Chapter 8: Adventure on the Horizon

"Whoever said violence doesn't solve anything was the worst kind of fool. Just pull the trigger and watch all your problems melt away."

-Captain Emile Dryden, 182 U.E.

Stephan knocked on the door to the captain’s cabin.

The ship rumbled underfoot. Torch was working on some tube-shaped device in the main deck behind Stephan. The scarred man swore intermittently, fingers working with practiced nimbleness.

Their mission was underway. Soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow, they would come up against the warship.

Stephan waited patiently. Eventually, there was a call from inside urging him to enter. He opened the door.

“Ah, there you are,” Quintilla said. She jumped out of the chair behind her deck. “Ready to get started?”

“No, but I suppose that doesn’t matter,” Stephan said.

Quintilla grinned. She picked up a simple, weathered pistol from the desk. “Not one bit.”

She exited the room ahead of him and brought him out to the main deck. With the touch of a button, a long metal crosspiece folded away from the hull, allowing a rush of howling wind to enter. The gun slot ran for several meters, about half a meter high. It was designed to allow the pirates to fire at enemy ships while remaining safely inside their own.

Quintilla handed Stephan the pistol. It was heavy. He pointed it upward so that he couldn’t possibly hurt anyone with it. His sweat made the grip slick.

The captain waited in silence for a minute as she looked through the gun slot, braids tousling in the wind.

“Um…” Stephan said. “What is it we’re doing here, exactly?”

“Shh!” Quintilla said. “Wait.”

A few moments later, she lit up. “We have visitors! Here, look!”

She waved him over to the gun slot and he complied, cold wind making him squint. Multiple meter-long creatures flew alongside the ship. Four, no, five in total. They were snake-like, with stout bodies and small, vestigial limbs hanging from their bodies. They had many bulky sacs on their backs which ran from their necks to the conclusion of their tails. Their scales were as glittering sapphires, with the leathery sacs appearing more of a brownish red. The snakes wriggled their bodies in the air to propel themselves and keep even pace with the Tits Up.

“Juvenile bladder-wyrms,” Quintilla explained. “They often confuse skyships for their adult counterparts and fly near them for protection.”

“Do they fry up nice?” Stephan asked.

“Practically inedible, I’m afraid. They do make good target practice, though. Have a crack at it, why don’t you?”

Stephan looked at the gun in his hand and gulped. He had fired one a few times in training, but there had never been so much weight behind it then. Never the implication that he might have to turn it on his countrymen.

Stephan pointed the pistol out the gun port towards the flying creatures. His hand shook, so he placed the other on the weapon to steady it.

“Go on, now,” Quintilla said insistently. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Get used to pulling the trigger. It can’t be a choice or even a conscious thought. It has to be in your backbone.”

“No need to worry, brother,” Torch said. He had set his work aside and come over to watch. “Concordians are softer than Elandrans by a mile. You’ll have no problem bursting a few skulls.”

Torch’s encouragement made Stephan more queasy than anything. He tried to narrow in his aim on one of the wyrms, but his aim was so shaky that he might hit anything, including the wing of the ship, if he pulled the trigger.

“Go on,” Quintilla said. “Fire. Just once.”

Stephan squeezed the trigger, softly at first. He tried to swallow his shame, but it stuck to his insides like tar. Everything in his former life had taught him that what he was about to do was not only wrong, but unforgivable.

He released the trigger, pulled the gun back, and sighed.

Quintilla looked at him with the heavy, expressionless eyes of a disappointed parent. Almost without looking, she drew her revolver and cracked three rounds through the gun slot. Three of the bladder-wyrms spiraled away dead, holes in their heads. The rest quickly scattered.

Quintilla reset her gun in its holster without taking her eyes off of Stephan for a moment. She held out her hand, and he gave her the other pistol back.

“One day soon, your mettle will be tested,” Quintilla said. “Let us hope you don’t come up short. Destiny can be a cruel mistress if you mistreat her.”

Despite being shorter than Stephan, the captain seemed to tower over him, then.

Thumbs tucked into her belt, she stared at him for several long moments.

“Quincy,” Taira’s voice came from behind Stephan. “A word?”

Quintilla leaned away, and a cocksure smile dominated her countenance once more. She glanced towards her sister. “Sure thing, Tee. Excuse me, Mr. Lordling, won’t you?”

Stephan nodded vigorously. “Of course, Captain.”

Quintilla walked past him across the main deck, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dodged a bullet there,” Torch said. He hit the button to close the gun slot. “So to speak.”

Stephan managed a nervous laugh.

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he refused to go along with the captain’s plans for him.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

*****

Taira’s gaze lingered on Stephan.

He looked far more proper than he had before, now that he was wearing his freshly cleaned black suit.

His black, tousled hair and pale skin set him apart from most men in Tumba. He was less raw. More… refined.

His body had a nice shape to it, as well. Not brutish, like many of the pirates, yet not overly feminine, like Kazzul or others of his kin.

She forced herself to look away. It wasn’t wise to pine after him. Stephan seemed to have eyes for her sister, after all.

“Well?” Quintilla asked, breaking Taira out of her thought. “What did you want to talk about?”

Taira forced herself to focus on her sister. “I was wondering. Do we have a plan?”

“What kind of plan?”

“For the warship.”

“I always have a plan. You know that, Tee.”

“Share.”

Quintilla shrugged. “I suppose it’s about time for you to learn of it. We will land on an island outside of Concord control, intercepting the Intrepid’s route to Redharbor based on the intel the magister deigned to give us. Once it’s close enough, we fly out to meet it.”

“And the guns?” Taira asked. She was not certain that her sister had thought this all the way through.

“That’s the fun part. Before we’re in reach of the Intrepid’s great guns, you’ll teleport the entire ship so that we’re right up on them. We’ll give them a full volley, break their wards, then come around and stick ‘em with the anchor. Easy as that.”

Taira’s entire body stiffened. She was unable to speak for a good while as she recovered from the shock of what she had just heard.

“I can’t teleport the ship,” Taira said weakly. “You know this. It’s too big.”

“I know you think you can’t teleport it,” Quintilla rebutted. “But I think all you need is the right push. Remember what Auntie told you—you’re capable of far more than you think.”

“Not this. You know the dangers.” She glanced over at Stephan and Torch, who were still present on the main deck, and neglected to elaborate for their sake.

“We’ll find a way, like we always do. Don’t be such a worrywart about everything.” Quintilla ruffled Taira’s hair and made to walk away. “If you need me, I’ll be taking a nap. Do not disturb like.”

Taira wanted to call after her sister, plead with her, but the moment passed. Once the door to the captain’s cabin closed her posture withered. She bit her lip.

Stephan watched her attentively from across the floor. She blushed under his scrutiny. He looked as though he was about to speak, but she turned and retreated down the stairs before he could utter a word.

*****

Stephan gutted the mackerel with a long, straight cut of his knife, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He reached inside and gave its entrails a sharp tug, allowing them to fall into a plastic tub on the counter.

He had been allowed to stock the kitchen with whatever modestly priced ingredients he thought he needed before their departure. Under Kurko’s supervision, he had taken a trip to the Shiccuen Market district to hunt for produce. He had also managed to convince the captain to purchase a small freezer box to store fresh fish and meats.

Yin was tossing around on the table behind him, pretending not to be bored. She was also pretending to be in the room by mere chance, not to watch him, but he caught her looking at his work almost every time he glanced up.

Stephan didn’t mind, of course. Now that he was going to be on the crew for the foreseeable future, he was determined to salvage whatever was left of Yin’s spoiled childhood.

“I could use a hand, you know,” Stephan said. He set the first mackerel aside and took out another. He nodded towards a second knife on the counter without looking back. “Figure it might be more fun than staring into oblivion.”

“Hmph,” Yin grunted. “Like I’d let you pass your boring work off on me.”

Stephan shrugged and kept gutting.

There was a lot of shuffling and sighing behind him.

Not two minutes later, Yin was at his side, arms crossed.

“Well?” she said. “What am I doing, then?”

Stephan nodded at the sink. “Wash your hands.”

She did.

He handed her a knife and a mackerel. “Okay, now do what I do?”

He showed her how to gut the fish, and she followed his instructions precisely. Once they had gutted six mackerels in all, he cleaned them out with water, and they set to filleting. Yin’s face lit up when he complimented her on her nice, even cuts.

She had hands steady enough for a surgeon.

“When is your starday, Yin?” Stephan asked idly while they worked.

“Starday?” Yin asked.

“The date on which you were born. In the Concord, we call it a ‘starday’. In the Commonwealth and many places elsewhere, it’s called a ‘birthday’.”

“It’s called a Najun in Aqith,” Yin said. “I… Never really had one. Don’t know when I was born.”

She was visibly discouraged, tracing faint circles in the wooden counter with the tip of her knife.

“That’s alright,” Stephan said. “Why don’t we give you one?”

Yin looked up, eyes gone huge. “Does it work like that?”

Stephan smiled. “Why not? We’re pirates, right? We do whatever we want.”

Yin became all teeth, grinning ear to ear. “Then… I could have my Najun soon? I’d get presents and treats?”

“Sure! Why not the 28th of Harvest? That’s three days from now—which would give us enough time to wrap up this job and return to Tumba. Does that sound nice?”

“Well, duh!” Suddenly, she frowned, and she looked keenly around the room with her big, discerning eyes. “Wait… is this some kind of joke? If it is…”

“Not a joke,” Stephan insisted. “Promise. I’ll have it all ready for you on the 28th.”

Yin frowned even deeper. “Then swear. Blood-swear.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds highly unsanitary while working with—”

“Blood-swear!” Yin reached out her hand, palm up.

Stephan wiped his own on a towel and hesitantly held it out.

Yin took a knife and pricked first him, then herself, on the index finger, the movement so quick as the be almost imperceptible. She took his hand in hers and grasped it firmly as their blood smeared on each other’s palms.

“There,” she said. “Now swear.”

“I swear I’ll celebrate your starday—Najun—with you on the 28th of Harvest.”

Yin’s face broke into a grin once more, and she tweeted to herself in True Speech—the principal language of Xijhi. She cartwheeled through the room, nearly knocking into Taira in the process, who lingered near the dining table.

Yin left the room in the same fashion, and both Stephan and Taira were left staring dumbfounded after her.

After a few moments, Taira seemed to compose herself and shuffled a little closer to him.

She cleared her throat and spoke. “Hello.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”

Stephan frowned. “Sorry? What for?”

“Throwing you in the sea.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it was a mistake, and I made it out with my life, so no harm done.”

“Still. I should have kept control.”

Stephan was unsure how to answer, and a silence stretched between them.

“I…” Taira stammered. “My magic. It is difficult to harness.”

“I can imagine,” Stephan responded. “I couldn’t help but overhear your reservations with how the captain intends to use your talents.”

Taira looked down. “She asks more than she knows. Too much.” She glanced up briefly. “I… wanted to ask you. For your help. You seem a sensible kind of man.”

“Of course. What can I do to help?”