Tides of Mutiny

by Rebecca Rode

  Plete jerked, then looked at his wife in irritation. Whatever this Council was, he didn’t approve of her mentioning it.

  I hesitated, still gripping my boots. “Is that a group of nobles?”

  “Not at all. The Council is a group of powerful individuals who wish to make a difference in the world. I can’t give you an official invitation without their consent, but given your heritage, that won’t be difficult to secure.”

  My heritage as a captain’s daughter, or a pirate’s offspring? I wasn’t sure what she knew. “What kind of difference in the world?”

  The captain leaned forward. “The Four Lands will feel the Council’s hand very soon. Our next meeting is just two months away. Think of it. You would never fear for your life in northern waters again. You’d be respected, even worshipped. No disguise necessary.”

  A suspicion tickled my mind. “Are some of these ‘powerful individuals’ pirates, by chance?”

  Plete shot his wife a warning look. She ignored it, sitting back on the bench to examine me. “Perhaps,” she finally said. “One never knows.”

  One always knows a pirate, I wanted to shoot back. It was a lie. Designed to fool me, or disguise the truth from the crew rowing around us?

  At least Captain Dayorn had answered one question. Now I knew how she sailed and docked where she pleased. Such power. Such a reputation. A deep hunger began to stir inside. I considered her offer for the briefest of moments before Aden’s memory pulled me back.

  “I do intend to change the world,” I told her. “But I’ll do it my own way.”

  Plete’s shoulders relaxed.

  A tiny downward tug of the captain’s lips was the only indication of her disappointment. “Very well. We’ll sail around to Kalina, then. Send word when you’ve seized payment, and I’ll return. May you have success, Laney Garrow.” She brushed two fingers against her chest. A KaBann sign of honor.

  “Thank you, Captain. I’ll be ready,” I said firmly, stowing my boots. Then I dove into the next wave. The chill was a punch to the gut. I came up sputtering.

  The crew copied the captain’s action before throwing themselves behind the oars once more.

  The swim was much farther than it had appeared. It seemed an endless struggle against cold waves before my feet touched rock. I barely felt it for the numbness that had taken hold. After the events of the past few weeks, I wondered if I’d ever be warm and dry again.

  I let the waves deposit me on the rocks, ignoring a sharp pain in my leg from a stone beneath the surface, then picked my way carefully out of the water. No soldiers in sight. Hopefully that meant Captain Dayorn’s distraction had worked.

  I sat on the gravel, resting and folding myself against the cold wind. My body shook so violently, I doubted I could even speak. Now that I’d reached land, it was impossible to ignore the rain beating down from the black sky. I had to find shelter or I’d die where I lay.

  I pulled on my boots, then followed an overgrown trail leading into the woods, stepping over fallen trees and through brush until I wished I was back in the cold waves. A long thirty minutes later, the trail ended in front of a watch house. Or what had once been a watch house anyway. The front door hung on its hinges and the windows hadn’t seen glass in decades.

  It wasn’t much of a shelter, but it was better than the trees. I pushed the wet hair away from my eyes and stepped through the doorway. The floor creaked underfoot, and I moved slowly and deliberately around the soft spots in the wood.

  Any furniture had long since been taken. The ceiling appeared rotted, and the attic above had to be in worse condition. I imagined it all caving in on my head and grimaced.

  A dark mound sat in the corner. It set my heart stumbling until I realized it was only a pile of crates. A folded blanket sat on top. My chilled, exhausted body screamed for rest at the sight of it.

  I stripped down to my underwear, laying my clothing and boots out to dry, then dried my axes with the blanket. Finally, I curled up to sleep.

  The nightmares claimed me immediately.

  I awoke to a gray sky directly overhead, visible through the broken roof. I threw my not-quite-dry clothing back on, nibbled on a bit of old jerky I’d found in a bundle on the crate, and started for town. If there was one thing Hughens excelled at, it was gossip. A single sighting of Belza’s ships, and the entire city would know about it by now. I could only hope that someone knew where Belza was staying. Aden had to be with him. The pirate captain wouldn’t let such a valuable prisoner out of his sight.

  It took forty minutes to reach town and another twenty to find the market. I was early. Most of the bleary-eyed workers were still unloading their wagons, their carts set up but empty. I glimpsed a woman setting out a table of weapons—an entire line of exotic knives, several cudgels, and even a broadsword. The woman unwrapped a tight bundle, and I found myself inching closer to investigate. An axe pair with short wooden handles and curved blades. Practice axes.

  The perfect size for Barrie.

  My throat squeezed tight. I choked back the tears, resisting the sudden and overpowering urge to curl into myself and sob. There was only one way to help Barrie now, and that was to avenge him—him and every other person I’d lost.

  “You going to stand there all day? I have a wagon to unload.”

  I turned to find a man glaring at me, clutching a basket of bread loaves. My breath hitched. It was the same man I’d spoken with on the day of that innocent woman’s hanging. His eyes widened in recognition, his gaze sliding down my clothing. Without my bindings, it was all too clear what I was.

  He swore under his breath. His teeth were as brown as I remembered. “You one of those pirates who blew in and paraded about town like they owned it?”

  I finally found my voice. “Nay, but I’m searching for them. Do you know where they went?”

  He belched and turned to call over his shoulder. “Hey, Izza. Come on over here. Some girl wants to know about the pirates.”

  Too alarmed at the volume of his voice to shush him, I looked about as more eyes turned to me. They took in my old shirt, my trousers still itchy with salt water, and my ocean-ratted hair. Everything about me screamed sailor. I expected them to run off any second to fetch the soldiers, but none moved. Instead, a boy set down the crate he’d been holding and came over to join us.

  I blinked. It wasn’t a boy. It was the beggar I’d defended from those ladies weeks ago. A pair of overalls had replaced her tattered dress, and she’d chopped her hair, but I recognized her round cheeks and piercing eyes.

  She grinned at the sight of me. “I knew you were a girl. Copied your disguise, I did.”

  The baker chuckled. “My wife took her in to help me. Can’t walk so well these days.” He pointed to a bandaged foot. Bloodstains covered the wrappings. “Izza, she wants to know where the pirates are staying. You hear anything new?”

  The girl’s mouth rounded into an O. “You don’t want to go there today.”

  “I’m not afraid of Belza,” I said.

  Her gaze settled on my axes, and she shrugged. “Follow this road till the end, then turn left and take it six blocks down. Green warehouse down by the end. Try the back window.”

  The baker tossed me a crosuit, then leaned in to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, all right? I’d lose my business. It’s been hard enough since the Messauns came.”

  I assumed he meant the free food, but then I realized his warning was for the girl. A girl apprentice wasn’t illegal, but it was certainly frowned upon. Yet another wrong that needed righting. If I ever saw Aden again, we were in for a nice, long conversation about his country’s injustices.

  “Of course,” I said, smiling at the girl. “My thanks to you both.”

  The green paint had faded, and the structure looked more like an inn than a warehouse, although there was no hanging sign and the windows had all been boarded up, save for one on the upper floor. A pole extended from the roof’s peak. My father had told me once that those poles were hoists,
acting like pulleys to help citizens lift heavy furniture to the third floor. The building jutted right up against its neighbor, which was covered in scaffolding.

  More importantly, the building had a deliberately careless appearance, as if its owner valued privacy over business. Or maybe privacy was his business.

  Four men stood across the street, talking in hushed tones. Only a sharp eye would notice how they angled themselves so they could watch the building. Their hands hovered above the weapons at their sides. One man watched me approach and nudged his neighbor.

  I lowered my head and hurried past, then circled around the corner to the rear of the building. The alley was empty. And as I’d hoped, the building had a kitchen entrance.

  The initial twinge of excitement faded as I reached the door. I hadn’t expected the series of rusted locks around its frame. They held firm. The window was boarded up too. I growled in frustration. No wonder the guards hadn’t taken the time to watch this entrance.

  Then I noticed it—a notch in the board, like the corner had been cut out.

  I placed my fingers inside and pulled. One of the boards had a coarse hinge attached to it, allowing it to swing aside with a soft squeak. The glass was long gone. Someone had rigged a hidden opening. A small one, given its width. Street children were more clever than people realized.

  “Thank you, Izza,” I muttered.

  I listened at the window. Silence. If the pirates were inside, they weren’t in the kitchen. I scrambled onto the ledge and slid through, then swung the board back into place. It immediately cut off the sunlight.

  My eyes adjusted quickly. An old stove boasting an impressive array of spiderwebs stood in the corner, next to a woven chair with a burn mark in its seat. A dusty broom sat propped in one corner.

  Voices floated down from above. There was an angry shout, and the ceiling overhead squeaked and clattered. A wrestling match upstairs, perhaps. But there was something alarming about the sounds, like they were closer than they should have been. I inspected the ceiling and found an opening where the stove’s pipe had once been fitted to an upstairs bedroom stove. The patch of ceiling was boarded closed, but one of the boards hung by a single nail.

  I stepped onto the stove and balanced myself on the burner. My head was only inches from the ceiling now, and the sound of the men fighting was clear. They grunted and grappled until one man yelped. Then a third voice snapped, “Oh, come on. Surely we can be respectable about this.”

  “You’ll not… be getting… my weapon,” a strained voice said. But the fighting abruptly halted. I couldn’t see who had won. Through the small opening, all I could see was a wall covered in yellowing flowered paper.

  “We’ll continue with your permission, then, Sire,” the third man said.

  “Proceed.”

  Sire? Alarm lurched through me, and I nearly toppled off the stove. Khral Rasmus was here? But his voice was wrong. It sounded far too old, almost tired. Not at all like the monarch son I’d imagined.

  “As I was saying, the boy is a perfect hand. If Rasmus fails, Hughen will pay any ransom to get the prince back. And if Hughen falls, Rasmus will be just as desperate to silence him. Imagine the power you will hold.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I resisted the sudden urge to cough it free. I knew that voice. Captain Belza. He was here too, not four feet above where I perched. I gripped my axe handles and listened, every muscle in my body tense.

  “The khral is a fool,” the second voice said, still out of breath. “Executing the boy would only spur his people to action. The royal children are well loved. Wouldn’t you say so, Your Highness?”

  “That isn’t your problem.” Belza again. “All you need worry about is staying silent until this is over. You’ll hold power over Hughen and Messau for the first time in a decade. Surely that’s worth a little gold.”

  “Your price is too high.”

  “Not for an Ellegran king. I know of your investments in the islands. This will yield more benefit than empty land ever will.”

  An Ellegran king…

  The older man was Mortrein LeZar, the very ally Aden had been sent to beg for help. We’d raced across the ocean to take Aden to him, yet he was here. Why would he be in the center of the Hughen capital? And why in a run-down building conversing with Captain Belza, of all people? I remembered those Ellegran guards on the shore last night and adjusted my grip on the axes. Something was very wrong.

  “I need no power over Rasmus,” LeZar said. His voice wobbled with the effort. The man was older than I’d thought. “Our agreement is enough. Ellegran will retain its freedom and emerge from the war unscathed.”

  Belza growled. “Freedom from Messau, perhaps. But war comes in many forms. I can see to it your country never finds peace again.”

  There was another scuffle. The king’s guards seemed to be having a rough day.

  “My navy has sixty ships, all hardened from decades at war,” the Ellegran king snapped over the noise. “We can easily overcome your fleet of unskilled thieves.”

  Belza snorted. “The world closes in, yet you keep your eyes shut. The riots, the burnings, the border disputes. Your own people turn against you. Ellegran falls apart and you know it. It’s time to claim your position and secure your nation’s future.”

  There was a long silence. Then the king spoke, his voice strained. “Your price is still too high. I see no advantage to taking the boy, even if you truly have him.”

  “He’s in the other room.” I detected a smile in Belza’s voice. “My men will escort you to see for yourself.”

  “No.” LeZar’s reply was too quick. “No, I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be here. I don’t—” He paused, then his voice grew quieter, like he was turning away. “I should not have come. You and Rasmus may keep my armies for now as agreed. I’m leaving.”

  My knuckles on the axe handle were turning white. I’d called Kempton a coward, but at least he’d fought for his own interests. I wouldn’t trust this man to drive a wagon, let alone rule a kingdom. Aden had more courage than a thousand LeZars.

  I forced myself to take a deep breath and consider the facts. Aden and his family had been double-crossed. Not only had LeZar agreed not to interfere with Rasmus’s brutal takeover—which meant the slaughter of a friend who trusted him—but he’d also committed his own troops to the bloody cause. He was no better than Belza.

  “You had your chance, LeZar,” Belza said, his voice cold. “I will not forget this day.”

  “Do not speak to me in such a manner, pirate,” the older man shot back. “Powerful you may be, but a king you are not.”

  “A king rules a spot of land. I rule the sea. I’ll have you remember it when your ships disappear and your country falls to starvation.”

  Heavy footsteps fell overhead. They faded, then grew louder behind me. They were descending the stairs on their way out. Those guards outside had to be LeZar’s. I wished the man would fall and smash his face in.

  Belza waited until the door slammed. Then he spoke again, his voice dangerous. “Bring the boy to me.”

  My heart hammered until I was sure it would tear free of my rib cage.

  “Sir.” Someone ran off, then several men returned a moment later. Their strides were uneven, as if struggling with their prisoner. I followed the sound with my eyes. They’d come from a room near the front of the building. Probably the third floor, since I hadn’t heard footsteps above the next room.

  “I’m disappointed, little princeling,” Belza said in a low voice. I squinted through the crack, but there was only a shadow on the wall. A hulking, wide-shouldered shadow.

  Someone groaned. I straightened, my heart leaping into a furious gallop.

  Aden.

  There was nothing but planks between us now. Well, besides a conniving pirate and his men. I still didn’t know how many there were.

  “Poor boy. Nobody wants you, I’m afraid. Your father sent you away. The Ellegrans rejected you. Seems I’ll be deliver
ing you to Rasmus after all.”

  Aden’s reply was drowned out by the sound of a fist finding its mark. Then a body hit the floor. I covered a gasp.

  “Take him back,” Belza snapped.

  I strained to see Aden, but he wasn’t visible through the crack. By the sound, he pushed to his feet and stumbled out under his own power, still surrounded by guards. Their footsteps headed for the stairs before fading out. Definitely the third floor.

  I’d never make it up two flights of stairs unseen. That meant I’d have to get to him from the outside.

  Moving quietly, I lowered myself from the stove and slipped out the window.

  I strode back toward the street, keeping my eyes down. The four guards were gone. I examined the building’s front with a casual eye. The pirates had chosen their location well. There was no trim that could be climbed, the front door was easily defensible, and the windows were all shuttered. Only one window remained open to the sunlight.

  It was on the third floor.

  For the first time in weeks, I hesitated. This wasn’t like breaking a criminal out of a half-staffed prison cell. These were pirates, and I knew better than anyone what they were capable of. If Captain Belza recognized me as a survivor, he’d plunge his cutlass through my gut himself. It should have sent a wave of fear through me. Instead, my eyes narrowed.

  He’d plunge his cutlass through me… if my axe blades didn’t get to him first.

  I glanced around. The street was still. Then I strode to the next building, its scaffolding squeaking in the breeze. It looked sturdy enough. Grasping the lowest rail, I swung my legs upward. Another leap and a giant heave toward the next wooden slat. I grunted with the strain, barely noticing the splinters cutting into my palms. It was no worse than a coil of old line.

  Hurry. If someone walked by and gave a shout…

  I finally made it to the top floor, level with the upper window of the room where I hoped Aden was imprisoned. Now I had to figure out how to get there. The scaffolding ended fifteen feet before the hoist pole.