Sea of Thieves

by Chris Allcock

  “Surprise me,” Larinna said, sourly.

  “Us.” Adelheid smirked. “You can’t tame this place. They sailed into our waters with their royal decrees and their fancy crests, and they might as well have painted targets on their backs. We pirates have got long memories, and we like to hold grudges. For once, they were outnumbered.”

  “I suppose I can see that,” Larinna conceded. Although she’d been trapped, lurking below decks on her own journey to the Sea of Thieves, she knew enough about the Devil’s Shroud to see how a huge vessel—loaded with soldiers, not to mention the kind of firepower needed to protect a company ship and its valuable cargo—would surely sink in any attempt at a crossing. “So they gave up?”

  “Mostly,” Adelheid agreed. “And for a long while. Until one day, some clever little clerk realized that if pirates were the problem, maybe they could be the solution. Some crews might be convinced into earning a little extra gold by handing over things we find and don’t need, like animals or old artifacts. Stuff that might sell well out in the wider world.”

  The knot of tension in Larinna’s stomach loosened slightly, and she began pacing slowly around the cabin as she considered Adelheid’s words. “And you—Faizel, Ned, all of you. You work for these companies?”

  “Occasionally, if it’s to our advantage.” Adelheid watched Larinna keenly as she moved back and forth, the captain seemingly eager not to provoke another outburst. “Most of the larger outposts have company representatives to trade with, and if you keep your end of the bargain you start to build a reputation. For better or worse,” she added irritably, flicking an imaginary speck of dirt from her boot.

  Larinna was silent for a long while as she reflected on what was being asked of her. Grudgingly, she had to admit that the relationship between pirates and profiteers sounded far more evenhanded than how things had been back home. More than that, she still needed a crew.

  “I think I hate everything about this,” she informed Adelheid, coolly. “Now tell me what you want me to do.”

  Sanctuary Outpost felt quite different bathed in moonlight, though Larinna wasn’t surprised to see that many of the merchants and traders were still open for business. Even the shipwright was still at her stall by the dock, humming contentedly to herself as she worked on restoring a battered figurehead to some semblance of its former glory. Larinna had noted that almost everything on the Sea of Thieves had been repeatedly patched or repaired in some way; the people around her had a self-sufficiency she found quite admirable.

  Except when they’re begging for scraps from Trading Companies, she thought irritably, as the squat little building Adelheid had described came into view. It was lavishly decorated by the standards of the outpost, with strings of colored lanterns and a few hung banners cut from the same rich purple cloth that the cloaked figures had been wearing.

  As they drew closer, Larinna realized that the Order had apparently colonized the underside of someone else’s property, draping heavy fabric around its stilts to create a makeshift establishment of their own. There was a slightly bitter smell in the air that seemed to be getting stronger as she approached, and Larinna wondered if it had anything to do with the pale green smoke that was curling out from gaps between the drapes.

  A scrawny young woman, barely more than a teenager, was sitting on a barrel near the entrance with her legs swinging, staring down at the ground in apparent contemplation as she gnawed thoughtfully on a strip of salt jerky. She glanced up sharply as Larinna approached, watching owlishly but saying nothing until her fingers were already reaching for the door handle. “We’re closed!” she barked, suddenly, and flushed angrily as Larinna ignored her, pulling open a fold of fabric to bathe them both in a strange, pale light.

  “It’s hard to be closed when you don’t have a door,” Larinna remarked, stepping inside even as the girl hopped fretfully off her barrel and began to trail her, complaining peevishly.

  The tent’s interior was as gaudy as Larinna had expected, with chains of dark beads hanging in the entryway and a few crude stars painted on what passed for a ceiling. Yet more of the purple fabric hung in great folds from beams of the building overhead, muffling her footsteps as she moved deeper inside.

  A sickly green fire, apparently the source of both the odd light and the strange smoke, crackled and sputtered fitfully in a large apparatus. It caused strange shadows to dance upon the ceiling, and also illuminated a large desk behind which a figure was hunched, an inkwell in one hand and a large black quill in the other.

  Larinna was starting to feel that everything she’d seen so far was designed to foster a particular impression of mysticism and otherworldliness. The entire facade, she suspected, had been decorated to further the illusion that mysterious things were about to happen—a haunted house to get pirates suitably spooked so that they’d come away impressed. They’re still a Trading Company at heart, she reminded herself. And they need you more than you need them.

  “Don’t linger, Aggie, you’re letting fresh air in,” murmured the man behind the desk to the young girl reproachfully, without glancing up from his work. His long, greasy hair fell messily down past his shoulders and across another purple outfit. Given the trappings of the place, Larinna was unsurprised to see him sifting through a box stuffed full of mysterious runes and diligently copying them down onto a scroll.

  The man looked up from counting on his fingers as Larinna coughed, and shot a meaningful glare at the girl. Clearly she’d been posted as an advance guard tasked with turning away anyone who might interrupt him in the middle of some elaborate task, and clearly she had failed.

  “I tol’ her, Da’!” Aggie complained. “She worran listen!”

  The man peered up at Larinna and she stared down at him, arms folded. “New in town, are we?” he asked, the tone of his voice indicating that he didn’t particularly want to hear the answer. “My name is Winston Phoebus, I represent the Order of Souls, and we are currently closed. Come back tomorrow.” Like his daughter’s, his speech was high and peevish, a voice born to complain and wheedle.

  “I’ll be long over the horizon when tomorrow comes,” Larinna replied evenly. “But I could hardly pass through without coming to see this place for myself. Just to see if the rumors were true.”

  As she’d hoped, the man’s expression was immediately awash with a mixture of indignation and curiosity. He’s a showman, she realized. Every showman wants applause. “Rumors?” he snapped. “What rumors?” It was time to see if what little Adelheid had told her about the Order was true, or if she was about to make a fool of herself.

  “Oh, more like hearsay, really. That your group possesses a great wisdom and a knowledge that sees far beyond the veil that clouds the sight of others. That through your tireless efforts, the secrets of the Sea of Thieves are laid bare for your eyes alone, and a thousand destinies revealed.” She paused, wondering if she’d gone overboard, but Phoebus seemed genuinely pleased by the description, his whole demeanor having softened considerably.

  “Oh, it’s far more than hearsay, I can assure you!” There was an unmistakable smugness in his eyes as he reached into his desk and pulled out a number of neatly bound parchments, fanning them out with practiced ease. “Every one of these contracts may represent nothing more than a handsome sum of money to yourself, but they also provide our distinguished cartographers with invaluable information.”

  “I see,” said Larinna, who didn’t, but managed to look suitably impressed regardless. “The pursuit of enlightenment through the mystic arts is a responsibility that must weigh heavily upon your spirit.” She glanced down at the box of runes, then around at the tent that passed for the Order’s premises, before adding, “And your wallet.”

  Phoebus appeared to deflate a little. “Yes, well, from time to time we are encouraged to share our wisdom with others,” he admitted. “For a price, of course. Not that we do it for the money, you understand, we prefer to focus on a more noble purpose, but everyone needs to eat. Unfortunately, ou
r most recent contract fell through, which has left us rather in a bind.” He paused. “You’re quite sure you can’t come back tomorrow?”

  “It must be terribly frustrating, having to deal with small-minded scoundrels who can’t appreciate that you’re working toward a higher purpose,” Larinna agreed, maintaining a sympathetic expression. “But as I said, tomorrow I shall be at sea, for I have a purpose of my own, though it’s nothing so noble as yours.” She patted the hilt of her sword, theatrically. “Before the day is done, my blade shall have claimed its final vengeance against that cur, Simeon, and his treachery shall be repaid!”

  Adelheid had assured her that this Simeon, whomever he was, would mean something to the Order but had told her nothing else. Phoebus was staring at her with a curious expression. “Not ‘Steel-Eye’ Simeon, surely?” he pressed. Larinna, who had no idea, kept her expression inscrutable. To her surprise, invoking the name had lit a fire within the man, and he was frantically rifling through cupboards and cabinets, scattering parchments here and there until he emerged with a small box clasped triumphantly in his hands.

  “I thought I recognized the name,” he said triumphantly. “Steel-Eye Simeon, yes, we’ve had quite a few sightings of him recently!” For a moment he seemed to be about to offer the scroll, but hesitation overtook him. “It’s not the sort of contract we’d normally give to a first-timer,” he mused. “We prefer to offer lower-value work until people have proven they’re capable.”

  Larinna had no idea what Simeon had to do with mapmaking, but she didn’t have to work too hard at feigning offense. As far as the Order was concerned, this was her lifelong nemesis they were discussing. “I’ll hunt down Simeon with or without your help,” she growled. “And once I catch him, there’ll be nothing left for your ‘capable’ pirates.” She felt like she was bluffing on a hand of cards she hadn’t seen, in a game where she didn’t really understand the rules.

  Fortunately, her gamble paid off, and Phoebus practically shoved the box into her hands. “It’s all the information we have,” he said beseechingly, “but we’ll pay you handsomely when you return!” He insisted on taking Larinna’s name into a leather-bound volume and pressing her thumb down onto an inky pad, badgering her to provide a print alongside her signature. As she signed, she spotted Adelheid’s name farther up the page, though it had been viciously crossed out in bold strokes of purple ink. “Can’t be forged,” he explained.

  Rubbing at her inky thumb absentmindedly, Larinna tucked the scroll into her belt and allowed herself to be shown out, still feeling like she was missing a piece of the puzzle. Finally she paused just outside the tent, her curiosity overwhelming her. “Remind me,” she called. “What do I do with Simeon once I have him?”

  “Do?” Phoebus had already returned to his runes but he looked up now, clearly puzzled by such an elementary and obvious question. “Why, bring us his head, of course.”

  Larinna returned to the Unforgiven with her thoughts in a whirl, more baffled now than before her mysterious errand and determined to get some answers at last. Striding into the captain’s cabin and dropping the box onto the desk with a satisfying thunk, she placed both hands on either side of it and glared across at Adelheid, who was peeling an apple with a thin-bladed knife that she always kept on her belt. “What the hell did I just agree to?” she demanded. “Are we bounty hunters now?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Adelheid said, clearly amused by Larinna’s irritation. “They want what’s in Simeon’s head, and it’s up to us to provide it. What did you think of the Order?”

  “A bunch of tricksters pretending they’re mystics and magicians,” Larinna said coldly, forcing herself to adopt a less confrontational stance. “With some very strange business practices. When are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “All in good time,” the smaller woman replied, soothingly. “Think of this as your initiation, if that helps. I’m trusting you, and I want you to trust me in return.” She reached into the box and removed a scroll from within, unfurling it and staring down at the faded lines and scrawled notes that covered it. Larinna thought she vaguely recognized one or two of the tiny landmarks from her brief time in the map room, but it was hard to say for sure.

  “That far out, eh?” Adelheid mused, lingering over the parchment for a moment before suddenly springing to her feet. “This should be fun!” She left the cabin at a trot, and by the time Larinna followed her out she was already up at the helm, calling across to Ned as he began to unfurl the sails. Grumbling, Larinna took hold of the capstan alongside Faizel, who seemed as chatty as ever as they started weighing the anchor.

  “I see that your visit to the Order of Souls was a success!” he called, over the clanking and creaking. “Their ways seem a little strange, yes, but they pay handsomely and I think they are harmless enough.”

  “Harmless?” Larinna shot back. “They tried to rob you!”

  Faizel gave a little shrug. “Negotiations sometimes work a little differently out here. I guarantee that you will see many stranger things. But then, that is why you came to the Sea of Thieves, I think!” Much to her annoyance, Larinna found that she had no answer to that.

  Once they’d cast off, the lanterns were lit, and the sails were billowing with a fair wind, the crew gathered around Adelheid in the map room. “It seems the last sighting of old Steel-Eye was at an abandoned fort near Cannon Cove,” she told them. “Quite a nasty place, I hear, but we’ve got surprise and the night on our side.”

  “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” Ned squinted down at the map and then pointed to a nondescript group of rocks, too small and insignificant even to have a name of their own. “S’got cannons all down the south side and onna top, though, so if they sees us . . .”

  “I am not coming home empty-handed twice in a row,” Adelheid declared, hotly. “We’ll drop anchor here—” she jabbed her own finger at the map “—and swim the rest of the way if we have to.”

  “And if this bounty, this Simeon, is not at the fort after all?” Faizel asked, staring at the expanse of water under Adelheid’s fingertip with a doleful expression.

  “Then we’ll get on those cannons ourselves and make some noise until he shows himself.” Adelheid insisted. “The Order may be a bunch of irritable blowhards with delusions of grandeur, but they’re not in the habit of sending people on wild goose chases. Simeon will be there.”

  With no more to say, they headed back above deck, and despite Faizel’s suggestion that she get some rest in one of the hammocks below deck, Larinna volunteered to take a shift in the crow’s nest. She felt restless and out of sorts, and when it came to it, she knew why. She’d come to the Sea of Thieves to be an explorer, not an executioner, and now her first voyage into the unknown was set to end with her sticking a man she’d never met, for reasons she didn’t fully understand. Hardly an auspicious beginning.

  She tried to distract herself by memorizing the more distinctive islands, memorizing their positions relative to one another and making mental notes of places she’d like to one day visit. Another ship appeared on the horizon at one point but veered away before Larinna could call out. Evidently they, too, had some dark business this night.

  Finally, making use of the spyglass Ned had lent her, she spotted the fort on the horizon, and could tell at once that “nasty” was just the way to describe it. The core of the place was a large rock spire, devoid of vegetation, that rose upward in a twisting spiral with a flat, stumpy summit. The fortress spiraled up and around the spire in a complicated lattice of bridges and walkways, occasionally branching out to watchtowers and ledges on which she could spy the cannons Ned had mentioned.

  Down below, huge wooden stakes jutted out from the base of the fort at various angles. Some were mere branches, others as thick as tree trunks, and any ship that dared to sail too close risked skewering themselves upon them—another reason to berth far, far away. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but even the clouds around the fort seemed ominous and fo
reboding. Once or twice, Larinna swore she could make out a death’s-head billowing above them, though she was sure it was just her imagination.

  Faizel and Ned were extinguishing the lanterns one by one as they drew closer, and Larinna climbed carefully down from the crow’s nest to help furl the sails and slow the ship so it could be steered safely to its hiding place.

  Then the crew clambered down the ship’s ladder one by one and dropped lightly into the chilly water. It was cold enough to sting, and Larinna had to fight the urge to swim for the shallows at speed, for even that might be enough noise to give them away. Paddling quietly, they braved the freezing sea in silence until they reached the shallows, wending their way through the vicious stakes. Faizel in particular seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and even Ned seemed uneasy.

  Only Adelheid was as cocksure as ever, drawing her sword once they reached the slimy rocks that served as both the foundation of the fort and the start of the pathway that led to its uppermost levels. Larinna had expected to see guards patrolling, if the fort was indeed occupied as Phoebus had claimed, and the knot in her stomach loosened slightly at the lack of movement. Perhaps Simeon’s not here after all.

  She remained as vigilant as ever, though, and as Faizel reached a sharp right turn and disappeared out of sight ahead of her, Larinna was sure she caught a blur of motion by his foot. She dropped into a crouch, wishing fervently that she could risk unhooding her lantern if only for a moment to get a proper look around. She poked out with the blade of her sword experimentally but found only old bones lying haphazardly in a pile of loose shale. Probably a rat, she decided, and turned to follow the crew upward, to the next tier of the moldering barricades.

  She’d barely made it three steps farther when she heard it: the scrabbling behind her, getting louder and more persistent. For an instant, she feared a landslide—that the pathway might be crumbling away beneath them—but even as she turned to shout a warning, the truth sucked the breath from her lungs.