Veritas

by St Clare, Kelly

  Stubby’s lip twitched. “Aye, lass. I remember the same thing myself. But it’ll all make sense in the end, and ye’ll be better off for it.”

  No doubt she would. But she’d like to reap the benefits sooner rather than later.

  “When did ye learn to read, Stubs?” she asked, her jaw cracking as she yawned. “I thought ye were always a pirate like yer father afore ye and his father afore him.”

  Stubby blinked and glanced up from Grubby, peering across to Ebba who swung gently in a hammock on the other side.

  “I was. Well, born on land like most, but as soon as I had my sea legs, my father took me away to sail on his ship. My mother had already started to teach me to read—per my father’s request. And my father carried on the lessons after that.”

  That struck her as strange, which was strange in itself, considering she’d grown up with fathers who’d always encouraged her to learn whatever she wished. “What was yer father like?”

  The blood drained from Stubby’s face. He leaned back, sagging against the post behind him and breaking off eye contact.

  “Sorry, Stubs. Ye don’t have to say if ye don’t wish.”

  He dragged a hand over his face and shook his head. “Nay, I’m sure ye’ve wondered about my behavior these last days. I should explain. I just don’t rightly know where to start.”

  A lot of her fathers had said that in the last few months. She supposed it made sense. If their past was one big knot they couldn’t understand, it must be difficult to find the rope end and untangle the knot enough to explain the matter to someone else. How could Stubby make sense of his father to her if he couldn’t explain it to himself?

  “How about yer mother?” Ebba asked. She already knew a bit about Joan. The subject was safe territory.

  He smiled. “My mother. The sweetest woman that ever did live. Made the nicest toffee apples in the entire Caspian Sea.”

  “I’ve never had a toffee apple.”

  Peg-leg had made toffee fish one time. It ended up chum in the sea. After that, he hadn’t ventured toward toffee in his recipes.

  “And ye should’ve. I should’ve taken ye to see my mother before she died. She would’ve loved—” He cut off and cleared his throat, staring hard at Grubby before starting again. “She would’ve loved ye, lass. Just loved ye.”

  Ebba felt sad for not knowing her. “When did she pass?”

  “Ye were but ten years old.”

  She wanted to ask why he hadn’t gone back, but watching her fathers cry broke her heart, and the urge to avoid that overwhelmed her curiosity. She asked instead, “Did ye see yer mother often when ye sailed with yer father?”

  “My father took his ship and crew back to Febribus so we could see her every two months. I only recall it because all o’ the other pirate ships thought him strange for bein’ so attached.”

  “Sounds like his ship was a bit strange, like us.”

  “I like to think we be o’ the same make. I’ve strived to make it so. The same honesty and morals, the same loyalty in the crew, the same met’culous care o’ the ship.”

  Right. So there was a reason Stubby went extra overboard caring for Felicity.

  The rest of Ebba’s fathers hadn’t started out as pirates. Grubby, Plank, and Peg-leg were teens who’d wanted to change their fortunes, and Locks and Barrels were full-grown. All of them knew how to sail and care for the ship, but the extra know-how, the soul of their ship, came from family pirate lore. Things that Stubby’s father handed down to him that he’d received from his father.

  “We’re right lucky to have ye, Stubby,” she said, realizing just how true that was. Much of what she’d learned about ship navigation and the like, she’d learned from him.

  He reached across Grubby to take her hand. “I ain’t sure ye would’ve said that if ye’d met me twenty years ago, lass.”

  “I ain’t even twenty so I wouldn’t have said anythin’, would I? I wasn’t born.”

  Stubby snorted softly. “Nay, I be guessin’ not.” He took a huge breath. “Okay, I’m just goin’ to come out with it.”

  Ebba waited.

  And waited some more. “Are ye goin’ to start?”

  Stubby took another breath. “Aye, aye.” He paused and repeated, “Aye.”

  Poor sod. “It be sumpin’ to do with Grubs, I gather,” Ebba prompted.

  Stubby squeezed his eyes shut. “I remember as if it were only a minute ago though I was only twelve at the time.” He cleared his throat once more when his voice shook. “We were steal-tradin’ with Kentro, but on the way back to Febribus to trade our plunder for riches, we were set upon by a smaller ship.”

  Ebba had only seen one ship attack in her life—the night Caspian came into their lives.

  “Those days, it wasn’t so rare as it is now. Our cannons were always ready. As were our guns. I even recall my father crackin’ a smile at the smaller ship. His exact words on the other ship were, ‘like a cat scratching a dog.’”

  Considering cats were bastards, Ebba thought Stubby’s father’s words could be labelled under ‘tempting fate.’

  “It was Mutinous,” her father said flatly. “And ye know he only lost one fight in his life.”

  “Against King Montcroix,” she whispered, bending closer. “So yer crew lost the battle?”

  Stubby pressed his lips together and dipped his head.

  Ebba watched as her father’s face screwed up in pain, his eyes showing his hurt even four decades after the battle.

  His voice was hoarse when he began again. “The fight went on for hours. Back-and-forth cannon fire. Both ships were damaged, along with many an injury to both crews. But Mutinous never did take no for an answer. He boarded us at dawn. The first rays of sunlight were just comin’ across the water, and I remember lookin’ out and thinkin’ the water had turned to blood, so much red had been spilled that night.”

  Stubby shifted, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He came aboard, what remained of his crew behind him. I was standin’ behind my father at the bow. The rest o’ our crew were mostly dead. Mutinous didn’t say a word; he just strode up to my father and shot him square through the chest. I don’t think a string of seconds have ever gone by so slow in all my years, lass,” he said, eyes shadowed. “I was still processin’ the sound o’ the pistol firing as my father toppled backward from the force o’ the shot. He staggered back, and I was so shocked I couldn’t move. He . . . he tripped over my foot.” Stubby tried again in a firmer tone. “He tripped over my foot and fell over the bulwark into the blood sea.”

  Her father’s words came tumbling out after that. “My legs unlocked, and I ran to the side, forgettin’ Cannon’s pistol was trained on me. I ran to find my father, and there he was—the man who’d loved me, taught me, who I’d always looked up to—just bobbin’ in the water face down.”

  Ebba flinched violently as the memory of Grubby in the same state hit her between the eyes. She struggled to push her remembered terror away. “B-but he was shot through the chest, Stubs,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t ye trippin’ him that killed him.”

  “And I hear what ye say, lass, I do. A part o’ me sees that the water didn’t drown him. The rest o’ me wonders if maybe he might’ve lived if he landed on deck.”

  “I don’t think Cannon would’ve given him the time or attention, m’hearty,” she said.

  “Perhaps not. But that’s how the skull plays tricks, ain’t it?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  Stubby sighed. “Mutinous decided he had a use for me. My father’s ship was larger than his. He took it, and I was forced—after a month in the holdin’ cell—to be part o’ his crew. Not a day went by in that first year that I didn’t think of my father bobbin’ in the red water, bright blood spreadin’ across his back. I was bidin’ my time. I was goin’ to kill Mutinous and take back my father’s ship. I was goin’ to do my father proud. I was goin’ to be a captain just like him with a loyal crew. I was goin’ to do all that and take my revenge. Fo
r me. And for my mother.”

  A tear fell from his eye, dripping over his lips. He dashed it away. “I was goin’ to do all that. The first year.”

  “What happened after that?” Ebba said, rounding Grubby to crouch next to her father.

  “Then,” he said with disgust, “then I began to forget. Or not forget, maybe. I began to see what had happened in a di’ferent way. My father had been at fault. He was weak. He’d lost the battle though he’d possessed a bigger ship. He’d failed to protect me. Cannon saved me. Slowly, month by month, the most hauntin’ memory of my life was undone and put together again in an off-center and skewed way. By the end o’ the second year, I held nothin’ but hate for my father. And for a long, long time that’s all I felt. All my loy’lty was for Mutinous. By the time I was fifteen, I was his first mate. Only three years later.”

  Ebba thought of Swindles and Riot by Pockmark’s side—when he’d been alive—and shivered. She couldn’t imagine Stubby in that spot, sneering and hurting and being cruel for no reason.

  “Ye mostly know the rest. We were given the job to take ye and stole ye instead, abandonin’ Mutinous to do so. Then started the hard part for us. We had to figure out why we’d done the things we’d done. We didn’t know about the taint. We just knew sumpin’ about Mutinous or the ship made us dark. We put it down to havin’ sumpin’ bad within us, thinkin’ we’d only thought and done those things because the other crewmembers were doin’ the same. I was ashamed, lass. So deeply ashamed o’ myself. How I’d forgotten my father in the space of a year. I was too ashamed to return to my mother and tell her the truth. And that I was such a coward was nearly harder to bear than the rest. I couldn’t bring myself to go and bring her closure, to let her know her son was alive. Or if she’d heard tell o’ my misdeeds, to show her I was tryin’ to sail the right course now.”

  Ebba didn’t speak as she pushed back the burning lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She swallowed several times until she was certain she could trust her voice. “She knew, Stubby. Yer mother knew.”

  His head was bowed, face in his hands. “It’s right sweet o’ ye to say—”

  “Nay, Stubs,” she said aggressively. “She knew.”

  He raised his head to look at her.

  She hugged him close. “I’m sure o’ it. Because I have no doubt ye’ll always do what’s proper when in yer right mind. A mother would know such a thing too. If ye’d known then what ye know now, ye would’ve sailed straight to her and set the matter straight. But ye didn’t. Ye were confused. Ye didn’t realize ye’d been a victim. Stubs, none o’ that stuff on the ship was yer fault. I’ve said it to the rest, and I’ll say the same to ye. That evil was added to ye; it wasn’t part o’ ye before. It was put there.”

  Stubby’s shoulders shook, and she stayed where she was, clinging to him, trying to anchor his very soul to the ship for fear he may choose to leave.

  “Ye went through Davy Jones’ Locker itself, m’hearty,” Ebba whispered. “But ye came out the other side. And now ye have what ye promised yer father ye’d do. Ye have a loyal crew. They’re honest and have morals—mostly. I think ye’ve done all right, aye?”

  “Aye, lass. Mayhaps ye’re right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, and they swayed with the ship, Ebba’s ear pressed against his chest to listen to his beating heart.

  Her fathers meant so much to her, and Stubby had always been the hardest of their crew. She was glad he didn’t have to carry his past burdens alone any longer.

  “Stubs,” she murmured, pulling back. “We could go see yer mother’s house when we’re back in the Caspian Sea.”

  He stilled. “Aye?”

  “Ye could tell her house everythin’ ye just told me. Maybe, if the thunderbird put her soul into a bird, she’ll hear ye anyway.”

  “. . . We’ll do that, lass.”

  They resumed their swaying hug.

  “Stubs?” She broke the silence again. “What was the name o’ yer father’s ship?”

  He tightened his hold on her. “Eternal. Mutinous used my father’s ship to reign terror over the Caspian Sea for the next twenty-odd years.”

  Five

  “Let me get this straight,” Stubby said. “First the magic beam said to go northwest, then it shifted northeast. And now it be pointin’ southwest?”

  Peg-leg screwed up his face and grunted. “Aye, that be about the size o’ it.”

  Ebba turned in a full circle on the deck. Which unfortunately didn’t provide any answers.

  Caspian had a finger pressed to his lips. “Can it be that we’re constantly sailing too far before checking the direction? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Either that or there is something wrong with the tubes,” Barrels said, facing the prince. “We used the dynami, purgium, and veritas the first couple of times and have replaced the veritas with the scio since.”

  Caspian appeared to mull this over. “So let’s test that—”

  “Or is it me?” Ebba voiced her slight fear of being incompetent and unable to bear the burden. “Could it be that I’m doin’ sumpin’ wrong without knowin’?”

  “That just be fear talkin’, lass,” Stubby said.

  She agreed. Her crew’s lives depended on her success. Ebba did her best to push her self-doubts aside. The point kept changing. So either they kept sailing past it . . .

  . . . or . . . .

  . . . Maybe they were looking at this wrong. Perhaps the magical part they were searching for was—

  “It’s moving,” Grubby said lazily.

  “That’s what I was just thinkin’,” Ebba said. She blinked and whipped to look at where her father stood by the bilge door. “Grubby!”

  She raced to him but pulled up short. He stood with one hand in the pocket of his breeches. Breeches. Ebba hadn’t known they’d had a pair on the ship. Only rich-lubbers wore them. He wore boots to the knee and a patterned doublet-vest. His scraggly hair had been washed and combed back with some kind of grease that kept the strands slicked in a suave style.

  The entire crew stared in heavy silence as Grubby removed a monocle from a small pocket on his vest and held it to his eye, surveying them.

  “Grubs?” she asked. “Is that a cravat ye’re wearin’?”

  “‘Tis,” he said, turning his monocle on her.

  Ebba glanced behind. Locks shrugged. Barrels’ mouth was ajar.

  Peg-leg tapped forward. “Are ye . . . all right, matey?”

  “Better than I’ve faired in some time, I assure you,” Grubby answered.

  “He’s clean,” Barrels whispered.

  That about summed it up. Something was off.

  “As I was saying,” Grubby said with a sniff, “the only possible reason for our changing direction is that the part itself is mobile. Or a someone or something is in possession of the aforementioned part and is moving.”

  Shite. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t good.

  Ebba closed the distance and hugged her father awkwardly. “I’m glad ye’re better, Grubs.”

  “Deplorable name,” he sneered though he returned her embrace.

  They’d worried about what sacrifice the purgium had demanded to cure Grubby of the taint. They hadn’t considered the tube would also cure Grubby of his head injury from decades ago.

  Her fathers exchanged a long look. The type they shared when they knew something she didn’t. Ebba watched them carefully.

  “So,” Plank drew out. “What do ye propose-like?”

  Grubby pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea what it’s been like to listen to you all prattle on all these years.”

  “Sheesh, Grubs. Tell us how ye really feel,” Stubby said.

  Seeing as her healed father looked like he might take Stubby up on the offer, Ebba jumped in, turning to the others. “What’s the plan then—with the next part movin’ somehow?”

  A splash sounded behind her.

&nbs
p; She whirled about. Grubby was gone. Only a pile of his fancy clothes remained.

  “Where’d he go?” she demanded, racing to the side. Bubbles lingered on the surface where he’d disappeared into the water.

  Locks groaned. “Can’t say I’m sorry. He’s like he used to be—afore Cannon bopped him over the head with the boom.”

  “Aye, I bloody hated him back then,” Plank said. “Like a ruder version o’ Barrels.”

  Barrels spluttered.

  “Ye knew him like this twenty years ago?” she clarified, trying to keep up. “This be the real him?”

  Peg-leg grimaced. “Aye, lass. I’m afraid so. We hoped he’d never heal and ye wouldn’t find out he’s a bastard.”

  At a choked laugh, she turned to look behind her.

  “Stop laughin’,” Ebba snapped at Jagger. “It ain’t funny. The purgium changed him.”

  Jagger’s grin only grew.

  Caspian shook his head. “Grubby’s smart? Really, really smart. I never would have guessed it.”

  “He be smart, all right,” Locks said. “And he be knowin’ it and fond o’ tellin’ everyone too.”

  She never would have guessed either. Like Locks, Ebba had to admit she wasn’t sure about the change in her usually uncomplicated and joyful father.

  “How do we fix him?” she hissed, feeling like a traitor for uttering the words.

  Plank tapped a finger against his lips. “What I can’t figure out is whether the payment for healin’ him o’ the taint was renderin’ him unconscious for days or givin’ his mind back.”

  Stubby said, “I could believe that. He’s defin’tely traded down.”

  “Or did the purgium heal him o’ both injuries and put him into the sleep as the payment for both?” Plank asked.

  No one replied.

  Water exploded behind them, and Ebba spun. With an outraged screech, she whirled right back as her very naked father reappeared on the deck.

  Grubby clicked his fingers. “Clothing, mortals.”

  “Aye, someone give him sumpin’ to wear,” she echoed, nose wrinkled.