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Authors: Chris A. Jackson
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probably rice wine, and some finery: silks, silver trinkets and such. Might be more tucked away. We’ll know when we tear her apart.”
“You fit to take her to Terokesh?” he asked, grinning his first grin of the day.
That was a good load, and the ship itself would be worth a tidy bit as well. Prince Mojani, the new sultan of Marathia, paid well for hulls that were not badly damaged. He was eager to rebuild his navy after more than a year of civil war, and had jumped at the chance to hire Orin’s Pride as a privateer. There were still many pirates working the Sand Coast, most in low xebecs or dhows, others in larger war galleys like the one they’d just taken. Some of the ships were the old Sultan’s former naval vessels, their captains turning pirate rather than face the new sultan’s swift justice. Orin’s Pride , outfitted with two ballistae on each side and the fire catapult mounted on her bow, could out-fight and out-sail any of them.
“Aye! I’d appreciate it if you stayed close by, though. I wouldn’t like to run up on one of this fella’s friends with a short crew and a hold full of prisoners.”
“I’ll be right on yer lee, Horace. She’s all yours. Pick yer crew, but leave me Johansen fer a mate. I’d like to get this sorted out and get underway afore dark.”
“Aye, sir!” Horace turned to go, but stopped when Feldrin grabbed his sleeve.
“And Horace, tell the crew that after we settle this up, we head for Southaven. I’ve got to get back before Cynthia pops, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Aye, sir ! Homeward bound! That’ll be welcome news!” He turned and started bellowing orders, but Feldrin had already fixed his mind on the course ahead and the trip home.
“Aye, home,” he said to no one, heading for his cabin and something to ease his pains — both in his shoulder and his soul. “Been too long since I seen home…”
≈
Seoril sipped his rum and sighed. They were well into their second bottle, and none sitting around the main mess table were feeling much discomfort. “That moldy wool was hard to move, but the rest of it fair flew out of our hold.”
“Good. We got a bit more for you.” Captain Parek reached for the bottle, but a slim hand snatched it up first. He scowled at Sam, but then smiled as she pulled the cork free with her teeth and filled his cup, then topped off her own and the rest. “Not a hold full, but enough to pay for a trip. We stumbled across a two-master haulin’ spices and copra.”
“Not much money in copra around these parts, ay?” Seoril said, lifting his cup in thanks, his eyes narrowing at Sam. That she warranted the privilege of sitting at the table with the officers had surprised him, but any fool could see that she was Parek’s favorite. Watching her loose shirt as she leaned over the table to fill everyone’s cups, it was easy enough to see why.
Sam might have been young, and was undoubtedly thin even for her age, but there was wiry muscle there, and she was growing into her womanhood quite nicely. Seoril saw that Parek’s dark eyes were watching him eye the girl, and he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Parek was a shrewd man and a fine ship’s captain, but he tended to hold onto his possessions tightly. Not as tightly as Bloodwind had, but there was nothing to be gained by making him angry.
“Naw! We let it sink with the wreck,” Farin, Cutthroat’s first mate slurred, blinking to try to focus his eyes. The mate had drunk more than his share of the rum.
“Well, that’s fine. I can unload the spices anywhere. I think I’ll work the south coast for a while. I’ve been in Rockport too much.” He sipped and stared again at Sam, who sipped and stared at her captain.
“So, what’s this bad news you spoke of, Seoril? Did the sea witch give birth to a sea drake?” Parek sipped his rum and ignored Sam’s attention, or seemed to.
“No, thank Odea, or at least not to my knowin’.” Seoril heaved a sigh. There was
“You fit to take her to Terokesh?” he asked, grinning his first grin of the day.
That was a good load, and the ship itself would be worth a tidy bit as well. Prince Mojani, the new sultan of Marathia, paid well for hulls that were not badly damaged. He was eager to rebuild his navy after more than a year of civil war, and had jumped at the chance to hire Orin’s Pride as a privateer. There were still many pirates working the Sand Coast, most in low xebecs or dhows, others in larger war galleys like the one they’d just taken. Some of the ships were the old Sultan’s former naval vessels, their captains turning pirate rather than face the new sultan’s swift justice. Orin’s Pride , outfitted with two ballistae on each side and the fire catapult mounted on her bow, could out-fight and out-sail any of them.
“Aye! I’d appreciate it if you stayed close by, though. I wouldn’t like to run up on one of this fella’s friends with a short crew and a hold full of prisoners.”
“I’ll be right on yer lee, Horace. She’s all yours. Pick yer crew, but leave me Johansen fer a mate. I’d like to get this sorted out and get underway afore dark.”
“Aye, sir!” Horace turned to go, but stopped when Feldrin grabbed his sleeve.
“And Horace, tell the crew that after we settle this up, we head for Southaven. I’ve got to get back before Cynthia pops, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Aye, sir ! Homeward bound! That’ll be welcome news!” He turned and started bellowing orders, but Feldrin had already fixed his mind on the course ahead and the trip home.
“Aye, home,” he said to no one, heading for his cabin and something to ease his pains — both in his shoulder and his soul. “Been too long since I seen home…”
≈
Seoril sipped his rum and sighed. They were well into their second bottle, and none sitting around the main mess table were feeling much discomfort. “That moldy wool was hard to move, but the rest of it fair flew out of our hold.”
“Good. We got a bit more for you.” Captain Parek reached for the bottle, but a slim hand snatched it up first. He scowled at Sam, but then smiled as she pulled the cork free with her teeth and filled his cup, then topped off her own and the rest. “Not a hold full, but enough to pay for a trip. We stumbled across a two-master haulin’ spices and copra.”
“Not much money in copra around these parts, ay?” Seoril said, lifting his cup in thanks, his eyes narrowing at Sam. That she warranted the privilege of sitting at the table with the officers had surprised him, but any fool could see that she was Parek’s favorite. Watching her loose shirt as she leaned over the table to fill everyone’s cups, it was easy enough to see why.
Sam might have been young, and was undoubtedly thin even for her age, but there was wiry muscle there, and she was growing into her womanhood quite nicely. Seoril saw that Parek’s dark eyes were watching him eye the girl, and he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Parek was a shrewd man and a fine ship’s captain, but he tended to hold onto his possessions tightly. Not as tightly as Bloodwind had, but there was nothing to be gained by making him angry.
“Naw! We let it sink with the wreck,” Farin, Cutthroat’s first mate slurred, blinking to try to focus his eyes. The mate had drunk more than his share of the rum.
“Well, that’s fine. I can unload the spices anywhere. I think I’ll work the south coast for a while. I’ve been in Rockport too much.” He sipped and stared again at Sam, who sipped and stared at her captain.
“So, what’s this bad news you spoke of, Seoril? Did the sea witch give birth to a sea drake?” Parek sipped his rum and ignored Sam’s attention, or seemed to.
“No, thank Odea, or at least not to my knowin’.” Seoril heaved a sigh. There was
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