Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II

by Lucas Paynter

  “One of the spies is supposed to be the daughter of a Cavonish official,” Flynn explained. “Apparently we’re making a trade.”

  “Apparently?” Longhart questioned.

  “All we were told. Someone’s supposed to meet us on the Red Coast with details. They want this kept quiet.”

  Longhart contemplated Flynn’s story, then retreated to discuss things with her subordinate. The two privates took to the fore and watched Flynn and Shea guardedly. He didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what Longhart was saying: she didn’t believe him or his story, but so long as there was a chance it was true, she couldn’t act against him. When she returned for discussions, the smile she wore was nothing more than veneer.

  “It’s fortunate, then, that our ship limped your way. It seems without a proper navigator, you’ve been bearing too hard north. And perhaps you haven’t heard, but a naval war has broken out between the Follasi and the Gruuns. Even armed, a little ship like this would be torn to splinters just treading the borders.” Even if Longhart had said her farewells then, the plan had been dashed. They had hoped to sail to Thoris and figure out how to break into the forbidden continent from there. The prospect now seemed all but impossible.

  Longhart continued. “What’s more, your mission sounds too important to leave to chance. My ship, the Callah, survived a devastating fight with three Cavonish warships, but we have lost supplies, crewmates, and morale. We are too far from Tryna to make a full recovery, so my crew will—ah, heh,” she suppressed a patronizing laugh, then concluded, “merge with yours.”

  Flynn stifled any objections. Longhart was resolute. He hoped to approach the captain again and convince her of the needlessness of this ‘gesture’ but already too many soldiers were crossing over, leaving the Callah with only a skeleton crew. The full crew would have starved on their remaining supplies, but what they had was enough to navigate to a friendly port.

  Shea was relieved from the helm, and any chance of a peaceful resolution sailed off with the Callah. Longhart made one last promise. “And after we land at the Red Coast and the spies are handled, we sail for Bheln. Our comrades struggle to hold the Inven River, and I am electing to charge to their aid.”

  *

  Chari sat on one of the barrels, her hands clasped together. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt uneasy in the clammy atmosphere of their supposed cell. She was not the only one who was restless. Soldiers had been moving around the surrounding deck for the last hour, and showed no signs of leaving.

  “Think they know about us?” Zaja asked in a hushed tone. She sat in the corner, wrapped in several blankets.

  “Only reason they haven’t cracked this place open for a decent look,” Jean reasoned. Poe swept irately to the grated hatch and gripped a section of the bars; it held firm. “Chill,” she scolded. “I can bust through that thing the second ya need me to.”

  “Without care, you may rupture the hull of our ship in the process,” Chari warned. “Did I yet possess any faith in my goddess, I would be praying right now.”

  “Think things are that bad up there?”

  “Break the door down, Jean,” Poe requested as he reached for the Searing Truth. “I shall drive the interlopers from our ship.”

  Zella, who had been sitting peacefully up to this point, spoke. “No. These soldiers have done nothing wrong.”

  “Then where’s Flynn?” Zaja asked.

  “Perhaps he has been detained. This is a Trynan vessel we commandeered. Flynn may have been unable to lie his way out of that simple fact.”

  Chari chuckled at the notion. “Ye of little faith…”

  It was dark below deck, save for the gentle glow of Zella’s scars. They had their flashlights in the event of an emergency, and the more time that passed, the more it appeared one had befallen them. There’d been considerable activity just a little earlier, but it was subsiding.

  “The footsteps are quieting,” Poe observed. “Our intruders may yet be leaving.”

  Chari listened with new interest. It did sound as though the footsteps were fading, save for a single set that seemed to be hurrying their way. She rose, waiting for the hatch to be unbarred.

  “’Ello? Chari? Poe?”

  “Alicea,” Poe acknowledged in return. They could see her relief through the bars, before she startled and looked back down the corridor.

  “Sorry, thought I heard a body. Not much time.”

  “Why don’t you come in, then?” Zaja asked.

  “Can’t bloody well bar the door from the inside, can I?” she snapped. “Problems up here. First, change of course: naval war up north, have to land. Have at Thoris on foot.”

  “First means there a second,” Jean replied. “What’s the other problem?”

  “Ship’s been accosted by a Trynan captain, Edia Longhart. Good reputation, that one. Ship and crew both torn to hell, still ready to dive back to the fray.”

  Jean shoved her way to the front of the group. “And we didn’t have cannons lined up on these prigs why?”

  “Kin-Kin doesn’t handle weapons. Passed by Fevell just ’fore the ocean. That was the place to gear up, ’cept our lack of personnel or papers. And, ’sides,” Shea added, “not about to fire on my countrymen.”

  “What matter is their allegiance to you?” Chari asked. “You have forsaken your people and they attacked us. We have only enemies.” Shea was downcast but gave no answer. More urgent concerns gripped Chari’s mind. “Shea, we cannot stay here. These are not fitted accommodations, and the dank air will be especially hostile for Zaja—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Zaja interrupted. More softly, she added, “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Some fortune, still,” Shea continued. “Longhart bought the lie: dangerous spies below deck. Handle feedings myself till we reach Cavo land for the trade. Another week ’fore landing, so … time.”

  Poe struck the grate with his fist. “Then release us, now! We shall rout them from the ship within the hour!”

  “You daft?! Enough here to crew the ship, all armed. Only found a minute while Longhart gets assessments. Likely ’bout done with that.”

  Chari fell back against the wall. A week, trapped in the dark? Or a blind gambit against an unknown number of experienced soldiers? Though her rifle trumped theirs, one lucky shot would still end Chari’s life. Were she back on TseTsu, she’d have led a meaningless prayer for divine intervention that would never be seen, nor felt, nor known. They were alone, buoyed by the cold waters of an infinite ocean. They would have to save themselves.

  CHAPTER NINE: Captains of Destiny

  While Shea had been forcibly integrated into Captain Longhart’s crew, Flynn had been escorted to one of the smaller cabins, where he was told he would remain for the nine or so days the voyage was expected to take.

  It took him two to get free.

  A rotation of guards had been placed outside Flynn’s door, and with little else to do, he conversed with them, piecemealing Trynan naval law along the way. When he requested an audience with Captain Longhart, the only question in his mind was whether he would be brought to the captain’s cabin or if she would deign to visit him.

  “I was informed you wish to speak with me?” Longhart asked as she entered, her arms kept in a disciplined hold behind her back.

  “Am I a prisoner of war?” he asked simply.

  “A what?” She was genuinely surprised at the question.

  “Trynan military charter dictates that prisoners of war must be classified as enemy combatants or traitors to the homeland. I have done nothing to define myself as either, yet I am being imprisoned against my will.” Longhart seemed surprised at this declaration. Perhaps she would take care in assigning less knowledgeable guards in the future. Flynn leaned forward in his seat. “You’ve passed judgment on me from the moment we first met.”

  One of Longhart’s arms fell from behind her back, hanging limply by her cutlass. “Would you not strike vermin from your ship the moment you spied it?”

 
“You doubt me, but you can’t take the chance that I’m right and you ignored my mission. If the father of the brat down below has as much sway as we think, returning her might make him a little more sympathetic to Trynan interests. It wouldn’t stop the fighting—they betrayed us, after all—but it could make a day’s difference. And that could save a lot of lives.”

  Flynn could sense her frustration. Were she less honorable, Longhart would have ignored his request for an audience and left him alone until they landed. Coming down to his cabin meant she was willing to meet him on his level, and that made her vulnerable.

  “All true,” she conceded. “You have spoken plainly; therefore, so shall I. You are correct in your assessment: I do not trust you. I have met insipid con men as you before, Flynn, and I am not impressed. So I shall warn you thusly: if the spoiled brat and her companions are less than they claim to be, if your contact fails to materialize on the Red Coast, I shall execute the seven of you and leave the tide to wash your blood from the sands.”

  Something in Flynn clicked at the number seven. “You’re counting Shea as one of us?”

  “Unlike you, I know she is who she claims to be. I fought alongside her brother, Tevin Bagwell, and she is as described. Confess you’ve been leading her on and I will change course for Bheln now and forgive her of any transgressions. Who knows?” she added. “I may even leave you and those ‘spies’ in a lifeboat, a few days from the coast. I do not savor executions. There is no honor to be found in them.”

  Flynn nearly took Longhart’s offer. Any attempt to retake the ship could end badly, and the group’s survival and continuance might be worth cutting Shea loose. But in the same breath, he considered her feelings, and was more troubled by his own. He’d grown comfortable in Shea’s company, and wouldn’t sacrifice her.

  “I ask you again, Captain,” he returned. “Am I a prisoner of war?”

  Longhart shook her head and admitted, “I have no right to detain you. I expect you may wish to speak with Bagwell, as you are previously acquainted, but do not interfere with the crew or their duties, or I may well suspect you of sabotage.”

  “Sabotage?” Flynn asked. “What harm could I do? I’m just one man.”

  In the days following Flynn’s release, he found Longhart’s crew running things better than his could ever have managed. Shea had been demoted from helmsman to deckhand, and Longhart’s aide—one Lieutenant Cloven—had taken her place. Save for some small talk with Shea, Flynn spoke with no one; he simply observed the crew at their labors, all the while feeling the wind, watching the skies. They were five days in with their unwelcome allies when a favorable opportunity arrived, and Flynn convinced a guard to take leave long enough to visit the hold.

  “I daresay, I find these barbaric conditions simply deplorable!” a voice cried from below. “Why, when my father learns of how I’ve been interred … Flynn?”

  Chari was at the base of the stairs, where the light from above met the darkness down below. Lit enough to see, but still difficult to discern. It warmed his heart to see her again.

  “So you’re the ‘brat’ that Longhart complained about?”

  Jean joined her at the fore. “Gonna let us out, ya smug bastard?” She was faintly smiling, less angry than impatient.

  “Not yet. I’m working on a way to take the ship back. I’ve been biding my time … and there’s a storm coming.”

  “A storm? That, like, a metaphor or somethin’?”

  Flynn blinked. “No, Jean, it’s–it’s a literal storm.”

  “Then we strike amidst the chaos and confusion?” Chari asked. “What if this promised storm misses us?”

  “Better for us if it doesn’t. If we land with Longhart still on board, we break for it and hope everyone survives.”

  Zaja chimed in from beyond Flynn’s field of vision. “That is the worst plan B I’ve heard in a while.”

  “You’re doing alright down there, Zaja?” Flynn asked.

  “Okay,” she said indifferently. “Everyone’s been taking turns keeping me warm. I’ll—” she started, then stifled a yawn. “I’m getting by.”

  “It won’t be much longer,” he promised. “Another day, two tops.”

  “We shall be ready,” Poe promised as he emerged from the shadows. “These fools have no idea what’s been lurking beneath them.”

  “Who the fuck’s lurking?” Jean asked. “I don’t lurk.”

  Poe shook his head. “I meant it figuratively. ‘Lying in wait,’ if you prefer.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Chari assured Flynn. He nodded, but couldn’t respond; the guard was returning from his cigarette break, and if he picked up even a whiff of their conversation, the ruse would be shot. Chari picked up his cue, and began cursing like a spoiled brat once more.

  *

  For the first time since leaving Selif, Shea found she missed the 13th Division, and wondered how her old comrades were. Serving with the crew of the Callah was lonely; no one knew her or spoke to her except to give orders. Even Captain Longhart had not bothered with her after the first day. Shea was not eager to return to war, but the question—This a second chance?—still held her thoughts.

  “Had a look in the hold? Few of the prisoners have Hucklemeyer’s Disease.”

  “The fuck is Huckmeer’s Disease?”

  Two soldiers were walking the corridors as Shea cleaned one of the cannons brought over from the Callah. They didn’t even notice her.

  “Hucklemeyer’s,” the first corrected. “Swear I saw one, stark blue.”

  “Blue?” the other asked incredulously.

  “Far along, that one,” he said piteously. “Other in earlier stage, cracks in ’er skin. Hurt just to look at.”

  “Hold on, where’d you get this?”

  “Weeks back, ’fore we crossed those Cavo ships!” the first replied. “Mate of mine from the 13th, on the Desanter. Mentioned it while passing supplies our way.”

  As their discussion continued beyond earshot, Shea found she missed such banter, and wondered if she could find the same with Flynn’s company, or if their origins were too diverse to ever truly become familiar with one another. Could she stay with Longhart’s crew and return to the front? Would she be accepted if she did, her trespasses forgiven?

  Flynn was approaching, and her heart raced at the very thought of gunfire raining down once more. It hadn’t been hell all the time, but any good memories drowned beneath the bad. She leaned on the cannon, hand to her chest, and tried to calm down as he drew near.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

  “Kill for a smoke. Ran out days ago.”

  “How do you manage a habit like that in a war zone?” Flynn asked.

  “Nicked one from a mate,” she replied. “Helped the nerves. Hard to come by on the front, learned to make my own after some … failures.” Shea fell quiet, but Flynn gave her a half-smile, prompting her to finish. “Bloody hell,” she groaned. “Skip ahead. Red and yellow herb, thought it safe to smoke. Learned after, locals called it ‘Devil’s Surprise.’ Follow?”

  Flynn cracked a smile. “I think. Is this one of those stories that ends with you naked, tied to a post, and ranting about the value of turnips in politics? Believe it or not, I’ve heard one like it.”

  Shea tightly clutched her polishing rag, twisting it while uttering her stiff reply. “Like to think mine’s better.”

  Flynn peered out the porthole. “Have you been watching the skies?”

  “Looks like rain,” she said.

  “Winds have been picking up. Enough of the crew think a heavy storm is coming our way, which means they’ll need every free hand they’ve got to keep the ship from getting torn apart.”

  “Then we strike,” Shea realized. There was no triumph in this conclusion, no joy in the revealed opportunity. Every free hand included her own, which meant this betrayal would come when they were counting on her the most. As if Flynn could read her mind, he leaned in and made eye contact.

  “The other
s, in the hold, they’re counting on you. If we don’t pull this off, they’re all dead.” Shea nodded apprehensively. Nothing of the plan Flynn proceeded to outline made her feel better about it, and she listened distantly, reminding herself all the while that she had already deserted.

  No one will take me back, even if I find the 13th again.

  “I’m depending on you,” he assured her. “For this to work, I can’t help you. We live or die by you, Shea.”

  “Feel better with you there,” she admitted.

  He nodded in understanding, and turned away. “I’ve seen Private Rhenret smoking above deck. He’ll pass a few smokes your way.”

  The promise came as cold comfort, but she didn’t have the will to reject it. Knowing what she had to do, and with at least a day’s wait before it was time to take action, Shea knew the only thing that might see her through was a couple of cigarettes. Selfishly, she hoped that if Rhenret didn’t survive, he’d have the rest in his coat.

  *

  Flynn timed the moment expertly. The wind had started picking up and the waves had gotten rockier. The black clouds were so thick it may as well have been night. It had only begun to rain; the worst was yet to come. Captain Longhart and two crewmen with whom she’d been speaking emerged from her cabin, as Lieutenant Cloven at the helm struggled to keep the ship steady. Before the Captain could climb the stairs to replace him, Flynn caught her by the arm.

  “Edia—I need a moment of your time.” Her disdain was crystal clear, but as she began to twist away, Flynn’s next words snared her by the ear. “I’m ready to confess.” She faltered, torn between duty and desire; Longhart had seen through Flynn in a way few ever did, and he was about to prove her suspicions true. She looked from her helmsman to her struggling crew, then at last back at Flynn.

  “In my cabin. Now.”

  Flynn entered first, followed by Longhart, who locked the door behind them.

  Though she’d claimed the ship, she had only brought the bare minimum of accoutrements from her own: a Trynan flag hung proudly on the wall, accompanied by a pair of cutlasses to one side, while a map illustrating the known conflicts hung on the other. The room was otherwise vacant and dim, but for a lantern dangling from the rafters, its flickering light swaying back and forth. The soft glow was enough for both of them, their slitten eyes piercing one another in the shadows.