Chapter Five
“BOOYA!” Mckinley’s maniacal shout came from above the ship like a call to insanity. When the wind whipped just so, he could be seen through the mists holding to the mast with only one hand. Here and there, he leaned into the crisp morning air and howled to the salty clouds with all the stability of a free-flying pinwheel.
Far below, the majority of the crew went about their work, completely accustomed to his behavior.
But one among them watched his display with a terrified sort of fascination, hands clenched to his chest in bewilderment.
“Now I see why they call him Mad Dog…” the scraggly possum shook his pale head.
A nearby trio of raccoons lifted their gruff voices in turn, correcting him.
“Don’t EVER call him that.”
“’Specially not to ‘is face.”
“HATES that name, ‘e does.”
The possum hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud. Truth be told, he’d been so caught up in his spectatorship that he hadn’t noticed them working alongside him at all.
“Um,” he looked away self-consciously. “I wasn’t really planning on it.”
“Good lad,” the tallest of the three complimented. “Now, the Marauder’sgood, if you’re after a moniker in a pinch. You can call him that.”
“LOVES that‘un.”
“Thinks ‘e worked hard fer it.”
Furrowing his brow, the possum again turned his attention to the mop in his hands. “It’s neither here nor there, I suppose. Not like I’ll have much call to talk to him face to face. If ever I do, I’ll probably stick with calling him Captain.”
“Cap’n,” the eldest confirmed. “Safe choice.”
“Could always call him sir.”
“Can’t go wrong wi’ sir.”
“Shows respect.”
“Wenever call ‘im sir.”
“’Cause we ain’t respectful, is we?”
The tallest waved his hands at the two, shushing them. “You’re new, aren’t you, lad?”
Head spinning from the wall of words that seemed to hit him all at once, the possum forced himself to nod, but kept his eyes on the deck. “I’m Chimmy. Chimmy the Leech.”
“Nice to meet you, Chimmy. My name’s Lumber.”
“Gil.”
“Ormac.”
Chimmy tipped his jaw in a weak greeting then tapped the bucket near his feet. “I, um, kinda have a lot of work to do here, guys.”
Lumber chuckled, ignoring Chimmy’s brush-off with a lighthearted jab. “And you’ll be at it all day, at that rate.”
“I’m doing my best,” Chimmy countered defensively. “This is my first run on a ship.”
Ormac tugged his eyepatch in surprise. “Aww, why diddun ya say so? None’s ever taught ya the proper way te swab a deck?”
Gil gave him a playful shove. “By proper ‘e means easy.”
Lumber pointed at Gil. “And by easy, he means awesome.”
The possum hunched his shoulders and shook his head, seeming annoyed that anyone would suggest his methods were somehow inadequate. “I guess not.”
Gil rolled his shoulders and clapped his hands together. “Well, we’ll jus’ have te rectify that. Let us give ya a hand.”
“No, it’s alright, I got it.”
“C’mon, lad,” Lumber clapped him on the back and used his surprise to flip the mop deftly from his grip. Then he gestured to the topmasts. “Find a little humility and take your cues from the captain.”
Chimmy gave a skeptical glance to the shadow overhead. “He doesn’t exactly seem the humble type.”
“No, no, no, not that part,” Gil said. “’E ain’t jus’ up there for kicks, ye know. Well, partly, ‘e is. But ‘e’s also keepin’ an eye on Marshall’s ship, see? It’s th’only way te track ‘em through the fog, at this distance.”
“So… we’re following them?” The possum sounded bored, clearly making no attempt to see any connection whatsoever.
“We’re letting them do the heavy lifting for us,” Lumber corrected, thumping the mop on the deck. “You see where I’m going with this?”
Chimmy looked timidly from one raccoon to the next. They were right, he supposed. It would be pretty foolish of him not to take them up on their offer. “Um, well. Alright then, I guess.”
“Let’s show ‘im ‘ow it’s done, mates,” Gil said with a wink, giving the bucket a nudge and tucking his toe beneath it.
With a whoop, a whistle, and a smile, the three sprang into action. Gil tipped the bucket on its side and leapt over it, landing on a soap-covered rag as Lumber tossed the mop to Ormac and mounted the bucket. They shot forward on a sudsy wave. Back and forth across the deck, they zigged and zagged until bucket and rag were dry. Then they threw themselves from the prow, earning a startled cry from Chimmy, who couldn’t see their off-deck maneuver of forming an acrobatic, hand-to-ankle chain while wedging the mop’s handle between rail posts as an anchor point. Whipping about in a downward arc, they filled the bucket and flipped back onto deck, rinsing and repeating until the whole of the ship was spick and span. In the space of a few minutes, the three once again stood before Chimmy, grinning from ear to ear and dripping from head to toe.
Aghast, the young possum stared, open-mouthed, until he found his voice. “That was the easy way?!”
The trio looked one to the other.
Lumber shrugged. “Well… once you get the hang of it.”
Chimmy was still gawping at them in disbelief when from the winds overhead came a boisterous laugh. “Amateurs!” When he was certain he could be seen, Captain McKinley gave a mock salute before releasing his hold on the mast and stepping into the open air with a grin that said: while I appreciate your display of good-natured recklessness, I’m far more delighted that you’ve presented me with the opportunity to show you up. Stand by and thank you for playing. Then he plummeted through the mist at breakneck speed. He maintained his free-fall until the last possible moment. Only then did his hands shoot toward a passing length of rope, bringing his descent to a sudden and short-lived halt. With unnatural grace, he swung forward, allowing the cord to slip between his hands as he dropped to a lower yardarm and somersaulted to the roof of his cabin. A final backflip planted him on the main deck, arms outstretched as if in anticipation of applause. He earned a golfclap or two, along with a few disparaging sighs. But poor Chimmy was practically beside himself with exasperation.
“You’re all mad,” he gasped before he could think better of it.
His superiors stared back at him for a long moment.
Then, Gil chuckled outright, “Catches on quick, don’t ‘e?”
“Sharp as a tack, this one,” Ormac agreed, returning the mop to its baffled owner.
“Though we prefer the term ‘open to adventure.’ Welcome to the Negvar, lad.” Lumber nodded to his weathered companions and the three raccoons carried their shenanigans to the rear of the ship.
Suppressing a shudder of irritation, the possum bent his head to resume his duties, then noticed that Captain McKinley stood nearby, arms folded, brow raised.
“Chimmy, right?” He said, at length.
“Um… yes, sir.”
“Chimmy the Leech?”
The possum nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The Marauder began to circle him. “You’re my new crewman?”
“Yes, sir.”
He paused. “You’re a possum.”
Chimmy looked at him sidelong. “Yes, sir.”
“Why do they call you the Leech, then?”
The new crewman shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Um… well I – I don’t know, sir.”
McKinley screwed up his face. “Sounds rather off-putting.”
Chimmy tightened his grip on the mop still in his hands. “I don’t think it was ever meant as a compliment, sir.”
“But,” he resumed circling. “You introduce yourself as Chimmy the Leech.”
“I suppose I do, sir, yes.”
“So you must find some aspect of it… endearing?”
“Not really, sir, I just… maybe I’m used to the name. Force of habit and all.”
“So you habitually refer to yourself with an off-putting label because other people tell you to?”
“I…” The possum wrung his hands. “I guess I never thought much about it, sir.”
“Well.” McKinley stopped his pacing and placed his hands on his hips, looking disappointed. “This is never going to work, then, is it?”
Chimmy tensed. “H-have I done something wrong, sir?”
“Wrong? No.” The Marauder shook his head in a very serious manner. “No, you’re doing everything right, which is precisely the problem. You follow orders, even ludicrous ones. You’re polite, quiet, unassuming. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you had no idea whatsoever that this is supposed to be a pirate ship. We’ve no room for propriety here. So lighten up. Make a friend, one who will implore you to skip your duties from time to time. Have a mug too many and throw Tobb into the brine, if you can lift him.” McKinley gestured to the rather rotund beaver whistling at the helm. “And, for Fate’s sake, stop calling me sir. No one calls me sir.”
“Sir?” A serene voice interrupted from behind.
“Except Amelia,” the Marauder amended smoothly, turning to regard the cat with a deferential smile.
She smiled in return and tipped her elegant head. “The father is asking after you, if you aren’t busy.”
The Marauder donned his hat with an overstated sigh. “Oh, the unending demands of leadership. Keep an eye on Chimmy while I’m below, will you, Madame Ling? I’m concerned the poor lad hasn’t the foggiest idea how to properly misbehave. I’d hate for his particular ailment to spread to the rest of the crew. Such a thing could carry dire consequences for us all.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Bowing out of his way in a peaceful manner, Amelia Ling joined Chimmy in watching the captain disappear belowdecks.
“This ship…” the possum said. “I don’t belong here.”
At that, the placid cat laughed. “No one belongs here.”
“Then,” Chimmy looked to her in confusion. “What’s the point? Why join up at all? Why separate yourselves from the outside world like this?”
“Have you spent much time in the outside world?” She smiled down at him. “No one belongs there, either. The difference being, out there, everyone expects you to belong. To a family, to a Guild, to a group. Here, we know better. We are individuals with oddities and ill-fitting flaws – and we celebrate our misshapen personalities without having to put on a face for false acceptance.”
“You’re pirates.” He said the words bluntly, almost distastefully, as though reminding her of something she may have forgotten.
She eyed him. “Yes, we are. But given the choice, I’d rather wedge myself a place among misfits who accept themselves for what they are. Wouldn’t you?”
The possum stared up at her for a long moment, then rested the mop against the mast, stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned away, an odd expression on his hidden face.
“I guess so. I don’t know.” He shrugged as he walked away. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask.”
≈
“Father?” Removing his hat, McKinley cracked the door to the dimly-lit room and peered into the darkness.
When he heard no response, he stepped inside.
On the far end of the room, he could just make out the silhouette of a fox kneeling before a candle, his head bent, hands clasped solemnly behind his back. The flame threw shadows from his shoulders that danced and sputtered like aimless weapons, making the cleric seem more dangerous than reserved, more kingly than priestly. The humble fox was whispering, intermittent words that McKinley tried not to hear – he knew they were not for him.
“…Heart and crux of Holy Fate… pass over my soul and make me clean…”
The pirate captain stepped forward and cleared his throat, but it was several moments more before the fox twitched his ears in recognition.
Then, his prayer concluded, Father Deagan Faiz lifted his head.
“Captain. Thank you for coming.”
His voice was warm and regal. It filled the room with an ownership that made McKinley feel like a trespasser on his own boat. Despite the sloop in his muscled shoulders, and the humble way he held his ears pressed against his head, there was a deliberate strength to Faiz’s movements as he stood and stepped away from the candle. That strength made him seem more like a fixture of nature than an individual. He was a rock, and he was a tower. Solid and calm as a frozen stream. As always, McKinley had to resist the urge to kneel or salute, struggling instead to keep his banter light. “If our history is any indication, it would have been foolish of me not to.”
The cleric smiled, lifting his hand to an empty chair. He seated himself and, for a time, no words were spoken. The Marauder waited, mirroring the father’s silence, fighting the urge to make a joke about the weather just to ease the tension.
The quiet made him uncomfortable.
And Faiz seemed far too torn for McKinley’s liking.
“Forgive my hesitance, Captain,” Faiz apologized at last. “This is difficult for me.”
“I’ve never known you to shy away from a warning.” The Marauder smiled, guessing the father’s intent all too well. Not all foxes had the gift of foresight, if it could be called that, but there were enough of them to give credence to the idea that the sly species had one up on the rest of the world. It gave them a stigma in proper circles and made the Secoran underbelly vulnerable to an array of serial charlatans. But no self-respecting pirate would ever set sail without their token fox. Genuine or fraud, it hardly mattered. Among those honest few, Faiz had an unparalleled gift. If he called the captain to his quarters over every intuition or inkling, McKinley could well spend his life in these four walls. Faiz wasn’t given to such drama. He would only call for the captain’s private attention if something grave were afoot. McKinley leaned forward in his chair. “What’s the deal?”
The cleric drew a breath and laced his fingers together. “You might call it… a conflict of interests.”
McKinley studied Faiz. He knew of only one thing the father cared enough about for either conflict orinterest to even be possible.
“When we started down this path, you told me it would lead you to your salvation – your one and only chance to atone for your past.” Faiz winced noticeably, as though guilt had risen up to deal him a physical blow with McKinley’s words. For mercy’s sake, the Marauder might have ended it there, were he not already on the defensive. “It was almost as important to you as it was to me that we see this through. Now you’re going to tell me to turn back, aren’t you?” he asked, accusingly.
“Yes.” Faiz forced himself into a deliberate nod. “Forgive me. But I must.”
McKinley shook his head. “Too late, padre. We’re on course, and we’re not breaking it.”
“Captain, please. You have to let this one go.”
A hard glint entered the Marauder’s eye. “That’s not going to happen.”
“It we continue on our current course, you will lose something. Something great and unrecoverable. I wouldn’t have asked you here, were it not…”
“I know that,” McKinley interrupted. “And I don’t care. Everything comes with a risk. If there is a cost, let me carry it. I’m more than prepared…”
Faiz held up a gentle hand, interrupting him in turn. “No, you’re not. You can’t be. What you seek… the Mosque Hill Fortune, the Secoran Captain… none of it is what you think. It won’t end the way you think.”
“Oh no? How’s it going to end, then?” His words came almost as a challenge to the humble fox, who looked for all the world as though he were pleading for an alternative to the real answer, which he gave with a sigh of sincere regret.
“She’s going to die, my friend.”
For all the kindness with which they had been spoken, for all their sincerity and sorrow, Faiz’s words fell like a fatal blow. McKinley blanched as though impaled. The moments before he reminded himself to breathe seemed infinite and nauseating.
Then he stepped away from the candle light, whispering, “… Who’s going to die?”
Faiz remained seated, head still bowed while his words were cautious. “Your daughter…”
“No.” McKinley pointed angrily. “You don’t know her. No one knows about her.”
Even as the argument left his mouth, the Marauder knew how hollow it sounded. Faiz knew the secret in everything.
And he was never wrong.
“Her days… they are numbered.”
McKinley closed his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Perhaps they would be better spent with you at her side.”
“I said SHUT UP!” The words erupted from the pirate captain’s chest as he lunged, dragging the much-taller Faiz to his feet and ripping his sword from its scabbard. “One more insolent word, and I’ll cut that tongue from your sanctimonious mouth, do you understand me?! She’s going to live! And no superstitious cleric is going to stand in the way of her cure by poisoning her father’s sense of hope! Let me lose something great – let me lose everything! I’ll make her well again if it kills me and everyone else on this rotted ship! I will cut a swath through this world in blood if there’s even a chance that it might make her whole! Who the hell are you to stand in my way?!”
Faiz looked to the blade at his throat, no concern or surprise registering on his face, no judgment. He was only twelve years the captain’s senior; though he looked for all the world as one who’d aged a thousand lifetimes for reality’s one. Indeed, he seemed to be aging before McKinley’s very eyes. Yet few could guess how easily he could overpower and disarm even the infamous Marauder. Fewer still would know that he would never try. Calmly, Faiz placed a hand on McKinley’s shoulder.
Almost as if he were inviting the captain to strike.
“I am no one.” He gave a slight, sad smile. “You can end me here, with no regrets, if that is your wish.”
McKinley stepped back, somewhat rebuked, though his sword was still lifted. “My wish?” He smiled humorlessly in return. “A wish is precisely what I’m after, Father. Don’t you know that? The Mosque Hill Fortune isn’t just gold or jewels. It’s a bloody miracle. It’s knowledge gained and wishes granted. It’s the only hope she has. I can’t just turn away from that. How can you ask me to turn away from that?”
From anyone else, the sympathy in his voice would have been patronizing to the point of fury. “I can ask you to do it because it is the right thing to do. Do you really believe that you can save her with a wish? Are you truly putting all your faith into the idea of magic?”
“Is that so wrong?” There was a tightness to the skin around McKinley’s eyes. It made his whisper seem like a desperate shout, more agony than insistence. “Is it so foolish to hunt for magic in an ordinary world? Maya’s mother cared for me, though I was nothing. A scoundrel and a thief. She took my hand and saved me with a look. What was that, if not magic?”
“I believe you would call that… love.” This time, Faiz’s smile held more than sadness. “Though maybe you’re right. Maybe there is no distinction between the two.”
McKinley listened, drew several deep breaths, each one more difficult than the last. “There must be.” He said slowly, bitterly. “Because I’ve given Maya love and that hasn’t fixed her. I’ve given medicine and money and tears… Magic must be separate, for it’s all that’s left. The only thing I haven’t used up.” He stepped back, his eyes trailing away to the darker corners of the room, looking at nothing. His sword sunk with every syllable, pulled down by the weight of his misery until it clattered to the floor. Its surrender was as hollow as its purpose had ever been. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Father. I don’t know how it came to this. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Mosque Hill is just a phantom star. Maybe I set my course by it in order to feel useful.” He placed a shaking hand over his eyes, as if to shield the world around him from tears that were not there. “Maybe I’m just sailing forward because it’s the only direction left to go.”
Faiz pushed himself away from the wall, but said nothing.
“If only her mother were here,” McKinley went on in an even quieter voice, as though wishing to himself, a private thought meant for no one. “Selene would know what to do, what to say. I’d give anything for her to be here in my place. I’d walk on water and trade my soul on the other side. But I can’t bring her back, not even in memory or song, as my little Maya would have me do.” He gave a sniff and a hollow laugh that sounded more like a stifled emotion. “I can’t even keep my promise to her.”
“What promise was that?”
“To protect our little girl. To keep her safe and whole. It was the only thing she ever asked of me. And I promised… with all my heart, I promised. But now… now…” McKinley sunk into the chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “She’s sick, Father. She’s dying and, Fate forgive me, I can’t let that happen. I can’t fail her like that. I can’t lose them both.”
Once again, Father Faiz sat. “You think you’ve let them down? Captain, her illness isn’t your fault. It happened beyond your will to control it. Whether or not this feels like a punishment, you don’t carry any blame and you don’t need forgiveness. Not from Fate or any other force of nature. Not even from your wife.” He leaned forward, meeting McKinley’s reluctant gaze. “You know that this revelation comes at the cost of everything I was searching for. But I’m telling you this because you are my friend. You own more strength and determination than anyone I’ve ever known. I watch them drain from you with each passing day. I see you fading a piece at a time. It tears you apart to be away from her when she needs you most. If not for her, do this for yourself. You have earned the right to lay down your sword. To be there at her side… in the end.”
McKinley was quiet, eyes closed as though he were waiting for his wandering resolve to return. “At her side?” He struggled to stand without the assistance of the wall, listening to the wind spin its familiar lullaby through the porthole. Then he smiled, a sad and heartfelt smile, hoping Maya was listening too. “Oh, Father. That would be the cruelest act of all. You don’t know her. She’s a fighter, like her mother. She’s stronger than I am. I would only fall apart if I were with her. And that would kill her spirit as surely as anything. If she is to die, better that she do so with hope, feeling whatever strength I have left.” He turned mechanically toward the door, willing his body to move forward.
Maybe because it was the only direction left to go.
“She has three months, at best. If our journey returns you before the third full moon, you may yet see her again. But it will come with a price – one you may not be willing to pay.”
The captain looked back over his shoulder. “I told you, Father. I will pay any price.”
“Captain,” Faiz said slowly, as if to make certain that McKinley understood the full weight of consequence in this choice. “People are going to die.”
Stiffly, the Marauder turned away to face the door, his features darkening in the shadows.
“Then let them die.”
Faiz said nothing more as the captain closed the door behind him, knowing how truly and bitterly he meant those words.
≈
McKinley ran his hands over his face, feeling numb. It wasn’t the cold or the damp of the mist that gathered on his fur as he crossed the deck in a slow walk – bumping past Amelia and Chimmy alike, one looking concerned while the other acted somehow vindicated. It was exhaustion.
Pure emotional exhaustion.
He closed the door to his cabin and leaned his head on the door, then stood in the darkness for the longest time, trying to decide what he should be feeling.
Fury?
Regret?
Despair?
“All pointless,” he said to the painting on the wall above his bed. “They’d just be pointless, wouldn’t they, love? I’ll trade them away, if I must.” Then, quieter, he amended, as though reaching to be honest with himself – or perhaps the one in the painting. “If I can.” He brushed his fingertips over oil and canvas and climbed into bed, boots and all. “Give me blind determination over hope, victory over possibility. I’ll make it work, Selene. I’ll keep my promise or die trying. Booya.”
Then he fell into a deep, fatalistic sleep.
It begged a lesser commitment than any other means of escape.
≈
Chimmy picked idly at a plate of stale food. He was in the mess hall to hide, not to eat.
“’Aven’t we scared ya off yet, lad?” A meaty hand clapped him on the back.
The possum jumped in his seat, settling back but not quite relaxing as Tobb, the grizzled beaver from the helm, helped himself to the empty chair on his left.
Amelia seated herself on his right. “Go easy on him, Master Tobb. The boy is still adjusting to life among the rough and unpredictable rabble.”
Tobb grinned stupidly in response, giving Chimmy a friendly nudge. “Oi diddun mean nuttin’ by it, ye know. And don’ worry none ‘bout the Cap’n neither. Loikes ta mess wi’ the new ones, ‘e does.”
Chimmy lowered his head over his plate, gesturing with a dirty fork to the trio of raccoons on the far side of the hall. “And what’s their excuse?”
The cat smiled.
Tobb laughed heartily.
“The Kota Brothers don’ need no excuse. They is who they is. An’ they seems te have a jolly good time bein’ it.”
Chimmy sat upright. “The… the Kota Brothers? As in… the Masters of the Thieves Guild?”
“Used ta be,” Tobb nodded. “Don’t ask ‘em about it, though. Yer likely ta get yer head ripped off fer yer troubles.”
“Wh-why?” The possum eyed the three sidelong, with a new respect.
“They’re brothers,” Amelia explained. “Dedication to family outweighs dedication to anything else, Guild or crew.”
Again, the possum hunched back over his food, feigning interest but eating nothing.
Lumber seemed to take note of their interest and stood from his chair. “Hey lad, you’re not sore about us nicking your duties, are you?”
Chimmy looked surprised, then shook his head.
“’Cause we was jus’ tryin te help,” said Gil.
“Weren’t out te step on yer toes,” offered Ormac.
“N-no.” The possum lifted a limp hand. “It’s n-not that, it’s just…”
“Secora, right?” Lumber finished for him, lifting his tray and migrating to Chimmy’s table. “Yeah, that place has us all on edge. Something’s not right there, that’s for sinkin’ sure.”
“Don’ whine se much.” Gil joined them. “I quite loike that the dolphin regs ain’t passin’ beyond the docks anymore. Makes it a lot less ‘azardous to be a poirate, ye know.”
“Corsair,” Lumber corrected, soliciting a round of laughter from the mess hall over the more romantic term for their chosen profession.
“The shrouding o’ the mist ain’t se bad, neither,” Gil went on. “A vessel can come and go almos’ as she pleases wiffout risk o’ capture.”
Lumber scoffed, “Thus, our abundance of wealth, right?”
“’Spose that’s roight and good and all o’ that, but what’s it what’s got the regs in such a corner alluva sudden, anyhow?” Tobb looked uncomfortable. “Used te be a brave lot. Now they hugs te the shore loike their lives depend on it.”
From the other side of the room, Ormac, who had not moved, took a long pull on his pipe and lifted his gruff voice. “Maybe the same thing what be makin’ the whales run aground again.” The mess hall went quiet as every crewman turned to find him peering almost maniacally from his single eye. “Whales is smart creatures, they is. Like the eagles and the gryphons, they passed our way o’ understandin’ a long time ago. They only go coast-side when sumpthin’ we can’t see er smell forces ‘em to. Been decades since it ‘appened – not since the last wave o’ mists swept through this cursed kingdom have they thrown themselves te shore. But just this week, more’n five o’ ‘em done precisely that.”
“Come on,” Lumber attempted to argue. “Where did you even hear any of that?”
“Where d’ya think?” Ormac leaned forward. “Secora Tor. That rat hole where everythin’s gone wrong and none wants te admit it. That place is the source o’ it. The mists, they started roight there. Folk can’t stop talkin’ ‘bout it.”
“And what do they say?” Chimmy swallowed. “About the whales?”
“That they ‘eard ‘em screamin’ in fear as they beached ‘emselves.”
Lumber glanced around the room, trying to calm the apprehensive fantasies of a superstitious crew. “Well that’s hardly something for rumor. Certain death tends to put a fright into anybody, right Amelia?” He nudged the impassive cat, looking for support. “Don’t mind him, Chimmy. It’s just storytelling rhetoric. If those whales died at all, it was a blasted shame as well as an accident. And if they screamed, well… it was because they knew their fate, simple as that.”
“Nah, mate,” Ormac lifted his patch to stare through a blind eye at his rapt listeners. “They wasn’t screamin’ o’er what was before ‘em. They were screamin’ fer what was behind.”
≈
The ladder creaked under Lady Sira’s boots as she moved through the hungry belly of her ship. The walls around her moaned as if to signal their emptiness and she sighed, treading soundlessly through a sea of vacant chains that signaled her lack of revenue.
They held only one captive.
One might say business was going poorly.
“The Havoc,” Lady Sira placed a palm against the charred wood and followed Abner’s gaze to a patched hole in the hull. “She has seen better days, no?”
The Elder made no attempt to answer.
“It is sometimes difficult to remember she was once the envy of the Kathkan forces. Light, fast, elegant. Sadly,” she paused, lifting her arms to indicate the battered beams surrounding them. “Secoran hands refuse to treat her with the dignity she so deserves.”
Abner looked up at her at last, his eyes lingering on the many scars criss-crossing Sira’s long arms and delicate face. “Are we still talking about your ship? Or are we talking about you?”
She laughed, moving to crouch before him with her elbows on her knees. “Do not try to get inside my head, aged thing. I assure you, you would not enjoy the trip.” Lady Sira rapped him under the chin. “Now. Speak. What doom were you crying up there, on my deck? Something about the wolf is going to kill us?”
“Have you tried asking the wolf?” Abner mocked.
Lady Sira rolled her eyes. “He isn’t so into the talking.”
“Then maybe inviting him on board your ship wasn’t such a good idea.”
“I did not invite him.” She looked insulted, then waved a nonchalant hand. “He invited himself. I liked his offer, so I let him stay. But you.” She brought a claw near his face. “You, I think, know more of his plans than I do. This, I do not like. So what isn’t he telling me?”
The Elder stared back at her, looking impudent and curious all at the same time. “What has he told you?”
“The wolf tells me that he seeks the throne and that this… what do you call it… scepter will give him rule of your sainted Secora.”
“Which you support? You somehow think that a Baron-ruled Secora would be a good thing?” Abner looked genuinely surprised.
The lithe coyote shrugged, “I think the wolf will regard Kathkan enterprises with more sympathy than the current queen. My cargo will beg fewer questions and my ship will take fewer beatings. Good, bad, it does not matter. It is business.”
The Elder seemed appalled. “You would see all of Secora burn just to make a profit? Through slaving, of all things?”
Lady Sira smiled, showing condescending teeth. “Your moral objections. They are so cute.”
Abner scowled, “There are others out there with the very same objections. Younger, stronger, smarter people who will always stand in your way, regardless of what Secora has to say on the matter. Putting the Baron in charge of the law won’t change it in their eyes. They’ll still oppose you. They’ll do it because it is right and just.”
The coyote tipped her muzzle in annoyance. “You speak of your student, Captain Marshall.”
Abner nodded. “Say what you will about the blighted boy, Marshall knows how to make a choice. In the end, law or no, he will come for you because it is the right thing to do.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Lady Sira waved a bored hand. “He is a gem. Truly. But you have told me nothing that I care to hear. The spirit, the one the wolf brought from the sea. It called you something. Old Blood. What did it mean by that?”
As much as he could with the chains pulling at his arms Abner squared his shoulders, saying impudently, “I have no idea.”
The coyote leaned closer, a deadly glint in her pretty eyes. “Come now.” Her voice was flat and practical. “You do not wish to lie to me.”
“I…” The old badger eyed her reluctantly. “I come from… a very old family. We were powerful once. Respected.”
Lady Sira smiled. “Like my ship. Go on. Why does this Voice of Fate-?”
“That was no Voice of Fate,” the Elder interrupted, insistent.
“Okay. Then what was it?”
“A wraith. A harbinger. It is a voice as well, I suppose, but one without an anchor. It may have even been a soul once, or a spirit, as you said. But it’s forgotten itself now. Without a tie to the real world it’s just… emptiness. An echo of death, and nothing warmer. You are fools to follow it.”
“What might it want here, then? With you? With my ship?”
He studied her long and hard, then eased himself back against the wall. “No,” he said bluntly, his chains clinking in resignation. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you, Kathkan. You won’t turn back because there’s nothing in it for you. And you won’t believe me because I’m nothing here. Another slave, whose only worth can be counted in what your monstrous partner is willing to pay you. Like you said, it’s business. So go on. Have your little adventure. Play with the Fates and see what that gets you. Because you aren’t getting a blighted thing out of me.”
Slowly, gracefully, Lady Sira rose to her feet and clapped her hands.
At her command, a great white wolverine descended the stairs, one threatening foot at a time. The albino lumbered through the belly of the ship with bared teeth and red eyes until his shadow touched the Elder’s feet.
Abner recoiled.
“Make him talk, Grogoch.” Lady Sira turned away from the slavering beast as Abner tried to keep the fear from his face. “Make him tell me everything.”