Chapter Thirteen
The next few hours were the most difficult. Age-long tensions weighted the thoughts of everyone aboard as repairs were laid out and tasks assigned. Every glance was given by a wary eye, and every word was short. By day’s end, only the captains seemed immune to the psychological wear of the situation. When Amelia found McKinley leaning over the ship’s railing, he seemed far more interested in watching the fog than watching his back.
“It’s like dust kicked up by an unseen war, isn’t it?” she said.
“Are you talking about the mist? Or about the tension on the deck?” He smiled wryly in return.
“Both.” She joined in his amusement. “It’s an oddity, in either case.”
McKinley shrugged. “Well, no one’s killed anyone yet. Suppose we should be grateful of that.”
“They follow your lead, whether or not they understand it.”
Though his sidelong glance proved that he recognized the bizarre nature of his arrangement with Marshall, the Marauder did not offer to shed any light on it.
“Sir,” she went on. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others. But are you alright?”
He turned along the rail, leaning on one arm and giving her a disarming grin. “Madame Ling, I couldn’t be finer.”
Amelia gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “It’s been clear for some time that you’ve had something gnawing at you. You’re distant. Unreadable.”
“Mysterious,” he corrected. “The word you’re looking for is mysterious.”
She cocked her head and said no more.
McKinley sighed.
“What do you see when you look out there?” He gestured to what little could be seen through the mist.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said.
“I’m not. Truly. Just tell me what you see.”
She exhaled, playing along. “Terror and silence. A deadly loss of control.”
In the seconds before he realized she was serious, McKinley started to laugh. Then he drew his brows together in confusion. “Wait a minute. You’re afraid of the water?”
Her expression did not change, but she gave a single, placid nod.
“You do realize, my dear, that you willfully put yourself on a boat, right? Sits on the water. Crosses the water. Nothing but water for months at a time. Any of this ringing a bell?”
She smiled, perfectly willing to tolerate his jibes, even enjoying them.
He shook his head in amusement and disbelief. The revelation certainly put her near-drowning experience in perspective. “Are all the members of your species as sensible as you?”
“If one wishes to earn strength,” she explained, “One has to face their fears.”
“I guess no one can accuse you of coming by your strength the easy way.” He bumped his shoulder into hers. “The point is that we pirates and hooligans, even these soldiers at our backs, we’re all out here looking for something. For you, it’s strength. For Faiz, it’s salvation. If I’m preoccupied, it’s because my search has a time table. And if I don’t soon find what I’m looking for… Well, you voiced the alternative rather well. Terror and silence.”
She nodded, knowing that this was as sincere as her captain was likely to get.
Before she could speak further, McKinley pushed away from the rail and called out to his idle carpenter. “Master Tobb! Your captain tires of the doldrums – liven up this deck, won’t you?”
At that, the beaver cracked a broad smile. Ignoring the sudden tension in weapon arms all around him, he hopped atop a nearby crate and produced a pipe flute from his pocket. As he began to play, a few joined in, clapping along to the pirate’s cheery tune.
“Oh, gather ‘round, ye flaggin’ hounds,
I’ve words te share wi’ ye,
‘Bout a cap’n’s bony fortune gained,
‘Pon the blue o’ boisterous seas.
Our tale begins where oceans end,
It were a younger year,
When first ‘e bent a poirate’s sail,
An’ dark clouds did appear.
Ahoy, me Cap’n,
Aye and aye,
Me arm be wi’ ye true.
This storm’ll pass us,
By and by,
I ‘opes we see it through.
‘E lassoed ‘im a whale what swam,
A hundred thousand miles.
‘E drew us on te distant shores
An’ left that gale behind.
A battle, it were ragin’ there,
In yonder, nameless town.
An’ caught us in th’ cannon fire
When that whale set us down.
Ahoy, me Cap’n,
Aye and aye,
Me sword be wi’ ye true.
This war’ll pass us,
By and by,
I ‘opes we see it through.
‘E led us on te pillage the lot,
Til none had coin at all.
Then slipped off through their lines, ‘e did,
And left the battle stalled.
So, me hero, ‘e’s a villain,
In someone else’s tale.
But I’d follow ‘im te Oblivion
On the back o’ any whale!
Ahoy, me Cap’n,
Aye and aye,
Me soul be wi’ ye true.
This life’ll pass us,
By and by,
I ‘opes we see it through.
This life’ll pass us,
By and by,
I know we’ll see it through.”
He finished to a thundering round of applause and thumping feet.
Amid the whoops of appreciation, McKinley nudged Amelia, pointed to Ryder, and said, “Don’t look now, Madame Ling, but I believe our terrifying lieutenant is actually smiling.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” Ryder cautioned. “I’m just enjoying the music.”
“The lieutenant is from a gypsy clan, if I’m not mistaken,” explained Amelia. “Music is a very intricate part of her cultural background.”
“That’s right,” Ryder confirmed, sounding impressed.
“It is something I wish we had in common.” Amelia smiled. “My countrymen seemed morally opposed to the idea of song.”
Ryder turned to her, intrigued. “You’re from the Hathe Peninsula? You’re a long way from home, aren’t you? That’s practically the other side of the world.”
“I like to travel,” Amelia shrugged her explanation. “How did you know? Most Secorans haven’t even heard of Hathe.”
Ryder seemed to dismiss the idea. “I’ve been in the service long enough to know basic geography.”
“But not long enough,” the feline chided, “To know better than to remove a sling so soon after an injury?”
The lieutenant stiffened.
Amelia lifted her hands. “Please don’t take it as anything but concern. You just aren’t as good at hiding your pain as you think.” Her attempt at peace turned to sudden scrutiny. “In fact, you’re not looking well at all.”
Ryder had just opened her mouth to admonish the presumptuous pirate when she stumbled.
“Lieutenant?” McKinley asked, then stepped back as she fell into him. He caught her just before she hit the deck, unconscious.
Amelia knelt at his side. “She’s breathing, but she’s burning up.” She looked over her shoulder to the backs of Marshall’s crew. They were too caught up in Tobb’s musical display to take any notice. “What should we do?”
McKinley glanced to Ryder, then to the water beyond the rail. “Throw her over?”
Amelia gave him a withering look.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. You there!” He called to the two nearest crewmen. “I think your lieutenant may be in need of medical assistance!”
The squirrel and marten each took one look at Ryder before whirling on McKinley.
“What did you do?!”
“Get your hands off of her!”
“Take it easy,” McKinley argued as several more crewmen turned an angry eye his way. “I didn’t do anything. She just collapsed.”
“Bollocks!” said the squirrel.
“Maybe it was the cat!” argued a third crewman, forcing McKinley to step between them before things could escalate.
“Alright, I admit it!” the Marauder falsely proclaimed, drawing their attention. “It was me. Amelia had nothing to do with it.”
They jumped him, and he remembered nothing after that.
≈
“It wasn’t him,” Doc Calum glared. “Not unless pirates have suddenly been granted the power to dole out major infections.”
“Exonerated! Thank you!” McKinley glanced around the med bay through a blackened eye. “Now if you wouldn’t mind untying me?”
“Have you been using the poultice I gave you?” the old ringtail said to Ryder, ignoring the Marauder completely.
“I’d never risk defying you, Doc.” Ryder gave a weak smile and pulled a small green jar from her pocket.
“Good of you to behave.” The doctor took the jar and assessed the used amount as proper and suitable. “But this should have kept you on your feet.”
McKinley cocked his head and eyed the label from a distance.
The squirrel from the deck, a lesser lieutenant named Bowers, pointed angrily at the doctor. “So it was you? You’re the one who did this?”
“Easy, Bowers.” The marten, an officer of superior standing, intervened with a raise of her hand.
“I’m just sayin’ what you oughtta be thinking, Trimble. If one Calum could betray us so easily, why not another?” His voice was angry, hurt. “How do we know she’s not workin’ for the Baron, too? Keepin’ it in the family and all?”
“Keep your place and hold your tongue, Lieutenant!” Ryder commanded in the strongest voice she could muster, attempting to sit upright.
Even as the doctor moved to push Ryder back into her cot, the situation seemed to diffuse, almost without reason.
They turned to see Captain Marshall eyeing them coolly from the doorway. His calm, authoritative stare forced Bowers to take a step back.
“Use your head, sailor,” the captain said. “If the good doctor were a spy, she wouldn’t be here. Remember that the Baron attacked us with extreme malice. Only a fool would have chosen to remain on a doomed vessel and only the most inept of infiltrators would attack us by exacerbating one, unforeseeable injury on a single crewman. Since the doctor is neither inept nor foolish, we can safely assume that your rage is misplaced.” Marshall paused until the squirrel lowered his gaze. “I’ll not have suspicions or theories of conspiracy on my ship. Not without evidence. Is that clear?”
“Aye sir,” squirrel and marten replied in unison.
“Now, Doctor.” Marshall turned to Calum. “If you would be so kind as to explain the situation.”
“I wish I could, Captain,” she said, at a loss. “I’ve been prescribing this mixture for years. It’s never failed to prevent an infection. Not once.”
“Pardon me.” McKinley gave the impression that he would have risen his hand, were they not bound behind his back. “You didn’t buy that recently, did you?”
The doctor looked offended. “Of course I did. With the help of my Apothecary contact, I replaced my entire inventory when last we visited the capitol. Keeping my supply current is a responsibility that I take very seriously.”
“Yes, my capable madam, I imagine you take everything very seriously,” nodded McKinley. “But if you’ll release me, I may be able to shed some light on your little problem, all the same.”
Seeming much more likely to listen now that Marshall was present as a counter to the Marauder’s strength, Trimble and Bowers looked to their captain for approval. At his nod, they moved to sever McKinley’s bindings, only to find them already cut.
“I got impatient,” McKinley shrugged.
“Save the showboating.” Marshall narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about my lieutenant’s condition?”
The Marauder took the green jar and popped open the lid. “I know that the shopkeeper who uses this particular label is named Barlos. And I know that, courtesy of your frighteningly-burly friend, Von Ulric, Barlos closed his shop. Months ago. So, unless I miss my guess, I also know that your doctor has been had. Her contact is brewing up his own concoctions and passing them off as the real deal in order to maintain his income.”
“That’s absurd.” The doctor glared at him.
“Is it?” McKinley waved the open jar beneath her nose. “Have a whiff. Does that smell right to you?”
She held his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “Blast. No, no it doesn’t. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’ve had you coating yourself with snake oil. No wonder you’re in poor shape.”
“How do you know any of this?” Marshall narrowed his eyes.
The Marauder placed his hand over his heart and said dramatically, “Because. Unlike some people, I truly and deeply care about the state of Secora’s most important service providers.”
“Oh yes,” the doctor said sarcastically, pushing past him. “You’re the picture of benevolence.”
“You can rectify this?” Marshall said to Calum.
She waved a hand and looked over the bottles on a nearby shelf. “They don’t call me the doctor for nothing, Captain. I can formulate my own balm. I’ll just need…” Her hand paused over a vacant spot.
“Is something wrong, Doctor?” asked Marshall.
Seeming both confused and annoyed, she turned to him. “The boswellia extract is gone, sir. The devil’s claw, too. I can give her some white willow bark for the pain, but without something to curb the inflammation, she’ll only get worse.”
The captain drew a disapproving breath. “You have nothing else?”
“Nothing strong enough.” She threw her satchel over her shoulder. “I’ll head out on the rocks. The Manus is bare near the shoreline, but if I climb high enough, I may be able to find…”
“No,” Marshall halted her. “I’ll go. You stay here and keep her comfortable. McKinley?”
The Marauder sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Go to your cell,’ right?”
“Wrong. You’re coming with me.”
At that, McKinley raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”
≈
“I think your Lieutenant Bowers has some trust issues,” McKinley said, putting his hand on a bruised cheek. “You may want to keep an eye on that one.”
Marshall scanned the brush as they climbed the slope. “Bowers needed no more than a reminder of his oath. He will be fine. My eye is precisely where it should be.”
“On me, you mean.” The Marauder smiled, clearly taking it as a compliment. “And here I thought you brought me along for my dazzlingly abundant knowledge of all things ‘medicine.’”
Marshall glanced over his shoulder, giving him an odd and scrutinizing look. “That was a factor, yes.”
McKinley paused, uncomfortable with the implication. “You know, the trouble with you being so serious all the time is that I can never tell when you’re joking. Have a mood once in a while. If not for me, do it for the Albatross. ‘Stark’ was never a happy word.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Marshall said flatly.
McKinley scoffed, then shook his head. “You’re amazing. Truly. Like a wooden board with a face. Do you ever give yourself splinters?”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
Rolling his eyes, McKinley plucked a pebble from the ground and tossed it at the back of Marshall’s head.
It was too small to cause any permanent damage.
And any repercussions would be worth the chance to see Marshall flinch. Just once.
Rather than cracking against Marshall’s skull, the projectile thumped lightly in the captain’s palm as he turned and snatched it from the air. Without a word, he bounced it once in his hand, then threw it back in McKinley’s direction. The Marauder just scowled as it flew past him.
“This is getting absurd. Don’t you know who I am? I’m McKinley the Marauder, the most infamous pirate in the world! I’ve spent years staying one step ahead of you. Years.And now that I’m on your ship, my edge falters. What gives?”
Marshall stopped in the shadow of the mountain’s peak, turning to survey the landscape. “You’ve already answered your own question. It’s my ship.”
Curling his lip, McKinley repeated the words in silent mocking, then said, “Yeah, well, when it’s my ship, I’m making you walk the plank for catching my rock.”
≈
Amelia regretted the lack of a door. She would have liked to knock, rather than barge around the screen uninvited, which seemed rude. Luckily, Ryder was too busy being chastised by her doctor to notice.
“It isn’t enough to listen to me, girl,” Calum was saying. “You have to keep me informed. For the love of Fate, how hard is it to come to me when you’re in pain?”
“Forgive me, Doc.” Ryder sounded as though she were fighting a sigh. “I thought pain was to be expected when someone crushes your shoulder with a mace.”
“Don’t get cute. And drop the tough soldier act – you’re as bad as the captain.”
Ryder seemed to derive some satisfaction from that, though she did her best to hide it.
“Now, I have other patients to deal with. If I come back to find you off this cot, I’ll have you removed from active duty for the rest of the month, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” Ryder said.
“Good,” nodded Calum.
Amelia was shocked when the elderly ringtail came around the screen and grabbed her by the arm.
“You.” The doctor stuffed a cold compress into her hand and shoved her into a chair alongside Ryder’s cot. “Take this. Sit here and swap it out when it gets warm. Go on. Put it on her forehead, dear. You aren’t helping anyone by cooling the air around your hand. And see to it that she stays put. She’s impossible, this one.”
Overcoming her surprise, Amelia gave Calum a gentle nod. “I will do my best, doctor.” When the ringtail was gone, she turned the smile to Ryder. “I came by to see how you were doing. If you’re uncomfortable with me here…”
Ryder cut her off with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. If I can handle Calum’s berating, I can handle a little awkwardness with a new shipmate.”
Even as she said the words, Amelia noticed her shooting a glance to the sword propped against the wall. With an understanding smile, the cat sat forward and placed the compress on Ryder’s forehead, as ordered. She frowned to realize the lieutenant was even warmer than she’d been on deck. It was no wonder the doctor was in such a tizzy.
“Strange to see such concern on the face of a pirate.”
Amelia’s frown deepened. “Does being a pirate mean I must also be devoid of compassion?”
Ryder held her gaze for a moment, then shook her head. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t. Forgive me, that was out of line.”
“It’s alright,” Amelia said. “You have no reason to trust me. At least not yet. I do hope to change that, given time.”
“It’s Amelia, isn’t it?”
The cat nodded.
“Well, Amelia, you seem like a calm and competent person,” said Ryder. “You’re considerate, even quiet, but you’re sure of yourself and I get the sense that you’re a better fighter than many would take you for. You carry yourself like a soldier and I’m not afraid to say that I’d be proud to serve with you, if you were one. So it isn’t so much you that I don’t trust,” she concluded. “It’s the company that you keep.”
“You mean Father Faiz, don’t you?” Amelia deduced. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. As though he were a ghost or a demon.”
Ryder fought to keep her breath even. “Maybe he’s both.”
“Do you hate him?”
“Hate is a strong word, Amelia.” The lieutenant closed her eyes. “But you’d hate him, too, if you knew what he did.”
“I can’t presume to stand in your shoes, Lieutenant. Or to know how you see him. It may be that he deserves all that you feel. I do know that things change. We evolve, we overcome. I know that he saved my life by convincing me to be true to myself when my culture dictated otherwise. I know that he dedicates himself tirelessly, day after day, to the welfare of his crew. I know that, less than a day ago, you and I were enemies. Now look at us. Did you ever imagine that you’d be receiving bedside care from a pirate?”
“No, I didn’t,” Ryder said, with the briefest hint of a smile. Then the smile faded. “But you’re right. Things change. And we’ll be enemies again, when this is over.”
≈
“So, what’s the skinny on this scepter?” McKinley kicked through the rocks as they climbed. Marshall knew he was only doing it to annoy him. “Between your willingness to put up with me, and the Baron’s eagerness to blow up my ship, the blasted thing’s got some influence. Seems like an awful lot of fuss over a lousy stick.”
“A stick, you say?” echoed Marshall, as though trying on the phrase. “Strangely, I am inclined to agree with you. The scepter itself is nothing more than an historical relic. Article of Fate or no, it belongs in a museum, not in the political arena. But this isn’t about the scepter, not really. It’s about old laws and power struggles. The Baron wants control of Secora and he’s abusing the code and the superstitions of the populace in order to obtain it.”
“What do you mean, an ‘article of Fate?’ Are we talking magic, here?”
“Eadric would likely say yes, but I might doubt his expertise in the matter,” Marshall said. “Our ancestors believed that, for anyone to hold it, they must also hold the destiny of those around them. It was a matter of chance. A pure roll of the dice. Each generation, the scepter would be hidden, and the one to find it would have been chosen by Fate to rule. For millennia, it chose the kings and queens of Secora from the humblest of places. Sailors, tradesmen, mothers and widowers. Then, it disappeared. It was decided that the scepter had made its final selection of a single family, and thus was needed no more. Secora was given a ruling House, a single royal bloodline.”
“The House of Prideaux,” McKinley followed.
“Indeed.”
“And I’d guess that the laws surrounding it were never changed. That explains the Baron’s play.” McKinley furrowed his brow. “But if the scepter disappeared so long ago, what makes Von Ulric think that finding Mosque Hill is going to help him obtain it?”
Marshall paused. “Because that is where Masguard the Explorer believed it to be. If ever there was an authority on obtaining lost relics…”
“Right, right. Masguard disappeared while he was looking for it.”
“He did.” Marshall nodded, emotionless.
“Do you think he found it?” McKinley asked.
“It’s possible.”
“Huh,” the Marauder said, sounding distant, almost bored. “I guess it’s a shame that Masguard never had a House of his own, then.”
“A shame.” Marshall glanced over his shoulder, but betrayed nothing. “I suppose it is.”
The two walked in silence for quite some time until McKinley said, “So, what does a bos-whatchya tree look like anyway?”
At that, Marshall stopped dead in his tracks. “You tell me.”
“How would I know?”
“The same way that you knew about the Apothecary’s shop having closed.” Marshall turned to face him. “The same way you knew which vials to take from Calum’s shelf.”
McKinley held his gaze, smiled, and pulled the missing vials from his cloak. First the devil’s claw. Then the boswellia extract. “And here I thought I’d gone unnoticed by the lot of you. Still, I suppose fooling four out of five isn’t bad. But why bother with the charade? You could have confronted me the moment I stole them.”
“Why steal them at all? What’s to be gained by targeting one of my lieutenants?”
“I asked you first.” McKinley folded his arms.
Marshall sighed. “My crew has been asked to set aside their mistrust and accept the assistance of those they’ve known only as a threat. It is no small request. Had I drawn attention to your misdeed right then and there, all chance of honest compliance would have been removed. I can’t afford that, and neither can you. If we’re going to reach Mosque Hill in time to do any good – ”
“Alright, stop,” McKinley interrupted with a raise of his hand and a look of annoyance. “Spare me the ‘we have to work together’ speech. I get it. I’m also no fool. My crew and I are a temporary utility. When you’re done with us, you’ll throw us to the wolves. Metaphorically, I hope. You can’t blame me for trying to avoid that rather unpleasant outcome.” He tossed the vials to Marshall. “Noble captain that you are, I knew you’d want to gather the materials yourself. Taking the vials was a final, desperate attempt to get you off the ship. But then you took the smart route in bringing me with you. Then you caught my rock. See, I had this irrational hope of rendering you unconscious and skipping away with your vessel before you could wax obnoxious, but you’ve been a party pooper on every end of this plan of mine.”
Marshall did not respond. From the mountain’s crest, he was staring over McKinley’s shoulder to a shadow on the open water.
McKinley turned to follow his gaze through the mist. “What in the world are you looking at?”
“I recognize that ship,” Marshall replied.
“You can barely see that ship.”
“It’s the Vendetta. One of the Kathkan warships that attacked us.”
Marshall proceeded down the hill, pausing when he realized that McKinley wasn’t following. He turned to see the Marauder looking a little too thoughtful.
“No.” The naval captain sighed. “You can’t steal that ship, either.”
“What?” McKinley feigned innocence. “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.”
With a shake of his head, Marshall continued making his way back toward the Albatross, muttering, “Pirates.”
≈
“We have to pull out, sir,” Lieutenant Trimble said, walking alongside her captain as Marshall made for the rear of the ship. With Ryder temporarily out of commission, the marten was now the senior-most officer. “We can take them, but we’re not ready for another fight. They’ll set our repairs back by hours, if not days.”
“No good.” Marshall lifted his scope to eye the approaching vessel. “If they haven’t detected us already, they will soon. They’ll only pursue us if we run, and repairs will still be stymied. Assemble your gun crews. Our best chance at avoiding direct damage is to hide in the rocks ahead and take them by surprise when they enter the bay.”
He turned to oversee the preparations, but pulled up short when he noticed the expression on McKinley’s face. Though the Marauder said nothing, it was clear that something had occurred to him. Something devious.
“Unless, of course, you have something to add?” said Marshall.
“What, me?” McKinley responded, surprised. With some effort, he folded his arms and pursed his lips. “Um… no. Nope.”
Marshall didn’t even have the decency to look annoyed. “Very well, then,” he said, pivoting for the fore of the ship. McKinley watched his back for several paces before shooting an exasperated sigh to the mist.
“Ugh, alright!” The Marauder groaned, bringing Marshall back to his side. “I suppose it does me no good to let you throw yourself at the bad guys like an idiot.”
Marshall arched an eyebrow.
“You have a lot of guns,” McKinley went on, grudgingly. “That means you must have a lot of gunpowder. Probably… barrels of the stuff.”
A slow smile of understanding spread over the captain’s face. Marshall nodded. "That we do."