Hope and Red (44 page)

I hope you found my cursory examination of the common folk slang of New Laven both educational and entertaining. One component that I feel I should note is the musicality. It is impossible for me to capture in mere words the shifting quality of the speech, which is at once earthy and lyrical. As such, for those of you who wish to learn more about this fascinating and unpredictable folk slang, I strongly recommend you venture to Silverback, or even better, all the way down to Paradise Circle. The inhabitants there have an almost childlike fondness for coins. A handful of silver will encourage a great many of them to discourse at length on the subject of both their slang and the culture of their neighborhood. For my part, I plan to return after I complete my biography of Lady Gulia Pastinas, perhaps with the intention of expanding this small work into something larger, if there is enough interest among the upper classes to warrant it.

I was six years old when the sea took a finger from my left hand. It was an experience that could have frightened me off of boats and sailing forever. But my grandfather, John Kelley, wouldn't hear of it, and instead imparted upon me such a fierce love of the ocean that, to this day, no matter what troubles me, when I am on a boat of any kind, I am always able to find some peace. It feels like a gross understatement to say that this book would not have been possible without him, as well as my aunt Laura, uncle Peter, and cousins, Alex and Liz, who continue on in the fine tradition of sailing, while I sit here, much too far from the sea, and only dream about it.

It feels equally inadequate to thank my friend and fellow writer, Stephanie Perkins, who has been a champion of this book from the very beginning. Whether as cheerleader, critic, or savvy business advisor, I am grateful for everything she has contributed.

I want to thank my agent, Jill Grinberg, who was completely game when I said, “Hey, I'd like to write a book for grown-ups!” She and the rest of the staff at JGLM continue to amaze me, and I am so grateful to have them in my corner. Thanks also to my editor, Devi Pillai, who consistently demands more from me. I know she hopes someday to make me cry, and I cherish her all the more for it.

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the excellent book
The Gangs of New York: An Informal History of the Underworld
by Herbert Asbury, which inspired a lot of the gang culture of New Laven, and in particular the character of Sadie the Goat. By all accounts (some of them even semi-credible), Sadie was a real person who truly did terrorize the Hudson riverbank, if only for a brief time. Whether fact or folktale, I am indebted to that “artist of mayhem.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JON SKOVRON
is the author of young adult novels
Struts & Frets
,
Misfit
,
Man Made Boy
, and
This Broken Wondrous World
from Viking Penguin. His short stories have appeared in publications such as
ChiZine
and
Jim Baen's Universe
, and more recently in anthologies like
Defy the Dark
from HarperCollins, and
GRIM
from Harlequin Teen. He lives just outside Washington, D.C., with his two sons and two cats.

Hope & Red

Bane & Shadow

 

Struts & Frets

Misfit

Man Made Boy

This Broken Wondrous World

If you enjoyed

HOPE & RED,

look out for

Book Two of the Empire of Storms

by Jon Skovron

 

I
t wasn't Vaderton's first tour of duty, but it felt near enough, because this was his first time captaining an imperial frigate. The
Guardian
was a brand-new, three-masted, square-rigged warship with forty-two cannons. It was half again as large as his last ship, and with twice the firepower.

Captain Vaderton was in his quarters, which were big enough to hold a desk, a full-size bunk, and a sofa. Had he been married, it would have been spacious enough to bring a wife. It was positioned in the stern beneath the raised poop deck and offered several large portholes with a view of bright, cloudless blue skies and rippling dark green water as far as the eye could see. They'd had uncommonly good weather for the western edge of the empire, especially this time of year. As late Summer gave way to Fall, this region was usually raked with sudden, capricious blusters and sheets of icy rain. Instead, they'd had clear skies and a steady, manageable wind. Vaderton didn't expect it to last, but he'd run with it as long as he could.

The captain sat at his desk, catching up on his log books. He was meticulous in his record-keeping, something his superiors told him was one of the reasons they felt confident entrusting him with one of the greatest ships in the empire, despite his age. Vaderton had just celebrated his thirty-eighth year and was now the youngest officer to be given command of an imperial war frigate. He intended to prove that their trust in him was not misplaced. As part of the grand imperial inspection, their orders were to sail down the western edge of the empire until they reached the Southern Isles, then head east to Vance Post. Along the way, they were to stop in all ports of call, partly to gather the annual census reports, and partly to show the new, resplendent might of the Imperial Navy. As simple as this tour was, Vaderton intended to do it by the book, no exceptions.

He checked his watch. Nine o'clock. Time for his mid-morning deck inspection. He stood and pulled on his heavy white coat. Despite the late summer heat that still hung in the air, he liked the weight of it. The stiffness of the gold brocade in the front and the gold epaulets on his shoulders made him feel as if he was protected by the might of the entire imperial navy. He took his captain's hat, also white with gold detail, and placed it securely on his head. He'd seen other captains wear their hat tilted back on the head. It cut a dashing figure, but it was terribly impractical. The first big gust of wind would fling it out to sea. Back at the academy, some of his classmates had given him a hard time about obsessing over such minor details. However, none of them had yet been given command of a frigate, so he felt confident that his was the correct course.

Vaderton opened the door and stepped out onto the quarter deck.

“Captain on deck!” called Midshipman Kellert. Anyone on deck who could stop what they were doing, did so and gave Captain Vaderton a sharp salute. Only a month at sea, and they were already shaping up to be a fine crew. Counting the cannoneers, the
Guardian
had approximately two hundred crew, more than three times the number of his last ship. In the past, he'd always made a point of learning every name. That was impossible now, but as he scanned the deck, he gave them each a moment of eye contact. It was as important to acknowledge good behavior as it was to punish bad.

“Take your ease,” he said gravely, and they went back to their tasks. He turned to Kellert, who looked smart in his own white imperial officer's jacket. That had been a point of contention between them when they first set out. By nature, Kellert was a slovenly, unkempt sort. Captain Vaderton had suggested that if Kellert didn't wish to look like a proper officer, he was welcome to the less formal accommodations of the crew. A few nights sleeping in a hammock and eating with the men had straightened him out. One of Vaderton's responsibilities was to groom his officers to one day serve the empire as a captain on their own ship. He took that duty as seriously as any other.

“Report, Mr. Kellert,” he said as he scanned the deck, watching the men work.

“All clear, Captain.” Kellert gave a slight smile and said, “Well, except the ghost ship.”

Captain Vaderton did not return the smile. “What do you mean by ‘ghost ship,' Mr. Kellert?”

“Oh, it's nothing, sir. Young Jillen, who takes the night watch on the crow's nest, thought he saw a ship in the distance a little before sunrise. But when he called down to me, I couldn't see anything with the glass. He'd probably just been dozing off for a minute, but the men started teasing him that he'd seen a ghost ship. You know, to frighten the poor boy.”

“He still maintains that he saw a ship?” Captain Vaderton asked.

Kellert looked a little uncomfortable now. “I suppose, sir.”

“You
suppose
? Did you not question him further? Perhaps for details on this ship he saw?”

“The boy's only twelve years old. It could have been anything, sir.” Kellert was beginning to look nervous.

“
Anything
includes pirates, Mr. Kellert.”

Kellert blanched. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to question him now?”

“Send him to me. I will question him myself,” said Captain Vaderton coldly.

“Yes, sir,” said Kellert meekly.

Captain Vaderton nodded, then watched the midshipman hurry off. He decided his charge still had a long way before him.

Vaderton walked unhurriedly across the quarter deck, then down to the main deck. As he went, he watched the crew move around him with tight, economical precision. It made him marvel that these men—none of them interesting or remarkable on their own—could be combined to perform the daunting task of sailing one of the most powerful ships in the sea.

He climbed the short ladder up to the forecastle, where he stood and looked out across the rippling green water to where it met the smooth blue sky on the horizon. In general, Captain Vaderton kept his thoughts and feelings close. But the sight of the open sea before him and the smell of salt wind in his lungs always softened his grip, if only a little.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” asked a light voice.

Captain Vaderton turned and regarded Jillen. He was an odd little boy, which was probably why Vaderton remembered him. The boy was uncommonly short and slight of build, even for one so young. He spoke with the slurring cadence of someone born to the slums of New Laven, but he was surprisingly intelligent for such humble beginnings. Vaderton had even noticed him examining books and notes, as if he had some rudimentary knowledge of letters.

“Mr. Kellert informs me that you saw something on midnight watch?” he asked the boy.

“I did, sir. Off the port stern. Looked like a ship, sir.”

“Can you describe this ship?”

“Two masts crowded with sail. Heading toward us. And it didn't have any imperial flags. Least, none that I could see.”

“And did you report this to Mr. Kellert?”

“I did, sir.”

“And he didn't think it worth bringing to my immediate attention?”

“As I understand it, sir, he thought I must have dreamed it. Because by the time he took a look, it had disappeared.”

“A disappearing ship? That is your report?” Vaderton asked gravely.

“I suppose so, sir.” Jillen gave the captain a nervous look. “I know it sounds slippy, but that's what I saw. Sir.”

Captain Vaderton understood why Kellert had not been eager to report this. The midshipman thought it impossible. Vaderton might have made the same mistake himself when he was younger. But if the last few years had taught him nothing else, it was never to count on something being impossible.

“Young Mr. Jillen,” said the captain. “Tell me what a ship is.”

“Sir?” Jillen looked even more nervous, his eyes darting around like he was looking for an escape.

“You're not in trouble, boy,” said the captain. “Just tell me, in plain words, what you think constitutes a ship.”

“It's a wooden vessel that floats and has sails that catch the wind to make it go.”

Captain Vaderton nodded. “Not bad. But a ship is more than the vessel. It's also the people on it. They are a part of the ship as well. Each has their job, which they must carry out for the good of the whole. If any of those parts stops working, the entire ship suffers.”

“Like bees,” said Jillen.

“Bees?” asked Vaderton, caught off guard.

“Sure, it takes hundreds of bees to make a bee hive and keep it going. Each bee has his or her job. The queen bee is in charge, but even she has a job to do. That's how a hive works.” Jillen beamed up at him, then added, “Sir.”

“Yes,” said Vaderton, wondering at how this New Laven street urchin could have such knowledge. “And do any of the bees ever decide that perhaps they won't perform all their duties and hope the queen won't notice or mind?”

“Of course not, sir. If the bees stop working, the whole hive would die.”

“Indeed,” said Vaderton. “So if a person on a ship decided not to perform all his duties? Let us say he took it upon himself to determine if something was possible or not, instead of bringing it to the captain for him to decide. That crew member might well put the entire ship in jeopardy.”

Jillen's eyes went wide. “But Captain, I told—”

Captain Vaderton raised his hand and Jillen immediately went silent. Smart boy. “As I said before, young Mr. Jillen, you are not in trouble. But I want you to keep what I have said fixed firmly in your mind while you witness Midshipman Kellert receive ten lashes.”

“Y-yes, sir,” said Jillen, looking no less frightened.

All hands were called to witness Kellert receive his ten lashes at midday. The sun blazed brightly overhead, gleaming off the blood and sweat that ran down the midshipman's back as he clung to the mainmast. No doubt some of the men thought the captain too harsh, especially Kellert's fellow officers, who tended to think themselves above such punishment. But by such a public show, the captain made it clear that he would tolerate no shoddy work, be they crew or officers. Furthermore, this lesson also benefited Kellert. For all its great ships and fierce fighting men, it was the iron resolve of the officer class that kept the imperial navy afloat. And it was Captain Vaderton's solemn duty to make sure that the captains of the future were just as resilient and exacting, tempered by the fires of experience and discipline so that they had iron wills of their own.

Captain Vaderton took no pleasure in it, though. In fact, he was pleased to note that Kellert didn't cry out. Even as he was led away to the officer's quarters to recover, Kellert walked steadily, back straight, head high. He might not be the most reliable officer, but at least he could take a beating.

Once the ordeal was over, and the men sent back to their posts, Captain Vaderton set a double watch at all hours, with orders to report anything they saw, no matter how minor or strange, directly to him. Then he took a turn at the helm. It wasn't necessary, of course. The
Guardian
had plenty of helmsmen. But Captain Vaderton liked the feel of the hard wooden wheel in his hands now and then, especially after performing some of the more distasteful aspects of his job. The late-afternoon sun sent sparkles skittering across the white-flecked sea. He took in a slow breath and allowed himself to savor the steady pull of the wheel against his hands—the surge of the ocean itself. To his mind, there was nothing more grand in all the world.

Gradually, Captain Vaderton become aware of a presence standing respectfully nearby.

“Mr. Jillen,” he said. “Something on your mind?”

“Begging your pardon, Captain.” Jillen squinted up at him in the hard sun.

There was something almost pretty about the boy's delicate features. Vaderton knew if the boy didn't toughen up, his peers would soon be giving him hells. It was not, technically speaking, Vaderton's duty to instruct the regular crew. That was the bosun's responsibility. So Vaderton said nothing about it. “Out with it, Mr. Jillen. You've already disturbed my serene repose.”

“Well, sir.” Jillen looked up at him earnestly. “I just wanted to know what you think it was I saw. The disappearing ship, I mean.”

“I don't know,” said the captain. “But there are stranger things in this world, I can assure you. I have seen weather that gave no warning. I have seen oarfish the length of this deck. And once, off in the distance, I saw a giant ship encased in metal.”

“A ship of
metal
, sir? How did it not sink?”

“Perhaps some sailing art not yet known to us. Perhaps by biomancery.”

“Biomancers, sir?” Jillen hesitated for a moment, then said, “The men say you know one, sir. A biomancer, I mean. Is it true?”

“I'm not sure any normal man can
know
a biomancer. But I did serve one for a time, and he was pleased with my service.” Vaderton knew that many of his peers whispered to each other that this was the true reason he had been given a frigate at such a young age.

“Is it true what people say, sir? Are they really sorcerers? It's not just tricks?”

The captain smiled faintly. “Did you know, young Mr. Jillen, that we are not the only large and deadly thing in these seas called the
Guardian
?”

“I thought no two ships could have the same name.”

“Oh, but it isn't a ship,” said Vaderton. “It's a great sea beast created by the biomancers to protect the northern borders of the empire against invaders. I saw it myself, once, while I was in service to the biomancers. A terrible kraken as big as an island that can crush a ship in one of its massive tentacles as easily as you crack an egg.”