by Dawn Cook
I was miserable, cold to my core and shivering. It was only an hour or so past sunrise, but I felt as if I had been tied to the mast forever. I didn’t think I could get my cramped muscles to move even if I hadn’t been tied.
My eyes had been fixed upon the sails of the Sandpiper ever since we turned our bow to follow her, first by moonlight and now by sun. We were gaining very slowly, but I hoped that when the Sandpiper hit the stronger wind past the next string of islands, the longer boat would leap ahead. The capital was four easy days of sail ahead of us. They could make it in two hard days of sail, and perhaps as little as one and a half if they rode as if the hounds of hell were chasing in their foam path and the wind held.
We were now close enough that when the salt wasn’t making my eyes tear, I could see figures moving about the deck. They had been throwing things overboard for the last hour, trying to lighten their weight so as to move faster, but the burned sails and limited rigging was slowing them where they once would have left us far behind. I fancied I could hear Captain Borlett shouting from time to time over the wind in my ears.
Captain Rylan was pacing from mast to mast in worry that we’d lose them despite the obvious inevitability of how this day was going to end, but Mr. Smitty and the crew had a confident, almost festive disposition.
“Captain Rylan!” the dour Mr. Smitty called, his voice carrying well. “I told you we’d catch them, and we will! You’ll be walking a hole in my deck if you’re not careful. Then poor Duncan will have to fix that, too.”
I heard the well-dressed, bell-decked man’s boots come to a halt close behind me. “I don’t share your confidence, Mr. Smitty,” Captain Rylan said, clearly peeved and impatient. “We should lighten our load as well.”
“No need,” Mr. Smitty said, and the men listening chuckled. “We’ll be treating you to a fine bit of piracy afore the bloody boat gets halfway past that next island.”
Looking bothered, Captain Rylan stomped past me to the bow, holding on to the railing through the waves as several of the crewmen laughed their agreement. The position of the sun shifted slightly, and the bouncing grew less. I relaxed a notch, knowing that as long as the captain stood there, no water would be coming over the deck to soak me.
From behind me came the soft sound of instruction being given, and soon Mr. Smitty padded up in his silent boots to Captain Rylan. “My boys,” he said by way of greeting. “They set the markers as soon as we got here on the chance a merchant vessel came through early.”
Captain Rylan grunted, the silver of his beard glinting in the sun when he turned to the shorter man. A wide grin came over his face, worrying me. “Where are they?” he asked, squinting as he looked forward.
Mr. Smitty pointed, and I followed Captain Rylan’s gaze to a large stake jutting up out of the water to warn ships of a shallow spot. “I’ll be damned,” the captain swore. “How’s the tide, Mr. Smitty?”
“Hanging as low as my dear mum’s breasts,” the man said with a cackle. “She might see the shallows, but in this light and with these waves, it won’t do her any good. It’s as fine a wrecking spot as we’ve ever had. She’s a long vessel, and she’ll never make the turn to get out. Not goin’ as fast as she is. I don’t care how much she threw over to lighten herself, she’s going to ground.”
I slumped into my ropes as I realized what was going to happen. The pirates had moved the shallow-water markers. A ship aground was easier to take than one moving.
“She’s coming about!” came an excited call from the man hanging carelessly from a shroud high above the deck, and my eyes flew open. “Her sails are flapping! She’s going, going . . . She’s aground!” the man shouted. “She’s aground and listing!”
A flurry of motion thundered as bare feet raced over the deck. Mr. Smitty looked like a wild man, his eyes glinting in anticipation. I sat helpless as he nodded once to Captain Rylan, and the two men walked past me to the wheel, their steps eager and fast. My heart sank. I was tied to the foremast and could do nothing but listen to the excited talk of how to best take my boat. Tar was being heated, and knots were being checked. The snick, snick, snick of metal being sharpened chilled me. I could do nothing. All my magical skills meant nothing.
We closed upon the floundering Sandpiper quickly, skimming over the shallower water with no hindrance. “Prepare grapples!” Mr. Smitty shouted, when we neared close enough to hear the shouts from the Sandpiper, and the men aboard her swarmed to the railing, ready to repel them. I searched the familiar faces, meeting them, seeing their resolve. Sailors with bared metal guarded the entrances to the lower decks. Captain Jeck was among them. His face was empty, and he wouldn’t look at me. My chest tightened in fear and shame that he had used me so easily.
“All hands to starboard hull!” Mr. Smitty bellowed, and I tugged at my bindings. “Not you, Duncan,” he added harshly. “Get back here. You’ll be my messenger boy.”
Frantic with the need to be free, I squirmed and wiggled, trying to find enough slack to do something. My stiff muscles protested, and my shoulder throbbed. The best I could manage was to shift my position so I could see better. My sister was aboard that boat. I was responsible for her, and I’d lost her twice.
Panic started a slow burn in my belly. My pulse quickened at the sound of men shouting. I stiffened when the tingle of venom scoured through me. Frightened, I looked at Jeck, wondering if he had darted me over the closing distance for some reason. But though his face was grim and his muscles bunched in anticipation, he wasn’t paying me any attention.
A wave of dizziness rose high through me, and my cold, sun- and water-soaked body began to tremble. I felt my face go ashen when I realized what was happening. I hadn’t drawn on my magic, but the lingering venom in my healing tissues was being washed out by my increased blood flow. God help me. Was this going to happen every time I was afraid?
The sound of slapping water and the shouting of Captain Borlett drew my frightened gaze, and I breathed shallowly trying to fight off the vertigo. The shadow of the Sandpiper’s rigging fell over me, cold. “Hooks, away!” Mr. Smitty shouted. He was standing behind the wheel with an exuberant Captain Rylan and a sullen Duncan.
With a horrendous yell, the men with hooks flung them.
Pulling against my ties, I watched helplessly as Captain Borlett sent his men forward and they sawed at the ropes or tried to pry them loose.
“Haul us in!” Mr. Smitty shouted. Grunts rose as the ropes were tossed to the largest crew members waiting behind them, and muscles bulged and tensed.
“Board her! Take her!” Mr. Smitty screamed, and men swung from the stays, dropping to the deck like birds from an arrow. I watched, aghast when what looked like a hundred men swarmed aboard the Sandpiper. All were shouting and swinging their weapons. The two vessels slowly came together, meeting with a crack and groan that sent my heart into my throat.
Salt water burned my wrists, and they grew slick when I gave a cry and tore the skin. Spitting the hair from my mouth, I flung my head so I could see. “Jeck!” I cried when I found him. He stood taller then most, his black uniform a dark splash among the bare skin and colorful reds of the pirates. Again, I twisted, managing to gain my knees though my arms were bent cruelly backward and my legs ached so badly I had to hold my breath against the pain. He had to protect her. I didn’t care if I lost my kingdom before I gained it. She was my sister.
My overwhelming need to get free died in slack amazement as I realized Jeck was killing the attacking crew with an eerie regularity. Sword swinging, he made the same four moves over and over again. Strike, parry, strike, strike—and the man was gasping his last atop the deck, and Jeck was stepping to the next.
Ringing him were men unmoving and spilling their blood or shuddering men dragging themselves away. Red made the deck shine under his feet. His bearded face was empty, his eyes lost under his black hair. I could see his jaw clench and release with every blow. The mindless numbness in his eyes and the savagery and strength of his motions were
shocking in their contrasts.
I’d heard of men possessed by death before, but I’d never seen it. And that was what he looked like, one of death’s minions standing atop my boat in his black-and-gold uniform, muscles moving untiringly as he fought with a silence that struck fear into those he fixed his eyes upon. I watched him strike another pirate with no care that the man had lived and breathed and would take no more joy in another day. The man fell, screaming his last breath out in pain and fear, and Jeck moved to the next.
Sickened, I hung my head. I would not say it was wrong. I would not say it was right. Stupid, stupid men who knew no other way to be, and so those who did had no choice but to respond in kind. My sister was helpless, and I knew I would do the same as Jeck if it would ensure her life.
But the sound of battle drew my head up as I hung in my ropes and fought to keep conscious while the venom swirled in me. I watched through blurring vision the three men fight to protect a small forward hatch. Black spots swam before me as one fell. Captain Rylan shouted from the safety of his ship, and three more pirates hacked into the fray, headed for them.
I took three slow breaths, the muscles in my arms and legs starting to shake when I realized what was going on. Captain Rylan had just sent his best men to the hatch. Contessa.
Tension slammed into me, my racing pulse making venom burn in me like molten metal. “Jeck! The hatch!” I shrieked, when another Costenopolie sailor went down. The last quickly followed, overpowered by three pirates. “Jeck!” I cried, unheard over the shouting men and flapping sails.
He didn’t hear. Sword swinging he cut down another, drawing a breath before he strode to the next.
My panicked gaze shot to the hatch. Two pirates stood before it, swords bared, but not fighting. They were belowdecks. The pirates had taken the lower deck!
I tried to stand, failing. Frustration scoured my veins, and I gave a mighty heave at my ropes. Pain raced up my arms and into my skull. I fell back to my knees, almost crying. I could do nothing. Jeck couldn’t hear me.
“Jeck!” I cried again. The venom rose as fear and frustration made my heart pound.
Venom, I thought suddenly. If Jeck couldn’t hear me, perhaps I could tell him in his thoughts. Fear for my sister brought my head up. My breath caught. I was balancing on the edge of unconsciousness already. If I tried to use my magic, I might pass out entirely or flood my body with so much toxin that I died. Searching my feelings, I decided I didn’t care.
Frightened, I shut my eyes, trying to ignore the sounds of clattering canvas and the screams of men. I took three breaths, willing the venom into play. A feeling of disconnection made my head spin. I had to find Jeck’s thoughts. I had to warn him they were below.
Vertigo came out of the darkness like a wave, smothering me. I gasped for air, unable to get enough. My hands cramped into a painful twist, and my head pounded as though someone were hammering on it. Tremors took me, the ropes binding me the only thing keeping me upright. I sent my thoughts out, searching for emotions not mine, wondering how I would find and separate Jeck from the swirling mass of fear and determination around me.
Mirror-bright thoughts of manta rays intruded, shocking me. I pushed them away, sensing their wonder and excitement at the new, curious things that had been sinking slowly and leading them here.
Panic took hold; I’d never find Jeck. I sank deeper into my search, hearing my breath go raspy and irregular as the venom started to affect my involuntary muscles. Suddenly, I fell into a frightening emptiness. I found myself willing myself not to think. There was no emotion for me but to finish a task I no longer knew the reason for. My muscles felt weary and heavy. They had begun to tremble, and I spared a thought that I must be getting old if I was feeling tremors after only this small exertion.
Faint in my thoughts was the barest whisper that something was wrong. This couldn’t be right! But like a soap bubble bursting, it came to me.
I had found Jeck, his body weary and his mind shut down to all but one purpose. Our thoughts were mingling. He was feeling my body shaking under the overdose of toxin, and I was experiencing the empty emotion he coated himself with when he killed.
Jeck! I thought. They’ve gained the lower decks! They’re belowdecks!
A new pain ripped through me. I gasped as my eyes flashed open. For an instant, I was on the deck of the Sandpiper, staring at my bright blood splattering the face of the frightened man before me. She was in my head, I thought, the notion not mine but Jeck’s. The chancellor’s apprentice was in my head!
Get out! I heard him demand. A fearsome cry of determination rumbled up from inside me, bursting out as Jeck shouted aloud. The two of us together sent his sword into the man before us with a strength born from his fear at what I had done.
Nausea bubbled up through me when I watched through Jeck the man’s eyes bulge in a silent scream. He fell to his knees, his hands clutching Jeck’s sword protruding from him. Then he fell to the deck, blood flowing as he tried to get away, his motions quickly losing strength as he drowned in his own blood.
Panting to keep from vomiting, I tore myself from Jeck’s thoughts, finding myself kneeling and tied to the mast. Now I knew why Jeck emptied his mind when he fought. To watch himself do that would drive any man insane.
“Cease fighting!” I heard Alex cry out, his voice harsh in fear. “God save you, stop!”
Kneeling with my arms twisted behind me, I brought my head up. Tears blurred my vision. The shouting diminished to leave only the harsh clattering of the unattended sails. I tossed my head to see past my dripping curls, and my rasping breath grew steady. Tears slipped down my face unremarked upon. I had failed.
Contessa was on deck, a pirate’s hairy arm about her neck and a short dagger digging into her side. Fear struck me like a slap. I’d seen a knife at my mother’s neck once when Alex’s brother had taken my kingdom through blood instead of marriage. And she had died in my arms, thinking he was bluffing.
Contessa was frightened, but her lips were pursed in that same defiance I had seen upon my mother before a soldier had slit her throat. Alex’s sword was already in another’s possession. His eyes were on Contessa, and his face was riven with failure. But it wasn’t his failure, it was mine.
“Drop your sword, Captain!” Captain Rylan shouted from his wheel, his hands on his hips and his hat shading his face from the morning sun. “Your boat is aground and your prince and his queen are mine!”
“Do it,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. “Jeck, drop your sword.” The memory of my mother’s death swirled up, choking me.
Jeck stood alone, surrounded by the carnage he had made, his stance wire-tight and unwilling to bend. One long tear in his uniform showed where a sword had reached him when my thoughts had distracted him. Past it, a shallow cut slowly oozed. The crewmen of the Sandpiper had already surrendered their weapons and were kneeling on the deck by the railing. Jeck was the only one left.
Never taking his eyes from Captain Rylan, Jeck tossed his sword into the air and caught it by the blade. His jaw clenched to make cords of muscle in his neck, he handed it to the man closest to him.
A cheer rose from the pirates. Contessa was pushed to the railing. A plank had been extended between the two vessels, and she was carried across, frightened and clutching at the man who held her. Alex was next, allowed to walk it with a sword pressing into his shoulder.
Contessa’s eyes found me when her feet touched the deck. Her defiance washed away in panic. White-faced, they pushed her belowdecks right after Alex.
The surrendered crewmen were led across one by one. My spirits grew lower and tears closed my throat as Captain Borlett was dragged onto the pirates’ ship, slung between two of his battered crew members. Blood seeped from him, making an ominous trail from his thigh to his foot. Why? I thought as I leaned forward into the ropes, uncaring that they burned into me. What had it all been for? It would have been better had Jeck never tried to free us.
My gaze went to him
, now kneeling in the sun. His hands were bound behind him, and the surrounding men had nicked pieces of his skin to make his blood run. Jeck took it without comment, not recognizing the pain but for a steady tightening of the muscles in his shoulders. I felt sick. I had tried to make things better but only made them worse.
“What about him?” one of the men called, pointing his blood-smeared dagger at Jeck.
“Leave him,” Mr. Smitty said. “A man like him won’t leave his sovereign to become pirate. More likely he’d lie to remain free, then try to help his prince.” He lifted his chin and ran a hand across it. “Isn’t that right, Captain?” he called out.
Jeck raised his eyes from the horizon. “Yes, sir,” he said softly, his resonant voice carrying over the slapping waves and thumping canvas. The captured Costenopolie soldiers were silent in their shame and fear.
“But bring me his boots afore you set the boat afire,” Mr. Smitty said. Then he paused, turning to Captain Rylan. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
The graying man snickered and moved his feet to make his belled boots ring. “Take the spoils of the battle, Mr. Smitty. I’m after the wealth of the war. And that tin of ointment he has in his things.”
Mr. Smitty grinned. It was the first time I had seen such an expression on the short, dour man, and it didn’t make him look anymore pleasant. “Get me his boots!” he demanded, and I watched, helpless, as they pushed Jeck down, cuffing him to stillness and taking his boots. His bare feet looked white in the sun, and odd, as he still wore his leather gloves.
The ship’s boy scampered under the deck while Jeck clenched his jaw in frustration. A laughing cheer came from the pirates when the boy levered himself back onto the deck wearing Jeck’s second coat. The black-and-gold fabric fell all the way to the planking, almost tripping him. Grinning wildly, the boy held up Jeck’s stock of toxin in one hand, the player’s second sword in the other. He scrambled back aboard the pirates’ ship, running to Captain Rylan and getting his hair tousled fondly as the man tucked the tin into a wide pocket.
