CHAPTER NINE
BATTLE
ALTHEA GLANCED ABOUT THE DECK; ALL WAS RUNNING smoothly. The wind was steady, and Haff was on the wheel. The sky overhead was a clear deep blue. Amidships, six sailors were methodically moving through a rote series of attacks and parries with sticks. Although they weren’t putting much spirit into it, Brashen seemed satisfied with the form and accuracy they achieved. Lavoy moved among them, chastising and correcting loudly. She shook her head to herself. She did not claim to know anything of fighting, but this set routine baffled her. No battle could be as orderly as the give-and-take of blows the sailors practiced, nor as calm and unhurried as the archery practice that had preceded it. How could it be useful? Nevertheless, she kept her mouth shut, and when it was her turn, she drilled with the rest of them, and tried to put her heart into it. She was becoming a fair shot with the light bow allotted to her. Still, it was hard to believe that any of it would be useful in a real fight.
She hadn’t taken her doubts to Brashen. Lately her feelings for him had been running warmer. She would not tempt herself with private conferences with him. If he could control himself, then so could she. It was merely a matter of respect. She listened to the rhythmic clacking of the mock swords as Clef paced them with a chantey. If nothing else, she told herself, it kept the crew out of mischief. The Paragon carried more than a working crew, for Brashen had hired enough men to fight as well as run the ship, and extras to allow for losses. The stowaway slaves had swelled their population even more. The cramped quarters bred idle quarreling when the men were not kept busy.
Satisfied that nothing required her immediate attention, she sprang to the mast. She pushed herself for speed going up it; sometimes her muscles ached due to the confines of the ship. A brisk trip to the lookout’s platform eased some of the kinks in her legs.
Amber heard her coming. She always seemed preternaturally aware of folk around her. Althea saw the carpenter’s resigned smile of welcome as she hauled herself over the lip of the platform and sat down beside her, legs dangling. “How do you feel?” she greeted Amber.
Amber smiled ruefully. “Fine. Will you stop worrying? I’m over it. I’ve told you, this ailment comes and it goes. It’s not serious.”
“Mm.” Althea was not sure she believed her. She still wondered what had happened that night when she had found Amber unconscious on the deck. The carpenter claimed that she simply passed out, and that the bruises on her face came from striking the deck. Althea could think of no reason that she would lie. Surely if Lavoy had struck her down, either Amber or Paragon would have complained of it by now.
She studied Amber’s face. Lately the carpenter had begged for lookout duty, and Althea had reluctantly given it to her. If she passed out up here and fell to the deck, it would do more than bruise her face. Yet, the lofty, lonely duty seemed to agree with her, for though the wind had burned her face until it peeled, the skin beneath was tanned and glowing with health, which made her eyes seem darker and her hair more tawny. Althea had never seen her looking more vital.
“There’s nothing to see,” Amber muttered uncomfortably, and Althea realized she was staring. Deliberately she pretended to misunderstand. She scanned the full horizon as if checking for sails.
“Amongst all these islands, you never know. That’s one reason the pirates love these waters. A ship can lie low and wait for her prey to come into sight. With all the little coves and inlets, a pirate might be lurking anywhere.”
“Over there, for instance.” Amber lifted an arm and pointed. Althea followed the gesture. She stared for a time critically, then asked, “You saw something?”
“I thought I did, for an instant. The tip of a mast moving behind the trees on that point.”
Althea stared, squinting. “There’s nothing there,” she decided, and relaxed her posture. “Maybe you saw a bird moving from tree to tree. The eye is drawn to motion, you know.”
The waterscape before them was a dazzling vista of greens and blues. Rocky steep-sided islands broke from the water, but above their sheer cliffs, they were lush with vegetation. Streams and waterfalls spilled down their steep sides. The bright flowing water glittered in the sunlight as it fell to shatter into the moving waves. So much anyone could see from the deck. Here, atop the mast, one could see the true contours of both land and water. The color of the water varied not only by depth, but also with how much sweet water was floating atop the salt. The varying blues told Althea that the channel ahead was deep enough for Paragon, but rather narrow. Amber was supposed to watch these shades and give cry back to Haff on the wheel if shallows impeded their passage. Shifting sandbars were the second-most legendary danger of the Pirate Isles. To the west, a multitude of jutting islets could be seen as islands, or as easily visualized as the mountaintops of a submerged coast. Fresh water flowed endlessly from that direction, carrying with it sand and debris that formed new sandbars and shallows. The storms that regularly battered the area swept through and rearranged these obstacles to shipping. Charting the Pirate Isles was a fruitless task. Waterways silted in and became impassable, only to be swept clean in the next storm. The hazards of navigation that slowed heavily laden merchant vessels were the pirates’ ally. Often pirate craft were shallow draft, powered by sweeps as well as sail, and manned by men who knew the waters as well as they could be known. In all Althea’s days of sailing the Cursed Shores, she had never ventured this deeply into the Pirate Isles. Her father had always avoided them, as he avoided any kind of trouble. “The profit from danger only pays you interest in trouble,” he’d said more than once. Althea smiled to herself.
“What are you thinking about?” Amber asked her quietly.
“My father.”
Amber nodded. “It’s good that you can think of him and smile now.”
Althea murmured an assent, but said no more. For a time, they rode the mast in silence. The high platform amplified the gentle rolling of the ship below them. Althea could not remember a time when she had not found the movement intoxicating. But peace did not last. The question itched at her. Without looking at Amber, she asked yet again, “Are you sure Lavoy did nothing to you?”
Amber sighed. “Why would I lie to you?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Why would you answer my question with another question?”
Amber faced her squarely. “Why can’t you accept that I was feeling sick and collapsed? If it had been anything other than that, do you think Paragon would have kept silent about it all this time?”
Althea did not reply immediately. Then she said, “I don’t know. Paragon seems to be changing lately. It used to annoy me when he was sulky or melodramatic. He seemed like a neglected boy to me then. Yet there were times when he was eager to please. He spoke of proving himself to me and Brashen. But lately, when he talks with me at all, he says shocking things. He brings up pirates, and all he talks of is blood, violence and killing. Torture he has seen. He says it all in such a way that it is like dealing with a braggart child who deliberately lies to shock me. I cannot even decide how much of it to believe. Does he think I will be impressed with how much cruelty he has witnessed? When I challenge him, he agrees such things are horrendous. But he relates those stories with such salacious glee; it is as if there is a violent and cruel man hiding within him, relishing what he is capable of doing. I don’t know where all the viciousness is coming from.” She glanced away from Amber and added quietly, “But I don’t like how much time he spends with Lavoy.”
“You could more correctly say how much time Lavoy spends with him. Paragon can scarcely seek out the mate. The man comes to him, Althea. And truly, Lavoy brings out the worst in Paragon. He encourages him in violent fantasies. They vie in the telling of such stories, as if witnessing cruelty were a measure of manhood.” Amber’s voice was deceptively soft. “For his own ends, I fear.”
Althea felt uncomfortable. She had the sudden feeling that she was going to regret leading the conversation in this direction. “There is little that can be done about that.”
“Isn’t there?” Amber gave her a sideways glance. “Brashen could forbid it.”
Althea shook her head regretfully. “Not without undermining Lavoy’s command of the ship. The men would see it as a rebuke to him and—”
“Then let them. It is my experience that when a man in command of other men starts to go rotten, it is best to expel him as soon as possible. Althea, think. The ship is not subtle. Paragon says what is in his mind. The sailors are wiser than that. But if Lavoy is influencing the ship to his way of thinking, can you imagine he is doing less with the crew, especially the Tattooed? Lavoy has gained far too much influence over them. They are, in some ways, like Paragon. They have been brutalized by life and the experience has left them capable of cold cruelty. Lavoy builds on that in men. Look how he encourages the crew to deride and torment Lop.” She looked away from Althea, out over the water. “Lavoy is a danger. We should be rid of him.”
“But Lavoy—” Althea began. She was interrupted by Amber springing to her feet.
“Ship!” she shouted, pointing. On the deck below, the secondary watchman took up the cry and pointed in the same direction for the benefit of the man on the wheel. Althea saw it now, a mast moving behind a thin line of trees on a long point of land, close to where Amber had been watching earlier. The ship had probably held back and waited there, allowing the Paragon to come closer before they made their attempt.
“Pirates!” Althea confirmed. And “PIRATES!” she yelled down to alert the crew below. As if aware that they had been seen, colors suddenly unfurled from the other ship’s flagstaff, a red flag with a black emblem on it. Althea counted six small boats being prepared for launch from the other ship. That would be their tactic then; the little boats would harry Paragon and board him if they could while the larger ship tried to force him into the shallows ahead. If the small boats’ crews were successful at overrunning Paragon’s deck, they could deliberately run him aground and pluck him at their leisure. Althea’s heart hammered. They had spoken of this, prepared for this, but somehow it still shocked her. For an instant, fear gripped her so strongly she could not breathe. The men in those boats would do all in their power to kill her. She choked a breath past her terror, shut her eyes and then opened them wide. There was no time to fear for her own life. The ship depended on her.
Brashen had appeared on deck at her first shout. “Put on sail!” Althea shouted down to him. “They’re trying to wolf-pack us, but we can outrun them. Six small boats and a mother ship. Be wary! There are shallows ahead.” She turned to Amber. “Go down to Paragon. Tell him he must aid us to keep him in the best channel. If the pirates start to get close to us, arm him. He could do a lot to drive back a small boat. I’m going to keep the watch here. The captain will run the deck.”
Amber did not wait to hear more. She was gone, spidering down the lines as if she had done it all her life. As Paragon drew abreast of the point of land, the small boats raced to intercept him. Six men in each craft manned the oars while others clutched weapons or grapples and awaited their opportunity. Below her, Paragon’s deck swarmed with activity. Some crew hastened to add canvas while others passed out weapons or took up watch positions all along the railings. The frenzied activity was not the coordinated preparation she had hoped to see.
Althea felt a sudden rush of anticipation. The excitement was giddying, submerging her fear. After all the waiting, her chance had finally, finally come. She would fight and she would kill. All of them would see what she could do; they would have to respect her after this. “Oh, Paragon,” she whispered to herself as she realized abruptly the source of her feelings. “Oh, ship, you have nothing to prove to anyone. Don’t let this become you.”
If he was aware of her thoughts, he gave no sign of it. Almost, she was glad to cloak her fear in his bravado. As she called down to Brashen the locations of the oncoming boats that he might steer to avoid them, Paragon was shouting for their blood. Amber had not armed him yet. He roared his threats and thrashed mightily, blindly flailing his arms as he sought for prey within his reach. As Althea watched from her rocking perch, two of the small boats slackened their efforts at the sight and sound of the infuriated figurehead. The other four came on unchecked. She could see them clearly now. The men wore red kerchiefs with a black sigil on their brows. Most of them had tattooed faces. Their mouths were wide as they yelled their own threats back at the ship and brandished swords.
What was happening on Paragon’s deck was not so clear to Althea. Rigging and canvas blocked her view, but she could hear Brashen bellowing orders and curses. Althea continued to cry the positions of the small boats. She took heart that two of the little boats were already falling back. Perhaps they might just slip by all of them. Brashen gave orders intending to evade them, but the wild leaning of the figurehead was thwarting the steersman’s efforts. From her perch, Althea heard Amber’s voice raised clearly once. “I decide!” she declared emphatically to someone.
BRASHEN’S HEART SANK WITHIN HIM. NONE OF THE CREW’S training seemed to be bearing fruit. He glanced about for Lavoy. He was supposed to be commanding the archers. The mate should also be bringing the deck under control, but the man was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t time to find him: Brashen needed the crew to function now. They raced about like unruly children playing a wild game. At this first challenge, most of them had reverted to being the waterfront scum he had recruited in Bingtown. He recalled with chagrin his orderly plan: one set of men to defend the ship, a second ready to attack, whilst a third saw to the sailing of the ship. The railing should have been lined with a row of archers by now. It wasn’t. He estimated that perhaps half his crew recalled what they were supposed to be doing. Some gawked, or leaned over the railing shouting and making bets as if they were watching a horse race. Others shouted insults at the pirates, and shook weapons at them. He saw two men squabbling like schoolboys over a sword. The ship was the worst of all, wallowing about instead of answering the helm. With every instant, the pirates drew closer.
He abandoned the distance a captain kept from his crew. Haff on the wheel seemed to be the only man focused on his task. Brashen moved swiftly about the deck. A well-aimed kick broke up one group of gawkers. “To your posts,” he snapped at them. “Paragon!” he bellowed. “Straighten yourself!” Five steps carried him to where the men were pawing through the arms. The two squabblers he seized by their collars, knocked their heads together, and then armed them both with less desirable blades. The sword they had fought over he kept for himself. He glanced about. “Jek! You’re in charge of passing out weapons. One to a man, and if anyone doesn’t take what he’s offered, he does without. The rest of you, get in line!” He ordered aloft three men who were hanging back, bidding them watch and cry down to him all they saw. They sprang to with a will, gladly giving up their weapons to those more anxious to fight.
Brashen berated himself for not foreseeing this chaos. As their cries and Althea’s shouts told him the positions of the advancing boats, he shouted his orders to the man on the wheel and the crew working the rigging. He judged that they would be able to evade the smaller boats, but not by much. As for the larger vessel behind him, well, the same wind filled her sails as his. He had a lead, and should be able to keep it. Paragon was a liveship, damn it. He should be able to outrun anything he had a lead on. Yet for all that, the ship’s responses lagged, as if Paragon resisted the crew’s efforts to speed him along. Dread uncoiled inside Brashen. If Paragon did not pick up speed, the smaller boats would close with him.
In a matter of minutes, Brashen had the ship’s deck crew working smoothly. As the chaos subsided, he glanced about for Lavoy. Where was the man whose job he’d been doing?
He spotted Lavoy headed for the foredeck. Even more unnerving than the previous disorder was the small, orderly group of men around Lavoy. Composed mostly of the former slaves they had smuggled out of Bingtown, this group flanked the first mate as if they were his personal escort. They carried both bows and swords. They ranged themselves on the foredeck. Purpose was in Lavoy’s stride as he paced it. Brashen felt an irrational flash of anger. The way the men moved around Lavoy told all. This was Lavoy’s elite crew. They answered to him, not Brashen.
As Brashen crossed the deck, his coat snagged on something. He spun in annoyance to free it, and found a flush-faced Clef hanging on to him. The boy held a long knife in his right hand and his blue eyes were wide. He quailed at Brashen’s stern look but did not let go of his jacket. “’m watchen your back, Cap’n,” he announced. A disdainful toss of his head indicated Lavoy and the men around him. “Wait,” Clef suggested in a lowered voice. “Jes’ watch ’em for a minute.”
“Let go,” Brashen ordered him in annoyance. The boy complied, but followed him as closely as a shadow as Brashen headed for the foredeck.
“Come here! I’ll kill you all! Come closer!” Paragon shouted gleefully at the pirates in the small boats. His voice was deeper and hoarser than Brashen had ever heard it. If not for the volume of the words, he would not have known it was his ship. He felt Paragon’s bloodlust himself for an instant; a boy’s wild determination to prove himself spiked with a man’s drive to crush any who opposed him. It chilled him, and his spine grew colder as he heard Lavoy’s wild shout of laughter. Was Lavoy unknowingly feeding off Paragon’s wild emotions?
The mate goaded the ship on. “You bet we will, laddie. I’ll cry you where to strike and you knock them. Give him his staff, woman! Let him show these rogues what a Bingtown liveship can do!”
“I decide!” Amber’s voice was not sharp, but the pitch of it made it carry. “The captain put me in charge of this. I decide when the ship needs a weapon. We’ve been ordered to flee, not fight.” He thought he heard an edge of fear in her voice, but the cold anger masked it well. In a quiet, earnest voice, he heard her exhort Paragon, “It’s not too late. We can still outrun them. No one has to die.”
“Give me my staff!” Paragon demanded, his voice going shrill on the last word. “I’ll kill the bastards! I’ll kill them all!”
Brashen could see them now, a tableau on the foredeck. Amber stood, Paragon’s long staff gripped in both hands. Lavoy’s stance was confrontational, but despite his words and the men at his back, he hadn’t dared to set a hand on the staff. Amber looked past him to Paragon.
“Paragon!” Amber pleaded. “Do you truly want blood on your decks again?”
“Give it to him!” Lavoy urged. “Don’t try to hide a whole ship behind your skirts, woman! Let him fight if he wants to! We don’t need to run.”
Paragon’s answer was interrupted by a different sound. Behind Brashen, a grapple thudded to the deck, rattled across it and caught for an instant in the railing before it fell back into the water. Eager shouts rang out from below, and another grapple was thrown.
“Boarders!” Haff cried out. “Starboard aft!”
Brashen put steel in his voice as he swiftly mounted the foredeck. “Lavoy! Get aft. Repel those boarders! Archers. To the railing and hold the boats off us. Paragon. Answer the helm, with no wallowing. Are you a ship or a raft? I want us out of here.”
There was the tiniest pause before Lavoy answered, “Aye, sir!” As he moved aft to obey, his hearties went with him. Brashen could not see what glance passed between Amber and Lavoy as he passed her, but he marked the white pinch of Amber’s lips. Her clenched hands tightened on the weapon she had shaped for the ship. He wondered what she would have done if Lavoy had tried to take it. Brashen stored the incident in his mind, to deal with later. He stepped to the railing, and leaned over it to shout at the figurehead.
“Paragon! Stop thrashing about and sail. I’d rather put these vermin behind us than fight them.”
“I won’t flee!” Paragon declared wildly. His voice went boyish and broke on the words. “Only cowards run! There’s no glory in running from a fight!”
“Too late to run!” Clef’s excited voice piped from behind. “They’ve caught us, sir.”
In dismay, Brashen spun to survey Paragon’s deck. Half a dozen boarders had already gained the deck in two places. They were practiced fighters, and they held their formation, keeping a clear place behind them for their fellows swarming up the grappling lines. For now, the invaders sought only to defend the small gain they had made, and they did it very well. Brashen’s inexperienced fighters got in one another’s way as they attacked as a mob. Even as he watched, another grapple fell to the deck, slid and caught. Almost as soon as it was secure, he saw a man’s hand reaching for the top of the railing. His own men were so busy fighting those on board they did not even notice this new threat. Only Clef leaped away from him, to charge across the main deck and confront the men coming up. Brashen was horrified.
“All hands, repel boarders!” he roared. He turned back to Paragon. “We’re not ready for this yet! Ship, they’ll take us if you don’t get us clear of them. Make him see reason!” he shouted at Amber.
He sprang away to follow Clef, but to his dismay, Althea was there before him. As the boy darted his knife at the man trying to come over the railing, Althea tugged vainly at the grappling hook. The three-tined hook was set well into the railing, and the weight of the men swarming up the line attached to it only encouraged the metal to bite deeper into the wood. A shot of chain fastened directly behind the hook prevented the defenders from simply cutting the hook free. Before Brashen could reach them, Clef gave a wild scream and thrust frenziedly with his knife. It bit deeply into the throat of the grinning pirate who had just thrown an arm over the railing. The blood gouted dark red, spouting past the man’s beard to drench both Clef and Althea before spattering onto the deck. A deep shout from Paragon told Brashen the ship had felt it. The dying man fell backward. Brashen heard the impact as he crashed heavily in the small boat below. Cries told him the falling body had done damage.
Brashen shouldered Althea aside. “Stay safe!” he ordered her. “Get back!” He swung one leg over the railing, and locked the other through it, so he straddled it firmly. He thrust down with his sword, slashing the face of a pirate who still clung to the line. Fortune had favored them. The falling man had near swamped the boat below and knocked down the man who had been bracing the line. As the second pirate lost his grip and fell, Brashen saw his chance. He sprang back to the deck and jerked the grapple loose. With a triumphant cry, he threw it down into the sea. He spun about, grinning, expecting Althea and Clef to share his victory. Instead, Althea’s face was twisted with anger. Clef still looked numbly at the knife in his hands and the blood that coated them. A shout from aft turned his head. The fight was not going well there. He leaned down and shook Clef’s shoulder. “Think later, boy! Come on, now.”
His words broke the boy from his trance, and he followed as Brashen charged down the deck. It seemed to him that in the same moment the ship suddenly picked up momentum. He felt a moment of relief that Althea had not followed him as he plunged into the battle. Three of his own men were down, rolling and punching with a pirate as if this were a tavern brawl. He sprang past them to engage the blade of a tattooed man with a gleaming bald pate. Brashen let the man parry his blade easily so that he could lunge past him and spear his true target: the pirate who was just flinging a leg over the railing. As the man fell back, clutching his chest, Brashen paid for his audacity. The bald pirate slashed at him, a cut that Brashen almost evaded by flinging himself to one side. He felt the blade tug at his shirt as the fabric parted. An instant later, a line of fire down his ribs seared him with pain. He heard Clef’s hoarse cry of horror, and then the boy plunged into the thick of it. He came in low, jabbing at the man’s feet and calves. The astonished pirate leaped backward to avoid the boy’s cuts. Brashen surged to his feet, thrusting his blade before him two-handed. As he came up, the tip of his blade found the bald man’s breast and bit deep. The man hit the railing and tipped backward over it, screaming as he fell.
Brashen and Clef had broken the magic circle of the defending pirates. His crew surged forward, turning the battle into a brawl. This was fighting they understood; they piled atop the remaining pirates, kicking and stamping. Brashen dragged himself clear of the mêlée and glanced about his deck. Aloft, the men were yelling that the pirate ship was falling behind as Paragon found his speed. A quick dash to the starboard side showed him that Lavoy and his men seemed to have handled their share of the attackers. Two of his crew were down, but still moving. Three of the pirates were still on Paragon’s deck, but their comrades below in the boat were shouting at them to jump, to give it up.
Shouts from the bow alerted him to another boarding party. He’d have to trust that Lavoy could finish aft. Brashen raced forward with Clef still at his heels. Six men had gained Paragon’s deck. For the first time, Brashen clearly saw the black sigil on their red head scarves. It was a spread-winged bird. A raven? Kennit’s sign? They held their swords at the ready, defending the set grapple behind them. Yet from below came calls from their comrades. “Give it up! Cap’n’s flagging us back!” The boarding party stood indecisively, obviously reluctant to lose what they had gained.
Althea was menacing them with a sword. Brashen swore under his breath; at least she’d had the good sense not to close with them. Amber was nearby, holding a blade competently if not aggressively. Lop, of all people, was backing Althea with a staff. Lavoy had proclaimed that he’d never trust the man with an edged weapon. The tall man grinned enthusiastically, clacking the end of the staff against the deck, and his wild-eyed battle enthusiasm seemed to make at least one of the pirates nervous.
“We can still take this ship!” roared one pirate on the deck. Sword still at the ready, he shouted down to the boat below. “Get up here! They have set women to fight us off. Ten of us could take the whole ship!” He was a tall man. The old slave tattoo on his face had been overneedled with a spread-winged bird.
“Go now!” Amber’s words cut through the wind, her tone oddly compelling. “You can’t win here. Your friends have abandoned you. Don’t die trying to take a ship you can never hold. Flee now, while you can. Even if you kill us, you can’t hold a liveship against his will. He’ll kill you.”
“You lie! Kennit took a liveship, and he lives still!” one of the men declared.
A wild roar of laughter broke out from the figurehead. The boarders on the deck could not see Paragon, but they could hear him, and feel the deck rock as he thrashed his arms wildly back and forth. “Take me!” he challenged them. “Oh, do. Come aboard, my little fishes. Come and find your deaths in me!”
The ship’s madness was like a wave in the air, like a scent that could not be snorted away. It touched them all with clammy hands. Althea blanched and Amber looked sickened. The crazy grin faded from Lop’s face like running paint, leaving only madness in his eyes.
“I’m gone,” one of the boarders declared. In a breath, he had stepped over the railing and slid away down the rope. Another followed him without a word. “Stand with me!” their leader bellowed, but his men didn’t heed him. They fled over the side, like startled cats. “Damn you! Damn you all!” the last man declared. He turned toward the rope, but Althea advanced on him suddenly. Her blade challenged his. Below, his men roared out to him to hurry, that they were leaving. On the deck, Althea suddenly declared, “We keep this one, to ask him what he knows of Kennit! Amber, throw the grappling hook over; Lop, help me hold him.”
Lop’s idea of holding him was to swing his staff in a mighty arc that brushed mortally near Amber’s skull before cracking sharply against the pirate’s head. The tattooed man went down and Lop began to dance a wild victory jig. “I got him, hey, I got one!”
STAY SAFE. THE WORDS WERE LIKE BARBS SET IN ALTHEA’S MIND. Even as she moved through the routine tasks aimed at restoring order and calm to the deck, the words rankled bitterly in her soul. Despite all, Brashen still considered her a vulnerable female to be kept out of harm’s way. Stay safe, he had told her, and then he had taken her task for himself, jerking loose the grapple that had defied her lesser strength. Humiliating her by showing her that she was, despite all her efforts, unreliable. Incompetent. Clef had witnessed it all.
It was not that she longed to fight and kill. Sa knew, her bones were still shaking from that first encounter. From the moment the invaders had begun to swarm up Paragon’s side, she had been tight with anxiety. Still, she had kept going. She hadn’t frozen up; she hadn’t shrieked or fled. She had done her best to fulfill her duties. But that hadn’t been enough. She wanted Brashen to respect her as a fully capable sailor and ship’s officer. He had made it obvious that he didn’t.
She left the deck and climbed the rigging, not only to check for pursuit, but also to have a moment of silence and solitude. The last time she had felt such anger, Kyle had been at the root of it. She could scarcely believe that Brashen had stung her in just the same way. For an instant, she leaned her forehead against a thrumming line and shut her eyes. She had thought that Brashen respected her; more, that he cared for her. Now this. It made it all the more bitter that she had carefully preserved her distance from him, standing apart from him when she desired to be close to him, to prove herself independent and strong. She had assumed that they remained at arm’s length to preserve discipline on the ship. Could it be that he simply saw her as a distraction, an amusement to set aside while they were under way? All was denied to her. She could not present herself as a woman who desired him, nor as a shipmate who deserved his respect. What, then, was she to him? Baggage? An unwanted responsibility? When they were attacked, he had not treated her as a comrade who could aid him, but as someone he must protect while attempting to defend his ship.
Slowly she descended the mast, then dropped the last few feet to the deck. Some small part of her felt she was, perhaps, being unfair. But her larger disposition, agitated by the pirates’ attack, did not care. Facing men armed with swords who would have gladly killed her had transformed her. Bingtown and all that was safe and noble had been left more than leagues behind her. This was a new life now. If she was going to survive in this world, she needed to feel competent and strong, not protected and vulnerable. The lecturing voice inside her head was suddenly stilled as she came face-to-face with a truth. This was why her anger at Brashen raged so hot. When he had acknowledged her weakness, he had forced her to see it as well. His words had eaten at her self-confidence like serpent-spittle. Her makeshift courage, her stubborn will to fight and act as if she were the physical equal of the men challenging her had been dissolved away. Even at the last, it had been Lop who took down her man for her. Lop, little more than a half-wit, was still more valuable than she was during a fight, simply because of his size and brawn.
Jek prowled up to her, cheeks still flushed from the fighting. Her grin was wide and self-satisfied. “Cap’n wants to see you, about the prisoner.”
It was hard to look up at Jek’s self-assured face. At the moment, Althea would have given near anything to have the larger woman’s size and strength. “Prisoner? I thought we had several.”
Jek shook her head. “When Lop swings that staff, he means business. The man never awoke. His eyes swelled out and he began to jerk. Then he died. A pity, as I believe he was the leader of the boarding party. He probably would have been able to tell us the most. The men Lavoy was guarding tried to go over the side. Two made it, and one died on the deck. But one fellow survived. The captain intends to question him and wants you to be there.”
“I’ll go now. How did you fare during the boarding?”
Jek grinned. “The captain put me in charge of passing out the weapons. I think he could see I was keeping my head better than some of the others. I didn’t have much of a chance to use a blade, though.”
“Maybe next time,” Althea promised her dryly. The tall woman gave her a puzzled glance, as if she had rebuked her, but Althea only asked, “Where are they? In the captain’s chamber?”
“No. On the foredeck.”
“Near the figurehead? What is he thinking?”
Jek had no answer; Althea hadn’t really expected one. Instead, she hurried forward to see for herself. As she drew near, she was displeased to see Brashen, Amber and Lavoy already gathered with the prisoner. She felt slighted. Had Brashen sent for the others before her? She tried to push her anger and jealousy away, but they seemed to have taken root. She spoke not a word as she mounted to the foredeck.
The sole remaining prisoner was a young man. He had been pummeled and throttled when he was taken, but other than bruises and swelling, he did not seem much harmed. Several slave tattoos crawled over his cheek. He had a thick thatch of wild brown hair that his red kerchief could not tame. His hazel eyes looked both frightened and defiant. He sat on the deck, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles chained together. Brashen stood over him, Lavoy at his shoulder. Amber, her lips pinched tight, stood back from the group. She did not hide her disapproval. A handful of crewmen loitered on the main deck to watch the interrogation. Clef was among them. Althea glared at him but the boy’s wide eyes were fixed on the prisoner. Only two of the tattooed crewmen were there. Their faces were stoic, their eyes cold.
“Tell us about Kennit.” Brashen’s voice was even, but his tone was that of a man who was repeating himself.
The pirate seated on the deck stared ahead stolidly. He didn’t speak a word.
“Let me have a go, Captain,” Lavoy begged, and Brashen did not forbid it. The brawny first mate crouched down beside the man, seized the hair on top of his head and forced him to meet his gaze.
“It’s this way, bonny boy,” Lavoy growled. His grin was worse than a snarl. “You can be useful and talk to us. Or you can go over the side. Which is it?”
The pirate took a short breath. “Whether I talk or not, I go over the side.” There was half a sob to his words, and he suddenly looked younger to Althea.
But his response roused cruelty rather than pity in Lavoy. “Talk, then. No one will know you did, and maybe I’ll knock you over the head before I let you sink. Where’s this Kennit? That’s all we want to know. That’s his emblem you’re wearing. You got to know where he docks.”
Althea shot Brashen an incredulous look. There was substantially more that she wanted to know. Had any of Vivacia’s crew survived? How fared Vivacia? Were there any hopes of ransoming her? But Brashen spoke not a word. The bound man shook his head. Lavoy slapped him, not hard, but the open-handed cuff was enough to knock the prisoner over. Before he could right himself, Lavoy seized him by the hair and dragged him back to a sitting position. “I didn’t hear you,” he sneered at him.
“Are you going to—” Amber began furiously, but Brashen cut her off with an abrupt “Enough!” Brashen advanced to stand over the prisoner. “Talk to us,” he suggested. “Tell us what we need to know, and maybe you don’t have to die.”
The pirate took a ragged breath. “I’d rather die than betray Kennit,” he said defiantly. A sudden shake of his head ripped it from Lavoy’s grip.
“If he’d rather die,” Paragon suddenly offered, “I can assist him with that.” His voice boomed suddenly louder. The malice in it raised the hair on the back of Althea’s neck. “Throw him to me, Lavoy. He’ll talk before I give him to the sea.”
“Enough!” Althea heard herself echo Brashen’s word.
She advanced to the prisoner and crouched down to be on eye level with him. “I’m not asking you to be disloyal to Kennit.” She spoke softly.
“What do you think you’re do—” Lavoy began in disgust, but Brashen cut him off.
“Step back, Lavoy. This is Althea’s right.”
“Her right?” The first mate was both incredulous and furious.
“Shut up or leave the foredeck.” Brashen’s voice was flat.
Lavoy subsided, but his color remained high.
Althea didn’t spare either of them a glance. She stared at the prisoner until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Tell me about the liveship Kennit took. Vivacia.”
For a time, the man just looked at her. Then his nostrils narrowed and the skin around his mouth pinched white. “I know who you are.” He spat out the words. “You’ve the look of the priest-boy. You could be his twin.” He turned his head and spat on the deck. “You’re a damn Haven. I tell you nothing.”
“I’m a Vestrit, not a damn Haven,” Althea replied indignantly. “And the Vivacia is our family ship. You spoke of Wintrow, my nephew. He lives, then?”
“Wintrow. That was his name.” The man’s eyes glinted fiercely. “I hope he is dead. He deserves death and not a swift one. Oh, he pretended to kindness. Bringing us a bucket of salt water and a rag, crawling around the filthy hold as if he was one of us. But it was all an act. All the time, he was the captain’s son. Many of the slaves said we should be grateful to him, that he done for us what he could, and that when we did break loose, it was because of him. But I think he was a damn spy all along. Otherwise, how could he have looked at us and left us chained down there that long? You tell me that.”
“You were a slave aboard the Vivacia,” Althea said quietly. That was all. No questions, no contradictions. The man was talking, and telling her more than he realized.
“I was a slave on your family ship. Yes.” He gave his head a shake to fling the hair back from his eyes. “You know that. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your own family’s tattoo.” Unwillingly she studied his face. The last tattoo on his cheek was a clenched fist. That would suit Kyle. Althea took a breath and spoke softly. “I own no slaves. Neither did my father. He brought me up to believe slavery was wrong. There is no Vestrit tattoo, and there are no Vestrit slaves. What was done to you was done by Kyle Haven, not my family.”
“Slide away from it, right? Like your little priest-boy. He had to know what was being done to us. That damn Torg. He’d come amongst us at night and rape the women right in front of us. Killed one of them. She started screaming and he stuffed a rag in her mouth. She died while he was fucking her. And he just laughed. Just stood up and walked away and left her there, chained just two men down from me. There wasn’t a damn thing that any of us could do. The next day the crew came and hauled her away and fed her to the serpents.” The man’s eyes narrowed. He ran his eyes over her. “It should have been you, spread out and choked. Just once, it should have been one of you.”
Althea closed her eyes for an instant. The image was too vivid. By the railing, Amber suddenly turned to stare off over the sea.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” Brashen said roughly. “Or I’ll throw you overboard myself.”
“I don’t care,” Althea interrupted him. “I understand why he says that. Let him talk.” She focused herself at the man. “What Kyle Haven did with our family ship was wrong. I acknowledge that.” She forced herself to meet the man’s hawkish gaze with one of her own. “I want Vivacia back, and when I get her, no man will ever be a slave on her. That’s all. Tell us where we can find Kennit. We’ll ransom the ship back. That’s all I want. Just the ship. And those of her crew that still live.”
“Damn few of those.” Her words had not changed the man’s heart. Instead, he seemed to sense her vulnerability and to be eager to hurt her. He stared at her as he spoke. “Most of ’em was dead before Kennit even stepped aboard. I done two of them myself. It was a fine day when he came aboard. His men spent quite a time pitching bodies to the serpents. And oh, didn’t the ship scream while they did it.”
His eyes locked with Althea’s, trying to see if he had wounded her. She did not try to pretend otherwise. Instead, she slowly sat back on her heels. It would have to be faced, all of it. She was not a Haven, but the ship was her family ship. Family money had paid for the slaves, and her father’s crew had been the ones to chain them up in the dark. What she felt was not guilt; guilt she reserved for her own wrongdoing. Instead, she felt a terrible responsibility. She should have stayed and fought Kyle to the bitter end. She should never have let Vivacia depart Bingtown on such a dirty errand.
“Where can we find Kennit?”
The man licked his lips. “You want your ship? You ain’t going to get her. Kennit took her because he wanted her. And she wants him. She’d lick his boots if she could reach them. He sweet-talks her like a cheap whore and she just laps it up. I heard him talk to her one night, cozying up to her about turning pirate. She went willing. She’ll never come back to you. She got a gutful of being a slaver; she pirates for Kennit now. She wears his colors, same as me.” His eyes measured the impact of his words. “Ship hated being a slaver. She was grateful to Kennit for freeing her. She’ll never want to come back to you. Nor would Kennit ransom her to you. He likes her. Says he always wanted a liveship. Now he has one.”
“Liar!” The roar burst out, not from Althea, but Paragon. “You lying sack of guts! Give him to me! I’ll wring the truth out of him.”
Paragon’s words were another buffet against her. Sickened, Althea stood slowly. Her head spun with the impact of the man’s words. They touched a deeply hidden fear. She had known that Vivacia’s experiences as a slaver must change her. Could it change her this much? So much that she would turn against her own family and strike out on her own with someone else?
Why not?
Hadn’t Althea also turned away from her family, with far less provocation?
A horrible mixture of jealousy, disappointment and betrayal swept through her. So must a wife feel who discovers her husband’s unfaithfulness. So must a parent feel when a daughter becomes a whore. How could Vivacia have done so? And how could Althea have failed her so badly? What would become of her beautiful misguided ship now? Could they ever be as they were before, one heart, one spirit, moving over the sea before the wind?
Paragon ranted on, threats to the pirate and pleas that they give him the prisoner, he would wring the truth out of him, yes, he’d make him speak true of that bastard Kennit. Althea scarcely heard him. Brashen took her elbow. “You look as if you will faint,” he said in a low voice. “Can you walk away? Keep your dignity in front of the crew?”
His words were her final undoing. She wrenched free of him. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled low. Dignity, she cautioned herself, dignity, but it was all she could do to keep from shrieking at him like a fishwife. He stepped back from her, appalled, and she saw the briefest flash of anger deep in his dark eyes. She drew herself up, fighting for control.
Fighting, she suddenly knew, to separate her emotions from Paragon’s.
She turned back toward the prisoner and the figurehead, a fraction of an instant too late. Lavoy had hauled the pirate to his feet, and was holding him against the railing. The threats were twin: that Lavoy would simply push him overboard, bound as he was, or that the mate would strike him. The man’s face was reddened on one cheek; there had been at least one blow. Amber had hold of Lavoy’s drawn-back arm. She suddenly looked surprisingly tall. For a woman so willowy to have the strength to hold Lavoy’s arm back surprised Althea. Amber’s expression seemed to have turned Lavoy to stone. The look on Lavoy’s face was not fear; whatever he saw in Amber’s eyes moved him beyond fear. Too late, Althea saw the real threat.
Paragon had twisted to his full limit. His hand reached, groping blindly.
“No!” Althea cried, but the big wooden fingers had found the prisoner. Paragon plucked him easily from Lavoy’s grip. The pirate screamed and Amber’s shout of, “Oh, Paragon, no, no, no!” cut through his cries.
Paragon turned away from them, clenching the pirate in his hands before him. He hunched his shoulders over the stolen prisoner like a child devouring a stolen sweetmeat. He was fiercely muttering something to the hapless man as he shook him back and forth like a rag doll, but all Althea could hear was Amber’s pleading, “Paragon. Please, Paragon.”
“Ship! Return that man to the deck at once!” Brashen roared. The snap of ultimate command was in his voice but Paragon did not even flinch. Althea found herself clutching the railing in both hands as she leaned forward desperately. “No!” she begged the ship, but if the figurehead heard her, he gave no sign. Near her, Lavoy watched, his teeth white in a gritted grimace, his eyes strangely avid. Paragon darted his face down close to the man he clutched tight in both hands. For one horrific instant, Althea feared he would bite his head off. Instead, he froze as if listening intently. Then, “No!” he shrieked. “Kennit never said that! He never said he always dreamed of having his own liveship. You lie! You lie!” He shook the man back and forth. Althea heard the snapping of bones. The man screamed, and Paragon suddenly flung him away. His body cartwheeled in the bright sunlight, then bit into the flashing sea abruptly. There was a slap of flesh against water. Then he was gone. The chains on his ankles pulled what was left of him down.
Althea stared dully at the spot where he had vanished. He had done it. Paragon had killed again.
“Oh, ship,” Brashen groaned deep beside her.
Paragon swiveled his head to stare at them blindly. He curled his fists and held them in toward his chest as if that would hide his deed. His voice was that of a frightened and defiant boy as he declared, “I made him tell. Divvytown. We’ll find Kennit in Divvytown. He always liked Divvytown.” He scowled blindly at the silence of the folk gathered on the foredeck. “Well, that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To find out where Kennit was? That’s all I did. I made him talk.”
“That you did, laddie,” Lavoy observed gruffly. Even he seemed daunted by Paragon’s action. He shook his head slowly. In a quiet voice, pitched only for the humans, he added, “I didn’t believe he’d do it.”
“Yes, you did,” Amber contradicted him flatly. She stared at Lavoy with eyes that seared. “That was why you put the man within Paragon’s reach. So he could take him. Because you wanted him dead, like the other prisoners.” Amber turned her head suddenly, to stare at the Tattooed ones of the crew who stood silently watching. “You were in on it. You knew what he would do, but you did nothing. That’s what he’s brought out in you. The worst of what slavery could have done to you.” Her glance snapped back to the mate. “You’re a monster, Lavoy. Not just for what you did to that man, but for what you’ve wakened in the ship. You’re trying to make him a brute like yourself.”
With a jerk of his head, Paragon turned his maimed face away from Amber’s words. “So you don’t like me anymore. Well, I don’t care. If I have to be weak so you can like me, then I don’t need you to like me. So there.” For him to revert to such childishness immediately after he had brutally killed a man paralyzed Althea with horror. What was this ship?
Amber didn’t reply with words. Instead, she sank slowly down until her brow rested on her hands as they gripped the railing. Althea did not know if she mourned or prayed. She clung tight to the wizardwood as if she could pour herself into it.
“I did nothing!” Lavoy protested. His words sounded cowardly to Althea. He looked at his Tattooed crew as he spoke. “Everyone saw what happened. None of it was my doing. The ship took it into his own hands, in more ways than one.”
“Shut up!” Brashen ordered all of them. “Just shut up.” He paced a quick turn on the deck. His eyes traveled over the silently gathered crew on the foredeck. His eyes seemed to linger on Clef. The white-faced boy had both his hands clasped over his mouth. His eyes were bright with tears.
When Brashen spoke again, his voice was devoid of any emotion. “We’ll be making for Divvytown, with all speed. The performance of this crew during the attack was abysmal. There will be additional drill, for officers as well as crew. I will have each man knowing his place and duty, and acting promptly on that knowledge.” He let his eyes rove over them again. He looked older and wearier than Althea had ever seen him. He turned back to the figurehead.
“Paragon, your punishment for disobeying my orders is isolation. No one is to speak to the ship without my leave. No one!” he repeated as Amber took a breath to protest. “No one is even to be on this foredeck unless duty demands it. Now clear it, all of you, and get back to your tasks. Now.”
Brashen stood silent on the foredeck as his crew silently ebbed away, back to deck or bunk as their watches commanded. Althea, too, walked away from him. Right now, she did not know him at all. How could he have let all that happen? Didn’t he see what Lavoy was, what he was doing to the ship?
BRASHEN HURT. IT WASN’T JUST THE LONG GASH DOWN HIS RIBS, though Sa knew that it burned and stung. His jaws, his back and his gut ached with tension. Even his face hurt, but he could not remember how to relax those muscles. Althea had looked at him with absolute loathing; he could not fathom why. His liveship, his pride, his Paragon had killed with a bestial savagery that sickened him; he had not thought the ship capable of such a thing. He was almost certain now that Lavoy was lining up not just men, but the ship himself to support the mate in a mutiny. Amber was right, though he wished she had not spoken it aloud. For reasons he did not completely grasp, Lavoy had seen to it that all their prisoners died. It was overwhelming to him. Yet he must deal with all that, and never show, not even by the twitch of a facial muscle, that it bothered him. He was the captain. This was the price. Just when he most wanted to confront Lavoy, or take Althea in his arms, or demand that Paragon explain to him what had just happened, instead he had to square his shoulders and stand straight. Keep his dignity. For the sake of his crew and his command, he must feel nothing.
He stood on the foredeck and watched them all obey him. Lavoy went with a resentful, backward glance. Althea moved awkwardly, her spirit broken. He hoped the other women would have the sense to give her some privacy for a time. Amber was the last to leave the foredeck. She paused beside him, as if she would speak. He met her eyes and silently shook his head. Paragon must not think that anyone opposed Brashen’s order to isolate him. He must feel the disapproval was universal. As soon as Amber was off the deck, Brashen followed her. He spoke no parting word to the ship. He wondered if Paragon even noticed it.
PARAGON SURREPTITIOUSLY WIPED HIS HANDS AGAIN DOWN THE bow. Blood was such clinging stuff. So clinging, and so rich with memories. He fought against absorbing the man he had killed, but in the end, the blood had its way. It soaked into his wizardwood hands, rich, red and fraught with emotions. Terror and pain were the strongest. Well, how had the man expected to die, once he took up piracy? He’d brought it on himself. It was not Paragon’s fault. The man should have talked when Lavoy told him to. Then Lavoy would have killed him gently.
Besides, the pirate had lied. He had said that Kennit loved Vivacia, that he often said he’d always wanted a liveship for his very own. Worse, he said that Vivacia had bonded to Kennit. She could not. She was not his family. So the man had lied and he had died.
Brashen was very angry with him. It was Brashen’s own fault he was angry, because Brashen could not understand a simple thing like killing someone who had lied to you. There were many things, he was discovering, that Brashen did not understand. But Lavoy did. Lavoy came to him and talked to him, and told him sea tales and called him laddie. And he understood. He understood that Paragon had to be as he was, that everything he had ever done, he’d had to do. Lavoy told him he had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to regret. He agreed that people had pushed Paragon into everything he had ever done. Brashen and Althea and Amber all wanted him to be like them. They wanted him to pretend he had no past. No pasts at all. Be how they wanted him to be, or they wouldn’t like him. But he couldn’t. There were too many feelings inside him that he knew they wouldn’t like. That didn’t mean he could stop feeling them. Too many voices, telling him his bad memories over and over and over, but in tiny little voices he could not quite hear. Tiny little blood voices, whimpering from the past. What was he supposed to do about them? They were never silent, not really. He had learned to ignore them, but that didn’t make them go away. But even they were not as bad as the other parts of himself.
He wiped his hands again down his hull. So no one was supposed to talk to him now. He didn’t care. He didn’t have to talk. He could go years without talking or even moving. He’d done it before. He doubted that Lavoy would obey that order anyway. He listened to the barefoot thundering of footsteps on his deck as men raced to one of Lavoy’s orders. He let the other part of himself grow stronger. Did they really think they could punish him and still expect him to sail blithely to Divvytown for them? They’d see. He crossed his arms on his chest and sailed blindly on.