Scimitar Sun (8 page)

Seoril watched the exchange and frowned.
Favorite indeed, more like his private watchdog
, he thought. “I don’t think the warship was headed for any eastern port, and I’ll tell you why. If he was headed for Marathia or Fornice, or even Southaven, he’d have made for Saber Cut and worked his way through usin’ his sweeps. Them warships can make four knots straight into the wind if there ain’t much sea.”

“Which begs the question: where was he headed?”

“Let me find him for you, sir!” Sam offered, her face lit up like sunrise. “I can take the cat boat and work my way down the islands and back in four days.”

“You think he’s somewhere here in the Shattered Isles, Sam?” the captain asked, one eyebrow arching.

“Where else? Like Seoril said, if he was makin’ for any eastern port, he’d have cut through the isles farther north. He’s not headed straight south, that’s for sure. Ain’t nothin’ out there but seaweed and sea drakes!”

“
Captain
Seoril, if you please, Sam,” Seoril said, narrowing his eyes at the girl, then flicking his gaze toward Parek. Favorite or no, the girl was getting a bit big for her britches.

“Yes, Sam,” Parek said, nodding to the other captain. “I know we’ve all had a bit to drink, but you’re junior here. Show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, pressing a knuckle to her forehead in salute to Seoril. “Sorry, Captain. It won’t happen again.”

“I gotta say, she’s right though,” he said, acknowledging her apology with a nod. “The warship’s patrolling, and they’ve never done that before, or they’ve come here for a visit.”

“And there’s only one person they’d be visitin’ in the Shattered Isles,” Sam said, eyeing both captains again. “They’ve come to see the sea witch.”

“That was my thinkin’ as well.” Seoril stood and nodded his respects to the table. Farin had passed out flat on his face and was snoring in a puddle of rum. “I better get back to the
Gull
before that dimwit Beckel stores the sugar next to the water barrels again. We’ll transfer cargo tomorrow and be off at dusk. Thanks for the rum, Parek.”

“Sleep well, my friend,” the
Cutthroat’s
captain said, leaning back in his seat and stretching. “And don’t worry about the warship. It’s obvious they’re not hunting us.”

“Aye, and I’m thankful for that. Goodnight.”

≈

After Seoril had ducked out of the mess, Sam reached for the rum bottle one more time and, under Parek’s watchful gaze, poured them both another measure.

“I could be off in an hour with the catboat and you’d know if that warship was at Plume Isle by mornin’, Captain,” she said.

“Aye, I suppose you could, Sam, but it’ll have to wait until the morning. You and the whole crew have had a bit to drink, and sailing a catboat in the trades takes a sharp wit, not a sodden one.” He pushed himself up and took his cup. “Besides, I’ve got something else for you to do first.”

“And what might that be, Captain?” she asked. The knowing smile that played across her face seemed to belie her age.

“Why don’t you bring that bottle to my cabin, and we’ll discuss it.”

“Aye, sir.” She stood and took the bottle by the neck, her thin frame wobbling a bit as she stepped over the bench.

“Hold fast there, mate,” he said, his broad hand slipping around her slim waist. “Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“No worries there, Captain,” she said, smiling up at him with a glint in her bright young eyes. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

The door to the captain’s cabin closed with a quiet click of the latch. The first mate, Farin, kept on snoring.

Chapter Five

Diplomacy’s Course

“Impressive.” Count Norris’ appreciative smile appeared genuine. “You can haul three ships up for repair and still house one under construction in the lofting shed? Very impressive indeed!”

“Aye, we
could
haul three ships, though we never seen the need, yer graceship,” Dura said, trying to match the count’s ambling gait but fidgeting like a race horse in a draft harness. Camilla had warned her to be on her best behavior, yet not overly accommodating concerning the new ship designs. “And the ways ain’t so big as to haul a decent-sized galleon, like
Seven Sisters
or
Winter Gale
, fer instance. They do fine fer Mistress Flaxal’s schooners, but that’s about as big as we go.”

“Big enough to haul corsairs, no doubt,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what the late Captain Bloodwind used them for, I mean?”

“Aye, that ‘e did, yer graceship, but we tore that old piece of—I mean, the old ways, apart. It weren’t in good repair, and was cobbled together like a court document to begin with.” She hawked and spat in distaste. “Ghelfan don’t put up with shoddy equipment in his yard.”

“So I’ve heard.” The count turned to the lofting shed and guided the tour toward it.

“Most of what was once Bloodwind’s has been completely removed or refurbished,” Camilla added, gesturing across the bay toward the tidy collection of huts that had replaced the shantytown burned in the attack. “The local natives aren’t much for organization, but they work well under Dura’s direction.”

“Aye, they ain’t lazy, I’ll give ‘em that! And they know one end of an adze from another, which is more’n I can say fer some green hands I’ve trained.” Dura stuffed her hands in her pockets and recalled, “Why I knew one feller who chopped off two toes the first time he—”

“Dura, the count really doesn’t want to hear—”

“And what are you currently building in there?” the count interrupted, gesturing to the closed lofting shed. “Another schooner?”

“Na. Jest one of Mistress Flaxal’s silly projects.” Dura chuckled and shook her shaggy head. “She comes up with some of the damnedest—”

“I’d very much like to see it.” The count’s eyes slid to Camilla’s. His tone was light, but his manner clearly dared her to deny him anything.

“Surely, Count. We have no secrets here.” His sly court manner was wearing on her. Despite the way she’d seemingly won him over the previous night, by this morning the formality had returned. He seemed determined to examine every nook and cranny of the ship yard and to not believe a single word she said. “Have a care where you place your feet. I wouldn’t want you to get creosote on those lovely shoes.”

“Thank you, Lady Camilla. I’ll step with care.”

Dura guided them through the small side door of the building and ushered them into her domain. Camilla knew that Cynthia had come up with another new design, but had not paid much attention to the details. Now, with the nearly finished hulls towering over her head, she gaped inwardly, despite her outward composure.

“What in the name of—” The count stopped short, looking first at one narrow hull, then the other, then at the arched beams of laminated wood that united the two. “I’m sorry, but what manner of construction
is
this? It looks like two ships united into one big raft!”

“Aye, it is a strange lookin’ contraption, ain’t it?” Dura guided them around to the two bows and pointed. “She don’t have a name for it yet, but I suspect, just like happened with the schooners, some bloke’ll latch a moniker to it and it’ll stick. She said she got the design from the natives’ outrigger canoes. The outrigger makes the boat more stable, ye see, so she just took the idea and made it bigger. About seventy feet bigger.”

“This is a wonder!” Norris exclaimed. “Surely this is not a cargo vessel! The hulls are too narrow to hold much of anything. What is its purpose?”

“She never said what purpose she had for it, other than to see how it sailed. It’d probably haul more’n you think, though. Her profile’s low, and you could stuff a good bit of cargo on the main deck, dependin’ on how she was rigged. The booms’ll be set high, or they’d sweep the deck clear of crew when she jibes, but—”

“Booms? One mast on each hull, then.” The count squinted up at the planked hulls and the massive arches connecting them.

“Er…no, yer graceship. She’ll have two masts set fore an’ aft, schooner rigged, with gaff tops’ls.”

“Why not one mast on each hull?”

Dura just looked at him like he’d suggested pigs should take up knitting, and said, “I just build ‘em, yer graceship, I don’t design ‘em.”

“Well,” Norris said, stepping back as if trying to imagine the finished vessel, “the emperor will be very interested to hear about this. I’ve neither seen nor heard of the like.”

“Why would Emperor Tynean have an interest in something like this, Count?” Camilla tried to keep her tone casually curious, but her mind was spinning ahead with concern.

“The emperor’s interest in your mistress’ new ship designs is one of the primary reasons for my visit, Lady Camilla. As I said, your schooners have created quite a stir in Tsing. He sees many potential applications for such craft.” His eyes shifted from the sleek hulls to her, as if gauging how both might be best applied to serve his emperor. “I’m sure we can reach some amicable agreement that allows the empire to utilize this astonishing breakthrough in naval architecture.”

“You
might
reach such an agreement,” Camilla began with a dissembling smile, “with Cynthia Flaxal. I cannot make any agreements regarding her ships’ designs, and she is not disposed to begin selling them, yet.”

“She has said as much?” The count seemed surprised, but Camilla could see that it was feigned. “Surely there is room for negotiation, on this design, for instance.”

“There is always room for negotiation, my dear Count,” she said, meaning it. “But of what value to the empire could an experimental craft be? It hasn’t even been tested at sea yet.”

“One never knows how something so radically different might impact the affairs of the empire, Lady Camilla,” he said, as if the line were rote. “The world, and I daresay the Shattered Isles, is a dangerous place. Anything new that might be applied to the imperial defense, commerce, or even faster communications could vastly change the way we live, or indeed whether we survive.”

“Oh, come now,” Camilla scoffed, patting his arm. “How could something as trivial as a new ship determine the survival of the empire?”

“My dear lady, one can never determine how something might impact one’s survival until all of its potential applications are thought through. Why, something as seemingly safe as a sea voyage can determine life or death, as it has in my very own family.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, taken aback by his sudden admission. “One of your family was lost at sea?”

“My
entire
family, my dear. My wife, two children and their governess, along with the entire ship and all her crew, were lost in these very waters not three years ago.” His tone was casual, but she could see that there was pain behind the admission. “No one ever found a trace of them.”

“Three years ago…Might you remember the name of the ship?” she asked. This might explain a lot about Count Norris.

“Of course I remember. She was the
Alabaster Rose
out of Tsing and bound for Fornice, where I was stationed. She was captained by a man named Derwall, and hauling a cargo of mixed trade goods. Why do you ask?”

“
Alabaster Rose
…” she muttered, trying to remember if she’d ever heard any of Bloodwind’s captains mention that name. She shook her head, unable to recall. “I’m sorry, Count. Three years ago I was in this very place, a prisoner of Captain Bloodwind. I heard the names of many of the ships that his captains took over the years, but I can’t recall if that was one of them.”

The count’s eyebrows rose, but he held his silence. It was the sort of restraint she expected from a diplomat, and she appreciated it. Camilla cleared her throat. “If you wish, I could try to find out if the
Alabaster Rose
was one of the ships he took.”

“What does it matter, really?” he asked, his voice sharp. “The ship was lost with all hands. Whether it was pirates, cannibals, the mer or a sea drake, no one will ever know, and regardless, my family is gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Count Norris.” She smiled sympathetically and gave his arm a squeeze that she honestly hoped was supportive. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.”

“It was long ago, my dear. Shall we continue the tour? I daresay there is yet much more to see.”

“Of course.” She guided him to the door, leaving the lofting shed and the uncharacteristically silent Dura behind.

?

≈

“There she is, just as sure as seagulls squawk!” Sam edged to the foredeck of the little catboat and gripped the mast, squinting to the south as they rounded the point of Plume Isle. “A two-master, just like Seoril said. Bring her upwind, Taylan. I want a closer look.”

“
She
wants a closer look,” Taylan said, just loud enough for Dorain, his mate, to hear. He hauled on the sheets and turned the catboat southeast.

“Aye,” Dorain said. “I feel like a bloody babysitter.”

“Oh, she ain’t no baby, mate.” His friend nodded forward. The wind pressed Sam’s tattered linen shirt against her torso as she stood, shading her eyes for a better view. “There’s woman under them knickers, sure as fish swim.”

“Oh, aye, but word is Captain Parek’s plowin’ that ground, and he don’t take kind to poachers.”

“Still…” Taylan scratched his scraggly beard, clearly wondering if the prize was worth the risk. “She should be careful standin’ up there like that. She could fall over and never be seen nor heard from again.”

“Aye, on a little boat like this, fallin’ overboard could be a fatal thing.” The two men exchanged a meaningful look, then looked forward to where young Sam waved to the sailors aboard the man-o-war as they cruised past.

?

≈

The school was assembled, a mass of mer floating and swimming in all orientations. All eyes were directed toward the center of the writhing mass where the Trident Holder signed for all to see.

*It is true that there is a warship anchored in our waters. It is also true that it is anchored near the home of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir. She has gone to the place of her birth, and will be gone for many more tides, so we cannot ask her about this warship.* He swam a tight circle, a sign of open irritation. *We know nothing about the landwalkers’ reason for sending a warship into our home.*