Sea of Thieves

by Chris Allcock

  Larinna didn’t think she’d ever run so fast as on the journey back to the ship, and she hurled herself bodily into the water that now flooded the bottom deck with her share of the planks. Working in tandem for as long as they could hold their breaths, she and Adelheid moved methodically through the belly of the stricken ship, looking for the telltale air bubbles that indicated a hull breach.

  Whenever they spotted a stream, they laid a plank across it, pounding in the nails that would hold the wood in place and stop the flow. Every time they sealed one of the Unforgiven’s wounds, they’d erupt from the water, take a deep gulp of air, and move on to the next. Before long, the heat of physical exertion was washed from Larinna’s body, and she felt frozen to her very core by the icy liquid.

  Through it all, Ned kept bailing, and when Larinna came up for another gulp of air she was immensely relieved to see that the water level was back below the hatchway. By the time she’d patched a few more holes it was lower still, and now she felt confident enough to leave the rest of the breaches to Adelheid and rejoin the bailing effort. Before long, they formed an exhausted bucket chain, scooping up water with one hand and accepting empty pails with the other until, at long last, the Unforgiven righted herself. She was whole again.

  They showered Ned with praise, but he simply gave a little smile and went to sit indoors beside Faizel, who was lying under Ned’s jacket in the captain’s cabin. Between their flight, the fight, and the flooding, the ship barely had anything left inside her save for the map table and other shipboard essentials. Even most of their food and grog, which was stored down on the lower deck, had been lost to the seawater.

  Adelheid gave out a long, irritable yawn, seemingly annoyed by her own fatigue, when she caught the others looking at her. “We might as well stay tonight and make camp,” she admitted. “And we may be facing another ambush or a fight, so let’s scavenge anything and everything we can take from here.”

  Larinna nodded, looking around. “Where is ‘here’ anyway? It seems pretty well protected.”

  “This old place?” Adelheid grinned, weariness visible in her eyes. “It’s been a refuge for the lost and lonely as long as anyone can remember. Used to be a pirate hideout way back when. Thieves’ Haven, they called it.”

  Larinna sniffed. “Daft name.”

  “Well, it was the olden days,” Adelheid informed her. “They did things differently back then.”

  They took their ease around an ancient campfire in one of the many offshoots from the central cavern, dining on the fruit that grew on the island’s upper peaks and a pungent jar of pickled fish that had somehow survived the day’s trials intact. No one could remember purchasing it, and Adelheid suggested wafting it under Faizel’s nose to see if it might act like smelling salts. They were still soaked to the bone, and so elected to spend the night around the warmth of the flames rather than in the damp underbelly of the Unforgiven.

  “I remember the first time I found this place,” Adelheid commented, her voice unnaturally nasally as she gulped down one of the fish with her nose pinched tightly shut. “I’d found an old treasure map and was climbing around on top of the cliffs looking for a place to dig. Stepped right through one of the gaps in the ceiling and just dropped like a stone into the sea.”

  They laughed, and Ned replied, “Well, there was one time I was wiv Faizel, right, this was before we met you, captain, and we was out at Shipwreck Bay explorin’ some ol’ galleon, the Blackwyche.”

  Adelheid smirked, laying down with her arms folded behind her head and her eyes closed to take full advantage of the fire’s warmth. “Let me guess—hunting for the Captain’s Soul? You shouldn’t believe everything you read, even out here.”

  “Yeah, well, Faizel says, ‘Ned, you go on up the main mast and see what might be up in the crow’s nest,’ and so muggins ’ere agrees,” Ned continued, stabbing his finger into his own chest. Larinna couldn’t remember ever hearing him talk this much. “And there ain’t no ladder, so I has to wrap my arms around it and slowly make my way up, an’ I’m almost at the top when I hears this crack . . .” Ned raised one arm and mimed the felling of some great tree or other. “Took ’em three hours to dig me out of the sand!”

  “Ned, my friend, you do so love to exaggerate,” Faizel murmured weakly from his prized position by the fire. “It was only two . . . hours . . .” He lapsed back into silence once more, but Larinna could tell that it was the sleep of the exhausted rather than the unconsciousness of the unwell.

  They all relaxed a little more after that and drifted off one by one, not even bothering to keep watch. Nothing disturbed them that night, however, save in those few fleeting dreams that visited them as the moon slid across the sky on some voyage of its own.

  They awoke with the dawn, and though it was a gray and misty morning, everyone felt fresher and more optimistic now that their crew and their ship were whole once again. The fog would make traveling at speed difficult, and Faizel suggested they wait for the morning sun to wash it away and spend that time scouring every nook and cranny of Thieves’ Haven.

  Adelheid agreed, though she insisted they focus their search on supplies they sorely needed. “We’re out of anything and everything,” she reminded them. “Though if someone manages to find me a new bed, something gorgeously soft and fit for an empress, I’ll buy them a drink once we’re rich.”

  They spread out and moved through the caves, poking and prodding into nooks and crannies, though Larinna wondered aloud why they were expecting to find anything at all. Why, she inquired, had this place not been picked clean long ago?

  “Sometimes it is a matter of practicality, I think,” Faizel explained, pottering around quite readily now that the bruise on his head was almost gone. “Let us say you set out on a long voyage loaded with food and supplies, and you come across another ship loaded with treasure. You fight, and of course you win because you are a mighty pirate, but what is this? Your hold is full of bananas. You need the space, so you leave them behind in a place like this, or perhaps throw them overboard to be washed up somewhere. The Sea of Thieves gives and takes in equal measure.”

  “And sometimes it’s a matter of drink,” Adelheid added, rather more pragmatically. “There’ve been plenty of pirates who’ve forgotten where they stashed their cargo or buried a treasure chest because they were too busy raising a glass.” To emphasize her point, she wrenched the lid off a barrel and pulled out a sample of the provisions inside, smirking.

  “Either way,” Faizel continued, “it always pays to be thorough. Sometimes even skeletons will ferry things from place to place. Perhaps they remember the days when they were pirates, or perhaps—”

  He was interrupted by a loud crashing sound from the depths of the cave and an angry bellow from Ned a moment later. Sprinting through the caves in search of the sound, they eventually traced the racket to a large, bowl-shaped room filled with leaves and detritus, with an open roof and a large square pit in the floor.

  There was a grunt, and Ned squeezed himself back through, covered in a thick layer of dust. “Fell inna hole,” he explained. “Wood’s all rotten, see. There’s stuff down there, though. Books and fings.”

  “I have enough to read,” Adelheid said blithely, for her meager library was now at the bottom of the sea.

  Larinna lit her lantern and moved over to what remained of the trap door. “We should be thorough, remember? You never know what might be down there,” she said.

  There was a rope ladder leading into the chamber below, she could see, but time and woodworm had taken their toll, and it looked as rotten as the trapdoor itself had been. Instead, she procured a length of abandoned guide rope she’d spotted during their search, tied several sizable knots in it, and secured it against a large stone pillar. The knots provided small but viable handholds, and Larinna was able to climb deftly down into the hole.

  Much to her surprise, Faizel joined her a moment later. He shrugged when he caught her quizzical expression. “This is more interestin
g than loading up the ship, yes?” He picked up a pile of parchments at random and began to peer at them by the light of the lantern. “Some of these are old, I think, very old indeed . . . hah!”

  Larinna started slightly at his bark of laughter. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, moving deeper into the little room and peeking into boxes to examine their contents.

  “Listen to this,” Faizel cleared his throat and began, somewhat haltingly, to read the unfamiliar scrawl. “New cannon design was a success. Metal from cursed objects seems to keep its special properties and can be used as barrel—M. helped lots!—but still had to coat with two layers of primer. Should be able to handle even larger pirates. Hope to see design made popular, will sell to shipwright for high price.”

  He looked up at Larinna, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think this was an inventor’s workshop, or something very much like it, and of course his design did indeed become popular in time. What a tinkerer he must have been!”

  Larinna was still puzzling over Faizel’s words. “Are you saying he invented magical cannons that could fit pirates?” she said, incredulously. “And you lot launch yourselves out of them?”

  “Of course not,” Faizel said, reproachfully. “That would be foolish.”

  Larinna flushed. “Well that’s what I thought.”

  “It is much better to get someone else to launch you, if possible, so that they can aim.”

  “Yes, but,” Larinna raised her hands in an exasperated gesture, “doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Only if you miss. Now these . . .” Faizel exclaimed, pulling away a large waterproof sheet and examining the weapons underneath it. “These could be worth getting excited about, perhaps?” He pulled out a large rifle with a very long barrel and squinted down its sight. “Yes, I think these will be very useful indeed if our adversaries really have made it to Tribute Peak ahead of us.”

  Larinna, moving to appreciate a gilded sword hanging on a rack, couldn’t help but agree, especially when she considered the chipped and blunted offering from Wilbur that currently hung at her side. “They’re in superb condition, yes.”

  “Fashioned back when the world was new,” Faizel mused. “The others will be very pleased, I think.”

  Working together, they carefully removed all of the weapons they could find from the dusty old workshop, along with a healthy supply of lead shot. With a gem-studded pistol at her side and the weight of a gleaming cutlass in her hand, Larinna felt far more confident about taking on any other crews who dared to stand in their way. As an afterthought, she carefully wrapped Wilbur’s old sword in an oilcloth and placed it in a barrel for some down-on-their-luck wanderer to find in the future. Give and take, she thought with satisfaction.

  They piled the rest into a large weapon chest and carried it gingerly to the gangplank, expecting to be met with congratulations for their find. The minute they saw Adelheid standing at the stern of the Unforgiven, however, they knew that something was wrong.

  “We’ve got company,” she said grimly as they approached. From this angle, the cave’s opening gave them a narrow view of the ocean; by following Adelheid’s outstretched finger, they spied the forbidding silhouette of another ship threading its way through the morning’s mist. Larinna’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me. Is that . . .”

  “The Black Gauntlet,” Adelheid said, grimly. “Scorched but not scuppered, it would seem.” She kicked irritably at a chunk of driftwood, watching it skip across the water below. “We lingered too long.”

  “Assuming they know we’re here,” Faizel offered. “Perhaps they came to Thieves’ Haven to lick their wounds, just as we did?”

  Adelheid shook her head. “They’d likely have sailed straight inside if that was the case. Instead, they’ve been circling. No, they’ve got us trapped, and they know it. We’ll have to—”

  “Ned, no!”

  The cry rang out with such ferocity that Ned actually jumped, poking his head up above deck as Faizel tore across the gangplank and snatched at whatever he was carrying. He held it at arm’s length as he carried it well away from the Unforgiven, moving with such caution that the box might as well have been a fizzing powder keg. Larinna couldn’t quite understand the reason for his alarm, though, for what he’d confiscated seemed to be just another treasure chest, albeit one with a very unusual design on its lid. It reminded her of something, but she wasn’t certain what.

  “What’s wrong, Faizel?” Ned had moved to stand behind them, looking upset. “I couldn’t find a way to open it, so I thought I’d bring it aboard for later.”

  “Well-intentioned as ever, my friend,” Faizel said consolingly. “But with our luck so far, we scarcely need to be bringing a cursed chest with us on our voyage.”

  “Cursed?” Adelheid, who was a moment away from brushing the lid of the strange box with her fingers, jerked her hand away immediately. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It is known as a Chest of Sorrow, though I have only seen one like it before,” Faizel proclaimed. “If it is disturbed, it will begin to cry at intervals, normally when you least wish it to do so, until the box is opened. If we wait a moment, I’m sure you will see for yourselves . . .”

  As they watched in horrified fascination, the design upon the box ran thick with moisture, and Larinna recognized what she was looking at: the face of a mer, at least as she’d heard them described, twisted in misery. Great rivulets of water began to gush from its large, mournful eyes, and a forlorn sobbing echoed throughout the cavern. In moments, a small waterfall was trickling over the edge of the walkway and into the seawater basin below.

  “Anyone who unwittingly carries a chest such as this as cargo will soon find themselves quite flooded out,” Faizel commented. “It is better for us to leave the wretched thing behind for some more desperate soul to take as a prize.”

  “Faizel,” Larinna murmured, thoughtfully. “About those modified cannons you mentioned, I don’t suppose you’ve seen any around Thieves’ Haven? Any form of defense?”

  “Only one, on the north face of the island, and one is not enough. You would get one surprise shot off, perhaps two, and then whoever is working the cannon risks being blown to pieces because they are a stationary target. We pirates are somewhat harder to patch back together than our ships, I am sad to say.”

  “You sound like you’ve got another plan,” Adelheid challenged her. “May I remind you that your last scheme nearly cost us the bloody ship?”

  Larinna scowled. “At least give me a chance to explain what I have in mind before you tell me I’m crazy . . .”

  “You’re crazy,” Adelheid told Larinna for the fourth time, watching the taller woman slide herself awkwardly into the barrel of the cannon. “Insane, even. Have you any idea how difficult this will be?”

  “You wanted me to trust you,” Larinna grunted, squeezing her arms up in front of her so that she could reach out and accept the cursed chest from Faizel. She hoped fervently that the wretched thing wouldn’t start sobbing while it was inside the cannon with her. “That’s why I’m letting you take the shot.”

  “Yes, and since I first laid eyes on you, there have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to launch you into the sea. I just never imagined our lives would depend on it.” Adelheid moved around to the back of the cannon and gave it an experimental tug, shifting the little circle that currently provided Larinna’s only window into the world so that it pointed down toward the water. Far below, she could see the imposing form of the Black Gauntlet, its deck blistered and burned from the fire they’d started, several of its sails singed, but armed and ready for a fight. She could just about make out Captain Quince, motionless at the prow of the ship like a hunter watching a foxhole.

  “Maybe a bit to the left,” she said nervously. “And watch the angle, I don’t want to skim like a stone. Oh, and did you remember to the factor in—”

  Adelheid, with no small amount of pleasure evident on her face, fired the cannon.

  Larinna’s world explode
d with a shockwave that started at her boots and ricocheted up through her body like a tsunami, rattling her from toes to teeth as she was flung through the air. She clutched the Chest of Sorrow like a lifeline, wearing an expression that somewhat resembled the design on its lid as the stinging wind brought tears to her eyes. Her hair whipped madly across her face, both ears still rang with the cannon’s roar, and for a moment Larinna sailed helplessly across the sky, blind and deaf to everything.

  She reached the apex of her flight and she blinked furiously as her stomach gave a lurch, forcing her eyes open a crack so that she could peer downward and work out where she was going to land. Worried that she might fall short of her destination, Larinna concentrated on bringing her knees up snugly against the bottom of the silver box and tucking in her elbows so that she was as small a target as possible.

  Behind her, a second shot rang out, then a third as Adelheid put the second phase of their plan into motion. The cannon fire was designed to distract attention from Larinna—to make it seem like she was just another shot that had missed its mark and struck the water. Hopefully, no one would pay her the slightest bit of notice. If she was spotted, she was as good as dead.

  The Black Gauntlet was directly underneath her now, her crow’s nest so close Larinna felt like she could almost touch it. Fortunately, the crew were squabbling among themselves as they searched for the source of Adelheid’s ambush, and no one thought to check the skies for flying pirates.

  Now Larinna was level with the balcony that wrapped around the captain’s cabin, and she had only a second to suck in a deep breath before the waves closed over her head. Her momentum carried her deep underwater, and she kicked out and up, turning as sharply as she dared. A few determined seconds of swimming saw her break the surface once more, alongside the bottom of a thin ladder that ran up the side of the Black Gauntlet.

  Now comes the hard part, she thought, grimly, tucking the box under her arm as she grabbed the lowest of the rungs. The chest had started crying again, and she hoped that the wailing sound it made would be drowned out by the general commotion above deck, for Quince and his crew had begun peppering Thieves’ Haven with cannon fire of their own.