Pirate of the Prophecy

by Jack Campbell

  A string of shielded lanterns appeared out of the gloom to mark the pier. Captain Mak called orders to furl the already reefed sails and to the helm, slowing the Sun Queen and bringing her alongside the pier. Lines were thrown down to the dock workers, miserable in the rain, who looped them around bollards. Jules watched and listened and felt the ship respond to Mak’s commands, trying to learn everything she could from seeing him call the orders in this difficult situation.

  The Imperial inspector who soon showed up, miserable in his own inadequate official rain coat, and already inclined to skimp on duties because of the weather, accepted a smaller than expected bribe to pass the Sun Queen without an inspection so he could hurry back to shelter. The Empire did everything efficiently, even bribery of public officials. “Supposedly there’s an official form somewhere laying out the bribes expected by position and rank,” Liv commented to Jules as Mak paid out the bribe

  “I’ve never seen that,” Jules said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one. I’m going to get dressed, Liv. Let Ang know he and the other legionaries need to get into their outfits as well. I’ll come by and inspect them after I get into my uniform.”

  “Inspect them?” Liv asked, grinning. “Will you be issuing demerits for poor appearance, or will a bribe serve to clear the matter?”

  “Very funny. I need to make sure there aren’t any discrepancies that would stand out to anyone who sees us.”

  She changed into her Imperial uniform and checked it over carefully, making sure nothing was out of place. Worrying about the state of her uniform felt strange, as if the last several months had never happened and she was still an officer answering to the orders of the Emperor and his commanders. Imperial uniform regulations were set in stone, as were many things in the world, so Jules didn’t worry about any changes that might have rendered her uniform unsuitable. Like the plans for building ships, uniforms didn’t change. Weapons didn’t change. Armor didn’t change. The Great Guilds wanted it that way and kept it that way. But she still had to look the part of the lieutenant she’d once aspired to become.

  She buckled on the sword belt, her straight sword swinging where Jules had become accustomed to having a cutlass. But the dagger went where it should, a comfort since any problems tonight should be met with swift, silent death rather than the clamor of a sword fight.

  The revolver posed a problem, but she wasn’t going to go ashore in Sandurin without it. Any Mages she encountered wouldn’t kill her without facing a fight. Finally Jules figured out how to situate the holster on the back of her trousers, hidden under the back of the uniform coat.

  Imperial officers and soldiers didn’t wear oilskins. Those would hide their uniforms, and in any event the Imperial generals and admirals who sat in warm, dry offices thought their soldiers should be strong enough not to be discomfited by a mere deluge of rain. It was probably just as well tonight, Jules thought. Once her hair was soaked it would make it harder for anyone to recognize her.

  Reluctantly leaving the oilskin behind, she dashed from the stern cabin to the ladder below deck. It felt very strange indeed to see a dozen men and women in legionary uniforms and armor, short swords at their sides, below deck on the Sun Queen. But up close she could see their faces, clearly uncomfortable in the Imperial get-ups. Jules lined them up, shaking her head at the shaky “line” the sailors formed and hoping no centurion would see them trying to make such a sloppy formation. She walked past each one, checking the uniforms for problems. “Cori, you wear the sword on the left and the dagger on the right.”

  “But I’m left-handed,” Cori protested.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be a legionary, and every legionary fights right-handed.”

  “That’s a stupid rule,” Cori grumbled, but shifted the sword and dagger to their proper sides.

  “Kyle,” Jules said. “You laced those boots wrong. Here.” She crouched down and rapidly redid the offending laces. “Everybody else watch how I tie these off. Your knots have to match this exactly.”

  That elicited more grumbles, but if there was one thing sailors could do well, it was knots. “This is bringing up bad memories of legion boot camp,” Marta remarked.

  “You were in the legions?” Cori asked. Some of the sailors on the Sun Queen offered up details of their pasts, and others stayed quiet about whatever they’d done or been. Marta had rarely shared any information about herself.

  But now she laughed. “For two weeks. Then a guy convinced me to desert with him. I wasn’t having any fun learning to be a legionary, and the guy swore I was the love of his life, so I went.”

  “How long did it last?” Ang asked.

  “Two weeks. Then he ditched me for a tavern girl.” Marta grinned. “Later on I heard that she turned him in for the reward as soon as she got tired of him. So all’s well in the end, right? I got the freedom of the sea, and he either got to hang by the neck from the short end of a long rope, or he’s spent the years since doing prison labor as he works off his sentence.”

  “It’s good to know you don’t hold a grudge,” Gord said.

  “Nah. If I saw him again I wouldn’t hurt him much at all.”

  Jules stood before them. “All right, listen. There are a few basic rules. No talking when anyone can hear us. If you say something a legionary wouldn’t, or say it in a way a legionary wouldn’t say it, it’ll arouse suspicion. I’ll talk to anyone we encounter. Always try to look and act like soldiers. Unlike sailors, soldiers only goof off when they think nobody can see them. We’re not going to try to march. Just stay in column like this and follow me. Stay close to each other. In this weather if we lose contact with anyone we might not find them again.”

  “Maybe anyone who gets separated from the rest should head straight back to the ship,” Ang suggested.

  “That could create all kinds of problems if they meet anyone. No,” Jules said. “No one will get separated from the rest of us.”

  “What if we get separated anyway?” Cori asked.

  Her nerves were already stressed enough. They didn’t need this. “If that happens, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you,” Jules snapped in reply.

  They nodded, none of them questioning whether she’d actually do so. Jules briefly wondered if that should bother her, but there were too many other things to worry about tonight.

  A deep gong belled across the harbor. “Evening watch has been called,” Jules told them. “It’s time to go. Anyone want to back out? There’s no shame in it.”

  “If you’re leading,” Marta said, “we’re following.”

  They went up on deck, the wind-driven rain soaking their uniforms through before they reached the gangway.

  Mak waited there for them. He held out a waterproof dispatch case to Jules. “We did the best we could on counterfeiting the prisoner pick-up orders.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jules said, taking the case.

  “Be careful, Jeri.”

  “I’m always careful, sir,” she said, pausing to wipe rain from her face.

  “That’s a good one,” he said. “And while you’re ashore, stay out of bars. You never know who you might run into in a bar.”

  He was nervous for her, and joking to cover that. Jules grinned to cover her own apprehension. “Yes, sir. Permission to leave the ship, sir.”

  Mak leaned close. “Get back here safely, Jules.”

  “I promise,” she said.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jules led her group down the gangway, making sure they formed a line behind her once they were on the pier. Words from her officer training came back to her in the gruff tones of the centurion who’d been one of the instructors. Tell them what they’re supposed to do, then tell them what to do, then tell them again. “Remember, stay right behind me, act like soldiers the whole time until we get back, make sure no one wanders off, and don’t say anything to anybody unless I say so.”

  “Should we draw our swords?” Kyle asked.

  “No. Legionaries only d
raw their swords to clean them, to salute the Emperor, or when they intend using them. If I tell you to draw swords, it’ll be because we need to use them to fight our way back to the Sun Queen.”

  If anything, the rain had intensified, coming down in what felt like waterfalls dropping from the clouds overhead. Jules slogged through the streets, runoff from the rain swirling around her boots as if she were walking in the bed of a shallow stream. She occasionally looked back at her “legionaries” as she kept sweeping the streets with her gaze in the hopes of spotting trouble before it spotted her.

  Fortunately, between the weather and the late hour, very few people were on the streets. But some of those were Imperial police walking their patrols. Citizens avoided the police at such times, knowing that unhappy and uncomfortable Imperial police were more likely than usual to decide that passing citizens needed some special attention. But Imperial military officers were a different matter, so Jules approached one pair of patrolling officers who looked as miserable as she felt. As a junior officer, she and the police officers were of roughly equal status in the Imperial pecking order. “Good evening.”

  “Isn’t it, though,” one of the officers replied.

  “Yeah,” Jules commiserated. “Could you direct me to the detention building?”

  “They’re not going to deal with routine business at this hour, Lieutenant,” the other police officer said, looking her over as a gust of wind howled down the street, staggering all of them.

  “I’ve got a prisoner pickup,” Jules said. “I wouldn’t be out in this if I had a choice.”

  “You and me both.” He looked over the dozen fake legionaries following her. “Do you have enough muscle with you?”

  “These should be plenty,” Jules said. “They’re well-motivated tonight. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to the barracks.”

  “Lucky. We’ve got the whole night shift. The detention building is over that way. Down that street, left, and then right.”

  “Thanks,” Jules said.

  “Hey, word of warning. There seem to be a lot of Mages out tonight.”

  “Mages?” Jules said, hoping that her voice carried only a normal amount of apprehension at hearing that.

  “Yeah,” the police officer said. “Don’t know what they’re up to. Just sort of wandering around. But there’re more on the streets than we’re used to seeing.”

  “Hopefully we won’t run into any. Thanks,” Jules repeated. She headed off in the direction indicated, her disguised sailors in her wake.

  “Jeri,” Ang said, coming up beside her. “Mages. Maybe you ought to go back.”

  “You can’t do this,” Jules said. “You don’t know the right way to act or the right way to speak.”

  “But if a Mage sees you-”

  “This weather will protect me. I’m going through with this, Ang. I don’t quit.”

  But though Jules kept an anxious look out, she didn’t see any Mages before the storm lanterns burning at the heavy door to the detention facility loomed into sight along the rain-drenched streets.

  Inside, it seemed weirdly silent after the tumult of the storm. The sound of water dripping from their clothing felt unnaturally loud as Jules walked to the watch desk, her sodden uniform feeling like a loose, heavy, extra set of skin.

  The jailer on duty, working intently on some paperwork, ignored her.

  Jules used the scabbard of her officer’s sword to rap the side of the jailer’s desk.

  He looked up, realized this wasn’t someone who could be safely ignored, and jumped to his feet. “Excuse me. I didn’t see you, Lieutenant.”

  “We’re doing a pickup,” Jules said, keeping her words short and sharp. She had the jailer intimidated and wanted to keep him worried.

  “A pickup? At this hour? In this weather?”

  “Do you think we’d be here now if we had a choice? Prince Ostin wants these people transported back without delay.”

  “Oh, Prince Ostin’s people. I’m glad I’m not one of them. I need to see the pickup order, Lieutenant. That’s a rule. I do need to see the pickup order.”

  Jules opened the dispatch case, handing over the faked document before waiting with obvious impatience.

  The jailer squinted at the document. “Somebody forgot a signature, Lieutenant. I can’t release the prisoners without that signature.”

  “A signature?” If one was missing…why not provide it? “Where is the signature supposed to be?”

  “Right there,” the jailer said, pointing.

  Jules took the order back, placed it on the desk, picked up the jailer’s pen and scrawled an illegible signature in the indicated space. “There. Now the signature isn’t missing.”

  The jailer scratched his head. “I guess that’s all right. You’re supposed to pick up the whole group of runaways? They’re in the main holding cell. I thought they weren’t going to be picked up until tomorrow, though, since Prince Ostin just got into town today.”

  “Prince Ostin doesn’t want to wait,” Jules said. “Can we hurry this up?”

  The room holding the prisoners, on the basement level, spread across the whole width of the building. The large cell had a few high, narrow windows that offered no possibility of escape but would admit a little air and light during the day. Right now they were letting in streams of water that flowed along the floor to mingle with the refuse of the prisoners. Jules wrinkled her nose at the smell, seeing in the light of the jailer’s lantern long rows of men, women, and children chained together. “You’re sure this batch is from Prince Ostin’s estates near Centin?”

  “That’s what the receipt says,” the jailor replied, offering a sheaf of papers.

  Jules looked them over, recognizing a couple of the names that Loka had mentioned. “All right. Eighty-seven of them. They’re all in here?”

  “Not all. Just eighty-six. One’s missing,” the jailer offered.

  “Where?” Jules said, trying to sound irritated rather than concerned.

  “A couple of Prince Ostin’s people picked her up earlier. A girl named, uh, Lil of Centin. See, here’s their receipt, all signed.”

  Jules scowled at the receipt. “I’m supposed to pick up every one of the prisoners. Do you know why they took this one?”

  The jailer smirked. “If you saw her, you’d know why. Pretty young thing.”

  Jules resisted the urge to run her dagger through him. “I’ll need to account for her. Where she ended up. Do you know where they took her so I can write that in my report?”

  “They said they were taking her to the prince at the south fort,” the jailer said.

  “The south fort. All right. Get the chains off of the rest of these.”

  “Unchain them? But-”

  “I’m getting tired of repeating myself!” Jules snapped. “I don’t want this lot shuffling through this rain! They can walk faster if they’re not chained.” As the jailer went to work on the master locks, she turned to Ang and the others, speaking in a low voice. “Pass the word among them that we’re here to free them. Mention the name Loka of Centin. I don’t want any of these people running off in the rain when we’re trying to help them escape.”

  The prisoners, slowly, resignedly, got to their feet as the chains were pulled free. The jailer brought her release documents and receipts, the sort of paperwork that the Empire excelled in, all of which Jules signed with the made-up name Lieutenant Spuris of Centin.

  “Lieutenant! Please let me speak!” A young man stood before Jules, his clothing as dirty as that of the other prisoners, his eyes dark with worry. “Lieutenant, please, do something for Lil.”

  “Get back with the others,” Jules said, keeping her voice cold and her expression hostile.

  “We’re engaged to be promised! Please, Lieutenant! I’ll do anything. Aron of Centin. I’ll be your slave. Just save her.”

  “I’m not looking for a slave.” Jules turned her back on the young man, feeling her guts churn.

  “There�
�s nothing we can do,” Ang murmured. “If we try to get her, the rest of these people will be caught again for certain. We have to get them to the ship.”

  “I know,” Jules said. “Make sure some of the others talk to him so he doesn’t go running off to save her.”

  “What if he tries anyway?”

  “Hit him hard enough to knock him out and let the others carry him. We don’t have time for a lovesick fool tonight.”

  She oversaw forming the prisoners in a column four people across, spacing her legionaries along the sides, the last two legionaries bringing up the rear. “Listen!” Jules shouted, trying to sound as harsh as her role demanded. “You will march where directed! Anyone who falls out will be regarded as an attempted escape and dealt with. No talking. No singing. No leaving your place in the column. No misbehavior of any kind. Am I clear? Move!”

  Jules walked out of the detention building and back into the storm. Her uniform, still soaked with water, grew more sodden as she led the group back toward the pier where the Sun Queen waited.

  She still didn’t spot any Mages.

  Lil of Centin, taken to the prince.

  Enduring the same sort of treatment that Jules herself would at the hands of the Emperor if he ever got his hands on her. She’d had more than one nightmare about being trapped like that.

  But there wasn’t anything that she could do about it. Sometimes bad things happened. She couldn’t fix them all. Not even close.

  The rain ran down her hair and her face, through her uniform to join the water in the streets, the darkness around her barely relieved by the flickering flames of street lamps trying to stay lit despite the weather.

  She’d known dark nights. Jules remembered her first years in the orphan home, how she’d lain awake in the evenings, fantasizing that her father wasn’t really dead. That he’d instead gotten lost in the mountains, or been captured by the bandits, or that he was busy exploring to the west and hadn’t heard about her mother dying. But he would, and some day he’d walk in and pick her up in the strong arms she vaguely remembered and carry her home again.