On Discord Isle

ON DISCORD ISLE

Book Two of the Dawnhawk Trilogy

by

Jonathon Burgess

On Discord Isle

Copyright © 2013 by Jonathon C. Burgess

All rights reserved. Neither this book or any portion thereof may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. All events and characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are purely coincidental.

Cover art by Ksenia Mamaeva.

Cover design by Vladimir Verano.

Map by Vladimir Verano.

Interior format by Jonathon Burgess.

Editing by Susan Defreitas.

Published by Brass Horse Books.

First Edition, June 2013

Find out more about the author and the Dawnhawk Trilogy at www.jonathonburgess.com.

For Mom & Dad

ON DISCORD ISLE

Chapter One

Things were not going according to the plan.

“That was great!” said the first mate. “You came out of the clouds and had us before we even noticed. Just like in a penny-play! My boys are going to love this.” He shared a lascivious smile. “And it won’t hurt my chances with the wharf-lasses either.”

Captain Fengel blinked, nonplussed. He did agree with the man, if only about the first part. They’d dropped down from the noonday sky right above the merchant vessel, snaring its sails and descending to the deck before the crew had any time at all to react. The few who’d thought to resist had been quickly disarmed. Captain Fengel and his airship pirates had successfully captured their prey.

It was just that no one seemed to
care
.

The first mate appeared harmless. Still, Fengel kept the man in the corner of his eye as he glanced about, checking on the progress of the raid. They stood on the middle deck of the
Minnow,
a wooden barkentine hailing from the Perinese colony of Breachtown. The hull was a long rectangle tapering up to a bowsprit that jutted out over the clear, cerulean sea. Three thick masts thrust up from the deck, a foundation for the forest of rigging, ratlines, and sails that completed the vessel. Those last should have been billowing, full and taut against the wind. Now, however, they hung limp. Their cloth was tangled by heavy grappling hooks whose ropes led even higher, to the long, clean lines of the airship
Dawnhawk
hanging against the bright sky above.

“Now that’s a thing,” said the first mate, following Fengel’s gaze. “Fixing our sails is going to be a pain. But it’s worth it, just to see yer ship.”

Fengel peered back at the man.
Don’t these people realize what’s going on?
At least he was properly awed by the vessel above them. Fengel felt the glow of pride beneath his suspicion.

The
Dawnhawk
was a long pumpkin seed hanging from a spindle. Thick chains and hawsers connected the rounded hull to the rigid gas bag above, a great attenuated egg of ridged cloth. Propellers hung from the stern end of the vessel, as well as exhaust pipes for the steam engines that powered them. Large triangles of shimmering fabric lay folded against the hull, the arcane skysails used to ride aetherial currents.

“Yep,” continued the first mate. “Quite a thing. I’ve never seen the like. Everyone talks about ’em. How d’you get it to stay up like that?”

“It’s a secret,” Fengel muttered.

Both ships were furious with activity. Those up on the
Dawnhawk
tossed down rope and netting for the soon-to-be pilfered cargo. Fengel’s own first mate, the dashing Lucian Thorne, stood upon the port-side gunwales as he supervised the crew on deck. Usually Lucian would lead the raid, but there were
considerations
now, and Fengel’s presence was required.

More of his crew occupied the rigging of the
Minnow
, reefing the sails and keeping an eye on the captives from up above. He recognized Lina Stone, a diminutive city-born prostitute and recent addition to his crew. Fengel smiled. Letting her on had been a gamble, but it had paid off handsomely. Lina was competent, quick, and had saved his skin more than once. Though he did not care for that thing she called her pet, now whipping through the air to land on her shoulders. Runt was one of the scryn, a vile cross between flying snake and manta ray that all sensible sailors rightly hated.

“Scryn, eh?” said the captive mate of the
Minnow
. “I didn’t think anyone could train those nasty little monsters. You pirates are just full of surprises.” He chortled and shook his head.

Fengel considered having the man sent to join his crew; he was growing irksome. But no. Fengel needed to keep an eye on him.
And besides,
a gentleman possesses self-control
. He turned his attention away.

The merchant vessel had a few dozen hands, all of whom stood along the railing. They were scruffy from their long voyage and nursed a few small, recent wounds. Weirdly, though, they looked more relieved than worried. A small handful of Fengel’s crew watched them, led by his huge gunnery mistress, Sarah Lome.

On the opposite side of the ship stood a gaggle of civilian passengers, similarly watched by the silent Geoffrey Lords, Fengel’s terrifying cook. The passengers didn’t seem much phased, merely watching their captors at work and quietly conversing amongst themselves. The other members of his crew moved up and down the ship, hunting for anyone still trying to hide. Fengel himself stood near the main cargo hatchway while Henry Smalls worked to open it with a few other pirates. Rastalak, of the reptilian Draykin, assisted him.

“You’ll want to watch the upper-right corner on that hatch,” said the
Minnow’s
first mate. “She sticks something fierce, and our carpenter is a lazy bastard who hasn’t gotten round to fixin’ it yet.”

Henry Smalls glanced at the man. “Thanks?” he replied, throwing an uncertain look at Fengel.

Fengel shrugged helplessly.
What is wrong with these people?
Not that he was complaining, overmuch. Willing victims were far better than the alternative.

Rastalak gave a grunt and stooped to lift the hatch. Fengel still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the tiny lizard-man; he hadn’t even known the fellow’s gender until an awkward incident in the privy last week. Though less than half Fengel’s own height, the lizard-man was strong; he raised the heavy hatch single-handedly, and apparently without any undue effort.

“Oh, good show,” called one of the passengers, a matronly woman at the front of the group. She was dressed in the conservative Perinese style, a peacock feather jutting from her wide-brimmed hat.

She began to clap demurely, pausing for just a moment to glare around her. The rest of the passengers joined her, giving polite applause. Geoffrey Lords gave a worried look back to his captain. Fengel felt for the man. Of all the things expected on a pirate raid, this was not one of them.

Still, loot is loot and no one’s dead.

“Here’s the dog!”

Fengel winced. Only one person in the world had such a piercing, peace-shattering roar.

His wife.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, counting to three. Then he turned to face her. 

Natasha Blackheart strode up from the aft-castle cabin where she’d been rummaging. Even still, his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. Long, lustrous dark hair spilled down from the kerchief wrapped around her head to her shoulders, framing a heartbreakingly lovely face. Her eyes were golden and almond-shaped, her lips full and twisted in a cruel smile. She wore tight breeches and a distractingly low-cut blouse. There was nothing soft in the heavy cutlass at her hip, though, and the Wiley twins at her back were her loyal brutes. One carried a lit oil lantern. The other chivied along a portly man with a grey beard and captain’s jacket.

“Ha!” barked Natasha. “Found this slug hiding in a smuggler’s hole under his bed. Or trying to, anyway. He couldn’t fit his fat arse all the way in!”

She gestured, and the twins threw the
Minnow’s
captain to the deck. Fengel tried to remember their individual names, and failed, which was bothersome. He brushed the thought aside and looked to the figure at their feet.

The man sat upright with a grunt. “That was uncalled for,” he said. “Got to make a show of at least
trying
. If only so’s we can say such to the shipping agent.” He stuck a hand out. “Now that we have observed the proprieties, let me offer our full cooperation with your piratical endeavor, so that we can get this business over quickly. I would like to be on our way before
too
much time has passed.”

Natasha snorted. “Be on your way? You fat sack of suet! You’re assuming you’re going to live through the day.” She kicked him in the side. “You’ll
cooperate
in cutting yer own stones off, should I desire it. Your ship is
mine
now, you—”

“Your cooperation is most welcome,” interrupted Fengel. He gave a brittle smile to Natasha. “And there’s no need to be discourteous…my dear.” He sheathed his saber and faced the merchant captain, offering a hand. “Let me assure you, sir, that we mean your crew no harm, and are only interested in your hold.”

The captain took it, and Fengel helped him to his feet. “Thank you m’boy, thank you. At least
some
of you young people today still possess common decency. Captain Mortimer Pyke, of the
Minnow.
”

“Captain Fengel, of the pirate vessel
Dawnhawk
.” He thought for a moment.
“
And this is my absolutely
darling
wife,” he added venomously. “Captain Natasha Blackheart.”

The first mate gave a low whistle. “Buyer’s remorse, eh?”

Fengel rolled his eyes. “She even refused my name, when we were wed.”

“Enough of this!” snarled Natasha. She glared at Fengel, then faced the crew. “For all my fool husband says, you’re our
captives
. We’re taking your hold, your jewelry, all of it, and you seem to be forgetting that.”

Ah, there we go.
Courtesy was courtesy, but in her dim, roundabout way Natasha had recognized that something was amiss with these people.

“Well now,” said Captain Pyke. “You’ve got us, that’s plain as day. No need to get worked up about it. We’re not even Merchant Navy, with Bluecoat marines aboard or any such. You can have our holds, and gladly.”

Natasha blinked in confusion. Fengel glanced at Henry Smalls and nodded to the gaping hold. The steward clambered down inside along with Rastalak.

“We’re just glad you’re not the
Salmalin
,” said the first mate. “I mean, you want our cargo, right? It could be a lot worse.”

“Oh yes,” called the woman with the massive hat. “Those people are just the worst sort of
savages
. I mean, you hear all sorts of awful things about them.”

“Too true,” said a man beside her.

Aha. There
is
something else going on.
“What’s this now?” asked Fengel.

“Frigate,” said Captain Pyke. “Hailing from some barbarous city in the Sheikdom of Salomca. We heard reports back in Breachtown of her; she’s been hunting Kingdom ships this last season, avoiding direct engagement with anything capable of fighting her off, coming for us defenseless merchants instead. We were worried stiff when we spied her a few days ago. She’s been shadowing us ever since.” He paled at the memory.

Fengel did the math in his head.
The Minnow only has three sails, plus mizzenmasts. A Salomcani frigate could easily catch up. If it was only shadowing, there had to be a reason.
Fengel cursed under his breath as the answer came to him.

“I’d rather be press-ganged by the Navy than let those jackals get ahold of me,” said a captive sailor. The rest of the
Minnow’s
crew all took up the conversation, rousing more emotion than they’d displayed during the entire pirate raid. Geoffrey Lords and Sarah Lome both looked back to Fengel for direction.

“Enough!” barked Natasha. “I’m tired of your gabbling; it’s not important. This Salomcani ship isn’t here, so let’s get back to the matter at hand. Namely, taking everything that isn’t nailed down.”