It was the night of April Sixteenth, 1733, one night after the encounter with the Saber, that Paracelsus woke up. The first immediate sensation was a massive, stabbing pain in his chest, but as he looked down, he noted that his crew had at least done a decent job of patching him up. The second thing he noticed was that Serpacinno had pulled up a chair, and laid her head down near the headboard of his bed, and was dozed off at the moment.
“Serpacinno,” He gently shook her shoulder, “Wake up.”
“Paracelsus?” She asked blearily, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, “You’re awake!”
“Please don’t shout,” He stood up, looking for some nourishment, “My head is killing me.”
“Sorry, you just, you really worried me,” She pointed to the door, “The masts are down. The mermaid refuses to speak to anyone but you, and Tariq and Gareland are in the dumps.”
“Help me up,” He noticed the other bed in the room, “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“I’m the first mate, aren’t I?” She asked, proudly, “I think I deserve a spot in the officer’s cabin.”
“Fair enough,” He groaned, managing to finally stand, albeit shakily, “Who’s at the helm right now?”
“The Shah.”
“Lovely,” He replied, moving over to the gunwale, “Gru’lya!”
“You’re awake,” She peered her beady eyes out of the water, “Your crew was worried.”
“I’m sure,” He waved his hand dismissively, “Regardless - why wouldn’t you speak to my first mate?”
“You and I shook hands” She pointed with an accusatory glare, “You said it was an important human tradition.”
“I understand the confusion. However, Serpacinno can speak for me if I’m not here, alright?” He asked.
“Hmm,” The mermaid clearly was deep in thought, her natural suspicions against humans only being amplified when they asked things of her, “If you say so.”
“Good, good, now, can we get underway?”
“What?” She tilted her head inquisitively, “Do you think I don’t sleep? I’ll be resting now, when I awake, then we move.”
“Very well, then,” He turned to address Serpacinno, “Do as you will. I’m gonna fix myself something before I sleep.”
“You aren’t going to fix the masts?” Serpacinno asked, incredulous.
“The way it is - I don’t think I could so much as reload a gun.” Now that he mentioned it, his first mate noticed his limp, and the clutching of his side.
“Alright then. Gareland tried cooking, there’s some…” She delivered the words with a certain biting, gross tone, “Fish, below deck.”
—
“The bell is phony,” Medine snarled, barely holding back his rage, “You have delivered unto me a fake.”
“It’s no fake, I assure you,” Grave replied, “At sea, we heard the pirates say some phrase, I don’t know if it’s related to the summoning.”
Medine paused for a great while, squinting his eyes incredulously the whole time. After an awkward, sizable gap, he asked, “What did they say?”
“Sorry, sir,” Graave offered, “It was too far away, and I don’t speak the language.”
The merchant just scoffed in response, “You know the pirates managed to capture my daughter? They slipped past your men, a group of four slipped past your men.”
“I don’t deny that, Sir, but with all respect, your own men were barely a factor at all.” It was a somewhat confrontational and unhelpful truth, but a truth nonetheless.
“My men have grown soft, it’s true. But that’s because we actually maintain peace around here.” Another inconvenient truth, but ultimately the less effective one in the face of -
“And that is due to the actions of the Union,” Graave shut him down completely, “But we’re getting off-track. The bell is yours, the bodies are in your harbor, if you wish to dredge. I take it neither of us particularly wants to keep looking at the other, so if that will be all?”
“Don’t think of me as some foolish miser,” Medine replied ominously, “I know how shaky your Union’s hold is around this region. You might think the scales of your justice are immovable, but I have a powerful thumb, and it would benefit you to remember who you speak to.”
“Listen to me,” Graave towered over Medine physically, and he looked like a solid iron wall in comparison, “You’re a merchant. A powerful one, I will admit, but a merchant nonetheless. I represent the agenda of the collective minds of the free world. You wish to play tug of war? You’ll find my team more populated.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“I think you misunderstand me, Lieutenant,” Medine smacked his desk with his palms and stood up furiously, “I have influence with the president of Iralo; I hope it’s not true - but if you’re stabbing me in the back, then there will be consequences.”
“I assured you, sir,” Graave almost spat the word out, barely managing to hide his thinly-veiled contempt, “There is no such trickery on my end. I really must be getting to my paperwork now, farewell.” All Medine could do was glare at the back of his head as the lieutenant exited calmly and cooly, “Oh, and one more thing: I don’t know if you can’t or you refuse to see it, but your daughter is clearly the reason the pirates were able to fulfill their objective.”
“How’d it go, Lieutenant?” Peeares had mostly quelled his earlier indignation, seeing as now there was nothing to be done but simply accept it.
“Swimmingly,” Graave said, motioning his soldier to walk with him, “Save for the fact that you know my personal opinions on those rich elite-types.”
“Speaking of those rich elite types,” The angel pressed a note to his superior’s chest, “This came from command this morning. Farah insisted I don’t read it.”
“Well, son, that’s because Ms. Taylor isn’t a scoundrel,” He opened the letter and began reading, “Ah, that’s no good, then. Captain Jorge Gamzar is set to be medically cleared for command by July.”
“Then perhaps the paperwork should wait?” Peeares suggested earnestly, in no small part trying to forward his own agenda.
“No, I’m a man of my word, “Graave replied, “Even though I never got to give it to Paracelsus, I’ll no sooner betray myself.”
“But -”
“That’s final, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
—
“You’ve seen better days, my friend,” A man, lanky with a smart look helped Lorane lie down, “What happened?”
“You heard the fighting earlier?” She asked, throwing her arm over her forehead, “A stray chain shot took down the mast while I was on watch.” She even chuckled weakly to sell it.
“Well, if they’re headed inward,” The nurse mused, “We can drop you off in Tanendille.”
“That would be lovely, sir, may I ask what the purpose of this vessel is?”
“We transport Iraloan grain all over Mellan.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” She coughed weakly, “Well, when I recuperate, I wouldn’t mind earning my keep.”
“Oh, no need,” He reassured, “This crew is a little old-fashioned, you see. We don’t have any women working, just rest.”
“Are you sure?” She tried to hide her annoyance; if there was one throughline in her life, it was being underestimated by men, “I would hate to be a burden.”
“No, no, it’s no burden at all, rest!”
“If you insist.” Silver rolled on her side, grumbling the whole while.
Once she was alone, she produced her journal, or what was left of it, from her coat. Almost all of it was soaked through and unusable, but she found the most essential piece undamaged. Paracelsus’ smelling-patch, made from some hair she’d managed to snatch. With any luck, she’d be able to track him down through the mail raptors.
Then, it was just a matter of what she wanted to do. Obviously capture was the first item on the agenda, but then what? Torture seemed like an appealing option, and the most likely one, but even that had quite the number of permutations. She first thought of peeling skin or fingernails, which was always a fun option. Next came from the gouging of eyes, the drilling of ears and other maiming of the extremities. There were also more esoteric options available, drowning, boiling, thunder-snakes if she could procure them.
Before she even knew it, she had reached her hand down, taking pleasure in all the ways she could inflict as much pain as she wanted. She’d never shied away from the thought of her own sadism, but perhaps it was just the target. McGraw was never of any interest, and with him the remainder of the crew. Perhaps it was just the unique combination of his inoffensive face, which had a unique combination of being very strikable and at the same time devoid of any pain left to give, and his arrogant, lackadaisical attitude, but she wanted to see just how far he could be bent before breaking.
So, with that pleasant thought, and her own release, she drifted off to sleep, content for now to simply bide time until she could take charge and indulge in her own desires.
—
We find ourselves back on board the Star, the ship that, as mentioned some chapters ago, was the current vessel of Parkna and Jeyro. The deck was, at present, fully manned. The mermaids, of which the captain Hearnah had made quite prolific use, were ultimately proven ineffective by the steam-engine of their pursuer, the Iron Maiden. They made no headway - even expending all of the precious items they had on board, the Iron Maiden never once slipped out of view. The worst part? They had been gaining on them for some time now, as they’d no more food for the mermaids.
“Well?” Hearnah, smoking a long pipe as though he weren’t in mortal danger, asked.
“Sir,” One of the seamen reported, “The chip says we're losing speed. The bosun says someone on board the Maiden is interfering with our wind.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” He exhaled a great big puff of smoke which seemed to manifest itself as a tiny effigy of a ship, floating off into the sky, “Say, those engines of theirs, they produce a mighty lot of heat, don’t they?”
“Aye, sir, but-”
“Pour all of our alcohol into the sea,” He put his hand up to stifle and rebellion, “They won’t propel themselves through it, lest they catch fire, so they’ll be relying on wind, which should considerably lessen their advantage.”
“I’m sorry to say it, sir,” His sailor pleaded, “But the crew won’t have it. Last thing we need right now’s an open mutiny.”
“We can make port in less than two days, we’ll touch down in Cape Guile, and it’s neutral territory there, the marines wouldn’t dare touch us. We can drink until we drown there.”
“And then?”
“And then…” Hearnah stammed for a few moments, “And then, we figure it out… then.”
Hearnah chuckled. The sailor too, and soon they were laughing together as though they hadn’t just been arguing. With a salute, the sailor went to disseminate orders and set about informing the crew of the plan.
Below deck, recuperating from a lash the bosun had marked him with for some mischief or other, lay Jeyro on one of the least comfortable beds there ever was. As doting as Hearnah could be at times, his ward found his hospitality extremely limited when it came to the furnishing of the ship. So it was he found himself writhing in agony as the ship’s surgeon, a notorious drunkard by the name of Wellick, who had at present a bottle in his off-hand, sewed him up like a patchwork doll. To his credit, the stitchwork was precise and clean, and nobody’d ever had an infection that he couldn’t cure.
“Sir, the captain-” His mate tried to grab the alcohol from him.
“To hell, ‘the captain’, lad,” He took another large swig of the whiskey, “He wants my liquor - he’s free and clear to try to take it. ‘Sides, he knows I can’t doctor worth a damn without it. Now, on your feet, Jey, got other patients. And Duckett, mate, I swear to you, touch my stash and you’ll wake up with your lips sewn together.”
“Is it always so… lively?” Parkna asked, helping her uneasy friend to his feet.
“Normally?” Jeyro asked, “Much worse. No watch is able to sleep ‘cause the others make enough raucous to wake the dead.”
“That’s reassuring,” The catwoman said sarcastically, “Almost as reassuring as knowing that great big steamer is still on our tail.”
“We’re making port soon, feel free to leave.” He replied, wasting no time going above deck to report to the captain.
“Well, I have no money, exactly.” She rubbed her arm sheepishly, like a scolded child.
“And? This isn’t a charity house,” He replied, practically spitting the words out, “I helped you out because you helped me. As far as I’m concerned, this free ride to Yuyonia is quite enough.”
“I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but it just seems like the ship is cornering itself going inward like this. What’s in Ashland that’s so important?”
“Captain says he has a man to meet there,” The words were matter-of-fact and concise, but clearly even Jeyro had a hard time justifying them, “Ship’s the captain’s. We’re on the ship.”
Parkna bit her nails, a bad habit she’d had ever since she was a kid, worried about the timeline. They’d arrive in Ashland, at the absolute earliest, sometime around early August, but potentially as late as the middle of September, and then afterwards they’d go to Yuyonia. Her destination, however, was over thirteen months by conventional travel, and although the ship had its fair share of wind-blowers, they’d probably only shave some two or three months from that. Her brother, last she heard, wasn’t scheduled for execution, but that could change any moment.
All things to worry about in the future, she supposed.