleared the congestion and were circling into the Mancellor’s spacious drive.
Dismounting, Cly waved off a servant and helped Sophie down from the carriage.
“So?” she said.
“Sylvanna has filed a suit against Tug Island and Isle of Gold, naming Daimon, Cleste, and Kev Lidman as instigators in a plan to sabotage Sylvanna’s High Winter Festival and rob or destroy the Spellscrip Institute.”
“Strong accusations,” Garland observed.
“I have put my faith in your ability to prove enough of them to save us from a counterclaim. Of course, if they can find someone who wants to challenge me—” He whisked his sword carelessly. “The phrasing of the suit makes it clear Sylvanna regards the Golders and Tug Islanders as instigators—not any Havers, nor any local abolitionists or freedom fighters. In fact, Rees Erminne is one of the plaintiffs.”
“We’ve got a strand of Cleste’s hair and a room full of latent fingerprints,” Sophie said.
“And Daimon himself, don’t forget. We’ll wring something out of him.”
Bram winced, ever so slightly, at Cly’s zesty use of the word “wring.”
“I’m off to the Black Fox to take custody of the hotel records,” Cly said. “I’ll be examining the staff for other conspirators. You won’t leave, will you, before I return?”
“Of course not!” Sophie shook her head. “We’ve work to do, you and I. And deals to make. About cases and estates and politics and your cherished national institutions. So many things.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He took her in—rumpled, bloody dress and all—and then he smiled and passed her one of a quartet of thin paper lanterns, a ball of illumination lit from within by featherlight candles. “You should go up to the roof garden,” he said. “Bringing back the sun at dawn is one of our lovelier traditions.”
It was a good suggestion—she felt too wired to contain herself in a room, even one as big as their suite.
Cly passed out the remaining globes, bowed to them all, and strode away, head high, on the hunt.
She took the spiral staircase he’d indicated, zigzagging like a fire escape, up three floors, on the outside of the hotel.
She was expecting another cascade of architectural marvels, like all the things she’d seen at the Institute, but the Mancellor rooftop was more of a tea garden—tables under umbrellas stitched from repurposed sails, all facing the sea. A line of planters fronted the whole thing, filled with little willows whose spindly branches had been woven into a loose diamond grid. It would be spectacular when the weather was below freezing; the frost crystals would razor out from it.
Garland and her siblings had followed, trooping up, likewise laden with the globes.
They stepped up to the deck, setting the lanterns out on the deck to warm. They started to float quickly as they heated, bobbing on short strings tied to two-akro coins.
“So,” Bram said. “What now?”
“I believe we release them at dawn,” Garland said. “To celebrate the new year and signal the opening of the voting stations.”
“I wasn’t asking about the lanterns.”
Sophie’s mind whirled. There were so many things, still, a whole book of questions, her ever-growing list. Most of them, possibly, would never be answered. It was messy, maybe—eight thousand shoots of curiosity, twisting in different directions, some leading all the way to home and her parents, some to Beatrice. Too many to rip out.
Rooted, she thought. I’m rooted.
“Yes,” Verena said. “What now?”
She reached for Garland’s hand. “First things first. We raise Nightjar.”
“Nightjar,” he agreed, tucking her against him.
“Then what?” Bram demanded. “The rest will take care of itself?”
“No,” she said. “We’re not leaving anything to chance. You confirm how long we have before Earth goes boom. Sploosh. Whatever. Make sure we don’t have to evacuate the parents, or … you know. Figure out how to manage an apocalypse.”
“I do that, you raise the ship. Easy as pie. What about you and Sylvanna and Cly and working for the Fleet? You know, your entire future?”
“If Sylvanna can be tipped…” She felt the truth of it. “I’ll be Sylvanner if it means breaking the Fleet stalemate on slavery.”
“Embrace your accident of birth?” he said. “And Daddy, too?”
“Cly keeps his word. We’ve tested him and he’s come through. Until he gives us reason not to trust him, he’s earned probation.”
Bram looked skeptical.
“Whatever his underlying motives, Cly is out to derail Brawn and his allies. He wants to steal their stupid war out from under them, too.”
“Outpirate the pirates?”
“He can be trusted to act in the Fleet’s interests. And, I think, in mine.”
“Especially as long as you’re working for the same thing, huh?” Bram said.
He took the same oath as me, Sophie thought. It was, strangely, comforting. “Verena, you in?”
“Yeah, let’s take away all their toys.” The look on her face was both pleased and hungry. “Gale would’ve wanted us to.”
“Garland?”
He said, “It’s a fair wind. I look forward to sailing it together.”
“Wherever it leads?”
“Sailing’s not about merely drifting to wherever you’re blown.”
“No,” she agreed. “It didn’t blow us to the altar.”
“Not today.”
She remembered him saying it: One day, I will ask.
A pang. It might’ve been nice, in its way. Shazam. Married. Done deal. Like some improbable sitcom couple. Off to the honeymoon, throw the confetti, and start racking up anniversaries. “Just so you know, there’s a place called Vegas where we can do the deed pretty much overnight, if we ever get the urge.”
“Don’t be a dork, Ducks,” Bram replied. “You’re too young to get married.”
“Not true, Bramble,” she said. “In fact, I think I’m plenty grown up.”
She spread her arms wide, reaching around them all, pulling them into a clumsy embrace: brother, sister, and this ridiculous, amazing guy.
They were still standing there, five minutes later, when the first sliver of light began to show on the horizon and the sun globes began to rise over the city, bright glowing circles, miniature suns, drifting upward to mark the beginning of the cold, bright march into spring.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say nobody is an island, and the Hidden Sea Tales trilogy (and related Gale Feliachild stories) would not exist if it weren’t for the generous and inspiring people who support and assist me every day. Chief among these, the emotional and intellectual heart of my world, is a brilliant author and amazing human being—my wife, Kelly Robson.
I owe much to my family—Tuckers, Millars, and Robsons, I thank you!—and especially to my thoroughly wonderful siblings: Michelle, Sherelyn, Susan, and Bill. My friends read drafts, explain research concepts, house me on book tours, and provide moral support when I am flailing. Shout-outs are due to so many: Ardi Alspach, Beverly Bambury, Charlene Challenger, Denise G
arzón, Nicki Hamilton, Dawn-Marie Pares, Chris Szego, Caitlin Sweet, and Matt Youngmark.
I am grateful to all the folks at Raincoast and Tor Books, especially Stacy Hague-Hill, Christopher Morgan, Marco Palmieri, and the Tor.com team. They are but a few of the editors, writers, and mentors who’ve guided me: Alexandra Renwick, Linda Carson, Ellen Datlow, Don DeBrandt, Claude Lalumière, Gardner Dozois, Jessica Reisman, Nancy Richler, Rebecca Stefoff, S. M. Stirling, and Harry Turtledove.
Even a book about magic needs the occasional fact. Mark Bowman and Gordon Love checked my scuba diving details, while Peter Watts has shown extraordinary patience, over the years, with my drama-geek approach to physics. Walter Jon Williams got me started on resources for tall ships. Any errors in what passes for science, language, or sailing procedure within this book are all mine. They tried, I swear!
I am one of those people who do much of their creative work out in a café environment, and all of the Stormwrack books were drafted in the remarkable Café Calabria, on Commercial Drive in Vancouver, and finished in Portland Variety, on King Street in Toronto.
Without you all, I would yet be in dry dock. Or, even worse—marooned.
ALSO BY A. M. DELLAMONICA
Indigo Springs
Blue Magic
“Among the Silvering Herd”
“The Ugly Woman of Castello di Putti”
“The Glass Galago”
Child of a Hidden Sea
“Wild Things”
“The Color of Paradox”
“The Cage”
A Daughter of No Nation
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A. M. Dellamonica is a transplant to Toronto, Ontario, having moved there in 2013 with her wife, author Kelly Robson, after twenty-two years in Vancouver. She has been publishing short fiction since the early nineties, in venues such as Asimov’s Science Fiction, Strange Horizons, and Tor.com as well as in numerous anthologies. Her 2005 alternate history of Joan of Arc, “A Key to the Illuminated Heretic,” was short-listed for a Sidewise Award and a Nebula. Her first novel, Indigo Springs, won the 2010 Sunburst Award for Canadian Literature of the Fantastic; she is also a Canada Council grant recipient. The first novel in this series, Child of a Hidden Sea, was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award; its sequel, A Daughter of No Nation, won a Prix Aurora Award in the Best Novel category.
Alyx teaches creative writing courses through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and at the University of Toronto. The Nature of a Pirate is her fifth novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Acknowledgments
Also by A. M. Dellamonica
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE NATURE OF A PIRATE
Copyright © 2016 by A. M. Dellamonica
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Cynthia Sheppard
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3451-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-1237-6 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466812376
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First Edition: December 2016
The Nature of a Pirate Page 40
