Chapter Nine

The fetish felt warm in her hand as she cast the spell, her thoughts slipping out of her mind and into Maurice. A tidal wave of filth washed over her, so strong she was nearly thrown back out of his mind and back into her body. Maurice was a raging storm of resentment and hatred, desire and bitterness, loathing and a sheer savage sexuality that made her want to throw up. His memories battered against her self-control, impressions of girls and boys he’d fucked – she was so deeply embedded in his mind that it was difficult to remind herself that it was rape – tearing through her mind. The images brought a complete moral inversion with them, a sense that what he had done was natural and right … it took her several seconds to focus, to remind herself that he’d done something dreadfully wrong. He’d seen pretty girls and handsome boys and his desire had swelled and he’d …

Anastasia’s stomach heaved, again. She saw herself from the rear, an object of desire, tainted with a sheer fear and outrage that made it hard to think clearly. He believed that might made right, but he also hated and loathed anyone stronger than him … she saw the horrors he had in store for her running through his mind, horrors he would make real the moment he plucked up the nerve. She had terrified him and he would never forgive her, not ever. He could not endure someone superior, not forever. He had no love or loyalty towards his master, she noted in shock. The moment the captain showed a hint of weakness, Maurice would put a knife in his back and take power for himself. And then he would be captain, unleashing appetites so foul the world would be covered in blood.

Focus, she told herself. His mind was a morass and she could get trapped, if she didn’t keep a tight hold of herself. You need to think clearly.

She gritted her teeth, peering through his eyes. The target ship was closer now, the hull low in the water … she knew, without knowing quite how, that that meant she was fully-laden, that she couldn’t outrun the pirate ship even if she threw her cargo overboard. Maurice’s emotions promised no mercy to their captives, his mouth already salivating at the thought of a bloody orgy of rape and violence no civilised mind could condone. She didn’t have much time and that meant she had to move quickly. There was no way she could stay on the pirate ship. She doubted they’d let her stay much longer, even if she wanted to. They’d be heading back to the free state after they claimed their prize.

Anastasia forced herself to open her eyes and study the door. It was solid wood, the lock too solid to pick easily. She was tempted to try to summon Maurice back to her, to force him to open the door, but she wasn’t sure she could control him so perfectly. The effort would drain her, leaving her weak and helpless and completely at his mercy. She kept the link open as she pressed her hand against the lock, wishing she’d thought to memorise some lock-picking spells. Instead, she summoned a wisp of flame and melted the lock. The sudden wave of heat surprised her as molten metal dripped to the deck. Oddly, the effort didn’t drain her as much as she’d expected. She had no idea why.

She pulled her bag over her shoulder and pushed the door open gingerly, forcing herself to inch out of the compartment. The pirates were thronging on the deck overhead, which meant she couldn’t go up. She reached out mentally and peered through Maurice’s eyes, confirming that there was no way out. His memories taunted her as she inched further into the ship, passing through a deserted sleeping berth – the pirate crew didn’t have cabins of their own – and into a storeroom. A large collection of barrels rested against one bulkhead. She hoped they were gunpowder, but the memories suggested they were alcohol. A quick check revealed they were casks of sour-smelling wine. She cursed under her breath, then remembered that alcohol was flammable. If she started a fire …

A hand caught her, yanking her back. Maurice? No, another young crewman. The leer on his face suggested he had similar ideas, now he’d caught her out of her cabin. Anastasia summoned fire and rammed the flare into his face, trying to drive it up his nostrils and right into his brain. He screamed and staggered backwards … she kicked herself, all too aware the sound would bring the pirates down on her. They were probably used to people screaming, but this … she reached for the fetish and plunged herself into Maurice’s mind again. The tidal wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her once again; this time, she worked to drive his feelings to fever-pitch, breaking though what common sense and self-restraint he had. The latter was practically non-existent, held in place only by fear of his superiors … a fear he hated and resented. She felt his rage drive him into a berserker fit, lashing out at the nearest target. The chaos would take some time to subside. The pirates would have to kill him … she glanced at the man she’d burn as she pulled herself out of Maurice’s mind, kicked him in the head as hard as she could, then stepped back into the sleeping berth and summoned flame once again. The bedding caught fire rapidly, the flames spreading towards the hold. The pirates wouldn’t have time to realise they were in trouble before the fire reached the alcohol – or the gunpowder, wherever they stored it – and blew their ship to hell.

His memories drove her onwards, showing her the rear ladder up to the captain’s cabin and a handful of other sections. The ladder was cramped and dark, but there was no time to seek a better alternative. The sound of fighting was growing louder, Maurice bellowing like a bull as he lashed out with all his might. She wondered if he’d somehow incited others to join him, or if they’d assumed he was starting a mutiny or … if they were too confused to be sure which side they should be on. A pirate crew wasn’t held together by anything other than naked force, with captains who lowered their guard often being knifed in the back by their subordinates. Killing one’s superiors was often the only way to proceed, with success providing all the absolution the murderer could possibly need … a crazy thought ran through her head, an awareness she had the power to take the ship for herself and pillage the ocean until it ran red with blood …

She bit her lip. That wasn’t her thought. It was his, his mentality seeping into hers.

The thought nagged at her mind, even though she knew it was crazy, as she reached the top of the shaft and pushed open the hatch. The sound of fighting grew louder … she inched forward, clambering up until she could see the main deck. The fighters were struggling desperately, bladed weapons clashing frantically … she could see Maurice, his sword dripping with blood, lashing out at a pair of officers. One fell to a thrust from him, the other darted back just in time to save himself. She shuddered as she saw the dead bodies lying on the deck. They’d been pirates, the scourge of the seas, but their deaths were still her fault. She tried to tell herself they deserved it. She didn’t really believe it.

She felt a wave of heat from behind her and hurried up the second ladder, scrambling onto the poop deck. The helmsman was wrestling with the wheel, clearly having problems controlling the ship. It was just a matter of time until the fire torched the alcohol or something else flammable and then … she felt the vessel shudder under her feet and turned away, leaving the man to his futile struggle as she dropped down to the lower deck. The target ship was alarmingly close, her crew watching the pirates warily. It was unlikely they’d be very trusting of anyone who escaped the chaos, particularly on a longboat, but it was her only hope. If they could get her to the mainland.

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Someone growled and grabbed hold, slamming her into the wooden bulkhead and making her gasp in pain. Bad breath assailed her nostrils, the stench almost making her throw up as she looked up. Captain was looming over her, his face twisted with rage. She didn’t know how he'd caught her, if he’d caught a glimpse of her trying to escape or if he’d merely gotten lucky, but it didn’t matter. He was pressing her against the wood, the weight of his body threatening to crush her. She tried to struggle, but he was far too strong. He was going to kill her …

“What have you done?”

Anastasia gasped as he pressed his hand into her throat, threatening to crush her windpipe. It was hard to think clearly. He was going to kill her and … she was going to die, thousands of miles from home, with no one even aware that she’d been replaced. Circe would go on to become Queen and unleash a reign of terror, while Anastasia would be lucky if her body was merely dropped into the waters below. It was no comfort to know that the flames would probably avenge her. She would still be dead.

“Damn you!” Captain drew back his fist to strike her. “What have you done?”

Panic gave her strength. She reached out mentally to the vial of blood and supercharged the spell linking it to its donor. The vial ripped itself out of her pocket and crashed into Captain with terrifying force, sending him tumbling backwards to the deck. Anastasia gasped for breath, fighting to keep herself upright, as Captain’s sword clattered down beside her. She scooped it up, drove it into his throat as hard as she could, then touched the fetish one last time. It was dead. She guessed Maurice was dead too. The sound of fighting was steadily dying away …

There was no time to release the longboat. She jumped into the water, hoping and praying the spells on the books would keep them safe. The water was shockingly cold, her clothes rapidly becoming waterlogged … she cursed her own mistake as she kicked and swam, struggling to remain above the water. She was a strong swimmer, and her mother had insisted on a bathing costume that covered her from head to toe, but she had never swum in her clothes. In hindsight, she guessed it was something else she should have practiced. The times she’d gone skinny-dipping with Patsy – Circe – had been a mistake in more ways than one.

The anger drove her forward, even as she heard a dull roar from behind her. She glanced back and saw a towering flame rising into the sky, the wooden hull catching fire with terrifying speed. She couldn’t see any pirates jumping into the waters and … she turned away, swimming as hard as she could. The pirate ship exploded a second later, pieces of debris splashing down all around her. The flames must have reached the gunpowder. She kept swimming, trying to wave to the target ship. It was growing harder and harder to keep herself afloat … a thought struck her, too late, as she saw the sailors lowering a boat into the waters. They’d seen her jump off a pirate ship. Would they think her a pirate?

Keep going, she told herself. The sailors were rowing towards her. Worry about it afterwards.

She allowed herself a moment of relief as she caught hold of the rowing boat, the sailors hauling her into the boat and pushing her into the rear seat. There was no sign of any other survivors, much to her relief. The sailors didn’t seem inclined to waste time looking, she noted; they made a cursory check, then two men rowed the boat back to the mothership while the others kept an eye on her. Anastasia tried to look as unthreatening as possible, uneasily aware of just how tightly her damp tunic was clinging to her breasts and thighs. These men might not be pirates, but they were still men.

The boat bumped into the mothership. A rope ladder was thrown down. Anastasia had to struggle to clamber up the side and onto the deck, where she was greeted by two armed men who grabbed her arms firmly and pulled them behind her back. She had to force herself to keep from resisting as they bound her wrists, then tugged her into a small cabin. A young-looking officer followed them in, then motioned for the guards to leave them. He looked much nicer than the pirates … Anastasia felt a twinge of dark amusement. The bar wasn’t set very high.

“I am Captain Lord Felix, Her Majesty’s Navy,” he said. Up close, he reminded her of a young courtier trying to pretend to be his father. She’d heard that sailors started young, and that second or third sons were encouraged to join the army or the navy if there was little prospect of them inheriting the family estate, but he still struck her as disturbingly young. He wasn’t much older than her. “How did you come to be aboard a pirate ship?”

Anastasia hesitated. “I was kidnapped,” she said, finally. The curse shivered against her, a grim reminder she couldn’t say too much. “We were on a trading ship that was taken by pirates. The kidnappers took me to the free state, where I was held captive and eventually taken onto the pirate ship. I hatched a plan to escape and put it into practice the moment they saw you, setting fire to the ship and swimming to your vessel.”

Felix studied her for a long moment. He was an odd duck, she noted; he seemed torn between staring at her chest and his duty, the urgent need to understand just who or what he’d taken onto his ship. She hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions. She’d learnt a great deal over the last few weeks, but she was painfully aware of her own ignorance. If he caught her in a lie, he’d demand answers she couldn’t give. And she had no idea how he’d react if he thought she was a pirate. Or a magician.

“I see,” Felix said. “Where do you come from?”

It was suddenly much harder to breathe. “Folkston,” she managed. The curse seemed appeased by the lie. “My family are traders who …”

She stared down at her hands, trying to look weak and helpless. “I … I don’t know what happened to them.”

Felix looked uncomfortable. “Do you know how they tracked us down?”

“The captain made some remarks about using blood,” Anastasia said. She didn’t want to admit her role in the affair, not least because she wasn’t sure how much of what she’d done was illegal. Anything that involved blood was risky and she hadn’t paid enough attention to her lessons to know just how risky. “I think he thought it would lead him to your ship.”

She paused. “I don’t know where he got it.”

“I’ll give the matter some thought,” Felix said. He studied her for a long moment. “You’ll be given a cabin. A married rating will tend to your clothes … I’m afraid we have no women on board, save you. I suggest” – his tone made it clear it was an order – “that you remain in the cabin until we reach Beneficence. At that point, we will make arrangements for your safe return to your hometown.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Anastasia managed. There was no point in going to Folkston. “I would sooner remain in the city.”

“If that is what you wish.” Felix sounded oddly unsure. She wondered, numbly, if he’d worked out she was lying about something, even if he didn’t know what. Her story would be difficult to disprove, but … she groaned inwardly. If Circe hadn’t cursed her, she could have admitted who she was and openly asked for help. “What do you want to do there?”

“There’s nothing for me back home,” Anastasia said. “My father thought he could make his fortune. Instead … I don’t know what happened to him.”

Felix cocked his head. “No relatives?”

“No,” Anastasia told him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if a girl from Folkston lost her parents. Back home, she’d be a free agent; elsewhere, in less progressive kingdoms, she might find herself under the thumb of her nearest male relative. She didn’t dare say it out loud. Some men might understand, even agree; others, she feared, would send her home to relatives who had never heard of her or try to keep her for themselves. “I just want a fresh start.”

“Very well.” Felix motioned for her to turn around, then freed her hands. “If you want to be left there, we will oblige. You’ll just have to answer some questions first.”

Anastasia sighed, inwardly. “Yes, My Lord,” she said. It was a reasonable thing for him to do and yet it was still annoying. He was keeping his distance from her, his fists at the ready … he didn’t trust her, not yet. She couldn’t blame him. For all he knew, she was a pirate who’d had a falling out with her comrades and jumped ship, after starting a fire. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

She met his eyes. “You’re from the navy. Why do you allow the free state to exist?”

“Orders.” Felix had the grace to look embarrassed. “We have to leave the free state alone.”

Anastasia recalled what she’d been told and scowled. “And how many kidnapped people are trapped there?”

“Too many,” Felix said. “But orders are orders.”