“You better get your lass quick, before the guard figures where the commotion’s been. Don’t think they’ll let you get away just because those weren’t Harec’s men,” Johnny said, cleaning the blood off of his face with a dirty cloth.

  “She’ll be here shortly,” Rone said as he took the steps to the quarter deck.

  When he arrived near the helm, what he saw was a desperate and fading Vindrel, a small pool of sticky blood beneath him. He was shoving a short ramrod into his pistol. Rone nimbly kicked the gun away and Vindrel rolled over and looked at him, gasping.

  “Looks like you got me.” Vindrel croaked. Rone nodded. “I knew you’d never have the balls to fight me square.”

  “Apparently not. Too bad I didn’t get to see if you’d lost a step with your sword.”

  “Couldn’t see if you had or not, being laid out up here, but I guess you’ve gained a step or two in tactics. Never would have thought with how bad you were at chess and poker”

  “I do what I can.” Rone kneeled beside Vindrel.

  “I thought I had you.”

  “Every hand is a gamble, Vindy. We both know it.”

  “Still, this wouldn’t be where I’d choose to end this game.”

  “The game was rigged from the start, I’m afraid,” Rone said.

  “Why did you take the job? If you only knew the risks-” Vindrel coughed hard again.

  “I know the risks.”

  “Someone’s gotta be making you a rich man. Who is it? Tell me before I go.”

  “I am a rich man. Right now, I’m wealthier than the King of the Isle. I hold his crown, for now.”

  “If you only knew what she really means… But who are you trading her too, eh? Datalia? Draesen Empire? I don’t want to leave without knowing... it’s silly, I know.”

  “You’re a mercenary like me. In the end, we only work for ourselves.”

  “I’m a commissioned officer, Rone.” Vindrel coughed.

  “All the same.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do me the favor of giving me what I promised you...”

  “You mean a swift death?”

  Vindrel’s eyes widened. “Aye.”

  “Sorry Vindy, I can’t do that.” Rone rolled Vindrel over and ripped the shirt from his back. Low on his ribs he could see the bullet wound, leaking slowly. Ignoring the painful cries from Vindrel, Rone pushed his two longest fingers in and withdrew a malformed slug. “You are a lucky man today. Your ribs stopped the slug dead.” Rone pulled a wad of cloth from his pocket and shoved it into the open wound. “This will stop the bleeding ‘til a proper surgeon can stitch you up. I’d say you have a better than even chance of living, but of course you know how bad I am at odds. This is going to hurt.”

  Rone picked up Vindrel and carried him on his shoulder to the gangplank, dropping him as gently as he could on the dock, which was strangely deserted after the fight. A hooded figure, wrapped in a cloak and worn clothes that revealed a feminine form, was jogging up to the boat with two muskets slung across her back. As she passed, Rone looked under her hood to see a strand of copper hair and a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him. They trembled, reflecting the bright scene around them, and behind their familiar warmth, Rone detected a dissonance that was new and disconcerting. He felt a moment of remorse for a piece of beauty that he knew could no longer be preserved as it was.

  “This isn’t much like you, Rone,” Vindrel croaked.

  “What isn’t?” Rone said, turning back to look on the wincing man who was trying to push himself back up on his elbows.

  “You leaving a loose end. Why?”

  “Things change. Or maybe they don’t.” He looked away with a sigh. “I’ve always left loose ends when it comes to you. Don’t die, Vindy. I may never have much to wager on a game of poker with you, but I’ll risk what I have if I see you again.”

  “Anchor’s up! Let’s get out of here!” Johnny’s voice called out behind him. Rone could see a group of red and green-clad musketeers moving across the stone freight way toward the dock, walking slowly. With them were a few of the Cataling men, who seemed hesitant to hurry ahead.

  “Time for me to go,” Rone said. Vindrel looked back up at him, frowning, as if watching something terrible to bear.

  “Rone…” he said, trailing off and reaching up to the empty air as Rone trotted up the gangplank. The ship began to move as the plank was hauled up behind him.

  XI: Cadence

  The boat rocked slightly from aft to stern, causing hanging trinkets in the captain’s cabin to jingle. The slanting sunlight cutting through the dingy windows shifted across the table Charlotte shared with Rone and Farthow, who held a whiskey-soaked rag to his bleeding neck. Charlotte felt slightly queasy. She rolled the rifle lightly in her hands, remembering the two men she had shot. Though distant, their faces seemed to return in her idle thoughts.

  “Something bothering you?” Rone said.

  “I don’t know how I should feel,” Charlotte said, breaking the silence.

  “About shooting those men?” Rone said.

  “Do you think he was a bad man?”

  “The first mate?” Farthow said. “Mutiny is a death sentence at sea. I’d say you gave him as good as he deserved.”

  “What about the other one?” Charlotte said. She pulled her hand through her tangled hair absent-mindedly.

  “Vindrel’s no worse than I am, I suppose,” Rone said.

  “You know him?” Farthow said.

  “You were a member of the guard with him, right?” Charlotte said. “You talked about him before.”

  Rone nodded. “I’ve known him a long time. He’s a stubborn man. He’ll live. What about you?” He craned his neck to look more squarely at Farthow.

  “If I die it’s going to be an awfully slow and pitiful death.” Farthow smiled and turned the rag over to another clean spot. He put fresh whiskey on it and touched it to the wound, wincing slightly. “It’s starting to clot up, though I do think I’ll be wearing high-collared jackets for a while.”

  The door swung inward and Johnny swept in, wiping sweat from his face and grumbling. He saw Farthow dabbing at his wound and said, “You owe me twenty cyprals for the whiskey. It was quite the malt, I should tell you.”

  “I wouldn’t know; cuts don’t taste anything but burning,” Farthow said.

  “Not my fault you didn’t bother to taste it before wasting it on a cut,” Johnny said. He pulled from his desk a set of logs and rolled maps, and threw them on the table.

  Farthow shrugged. “Best way I know of staving off blood poisoning.” He looked sideways at Johnny. “You’re in good spirits for a man who just suffered a mutiny,” Farthow said.

  “Not just that,” Johnny said. “Danny was more than just my first mate. And now I have to bury him. It should never have been this way.” His face darkened as he looked over Rone and Charlotte. “Looking death in the eyes and walking away from it has a way of inspiring a certain sardonic humor. Now,” his eyes narrowed as he took his own chair at the table. “Just who in the High bloody House of the Divine are you?”

  “We told you our names,” Rone said.

  “You lied,” Johnny said.

  “You said it was none of your business.”

  “That was before I had to kill or sack half my crew and become an outlaw in one of my favorite trade hubs.”

  “I can remedy that,” Farthow said.

  “I’d appreciate the gesture – that is, I would if I knew who the hell you were as well,” Johnny said.

  “Farthow Bitterwheat, spy, apostate, and waster of whiskey, at your service.” He nodded his head.

  Johnny produced a pipe then set about looking for a match in his pockets. “Things have gotten complicated, and I need to know who I’m taking on.”

  Charlotte straightened up. “I am Melanie Halbara. That is all you need to know.”

  “Is it?” Johnny said. “Yesterday your name was Halbara Melanie.”

  Charlotte felt herself begin to blush and raised her chin even higher. “I believe you misheard.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “We are… from the lowlands.”

  Johnny found a match in one of his many pockets and began lighting the pipe. “Not with hair like that you’re not. You’re from the Northmarch or I’m a slug. And this sell-sword of yours is definitely highland stock. That fellow you shot was an officer from Cataling; pity I didn’t catch what he called you.” He let a large smoke ring fly, then leaned forward. “Let me say, Charlotte, that rumors of the beauty of the Lady of Winter fall short of reality.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Charlotte said. She looked to Rone to see wide eyes over a blank face.

  “I told you that you can’t lie to a liar.” Johnny laughed and smoke escaped from his nostrils. “That painting of you in Maragard doesn’t do you justice.” He raised an eyebrow to Rone.

  Rone raised his chin and sucked in his cheeks. “My name is Rone. That should suffice for you.”

  Johnny grumbled and chuckled at the same time. “And I always tell people Johnny is enough to shake on. Fair enough.” He spread out one of the maps. “My next question is to why we have no pursuit. Sailing off seems a bit too easy. You have something in store for me?” He laid a closed inkwell on a corner of the map to hold it down.

  “Usually if something is too easy somebody has their hand in it. In this case, it was Drath Harec, who will be very grateful for your involvement, Mister…” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Just Johnny, like I said.” He drew on the pipe again. “Why?”

  Farthow shrugged. He looked at Rone for a moment, smiled and said, “Why not?” He looked at Johnny. “Although distantly related to Count Catannel, Drath is still in succession for the throne in an eventual sort of way, and the ancient code of the Isle holds that in order for a king to be crowned there must be a queen to crown as well. Political opportunity abounds when there’s no monarch to be found. There’s more to it than that, of course, but I can’t tell you most of it.”

  “Ah, the spiders of nobility, in whose twisted webs we common folk are but flies,” Johnny said.

  Farthow looked to Charlotte. “I had also promised to help you leave here in one piece. We had originally intended to take over your ladyship’s chaperone position.” Farthow bowed his head. “But not with intent to harm you, of course. If only you had gone to Dem’s house…” He smiled and shook his head. “Drath will make a good show of trying to apprehend the kidnappers, but it will seem that the bandits had a ship that could mysteriously sail against the wind. Perhaps some work of sorcery. The story will tell that even the Count’s best interceptors had to sail far out to sea before they were able to turn north, and unfortunately, the ship was nowhere to be found – vanished.”

  “So now I’ll be labeled a heretic and an outlaw.”

  “You aren’t an outlaw?” Rone said. Johnny narrowed his eyes.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Farthow said with a smile. “The dockmaster is not a fastidious record keeper, as I’m sure we shall soon find out.”

  Johnny looked over the map, which showed most of the North Pelagian between Veraland and the High Isles, with the divine strand, the Petty Kingdoms, and the greater parts of the mainland missing from the bottom of the chart. He pointed at an island near the southern end of a great archipelago. He glanced at Farthow “Now I’m carrying an extra man, and not the sort I like. Can you find your way from Nantien?”

  “I thought we were going to Golice?” Charlotte said. She stood up straighter.

  “That was before half my crew got slaughtered or run overboard,” Johnny said.

  “Upset that we saved your skin?” Farthow said.

  “It was you that put it on the boil, you bastard,” Johnny said. “But either way I’ll have to dock before Golice to hire more crew. Calling what I’ve got a skeleton is giving too much credit to the crew and too little to bones. I also know a goodly portion of our stores were left on the docks. There’ll be no room on this ship for idle hands the next few days.”

  “In that case, I think I can depart a bit sooner than Nantien,” Farthow said. “We’re not out to the open sea just yet, are we?”

  “No, I was counting on the line ships being unable to rig effectively against this crosswind.”

  “Good,” Farthow said with a smile.

  “What do you mean by idle hands?” Charlotte asked. “You don’t expect a woman to do the work of a deckhand, do you?”

  Johnny cracked his sardonic smile once again. “I’ll make it easy on you. I’m a fair man. I’ll pay you a hand’s wage.”

  “Out of what we already gave you, you mean?”

  Johnny crossed his arms. “I’m a fair man. Foul too, but mostly fair.”

  *

  The ship moved past a large cliff of white stone that descended into a pile of rocks, defying the grinding surf and remaining jagged and ugly. A wide cove opened up on the other side, filled with turquoise water and sands as pale as the rocks. The sea was calm inside the cove and sparkled with the morning sun. At the captain’s barked orders, two of the sailors hurried to the bow of the ship and trimmed the foresails and jibs. The ship slowed and begin bobbing very gently.

  “That’s quite a sight,” Rone said, squinting his eyes from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. “Pity nobody lives out here to enjoy it.”

  “Not much reason to be out here, anymore. Pretty views don’t make up for a bad harbor and bad soil.” Farthow was stripped down to his waist and was busy stuffing his clothes and other implements into a leather bag. “But it does have its uses to the Count. You may not be able to see it, but there’s a path in that deep-set ravine of rocks carved out by an old creek.” Farthow pointed to a dark scar in the mottled white cliffs. “You can follow that up and out and make your way to the west side of Masala. Keep it in mind if you ever need to slip back in unnoticed.”

  “So, you won’t be going to the mainland with us then?” Charlotte asked.

  “Not today. I may have to go in a bit if a particular piece of the master’s business doesn’t sort itself out. ‘Til then I have other duties within the city. Shadows to hide in, eaves to drop, the usual business.” Farthow slung his bag across his back, the strap running from his right shoulder to his left hip. He dropped his voice to sound just above the wind. “Before I go, keep a few things in mind. The captain knows too much. I recommend you part company when you find it convenient, perhaps Nantien. It would also be wise to keep using aliases.” Farthow began putting his blades into a second tightly constructed leather bag, which had an oversized cork bottle cap on the end.

  “I’ve known the wisdom in that since before we got here, but we’ll keep traveling under other guises,” Rone said.

  “Make sure of it. No doubt there will be a price on your head and her body after today, and I imagine it will be quite large. Last piece of advice: beware of trickery. If it’s an agent of mine or the count’s, we’ll bear a Masala green and maroon flag, but only trust it if there is a stripe of gold thread between the two. It’s our hidden detail. Likewise, only trust messages bearing a seal with a gold, green, and maroon ribbon. That is the only way you will know it is truly from our camp. Other people may now suspect our assistance, so you must not overlook that detail.”

  “Thank you. You shall have me if you need me,” Rone said, extending his hand.

  “I’ll keep you to that, Rone.” The two shook hands. “I’ve got to get back. Thanks for the adventure of this evening and morning. A life that isn’t dull is one to hold on to.”

  “Farewell, and thanks for everything,” Charlotte said. “I will remember it, whatever my fate.”

  Farthow looked hard in her eyes for a moment before turning to face the turquoise cove and white cliffs.

  “Almost forgot,” Farthow said, turning back suddenly. He jogged up to the stair to the quarter deck. He pulled a small leather bag from his pocket and threw it to Johnny. He shouted, “The Count appreciates your burden and your discretion in all matters.”

  Johnny felt the weight of the bag. He shook his head. “You bunch are a heap of trouble. And cheap bastards, too.”

  “Remember what I told you!” With that, Farthow dove off the side of the ship and plunged into the water. Small fish leaped out of the waves as he splashed. He surfaced with his two packs floating behind him and began to swim to shore.

  “Watch out!” Johnny yelled as a rope flew over the heads of Charlotte and Rone, snapping taut as one of the sails filled with air. Two sailors worked to slacken the sail, letting it fill more deeply with wind, and the boat began to rock before slowly moving away from the land. Charlotte and Rone watched Farthow reach the shore and disappear into the foliage as the ship picked up speed, heading northeast. “Once we get out into the proper channel wind, let’s unfurl those mainsails and get moving!” Johnny yelled to two other sailors standing mid-deck.

  “He sure was insistent about the gold thread,” Charlotte said quietly to Rone.

  “It’s because he’s sure to send word for us, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have bothered,” Rone said. “That’s not what I wanted.” He turned at walked toward the forecastle, stopping to lean on a rail and look to the north. “But we’re alive and on our way. I’ll gladly take on a debt for that.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said. She stood beside him, watching him rather than the ocean. “You could have left me.”

  Rone looked at her and frowned. “I told you to have a little faith.”

  “I have more than a little now.”

  Rone smiled slightly. “Good. There’s a long way left to go still. Hopefully less trouble, but if not, at least I know I’ve got a decent marksman at my side.”

  “I hired you to deal with the dirty work,” Charlotte said, smiling. “The way I see it, I already ought to dock your pay.”

  Rone broadened his smile. “If I was just in it for the money, I’d have turned you over to Farthow.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

 

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