The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel Page 9
The thought had been in his mind since that wild night with Lin. Anya chuckled.
Jorse looked up at a gull swooping on the afternoon breezes.
~~~
“Fire!” Jorse held the wheel tightly as the big greenish cannon in the bow belched flame and lurched backward. Five cables, or a half mile distant tall waterspout shot skyward, close to the hull of the fleeing merchantman. Even from this distance Jorse could see figures scurrying on the deck. He coughed as a cloud of sulfur drenched air rolled over the quarterdeck and he blinked back tears from watering, burning eyes. “Launch boarding pod!” The call came from somewhere in the smoke off to his right. The smoke cleared.
“Cap’n!” Idzy shouted from a cluster of sailors on the main deck. “The launchin gear on the pod is jammed.”
“Can you fix it?” Captain Jolenta called back.
“Aye, but it’ll take a couple of hours, ma’am. She be stuck good.”
The captain let out a string of blistering curses that made Jorse wince at the same time as he admired her command of the language and her knowledge of intimate biological functions.
“Helm, swing her port a bit.” The captain said in a normal voice. Then in a louder voice to the crew in general. “Stand by to board. We’ll take her the old fashioned way, off the starboard rail.” There was a roar from the maindeck as Raiders snatched up cutlasses and axes that had been standing nearby. She turned to Jorse again. “Bring her around their stern, then bring us about hard to starboard and hard up against their port side. After we’re joined, tie off the wheel and make sure none of the merchantmen try to take OUR ship.”
Jorse’s hands were sweating. “Aye, Captain.”
The merchant vessel was still under full sail trying to escape when Jorse finally managed to bring the two ships together. Instead of the crash and sudden stop of his first engagement, this time the ships met in a slow grinding shriek of breaking timbers and snapping cordage. Grappling hooks flew through the air and the screaming Raiders didn’t even wait for the ships to be snugged before they howled aboard the merchantman, cutlasses slashing.
Jorse stood on the quarterdeck of the Donner-kind and swung his staff for all he was worth. He used no finesse, he used no style—only brute strength. Considering that he was only using a stave, the pile of groaning bodies on the quarterdeck was impressive. The fighting ceased abruptly, however, when the main yard on the merchant’s mizzen mast tore free. Jorse breathed a sigh of relief as the huge yard fell just past the Raider’s stern rail. Caught by its own tangled rigging, the yard jerked to a halt just over the water and swung into the stern of the Donner-kind with a resounding crash of splintering timbers. The ship jerked, throwing him to the deck. He glanced over the rail and blanched. The rudder of the Donner-kind had been reduced to kindling!
“Captain!” Fighting on the merchantman was subsiding, and the tall woman walked out of the press of bodies, pausing only to wipe the blood from her new stelwood sword on the coat of a fallen seaman.
“What is it, Jorse?” He could tell she was impatient.
“The rudder is carried away, Captain. A piece of the merchantman’s yard struck it and smashed it to splinters.”
“Damn!” The woman looked down at the shattered rudder for a few moments, then seemed to make up her mind about something. “Clear the wreckage from the deck and fish that there yard out of the water.” She called out to the clustering seamen. “We’ll need it. Get the merchant crew secured in the hold of the Donner-kind and prepare to take our vessel in tow. Jorse, find us a safe secure harbor, close by; preferably on a deserted island.”
“Aye, Captain!” The boy called back, already darting for the small cubby the ship used for navigation.
The island was unnamed on the chart, and sat to the southwest of the major island of Dewar. Jorse studied the map carefully and measured the distance.
“Captain?” He said to the woman as she leaned over the stern rail, directing the removal of the shattered rudder. She turned.
“What do you have for me, Jorse?”
“Unnamed island to the nor-northwest of us. About two days sail, I’d guess, since we’ll be slowed down. It has a sheltered, easily defended harbor. The island is mostly volcanic and woods. Maybe we could make a rudder from the local trees. There is, however, a small fishing village on the other side of the island, about fifteen or twenty leagues. The nearest completely uninhabited island is three more days sail, and the harbor isn’t as good.”
“Very good, Jorse, the first will do nicely.” The captain sounded relieved. She turned a speculative look on the boy. “Have Mister Idzy assign a prize crew to the merchantman and pass us a tow cable. As soon as he is ready I want you to take command of the merchantman and tow us into that sheltered harbor. I will remain on the Donner-kind and supervise repairs.”
Jorse thought that his jaw was going to hit the gently swaying deck. “Me? Take charge?”
“Did I or did I not just give you an order, crewman?” Captain Jolenta snapped.
“Aye aye, Captain!” Jorse stiffened and then turned. “I’ll probably get both of the bloody ships sunk.” He mumbled under his breath.
“What did you say, helmsman?” Captain Jolenta, he had forgotten, had very sharp ears.
“Uhhh, nothing Captain. Nothing at all.”
She was smiling at his back as he walked away.
Jorse didn’t sleep for two entire days. When he wasn’t at the helm; since even the captain of a prize crew had to do double duty on a Raider, he found himself pacing the deck nervously. His first command! A few short years ago he had been a sneak thief in the city of Boktor. This was a future he couldn’t have conceived in his wildest imagination.
The Donner-kind lumbered astern, as the small patch of green slowly grew before them. Soon it would all be over, and he would be a simple navigator and helmsman once again. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment he felt.
“Release the anchor!” Jorse warbled down to Idzy and the other sailors who were standing on the main deck. His voice was beginning to break as he entered into manhood, alternating between the soprano of youth and the baritone of an adult. He hated it when his voice broke and warbled.
“Aye, sir.” Idzy replied, grinning widely. The stone anchor sank through the clear blue/green water to bury its flukes in the soft white sand of the bottom. Schools of small, brightly colored fish darted about, and the chill air actually seemed balmy and temperate, thanks to the surrounding bowl of tall trees. A gentle breeze from the south had the warm damp smell of growing things. The Donner-kind had already dropped anchor and Jorse could see the captain’s boat being lowered into the clear water.
“What’s the status of the ship?” Jorse asked politely, as the captain climbed up the boarding ladder.
“Not good, Jorse.” She stepped up onto the scrubbed deck and looked around, taking everything in. We might jury rig a new rudder out of local materials, but we can never replace the ironwood pintle-and-gudgeon. Ours carried away and now sits on the bottom of the ocean.” She eyed him, her lips curling up. “So, how did you like your first taste of command, young Jorse?” Her change of subject caught him by surprise.
“Ahhh, it went just fine, ma’am. We’ve got most of the battle damage set to rights, and in a few more days, with a little paint, you won’t know anything ever happened.” He frowned. “Why, ahhh, ma’am?”
“I want you to take the Boosenech.” She stamped on the deck of the merchantman at his frown. Jorse had never even known the ship’s name. “I want you to take the Boosenech in to Prangli with Mister Idzy and a few select sailors to act as merchantmen. While there, you will sell the load of furs in the hold; use the money to buy parts for the Donner-kind, along with fresh fruits and vegetables and then you will return. We will then fix our ship, resupply, and find another fat merchantman to recoup our losses. Have Mister Idzy make sure that he has any parts he might need to repair that pod launcher, if you please.”
“But.” Jorse’s mind was in a whirl. “How do you know that I won’t sell the furs, take the Boosenech and sail off to leave you stranded?”
“You don’t plan to do that, do you?” Her smile mocked him.
“Uh, no, but you don’t know that, do you?”
“Don’t I?” She watched impassively while Jorse fumbled. “Now do as I asked, and get ready to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Aye, Captain.” There was nothing else he could say.
~~~
Two weeks later, under a bright midday sun and with no fanfare, the inter-island trader Boosenech glided up to the bustling merchants’ pier in the city of Chita, on the island of Prangli. As Jorse studied the city from the low slung quarterdeck, he was surprised that the general configuration of the port was so similar to Boktor in Vaigach; it had a circular harbor and steep cliffs supporting and defended by a massive heavy castle. Over on the right was a flash of white—a Temple of Selene. So, they had one of THOSE here too. He couldn’t repress the shudder. This city was cleaner, much cleaner. The scents of pies and roasting meats were strong in the air, along with tar and a distinctly fishy smell, with little stench of corruption that the young man was used to in large cities.
It took half the day to get the cargo of furs unloaded, appraised and delivered into the distributor’s greedy hands, and two more hours to finally get paid. Prangli, he was amazed to find out, seldom used cash for large transactions. Instead, the Merchant’s Guild would open an account in the government run bank, deposit the money there, and then the merchant could draw on that amount until the sum was gone or until the account was refilled. It was all very neat and tidy. Jorse drew out half the available funds from the account and gave it to Mister Idzy, to pay the crew and to buy the parts for the rudder and the pod launcher. The balance of the funds rested in his own pouch, leaving only enough in the account to keep it open. After ensuring that the First Mate had set an adequate watch on the moored ship, Jorse headed down the long cobblestone street to find himself an inn. A hot bath, good meal, and clean clothes would certainly be welcome. His stomach rumbled its agreement.
Chapter 6
The name of the dirty looking white stone building was the Seaman’s Rest, and a faded wooden sign with cracked and peeling paint showed a recumbent sailor resting on one elbow. The sign moved listlessly on rusting ironwood hinges, making a thin scree, scree, scree sound as it swung in the evening breeze. The sailor on the sign was probably drunk, Jorse thought, knowing sailors. In front of the building stood a large black covered landau carriage with two black uniformed drivers looking bored, perched high on the front seat. Four tall women dressed in white robes waited patiently in front of the open coach door. Jorse felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.
He stopped and bowed politely. “Good afternoon, ladies.” Violet eyes stared back, unblinking.
All four were identical; the one closest to Jorse inclined her head in an imperious way. “Good afternoon, Jorse. We have been waiting for you.” Her hand waved to the open coach door.
“I would be happy to go with you.” His manner was just as coldly imperious as the woman, his broad smile even more so. “Just as soon as I have a bath, a change of clothes and a good meal.” He was angry now, and tired after days at sea with his first command.
The woman on the left smiled in return, warmly, and without the cold rancor of the woman on the right. “All has been arranged, Jorse. Your room, your bath and even your meal have been taken care of.”
He blinked. This woman was clearly the leader, but the first? Designed to draw him out, obviously, but why? He remembered the manners drummed into him by Captain Svetla. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” He looked at the open door to the inn. From inside came warm laughter and the faint sound of a flute and lyre. It drew him like a magnet.
The tall woman wrinkled her nose. “No, but we thank you for the offer. We will wait here.”
“Your men, perhaps?”
She blinked violet eyes in surprise. “I... I will ask.” She turned and spoke quietly to the men on the coach in a strange and fluid language. She turned back. “They thank you, sir, but respectfully decline. They would, if you will and when you have finished your dinner, like a bottle of red wine, though.”
Jorse looked up to the men on the carriage and nodded. “Done. I’ll be out when I’m out.”
Jorse was just killing time now. The bath had been a much welcome, and needed if he were to be honest, luxury. As he was toweling himself dry he noticed that all his old clothes had been replaced. In their place he now had snug black breeches, a plain white silk shirt with narrow wrists and puffy sleeves, a black doublet and a long black cloak. The pants, doublet and cloak were all piped in silver. Over the heart on both the doublet and cloak was embroidered a fantastic beast, with the body of a lion and the head and wings of a huge eagle. When asked, Anya replied in a subdued voice that it was the ancient symbol of his house. The black, knee high boots were amazingly soft leather, but he left behind the big floppy hat with its sweeping blue feather. He would be damned if he would wear THAT! He already felt the perfect fool. Here he was, not quite fifteen years old, imitating a nobleman. He would be lucky if they didn’t hang him. He slipped his stelwood knife into his boot top and turned to the door.
The dinner of mutton and roast turnip was merely adequate, but a real blessing after months of surviving on shipboard food. One could only eat so much shrimp and silverfish, no matter how well prepared, and ships cooks weren’t known for their culinary skills. The music at the inn was quite good, and the pretty young girl with
jet black hair and dark eyes who played the lyre kept smiling at him for some reason he couldn’t fathom. It was with a certain feeling of regret that he left the warm room and good company.
He tossed the bottle of wine to the men on the top of the coach, returned their friendly wave, and clambered into the carriage. The women were waiting.
“So, ladies, where are we off to?” He was trying to sound flippant and offhand, to cover his own fear.
“We have a meeting with Count Gorthenal this very evening, Jorse, if you would really like to know.”
There was a gasp somewhere in the deep recesses of Jorse’s mind.
Jorse could feel the waves of fear welling up through him from the being that dwelt in his blood. She seemed to—to shrink. His closest friend. He shut his eyes and tried to visualize Anya. What appeared in his mind’s eye was a shadowy waif, standing in the doorway of a decrepit tenement. She didn’t look at all like Dala. This shadowy girl was tall and she held herself straight. Her shadowy arms wrapped beneath her breasts and around her thin shadowy body. Long misty hair fell over her shoulders and arms, further obscuring her looks. She was fading even as he watched. Without a word Jorse walked up to her and slowly, hesitantly, wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. At first it was like trying to hug fog—nothing was there, just shadows and dust. Slowly something began to form within his encircling arms. He held her closer and she was warm... and solid.
It may have been an hour, or a minute. Ghostly pale arms wrapped around him in turn, and held him tightly.