Dead reckoning, p.4
Dead Reckoning, page 4
Lori skillfully guided the ship parallel to the slender dock extending out into the bay. Tarik led a team of deckhands in tossing the mooring lines down to a group of older men waiting to catch the ropes and tie us off. The Black Yonnix crawled to a gentle halt as the tension in those lines arrested her momentum.
“We’ve arrived,” Ulysses slurred, still lying on the deck behind the pilot’s box. “Yuin, you all owe me a rutting drink. Except you, Lori.”
Apo and Rindge appeared to take the first mate off our hands. Ulysses winked at me as he was dragged past. Lori followed.
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked Blue and Nicolette.
The marii shrugged in annoyance. Nicolette chewed on her fingernail. “I don’t know,” she said. “The poison on my uncle’s blade should’ve killed him the morning after it entered his bloodstream.”
Our stunned silence spoke volumes. Nicolette worked on her nail a bit more before responding. “The captain asked me to keep it a secret,” she admitted. “Davanon gave him something, though I don’t know what. He should not be breathing, never mind steering a ship.”
I thought back to that treacherous stretch of ocean that had brought us here to Haershore. If Ulysses had succumbed to his injuries, what would’ve become of the Black Yonnix and her crew? Would Lori have been able to guide us through safely without the first mate’s guidance? I doubted it. And I suspected that was why the true extent of the first mate’s injuries had been hidden from the rest of us.
Rutting pirates.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Blue said, his voice shaking, “but I am very ready to be off this ship.”
I watched as Apo and Rindge gingerly hoisted Ulysses down the stairs to the main deck. Guilt bloomed in my chest like a stone flower. He’d tasted Count L’Vaillee’s poisoned blade in service of my quest—a journey that Lucifus’s writings suggested had only just begun. Though I’d known the man for only a fraction of my life, he’d always been kind to me, and it hurt to see the gregarious rogue laid so low on my behalf. I worried I’d never be able to repay him, no matter the size and sparkle of the famed family treasure.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Nicolette nervously chewing on another fingernail as she stared a hole in the first mate’s back. Clearly her thoughts were similar. I couldn’t help wondering if word of her uncle’s poison would put her in danger if it spread among the crew. They were a tightknit lot, and they took care of their own.
“Stop gawking,” Tehenessey Blue snapped, jerking us both out of our reveries. “Dry land awaits, hopefully with fresh food and a place to sleep that doesn’t smell like a few dozen unwashed lij.”
And so we joined the procession toward and then down the gangplank. Captain Lagash led the way. The rest of the crew made space for Ulysses, still aided by Apo and Rindge, to follow behind. Nicolette, Blue, and I mixed in with a crowd of Mana’Olai sailors toward the rear of the line. None of the newcomers to Haershore were in a rush.
“Feel that?” Jeen, a man with wide eyes and a creased brow, asked. I knew he was talking through me to A’len, his brother and constant companion. “Place is haunted. Doesn’t want us here.”
“Must be you,” the shorter man replied merrily. “The island knows you belong on the floor of a tavern, face down in an unspeakable puddle and lovin’ every moment.”
Jeen chuckled. “I am relieved to hear my reputation precedes me!”
The gangplank delivered us to a well-kept dock connected to a rocky shoreline. That part of Haershore didn’t have a nice little beach like yours, Your Highness; instead, the edge of the island reminded me of a tiny cliff poking just an arm’s length out of the water. The dock bobbed gently as we walked and as the sea beneath lapped gently at the shore. After weeks aboard the Black Yonnix, that subtle change in the surface under my feet felt strange and disconcerting. Several of the other sailors ahead of us who hadn’t benefited from a diversion to Vastille clung tightly to each other to maintain their equilibrium, lest their sea legs propel them right off the dock and into the drink.
Ahead, a welcoming party awaited us on solid ground, fronted by a man who could have been an older version of our captain. Burly and barrel-chested, the man had all the presence of a castle parapet—and the impassive attitude to match. He wore the simple tan linens I’d grown familiar with in Brennik’s Reach and kept his flowing gray beard and hair in place with thick leather straps. As he approached, he drew a very familiar cutlass from a sheath at his hip.
“Who approaches?” he growled.
“Bron Lagash. Captain of the Black Yonnix. Son of Lain and Marta. Former right hand of the emperor himself. Once the scourge of the Steps, now the south’s most infamous privateer.”
“Braggart,” Blue muttered, as if he himself lacked that flaw.
“And what seek ye here, supposed Captain Lagash?” That last bit was spat with such venom I felt my ears go temporarily numb.
“Safe harbor, filling meals, and warm beds for me and my crew.” Lagash continued forward.
The other man squinted, clearly taking the measure of the captain and all who followed him. Clearly, he didn’t like what he saw. “An’ why would me an’ mine be so obliged to support you an’ yours?”
At that, Lagash suddenly stopped—and the rest of us stumbled to a halt behind him. Half a dozen more paces would have put him within reach of the other’s blade. I couldn’t understand what was happening here. Wasn’t Haershore the Black Yonnix’s home port? Had the situation changed suddenly while she’d been at sea? I felt as if I were missing something, though I knew not what. Scanning the stoic faces of the other men and women at the end of the dock didn’t help me solve that mystery.
“I repeat,” the man said slowly, “why should I allow you scurvy lot to drag yer filthy boots through our home?”
I swore I could see the muscles in Lagash’s broad back stiffen beneath his clothing. “Because you haven’t beaten me in a fair fight since I was six years old, you cowardly lout!”
I braced myself, ready for the brawl surely about to ensue—and then the older man’s face erupted in a toothless smile, and he haphazardly tossed his cutlass to a very surprised woman at his side. “Bron, you half-literate stack of shuen snot! Come here, brother!”
The gap between the two disappeared in an embrace that made me think of two ships colliding. Dueling cheers rose from the docks and then from the older pirates and families onshore who’d managed not to ruin the joke. For what must’ve been the dozenth time that day, my nethers unclenched. I felt Nicolette’s relief as a quake trembling up through my side.
“Good to see you, Glannon!” the captain said as happily as I’d ever heard him. “I trust you’ve kept Haershore happy and healthy?”
“Moreso than you’ve ever managed, little brother!” the other man said as they separated. The joke complete, his rough accent gave way to a precise Imperial tone. His attention flicked up over the captain’s shoulder and locked onto Ulysses. “Now tell me: what in the rut did you do to my nephew?”
— PARLEY —
I knew it!” the Black Queen crowed, startling Vardallian so badly he nearly dropped his glass of wine. “I knew he had to be Lagash’s son!”
Vardallian leaned back in his chair and watched the distant window ways flickering and dying above the harbor. He’d been debating how much of Lagash’s past to go into—it felt like airing someone else’s dirty laundry, and he wasn’t sure it was relevant to the increasingly frightening threat looming offshore. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised that Losa would know at least some of the Lagash family’s history. “How much do you know, Your Highness?”
She took a sip of her wine. The strong drink had turned her lips a rather unroyal shade of purple. “I know that my father was very interested in pairing Bron with a suitable mate, and that he had some plan in place for the offspring. Rumor has it that the rift between Lagash and my father started because of something to do with the captain’s family, and that it was the ultimate reason why Lagash renounced his commission and fled south.”
Maybe it is all relevant, Vardallian mused, though the implications made him uneasy. “The emperor must’ve been very unhappy when Lagash left with his flagship.”
Losa’s smile could have cut glass. “On the contrary. He couldn’t have been more thrilled. It was all part of his plan.”
— CHAPTER FOUR —
Needless to say, that little revelation was a distraction my first day in Haershore.
I floated through the initial hours, and I only remember bits and pieces. Shaking Glannon Lagash’s hand after a rather bedraggled Ulysses insisted his uncle just had to meet me. A flurry of introductions to the former sailors, spouses, children, and various relatives of the crew living there in Haershore. Belga, Rindge’s wife, scared me worse than he ever had, despite her diminutive height. Something vicious in her smile told me she’d gut a person just as soon as shake their hand.
The old-timers headed home with their loved ones while us newcomers were brought to temporary huts, apparently set aside for guests. They’d put fresh sets of boots and clothes at the feet of the carefully made beds. I exhaled in relief at discovering Nicolette’s hut was right beside my own. Of course, Tehenessey Blue wore a pinched face clearly disapproving of it all as he strolled in to join us.
“Did you know?” she and I asked the marii at exactly the same time.
He shook his head. “Ulysses’s parentage is as much news to me as it is to you.” The crestfallen tone in his voice was unmistakable. Blue and the first mate had always seemed so close; not being let in on such a secret, and then learning it publicly from the mouth of someone he’d just met, had to have left him questioning just how much Ulysses trusted him.
“Any other secrets anyone wants to blurt out?” he asked after we’d stared at each other for a few moments. “Any more poisoned weapons or hidden parentages? Kensey, you really are a Vardallian, right, and not a descendent of one of Lucifus’s horses or something?”
“We should ask you that same question,” Nicolette said as I gaped. “Perhaps your mother served as guard dog for a Thilan art smuggler?”
Blue puffed up his furry chest. “I will have you know I descend from a long line of reputable merchants and forest elders.”
Nicolette cocked her head in mock confusion. “Well then. What went wrong with you?”
“Oi!” Before their banter could escalate into a full-on argument, Belga’s voice cut through the air like a mighty beast’s roar. My companions and I all flinched. “Get your butts out here and follow me! There’s dinner an’ drinks an’ a proper Haershore welcome just up the way!” she added after letting our shock linger for a few moments more.
Soon we were walking again, following Belga’s swishing skirts and bouncing mane of blonde hair. Even without the promise of food, fun, and maybe a few answers, none of us would have considered staying behind. The woman had presence. She could’ve been leading us to a slaughter, and not a single person would have turned around. I couldn’t fathom why she spent her life on a rock in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a jerk like Rindge to come home from his adventures.
Yes, Your Highness, I suppose home is home.
I’ve been remiss in my descriptions of Haershore. That clean smell, for one thing, rarely faded, even near the latrines Ulysses had threatened us with. Everything was neat and in its place, from the bedding in our huts to the straightness of the paths to the trees in the terrace orchards. It was as if the island had been brought into being by an organized hand. None of the grass or other vegetation dared interrupt the dirt paths we trod, and that dirt similarly kept to its own space. The flora we passed reminded me of that in and around Brennik’s Reach, which made me think of Grandfather. I almost stopped a few times to pick herbs I thought might help Ulysses, but the older crewmembers’ vague warnings about minding my manners stayed my hand.
We were taken—of course—to the town square. Picture the same spot in Brennik’s Reach, sans statue of a jerk and with a soaring pillar of rock in place of the sea. I remember looking up at that thing, trying to gauge its height, and feeling completely overwhelmed. It made no sense that such an impressive feature could naturally spring up in the middle of the ocean. Like the terraced orchards sprouting from either side of it like wings, that spire seemed a little too perfect.
More importantly, the veteran crewmembers of the Black Yonnix and their families who lived on Haershore awaited us in the square, fronted by the captain himself. Davanon loomed beside him, a pinched expression on his face that betrayed his impatience. All stood at rigid attention, even the children, which made our ragged lot straighten up our own approach. The pirates’ stoic faces gave no hints as to the purpose of this gathering.
“Do you see Ulysses?” Nicolette asked softly.
I scanned the scene once more. “No. Hopefully that means he’s convalescing somewhere comfortable,” I suggested, though I feared the worst.
“Halt,” Lagash snarled, stopping us in our tracks. In front of me, Elenwe caught one of the southerners who tripped. Belga bowed her head and stepped to the side of our group. An air of vague unease settled over us as we waited for the captain to say more or for something to happen. In the back of my mind, I wondered if maybe one of us had already broken one of Haershore’s rules and if we were about to be introduced to the consequences.
Lagash let the moment hang for a few seconds longer before a smile split his face from ear to ear. “Welcome home,” he finally said, wrapping that last word in a warm embrace.
The cluster behind him parted, revealing a table heaped high with fresh food, kegs of ale, and pretty bottles of liquor. Even so, none of us dared move. Was this a trick? Some sort of a test? If we rushed forward and shoved that bounty down our sea-weary gullets, would we prove ourselves unworthy? None of us dared take the chance, though the furtive glances we exchanged begged for someone to find out. I swear I heard Nicolette’s stomach rumble.
“Fine,” Belga snarled as she strode toward the feast and tore a leg off a roast duck. “Starve, for all I care!”
That broke the tension. We descended upon that table like vultures upon a field of carrion. Nicolette and I joined the herd of hungry young pirates enjoying Lagash’s welcome.
“Beef!” cheered a man whose name I’ve forgotten as he hoisted a meaty rib off a silver platter and bit into the charred flesh. “I’ve had enough fish for the rest of my life!”
“Don’t forget the vegetables, you carnivore,” Elenwe said as she shouldered past to fill a little wooden bowl with brightly colored salad. “Eat your leafy greens or your eyesight will fail you!”
I reached between a pair of Mana’Olai men in bright blue sashes to grab a plum. The little fruit was impossibly round and impossibly purple, its skin unmarred by scrape or bruise. The flesh gave easily under my teeth and filled my mouth with sweet, delicious juice.
The man to my left turned my way. “I’d love to know how they’re growing these,” he said in between bites of a plum eerily identical to my own. “Never got ’em quite like this at my ma’s farm.”
There were four different kinds of bread and eight different hunks of cheese, one of which was streaked through with bright blue veins. Word quickly spread about the duck legs and their amazingly crispy skin. A deckhand named L’ronal insisted I try the pork and ved fruit skewers. Blue darted in and out of the mob, snatching tiny morsels and then stepping aside to savor them alone. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a happier group of people. Not to disparage Lori’s cooking, but after so long at sea with a severely limited larder, that banquet was like a dinner in heaven.
A strong hand gripped my bicep and jerked me away from the teeming throng. I spun on my heel, desperately clinging to a strip of fie deer loin in a starberry glaze, and brushed my nose across Nicolette’s. I felt my face redden as I took a step away, but she didn’t let go of my arm.
“Blue just finished that tray of thul bear livers,” she whispered.
“He’s got a score to settle,” I said, even though I didn’t know if she’d get the joke. The day I found Blue up to his neck in quickmoss suddenly seemed like ages ago. I took a bite of deer to chase away the nostalgia.
Nicolette squeezed my bicep harder. “He just finished the last of the liver,” she said slowly to make sure her words sank in. “Therefore, there should not be any remaining. So why, then, is that tray suddenly full of liver slices again?”
I looked back at the table, craning my neck to get a better look at the dish in question. It was, indeed, once again covered in tiny pink slices of herbed meat. Blue had been picking at it on and off since the feast began, and like Nicolette, I’d watched him savor the final piece.
My eyes darted around the little square, searching for an explanation. “Someone must’ve brought more,” I suggested.
“How’d they sneak through the ravenous horde, and where are they hiding now?”
I glanced over her shoulder. None of the older pirates or their family members had joined in on the feast. They all watched from right where we’d left them, many looking far too smug, even Davanon. Tarik wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I let the fie loin slip from my grasp. It landed in the dirt with a disappointing splat.
“They wouldn’t poison us,” I said, as much to reassure myself as to convince Nicolette.
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. Before she could continue, Blue interrupted around a mouthful of something meaty. “And just what are you two conspiring about this time?”
“Oi!” a Mana’Olai voice cut through the din. “Why’s that weird pyramid o’ cheese back?”
All eyes swiveled to examine the aforementioned curd, which stood taller and more proudly than ever.
“That roast pheasant grew his wings back,” someone said in a way that made me shiver.
The air in that crowd changed once again as we all shuffled around each other to examine the plates we’d previously sampled. The once pleasant hum of conversation gave way to a bubbling babble of disbelief and occasional epithets. Every single dish I’d tried had been restored—the plums, the duck, the deer loin, all of it. L’ronal, who’d been sharing sips from a bottle of whiskey with everyone he bumped into, now held that same bottle, full once again, as if it were an angry snake that might strike him at any moment.
