“You listened to Hassani last night. What did she wish for?” Cardnial asked Chrys. They were both standing by the rail, watching the the play of light upon the water.
“I don’t know. I do know she didn’t ask for a body, because she made a point of telling me she would not waste her gift asking for what we had promised anyway. Then she went over exactly what kind of body she wants, in detail. Again.”
After a moment Chrys added “Hassani does want to stay with this ship. Piracy appeals to her as a career. Also, she thinks it’s safer than going around with us. I can’t say she is wrong about that last.”
Cardnial slipped into nonchalant elegance, a pose that told Chrys he was about to say something serious.
“Well, between our adventures and the king’s good word, I now think I might rank near the top of my class. Then there’s the fact that we have made a reasonable amount of money. The academic life has its attractions, you know.”
“Not for Deyilan, nor for Rakt. But I know what you mean.”
Cardnial stared out over the bright sea. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Back down the Gulf. I’m not sure where. Not in Dravishi, I think, and certainly not in the Brahnzhever. Maybe some pirate haven on the Corillion Coast? Other than Lagash. We can talk to the captain later.”
“Well, between now and when we get there I’ll be doing some thinking about what comes next."
* * * *
The captain was uninformative about their next port that evening, smiling and deflecting conversation to other topics. The best Chrys could get was an assurance that he would take their desires into account, and give them several days’ notice. Chrys did not really mind; life on board was interesting, the weather pleasant and the company congenial. She traded spells with Pevuaa and the other two magicians on board, studied magic theory and lounged on deck. For the next two days they ran before the northerly wind under easy sail, making their way back down the gulf.
Chrys had just finished a light lunch the day after that when the lookout hailed the deck. She could not make out the words, but they sent Verhassin to the mast-head in short order. Three notes from a pipe above and the ship boiled into action. Covers were battened over hatches, catapults cast loose, loose gear stowed and arms served out. Within minutes the Trifling Impost went from ambling along in an easy-going manner to taut readiness. Chrys fetched her bow and other useful gear and watched from the break of the quarterdeck, where she was out of the way. Was there a threat or was she about to become an accessory to piracy?
Pevuaa emerged from the companionway behind her. “There are at least two possible enemies heading our way,” she informed Chrys. “You can help, or go below so as to be out of the way. Your choice – this may not be your fight.”
Chrys did not hesitate. “I will help.”
“Good. More spells are always welcome. I’ve asked Cardnial to join the fore-top crew, so you can come with me. Our station is the maintop.” She walked over and swung into the shrouds, long braid bouncing against her back as she climbed. Chrys gulped, grimaced, slung her bow-case out of the way, set her teeth and followed. Up and up, the thin ropes biting into her soles, the awkward clamber between rigging to reach the lubber’s hole and heave herself onto the broad platform. Pevuaa grinned and helped her to her feet.
“There, do you see.” She pointed out to the west. Chrys could see two patches of fog or cloud, quite small but easily big enough to conceal a ship, moving steadily across the wind.
“Are they illusions? Veils?”
“No, it’s a spell we sometimes use. The cloud accompanies the ship and is thick enough to turn arrows or catapult bolts, even aside that you can’t aim properly. It’s a strong spell, so there are at least two powerful magicians out there. They are on a course to intercept us, so we seem to be the target.”
“And if they come up to us?”
“They will drop the cloud at the last moment and lay alongside. Then it’s all close work, blades and bodies. We keep their magicians out of the fight and help our side. Cast the Defence, then use whatever you have. We use Mind-Lift to drop these on the enemy,” Pevuaa said, pointing to spiked iron balls racked beside the mast. Chrys looked down, The deck seemed small and far away. She picked out Rakt, mustered in the waist, then Deyilan and Bajur. She could see Captain Verhassin, standing composedly on the quarterdeck, hands behind his back. When she looked up, Cardnial waved from the fore-top, clearly excited. Attractions of academic life, my left elbow, thought Chrys. Sailors were out on the yards, taking in the lower sails. There was a reassuring unhurried efficiency about the way the Impost’s crew went about their tasks.
She gauged the progress of the two clouds. They had been moving side by side, not too far apart. Now the gap was a little wider, as one took a course that would cut ahead of the Impost. Forestalling any try at escape, Pevuaa said, and seeking a position where they could attack on both sides.
“Why do we not use that spell to conceal our movements?” asked Chrys.
“Uses too much access. Better to save it for the fight. It does make it harder to counter them, though. They can use simple spells to see our every move and gauge our strength,” was the reply.
“I have a seeing spell that might pierce the clouds,” offered Chrys. “It does not work at under a thousand long paces, so it will be no use when they are a lot closer.”
“Worth a try, if it does not leave you with too little access.”
Chrys took a tight hold on a cleat, felt her way into her surrounds, shaped the words and threw her eyes outward. Her vision was first of a dizzying blue, then abruptly of green, then darker, then back to blue again with a rush. She staggered, then felt Pevuaa’s steadying hand on her back. She tilted her head cautiously until her sight steadied, no longer half in water and half on the sky, then equally cautiously turned. The moving fog-bank came into view, a short distance away across the waves. She moved her sight forward, into the grey, groping forwards and out into the blue again. She turned her distant eyes, plunged back into the fog, swept back and forth until the found a dark shape. The fog was thinner about it, and she could lift her viewpoint until she hovered over the distant ship like a seagull looking for scraps.
“A ship, smaller than ours, two masts, crowded with fighters. All Dravish, many with armour paint. Five people on the deck at the back, four in feather cloaks, the fifth is, I think, the captain. Two hold long staffs. They have white and green stripes on their faces. There is a skin on a frame in front of the captain...I’ll shift...it shows the Trifling Impost. He speaks to one of the magicians, she utters a spell, speaks.”
“Which ship are you looking at?”
“I’ll pull high...the one to my right. I’ll look at the other...Same size, also crowded, three magicians, also with white and green stripes. One has a staff. No imaging Item. One speaks to the captain, he gives an order, they alter course. The spell is ending..”
Chrys’ normal sight returned. She closed her eyes, held tight to her cleat and then opened them carefully. Pevuaa gave her a congratulatory smile, reached out and slid down a back-stay to the deck, where she spoke with Captain Verhassin. When she returned to the top she added “Well done. That was very useful.”
The Trifling Impost now began a series of small manoeuvres, changes of course, once a turn that brought her head around to the north, then around on the other tack, a move as if she going about only to change at the last minute, a turn back to her previous southward course. Each move was spaced out in time, a slow dance with their pursuers. Chrys observed that none of these tricks evaded their enemies, who continued to gain ground on them. Pevuaa grinned.
“They aren’t meant to. Every change has to be signalled, which uses access. The leeward one can’t see us directly, so it tends to lag. We force choices on them.”
The Impost came about again, heading north-west. The nearer cloud stood on, assuming this was another feint then, as the Impost continued, started to turn. Verhassin gave a sharp order, the Impost spun like a cutter and raced down on the cloud. The cloud wavered in place. As the Impost entered the fog it vanished, to reveal a long low vessel lying a long bow-shot away, gaining way across their bow. Both turned to come alongside, arrows and bolts flying as the range closed. Chrys hastily cast the Invisible Defence, grasped her spell-rod and threw Choke at the mid-most magician. She could feel the spell coil, then dissipate as it met a protection. No matter; she threw another, then hurled the Dislikeable Blow at the next magician. The cloaked figure staggered, recovered, countered with a spell that shattered her Defence. Chrys re-cast the Defence; the two ships came together, she grasped an iron ball with the Mind-Lift and hurled it on to the planks at the magician’s feet, breaking a hole and sending splinters flying.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Before she could muster her next spell, girlish screams cut through the clash of battle. Two long-armed ginger forms had leapt from the fore yardarm into the rigging of the enemy ship and now swung down screeching. The first ploughed into the press below, sending fighters flying like skittles, knocked down several more with a great scything blow of the oar it carried, then plucked up another fighter and hurled him overboard. As Chrys watched, Juin rampaged aft, beating down opposition. Yuli came close behind, smashing about with her mace. The press thinned, Juin bounded up on the rail and launched herself at the knot of magicians. Dire spells converged on her, twisting the air, only to fall away. The tall magician levelled his staff, it was plucked from him and used to beat him to the deck. Another, despairing of magic, came at Juin with a dagger. The blade scratched a hip, then a back-handed slap broke her neck. Juin seized the third, a plump woman, by shoulder and knees, lofted her high and threw her into a group of fighters. The fourth had backed away, face ashen. Juin tossed him over the side and turned to see if Yuli needed help. She did not.
“Lieutenant,” called Verhassin. “Ten people and take possession. Bear down on the other when you can. Yuli, back with us, please. Juin, help secure the ship.”
The Trifling Impost cast loose and turned downwind. The whole affair had taken so little time the other cloud was still some distance away. On the deck below, Skaia and Aitonala were helping tend the wounded, while sailors knotted and spliced. Verhassin came forward with quiet words of praise, then returned to the quarterdeck. Pevuaa gave Chrys a friendly clasp on the arm.
“You did well. Do you have much left?”
“Enough for the Defence and a bit more. I also have my bow.”
“We may need it. Yuli and Juin saved us from an all-out fight that time, but there’s still the other.”
“I know Juin is proof against most magic, but Yuli must have asked for protection from weapons. I saw an axe hit her shoulder and rebound.”
Pevuaa nodded. “The screaming adds to the effect, too. It’s like being attacked by a gang of schoolgirl axe-murderers.”
The other skipper must have felt the lack of guidance, for the spell holding the cloud ended before the Impost reached it. Chrys could see her people react with alarm as they saw their target bearing down on them, apparently unhurt, while their companion lay captive, colours hauled down, beyond. Still, they fought. As the Impost closed, the magicians launched a spell to slice through rope and wood. It rebounded from well-placed strips of gruyush hide. Rakt followed up with his last un-magic quarrel, dropping a magician dead. The Impost had the better of the exchange of missiles then, as the two hulls ground together, Chrys and Pevuaa dropped lumps of spiked iron, the fore-top crew picked off three officers and boarders went over the side in a wave. There was a brief, bloody clash and then the heart went out of the defence. Dravish fighters threw weapons to the deck and raised hands.
* * * *
The next morning found the Trifling Impost running south under easy sail, the two Dravish craft lying under her lee. Crew moved about both, repairing the damage from the fight. Most of the Dravish had given their parole; those who had not were held below deck. The magicians were aboard under guard, the wounded cared for, the dead laid out. Captain Verhassin met with the party in his cabin. As before, Bosun Saiferes sat at the table, along with Pevuaa. When all were seated, the captain began.
“I have called you here to let you know what we have learned from the Dravish. It concerns you all, because you were the main quarry. Oh, the Impost was on the list, but those ships were sent by the Igwé to punish those who defied their ban, freed the king and killed a senior leader. We, of course, were to be punished for sinking an Igwé ship and harbouring fugitives from their justice.”
Verhassin held up a hand to stem a flow of indignant protest. “We have now compounded our crimes by seizing two Igwé vessels, killing and wounding more Igwé, and capturing many others. We are,” here he steepled his hands and pursed his lips “pirates. As such, we are used to the condemnations of those we defeat, and can hardly afford to pay them much regard. Yet here we have an opportunity.
Before I enlarge on that, I should tell you that the crew has agreed that you each should have shares in any profit from this latest venture commensurate with your experience. The purser is valuing the booty as I speak, and will provide you with an estimate later. This will include the value of the two captures, any ransoms and whatever else of worth is found.” He coughed. “At Yuli’s request, this includes your comrade Hassani. I would be grateful if you could communicate this to her in her jar.”
Chrys was inwardly pleased, but kept a straight face. Verhassin chose his next words carefully.
“We have on board two Igwé captains, four warriors of high rank and five magicians, somewhat battered but all likely to recover. Our usual practice is to deposit valuable captives with a ransom agent, who holds them until the agreed sum has been paid. He then forwards this to us, after deducting his commission. In this case, it might be preferable to negotiate directly: their freedom in return for a binding oath not to pursue these matters further. In effect, we would regard this and previous clashes as trials by combat after the Dravish custom, the outcomes reflecting the judgement of the ancestors.”
Rakt frowned. “Can the Igwé be trusted to keep such an oath? And can these people bind the whole Society?”
Skaia spoke up. “What we swear by our ancestors is binding, to death and beyond.”
Cardnial raised a hand. “Might I ask where we are bound, and where the Dravish would be released?”
“My advice,” Verhassin said, “is that it is as Skaia says. If they swear, they will keep their word. If they bind themselves not only to forego all further attempts at vengeance but also to oppose attempts by others, the Igwé as a whole must go along or risk internal strife. It is worth something to us,” he added, ”to avoid further trouble with the Igwé.”
“That it is” rumbled Saiferes. “Else the crew would be kicking up at forgoing all those ransoms. We’ve a good few Dravish among the crew, who’d like to be able to visit without worry.”
“As to your question,” Verhassin responded to Cardnial “our next port will be Membreri, on Liwy Island. Should they agree, the Dravish can go ashore there. We cannot, of course, compel them to agree, but likewise we are under no compulsion to ransom them. We don’t fly the red flag of no quarter, but they are at our mercy.” He smiled thinly. “And pirates have no good reputation for mercy.”
He rose. “Thank you for your time. I will let you know the outcome of our discussions.”
Back on deck, Chrys spoke to Cardnial. “Remind me not to gamble with the captain. Also, how is it that pirates are able to call at a Saka port?”
“I can answer that, as it happens. One of the fore-top crew objected to the term pirate. He said that they were only pirates on the Corillion Coast. South of that, they were privateers, with a license against the Brahnaks.”
“Good to know we won’t be arrested. Speaking of which, I had better talk to Hassani.”
Chrys moulded the wax around her ear and was immediately assailed by a psychic shout.
“About time. I need you to get back on deck before they bury anyone. They’ve got my new body!”
“What? Where?”
“That Dravish bint. The one what Juin back-handed. She’d suit me fine. Get up there and put a label on her – Reserved. Do Not Discard.”
“How do you know about her?”
“When you’re a soul, you can see other souls, can’t you? Fair number flying around loose up there. Plus I got a connection to Yuli. Anyway, get up there and set about stuffing me in.”
Chrys passed the news about shares, but Hassani was too urgent to care. She sought directions and found the after-hold. The Dravish had been laid in a neat row, hands tied with red and blue string, eyes masked with white cloth, the marks of admission to the after-life on forehead and feet. The dead magician lay like the rest, a young woman thrust from life, her head at an odd angle. Chrys checked with the veil: no soul was present. Her essence had gone on, leaving this husk vacant. And therefore available. There could be worse tenants than Hassani, Chrys thought.
They put Hassani into the body the next day. Chrys cast Holisticity, repairing the broken neck and other injuries. Lieutenant Brangmai was an adept of the Solitary Truth. He performed the ritual and Hassani was drawn from the jar and pushed into her new home. She stirred, winced, and complained that going in hurt nearly as badly as going out. She then ran her hands over her new body, pronounced it nearly as good as the old one and asked for a mirror.
“I really do look good in black."
* * * *
Membreri was a small town, neatly contained on a low headland above an excellent harbour. The Trifling Impost was clearly a well-known visitor. The officials who came aboard greeted Captain Verhassin and the officers by name, filled the forms without delay and directed the ship and her prizes to a prime berth. The party watched impassively as the Igwé leaders filed down the gangway, bound by strong oaths, faces set in stoic calm. They had themselves made reciprocal promises, laying hands on bones before witnesses in the great cabin. Chrys did not care, as she had no intention of going to Dravishi again. The agent came aboard, to vanish with the captain and purser into what Chrys knew would be a mass of agreements, contracts, commissions, deductions, transfers and guarantees. No matter. The purser’s estimate was in her pocket and the money would arrive in her account sooner or later. She was even free of Hassani, as Yuli had persuaded the captain to accept ownership. Let Hassani try to badmouth him, she thought. Her wish now was to find a decent place to stay and then go shopping for clothes.
Deyilan and Rakt preferred to check the local beers and Bajur went to look for a chapel. The recommended inn was a cheerful structure of old brick and brightly-painted wood, with a view out over the sea. The clothes were a swirl of colours in the Saka fashion, the beers were varied and good and there were, Aitonala said, no skulls anywhere. Chrys put her feet up and relaxed.