Sea of Thieves

by Chris Allcock

  She’d barely made it to the base of the gangplank, however, before Faizel and Ned reemerged. They didn’t wave or shout but merely waited solemnly by the railings in what she could only assume was an invitation to join them.

  “I see you have found yourself a sword,” Faizel said mildly as Larinna’s booted feet struck the deck. “And now I think it must be time for formal introductions. I am Faizel, and this is my fellow crewman, Little Ned.”

  “Larinna,” said Larinna, “My—” She paused. “Little Ned?”

  “I’m the younger brother,” Ned said, helpfully.

  “And this is our ship, the Unforgiven,” Faizel continued. “Or to be more precise, she is the ship of the illustrious Captain Adelheid, who unfortunately continues to be occupied with ship’s business on the mainland. Perhaps we can offer you a tour while we wait for her return?”

  Larinna briefly considered declining. What, did they think she’d never set foot aboard a ship before? She was admittedly curious to poke around, though, if only to make sure that the little vessel was seaworthy. Nodding curtly, she followed after the pair.

  The topmost deck seemed shipshape enough, she decided after a cursory inspection. The ropes and rigging for the ship’s seven sails—split across three masts and currently furled since the ship was docked—were taut and well tied, while the heavy capstan responsible for raising and lowering the ship’s anchor turned well enough at her touch. There were eight stout cannons primed and ready, four to port and four to starboard. The Unforgiven may have been small compared to the ships back home, but she was no less able to defend herself.

  Larinna didn’t bother with the long climb up to the crow’s nest that crowned the highest mast, but she did spend some time standing at the ship’s wheel, getting a feel for the vessel beneath her as it bobbed lazily. To their credit, Faizel and Ned both seemed to understand this behavior and stood patiently by until she was ready to move on.

  A look inside the captain’s cabin wasn’t offered, nor did Larinna request one. A certain element of privacy was expected even when sailing in cramped quarters, and she wasn’t part of the crew. Not yet, anyway.

  Besides, there was plenty to see elsewhere on the ship, most notably the map table, which was dominated by a large and complicated chart. Larinna attempted to drink in as much of this as she could without making it too obvious that this was her first time studying the geography of the Sea of Thieves. She was privately delighted to see that many island chains were depicted as little more than crude notes and sketches, aching to be explored.

  There was a tiny kitchen area near the table with a few half-emptied pots and bottles on display, though Larinna noticed a thin layer of dust atop it all and suspected that hot meals aboard the ship would be few and far between. No matter, for she was no cook and could get by on ship’s biscuits or dried fruit for as long as required. There were hammocks here, too, strung haphazardly between the beams that comprised the skeleton of the ship. To Larinna, who’d spent three nights as a stowaway and a fourth slumped over a table, they looked like the most comfortable things in the world.

  The lowest deck seemed to be used mostly for storage and was therefore the least interesting as far as Larinna was concerned. There was a poky little brig down here too, just as Faizel had said, though it was scarcely more than an iron cage with a very sturdy lock on its door. A few stains on the floor around the bars suggested that animals had been its only occupants of late, and that they had been particularly nervous ones.

  All in all, she had to admit, it was a perfectly serviceable ship, if hardly the finest at the port. Ned seemed like the sort of man she could get along with just fine, and she could see herself tolerating Faizel’s eccentricities on a voyage or two. The lingering question, of course, was whether or not she approved of this Adelheid woman. And, she grudgingly supposed, whether Adelheid approved of her.

  She returned to the top deck to find Ned standing peaceably at the railing watching the docks. “That’s the captain,” he remarked, pointing one stubby finger out toward the distant buildings, and for a moment Larinna assumed he was referring to a middle-aged woman hauling a sack of potatoes toward a tiny sloop. As she stared in disbelief, a more distant movement caught her eye.

  A figure, barely more than a silhouette in the dying light, was pelting over the rooftops, using beams and balconies as temporary footholds with an almost balletic grace. Her path was erratic, but she was certainly making her way toward the Unforgiven. As the woman drew closer, Larinna could see yet more figures, clearly pirates, judging by their outfits, and even more clearly desperate to catch up to their quarry. They were skittering through the streets and shouting to one another in confusion, though none possessed the dexterity to leap across the rooftops and follow her directly.

  They did possess pistols, though, and Larinna could see flashes as the pursuers took potshots at their target, sending bystanders skittering for cover. Alarmed, she turned to Faizel, who now flanked her at the railings. “Should we help her?”

  “And spoil all her fun?” Faizel grinned. “Our captain likes to show off from time to time.”

  Larinna could spot the showmanship to Adelheid’s actions, now that she was looking for it. She slashed the ropes of a heavy canopy as she passed so that it collapsed onto two of the disoriented assailants, leaving them struggling under its weight. A third found a bucket slammed forcefully over her head as she rounded a corner, and then received a dizzying smack with the flat of a blade.

  That left three, and Adelheid was on the ground now, sprinting full pelt along the dock toward the Unforgiven. She made it up the gangplank in three huge bounds, pushed past Larinna without so much as a second glance, and grasped one of the starboard cannons with both of her gloved hands. She wrenched it around so that its barrel was now aimed squarely at the dock—on which the pursuing trio, who had until that moment been racing toward the Unforgiven, were now frozen like something small and furry in the grip of a cobra’s stare.

  “Um,” one began, but if there was more to that sentence, Larinna never got to hear it. The cannon in Adelheid’s grip let out a vengeful roar that mirrored her own snarl of triumph, sending a speeding, soaring lump of iron right into the heart of the petrified pirate gang. The cannonball tore effortlessly through the gnarled planks of the jetty, reducing them to a shower of shards and splinters and flinging everyone atop them this way and that. By the time the smoke and dust had settled, the trio had beaten a hasty retreat, scrambling back up the sand and out of sight in case there was more gunfire to come.

  “Bunch of idiots,” Adelheid commented, rubbing her hands together. “Tried to stage an ambush on my way back, all because they’re still sore about what happened at Barnacle Cay. Who’s this?” She was addressing Faizel, so Larinna fought down the urge to step forward and introduce herself.

  “This is Larinna, a woman with excellent taste in both bananas and traveling companions,” Faizel informed her. “She would like to join our crew.”

  “Just ‘Larinna,’ is it?” Adelheid turned to look at her properly for the first time, and the two women began to study one another. Dark-skinned and dark-haired with eyes that flashed when she spoke, the ship’s captain cut a striking figure—though it was, if you looked carefully, mostly due to her outfit.

  The flared jacket, a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with an oversized feather, baggy pantaloons tucked into well-heeled boots—Larinna had seen plenty of pirate outfits in her time, but this was a costume being worn by a woman barely older, and significantly shorter, than Larinna herself. A woman who just blew up a jetty out of spite, Larinna reminded herself.

  “Well,” said Adelheid at last. “I, as I’m sure you know by now, am Adelheid, but I have never heard of you. Why might that be? Reputation is extremely important around here, you know.”

  “You certainly seem to have acquired one,” Larinna remarked, glancing down at the shattered remains of the boardwalk. “I wonder if that always works in your favor.”

 
Adelheid glared at her for a moment, and then nudged Faizel angrily in the ribs. “What did you tell her?”

  Faizel looked genuinely hurt, as much by the remark as by the elbow. “Not a thing,” he protested. “I think it is fairly obvious to anyone that our stay at this outpost has been not altogether tranquil. And without Kyrie at our side, we are running rapidly out of friends.”

  “You’re right,” Larinna cut in. “You don’t know me. I understand that I’m a nobody out here. That’s the point of this place, isn’t it, a fresh start? Somewhere you’re free to make what you want of yourself?” She folded her arms. “I’m not some swabbie. I know how to sail a ship, wield a sword, and raise a glass. I can look after myself and I can look out for others, but I don’t expect you to take that on trust. What I do expect is a chance to prove myself.”

  Adelheid twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, musing on Larinna’s words. “You made it this far, so you must be a halfway decent pirate, or a very lucky one,” she declared. Larinna felt her fingers twitch and resisted the urge to make a fist. Already she was wondering how much more of the Unforgiven’s precocious captain she’d be able to stomach.

  “And as you say, her face is not known around here,” Faizel added. “Which may prove to be of some use to us tonight, yes?”

  Adelheid smiled at that. “Why not? We’ll be no worse off whatever happens. You see, Larinna, we recently were forced to back out of a contract with a particular group of people here in town. I don’t like to lose, and I certainly don’t like having to explain myself to a bunch of jumped-up, half-witted, snuff-smoking—” Adelheid cut herself off and closed her eyes for a moment before continuing in a far calmer tone: “Which is to say, we find ourselves interested in a new opportunity they have to offer. Unfortunately, we appear to be somewhat blacklisted for the present. Can’t even show our faces without them making a fuss. But yours is a face that no one’s seen before, either.”

  “So you want me to go in your place and get this contract?” Larinna looked deeply unconvinced by this. “This sounds too much like employment for my liking.” Her lip curled in distaste as she spat out the word. “Who exactly are they, and why are you willing to do their dirty work?”

  “Oh my dear Larinna, you really must be new around here!” Adelheid chuckled. “Let’s retire to my cabin, and I’ll tell you all about the Order of Souls.”

  RAMSEY

  The day was bright but blustery, with a strong westerly wind that both billowed the sails and turned the sea wild and unpredictable, tossing anyone that sailed upon it back and forth. That bit of capriciousness was why the first volley of cannonballs collided with the water just shy of the prow, rather than striking the Magpie’s Wing herself.

  Rathbone, who was at the helm, let out a loud curse and spun the wheel as hard as he could, swinging the bulk of the ship out of the way. A second barrage of deadly iron splashed down to starboard, sending up great waves of spray that drenched everyone and everything on deck. Mercia and Shan were already fumbling with cannonballs of their own, preparing to retaliate, only for Ramsey to burst from the captain’s cabin like a wild thing and shout them down. “If we try to fire back, they’ll scupper us!” he bellowed.

  Rathbone, who had the best view of the enemy vessel, had to agree. Their attacker was of a similar size, with a dark beechwood hull and crimson sails, already in position to launch as many broadsides as it cared to. To return fire, the Magpie’s Wing would have to expose the vulnerable sides of the ship, presenting a bigger target. Their best option now, Rathbone suspected, was to flee.

  Ramsey, however, had other ideas. Having instructed Shan and Mercia to tilt the sails, he lumbered up the stairs and bade Rathbone to surrender the wheel. “Have your swords at the ready,” he growled. “We’ll show these wretches what it means to start a fight with the likes of us!” Under his command, the prow of the ship turned in the water and began to speed directly for their enemy.

  He’s going to ram them, Rathbone thought, and dread twisted his guts as he drew his sword. Their assailants had obviously reached the same conclusion, because yet more cannon fire rained down around them. These shots landed even more haphazardly than before, doing little more than rattling the ship’s windows, and it was clear that Ramsey’s bold scheme had the crew of the other ship in a panic. One final shot arced high overhead before their guns fell silent. They were either out of ammunition, Rathbone suspected, or unwilling to waste any more of it with missed shots.

  Rathbone risked a look through his spyglass and could see the opposing crew scrambling around in confusion as the Magpie’s Wing bore down upon them mercilessly. Would their prow be weighty enough to skewer the other vessel, he wondered, leaving them locked like stags tussling with their antlers? Or would the two vessels simply broach, tipping to the point at which a torrent of seawater would flood into the ships and send both crews to join whatever fell creatures lurked at the bottom of the sea?

  Suddenly, Ramsey was moving past him. To his horror, Rathbone realized that the furious captain had simply abandoned his position at the wheel, trusting their speed and Mercia’s skill to keep them aimed toward their target. He’d moved to the capstan, placing both his hands upon it, and it was only then that Rathbone gained a full understanding of what was going through the man’s head. Biting his lip, he took over at the helm, ready to go along with what was either a very brave or a very foolish thing to do.

  The enemy ship was closer now, so close that Rathbone no longer needed a spyglass to see the terrified expressions on the other crew’s faces. Less than fifty feet now separated then. Now, less than thirty. Now . . .

  At the last possible moment, Ramsey heaved on the capstan with all his might, sending the anchor and its long, heavy chain down into the depths. Rathbone wondered briefly if they might be in such deep water that there’d be nothing for the huge weight to catch onto, but then he heard the familiar thud of metal on rock. It was now or never.

  The Magpie’s Wing groaned in protest, and Rathbone spun the wheel with all his might as they began to pivot. The anchor’s chain was at full extension now, and its pull was transforming the ship’s forward motion into a large, sweeping arc. Within a few seconds, they’d changed from bearing down upon the other vessel to matching her course, side by side and just a few feet apart.

  That was when Ramsey leapt.

  Rathbone found it astonishing that a man of his stature could throw himself forward with such agility, but there was a cold fury behind the move that sent Ramsey soaring across the gap between the two vessels. The pirate closest to the railing found himself taking Ramsey’s boot to his chest, knocked helplessly to the ground as the crew of the Magpie’s Wing began to board.

  Mercia was next, taking a high dive from the rigging and rolling as she hit the enemy’s deck and came up fighting. She pulled a slender blade free from its sheath and began to menace a young deckhand who’d been manning the cannons, but he clearly had no stomach for a fair fight and threw his weapon down almost at once. Mercia considered the quivering figure as he dropped to his knees before her, then coldcocked him so he couldn’t cause any more trouble.

  Rathbone hesitated, not so confident in his own acrobatic ability but prideful enough to try. His clumsy leap saw him falling just short of the other ship’s deck, though his flailing hands were able to catch the rungs of the ladder that ran up her hull. Clambering aboard with his face flushed pink, he spared no time in taking out his embarrassment on the nearest pirate. The luckless man, who’d only just picked himself up from Ramsey’s first assault, found himself on the receiving end of a flurry of blows that left him dazed and crumpled in the corner.

  The enemy captain, however, had far more fight in her. Having leapt nimbly from the upper deck, she dropped down on Ramsey, staggering him and bringing her sword around in a blow that he was barely able to deflect with his own blade. “You should have run while you had the chance, old man!” she hissed, her eyes flashing as their swords danced.

  �
��Now where’s the sport in that?” Ramsey shot back, edging closer and closer to the railing as each of the captain’s blows forced him backward. Little by little, he was losing ground.

  Mercia was in no position to help him, for she was being terrorized by the final member of the ship’s crew: a brawny woman with a scarred face and a split lip who’d managed to knock Mercia’s sword away. She was shrugging off all the kicks and punches that Mercia landed, and her grasping fingers were reaching for the smaller pirate’s neck, twitching mere inches from Mercia’s windpipe when the first gunshot rang out.

  Judging from the way the larger woman gasped in pain and clutched at her leg, Mercia guessed that Shan—standing calmly aboard the Magpie’s Wing with a smoking pistol in his hand—had only been aiming to wound. Fine by me, she thought, and hooked her leg around that same limb, sending her opponent toppling sideways with a yelp and a stream of curses. Jumping down after her, Mercia followed this up with a vicious kick that sent the sprawled figure tumbling down the stairs and out of sight below decks. There was a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and silence.

  Drawing his own sword, Rathbone approached Ramsey and the enemy captain while Mercia crept toward them on the opposite side. Their battle was so intense, however, that he didn’t dare strike lest he accidentally cleave down the wrong captain. Besides, the hulking man seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously.

  “You’re surrounded, Captain!” Ramsey roared, pushing forward with a renewed surge of strength. Now it was his opponent losing ground, her feet dancing inch by inch across the deck until her back was against the railings. “Surrender, and I’ll show you mercy.”

  She spat. “Mercy? From the great Captain Ramsey, the brave pioneer who breached the Devil’s Shroud? Pathetic! Real pirates never show mercy. If you’re prepared to let me go then you’d better learn to sleep with one eye open, because the next time I see you, I’m going to slit—”