Buxacan Spicerunner Page 7

  The young man did as he was told and caused another round of laughter with his expression. “But your note!” he wheezed.

  “Oh that.” StrongArm smiled. “I’ve found that ransoms are paid quicker if they think I’m torturing their loved one. In truth, you’ll eat as often as we do, and as well. Don’t go provoking any of my men and no harm will come to you. Anyone provokes you, he’s gotta answer to me! Now, you still haven’t responded to what I thought was a gracious invitation to share my bread at my table. You don’t have to, you know. You want, you can eat with the men or by yourself. But how many of your friends can say they supped with StrongArm?”

  “Thank you sir! I…I’d be honored to sit at your table.”

  “A pleasure!” StrongArm beamed. “But belay those ‘sirs’, it bothers me.”

  “My apologies, sir.” Emboldened by the stiff drink, the young man ventured a joke. “But I was taught to say ‘sir’ to my elders.”

  The Crew howled at that, StrongArm loudest of all. “By the Lady! I like this Sevulian! Somebody give him some of the tobacco we stole from his friends! Pipe, cigar or do you like to chew it like me?”

  “My father doesn’t allow me to have cigars, sir…ah, StrongArm.”

  “Well, your father’s not here, is he? You tell him that the evil pirate StrongArm forced you to have as many cigars as you wanted when you see him!” He spat accurately into the spittoon. “Chos! Steer us north by northeast. Let’s see if we can’t take another prize while we’re waiting for our crowns!”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  16

  Aboard The Wavecutter

  The exchange of cannon fire had ended half an hour ago. Then came the crashing thud and the rush of feet overhead that said their victim had been boarded. Even as he worked feverishly with his two assistants to save the lives and (hopefully) limbs of his shipmates, Thard Jinsen was able to keep tabs on the battle that raged two decks over his head.

  Already covered in gore, he added to the mess as he deftly worked a saw through the gristle that had once been a man’s wrist. He smeared the stump with pitch and wrapped it tightly in linen. He glanced at his patient’s ashen face while rinsing his hands and then felt his neck pulse. Weak but steady. Satisfied, Thard went to the next one. This sailor screamed constant invective at the assistants as they held him firmly, face down on the board. His back was a mess of blood and splinters. Thard dumped a bucket of slightly pink water on him and reached for his pliers.

  The Vakgennir should have surrendered by now, but another Brother came down under his own power and sat by the door. Thard finished pulling splinters, the smallest of which was as long as a finger, and splashed the wounds liberally with whiskey. The patient reared up and yowled even louder until the young surgeon brained him with the whiskey bottle.

  “Wrap him up,” he ordered in the silence. Both assistants smiled at him. Thard ignored them and poured a healthy slug of white fire down his throat.

  The man by the door had passed out. Thard poured whiskey over his hands and went to him. The ones that don’t scream are hurt the worst, his teacher had said. The patient had blade wounds on both arms, some that penetrated to the bone. There was a stab wound low on his left side. Thard felt his neck and found no pulse. Sorry Bosso, you should have shown me this as soon as you came down. There was nothing to be done for this sailor.

  Later, after a hasty bucket bath and a change of clothes, Thard climbed up on deck for some air and a smoke. Captain Treauville was waiting by the hatch.

  “Ster Jinsen! How fare those below?”

  “Bosso is gone. Banyat Jessik should recover if he lasts the night, but I had to take his hand. The other five should be on their feet in two or three weeks.” The wind tossed Thard’s auburn hair as he bent to light his pipe. His high forehead and spectacles gave him an aristocratic look that was heightened by his wardrobe, which was of high quality and carefully chosen to accentuate his athletic build. Even exhausted and unshaven, he looked like a surgeon.

  Treauville relayed the news to the Crew. “We’ll drink to the souls of the fallen, and we’ll take the wounded’s share too! Break out the rum!”

  “Rum! Rum!” the Crew shouted. Thard relaxed against the rail opposite from the Vakgennir runner and the carnage. He’d had enough of that down in the Stessaca’s Hole, which was what sailors called the surgeon’s work area on the lowest deck. Thard accepted a bottle as it was passed to him, savoring the sweet fire before giving it to the next Brother. He liked rum better than whiskey, but whiskey was better for his work. There were fewer additives. He drew deeply on his pipe and savored that sweetness as well. One of the men was regaling the others with his account of the fight. To hear him tell it, he’d been the first to spot the runner, led the chase, fired every cannon, was the first aboard, and took the prize single-handed. He claimed every kill out of the runner’s crew, and Knifehands that had been killed or injured were his fault, too. He was sorry, but the ‘blood-fury’ had been on him.

  It was an old joke, but much loved by the Knifehands. He told the same story after every fight. If a runner surrendered without a fight, it was only because they’d known he was aboard.

  He was the ‘bloodthirstiest, kill’em-firstiest, lies-the-worstiest Knifehand that ever lived’, he’d finish. Someone would inevitably tell him that he was the ‘stinkiest, have-a-drinkiest, likes-to-wear-pinkiest little girl that ever wore a dressiest that ever lived’, and he’d start over. Thard laughed along with the others.

  The sailors of enterprise took their time and stripped the runner of everything that was useful or valuable. When they were done they set her ablaze and adrift. The captain and the accounter went to work with their pens and books as the rest began repairs and cleaned the Wavecutter, and speculated on their shares of the haul once it was sold back in Port Buxaca. Thard wasn’t too concerned with the haul. However much it was, he’d get his share. Some new clothes, a visit to Cathouse Row and some to Ellor’s account.

  Thard liked Treauville and the Knifehands, but he was ready to rejoin his friends. He hoped none of them got killed before they could form their own Crew. The only bad part about that would be working on someone he had known since childhood. He hoped it would never come to that. Thard drew again on his pipe and discovered it was out. Time to check on my charges anyway. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and went below.

  17

  Aboard the Flame Of Justice

  Captain Winois of the Agresian Naval Service stood on the helmdeck of his newly commissioned frigate, the Flame of Justice. He watched as his topmen scurried about the rigging following the First Officer’s latest order. Today was sail-handling day. Winois had a goodly number of professional Navy men, but most of his crew consisted of pressed and volunteer sea virgins. Tomorrow would be gunnery drills and the next they would practice close quarter fighting. Such had been the pattern for the first two weeks of this cruise. It was a sort of shakedown for Captain Winois as well as the Flame.

  The Flame of Justice was his first full command. He’d served with distinction since he was a boy Midshipman on the Prince Naperre, a First Rate ship of the line, the flagship of the Royal Agresian Navy.

  That was before the Revolution. Like most Naval officers of Agresia, he’d eschewed politics and concentrated on serving the Navy. Though mentioned frequently in dispatches, he’d only received one medal for heroism from the former regime. The Navy continued the war with Taya while the Revolution raged at home. They came home to find that King Aroix IX had been executed along with most of the ruling class. The remaining nobility had fled or abdicated.

  Three years later the new Republic was at war with the Tayan Empire once again. It was then that Winois had really come into his own. He had earned the respect of superiors and subordinates, was promoted a few grades, and had gathered more medals than most men who’d served twice as long. His greatest achievement had come less than a year ago.

  The Prince Naperre had captured an Imperial Fourth Rate and Winois, as
Third Officer, had been given command of her with a skeleton prize crew. En route to Port Sipa with their prize, they encountered an Imperial squadron consisting of two frigates and a privateer. Winois fought with his undermanned ship with great courage and skill. In the end, the only ship not sunk or burning uncontrollably was his. He was able to rescue some of the Prince’s crew and captured one of the frigate captains and over a hundred prisoners by fishing them from the sea.

  For that action, Winois received Agresia’s highest honor, the Iron Horse Medal. He was also promoted to full Captain and given command of the Flame. The surviving seamen and junior officers of the Prince Naperre became his core cadre. He knew them all by face and name, but hadn’t learned about any of the new men yet. He was too likely to lose some of them on this cruise.

  The Naval Affairs Committee had its hands full with the war, which was steadily being lost. Hanarre had just declared its independence from Agresia and had already been written off—the Committee simply didn’t have the naval power to enforce the Council’s will on the island.

  Of the other major overseas holdings, Stafa was now guarded by a single frigate, when previously they’d enjoyed the protection of a ship of the line, two frigates and a pair of brigs. Braden hadn’t seen a Navy vessel in months.

  Hostilities with the Empire had abated somewhat, but there was another threat. They were losing merchant runners to pirates as well as Imperial privateers. Captain Winois was ordered to hunt down one of these and bring him to justice.

  The notorious pirate StrongArm, captain of the Hack and Slash, had been running amok north of Ariton, the Capitol of the Republic of Agresia. He’d viciously attacked three ships in the past six weeks and showed no signs of leaving soon. The Flame had forty guns and two hundred ten men. It was hoped by the Naval Affairs Committee that a daring young Captain in their newest frigate could stop StrongArm.

  Winois felt up to the challenge, and the Flame was certainly a fine ship, likely faster than the Hack and Slash on all points, and with more guns as well. Yet he was undermanned, and half his crew was raw recruits. If it came to a boarding action, many of them would die or break and run. Winois hoped he could force StrongArm to surrender with gunnery alone.

  While waiting for the commissioning of his new frigate, Winois had been invited to several parties and balls as a celebrated hero. There were very few of those in Agresia. It wasn’t so much a lack of skill or courage on the part of the Naval Service as the fact that the Imperial Tayan Navy simply outclassed them. Thus living naval heroes were rare indeed.

  Winois was a young, handsome bachelor and the darling of the entire nation. His name and a sketch of his likeness were in every newspaper from Sipa to the border with Mitter. At one of the balls, he’d been introduced to Lorenes DuSarre. As a girl she’d been Lady Lorenes of House DuSarre and was to become Countess upon her father’s death.

  Instead the Revolution had come, and the Count had surrendered peacefully to the Council on condition that his wife and his heiress would be spared with all of his property. The men who would become the High Council had executed Count DuSarre, but they’d kept their word. Lorenes was beautiful and fabulously rich. She’d found Winois quite charming.

  The Captain’s reverie was broken suddenly and violently by a splattering crash. One of his topmen had fallen to the helmdeck nearly at his feet. Every eye was on the two of them. Winois looked down at his sailor as he wiped blood from his face. The sailor’s face was unmarred, except for the faintest of whiskers on his upper lip. Winois thought he was one of the volunteers.

  He was unquestionably dead, but Winois called for the surgeon anyway. It would not do to appear callous. He knelt and studied the boy’s face. So young. There was a genuine tear of regret, which Winois surreptitiously wiped away. It wouldn’t do to appear callous, it also wouldn’t do to be seen crying. Winois would never hear it, but that gesture endeared him to the new men of his crew, even those who’d been pressed. A captain who sincerely cared for his men would not waste them needlessly.

  Drills were halted for the remainder of the day. Winois felt rightly that hard training would keep these men alive; living sailors would keep the Flame of Justice alive and that together they made a formidable weapon. But the training was too hard, too soon if the men were so exhausted they fell off the yardarms.

  The surgeon and his two mates arrived, examined the pile that had been a body and pronounced him dead. The boy was laid straight and covered with the Agresian flag, a white horse on a split field, blue above and green below. All hands were on deck for the memorial.

  Winois gave a brief speech on duty, honor and love of country. He spoke of the price that must be paid to keep the Revolution alive and Agresia free from Imperial tyranny. He also spoke of a man who gave his all for his shipmates and the Navy. The fallen hand would be entered in the rolls as ‘killed in action’ against StrongArm, so that his family might receive the Stipend. Any sailor on the Flame could expect the same regardless of how he died on this cruise. They only needed to find the Hack and Slash and bring StrongArm to justice.

  “Men have called me a hero,” he said in closing. “There lies a hero, who sailed in company of heroes. Every one of you will be famous when we bring in StrongArm.” Winois then said the simple prayer for the fallen, consigning his body to Stessaca, and his soul to Ster and Stess. The body slid gently off the plank into the sea.

  Over the next nine weeks the Flame weathered a mild storm and encountered four runners. One was bound for the Chain Islands, one for Kimbula. The third was a Northern Trading Company ship bound for Stafa and the last was a slaver—inbound from Port Therma with only half a load of slaves. They’d had sickness aboard and had lost some crewmen as well. None had seen any pirates. The day after meeting the slaveship, Winois found evidence of StrongArm’s proximity.

  The Lady Anjoda was adrift and showed much battle damage, he wrote in the log after noting the exact latitude and longitude. She listed heavily to starboard. Dispatched Second Officer with ten hands by longboat to investigate. Ster Paway reported no living soul aboard, but much blood and seven bodies, much eaten by gulls and ship’s dog, which was still alive. Cabins, forecastle and ship’s stores cleared; nothing in hold but water. I believe the Lady Anjoda saw her final action approximately three days prior to our arrival. No logs or charts aboard, so we were unable to determine her last portcall, cargo, or the names of her captain and crew. Hulk deemed a derelict and a hazard to shipping: ordered the Lady to be sunk by cannon fire on this date. Heading now 097 degrees, speed 9 knots.

  A few days later they came upon a second derelict, this one still on fire. Even as they watched, one of the masts toppled into the ocean. It let off a cloud of steam as its fire was doused. Whoever had done this could not be more than four hours away in any direction.

  “A gold flame to the man who finds the culprits first!” Winois announced.

  The boy in the foretop claimed it within minutes. “Due east!”

  The Flame put on all sail to chase. By sundown they had closed enough to determine that their quarry was three-masted, with Winois himself at the main masthead using his glass. For the full hour of twilight Winois conned his frigate from there, never losing sight of the ship he hoped/knew was the Hack and Slash.

  Once the stars were out he’d lost her, but his feeling had been confirmed. The other ship was sailing without lights. Winois had a headache from squinting through the telescope for so long, so he was irritable as he explained his reasoning to his senior officers.

  “But running without lights is against international maritime law!” said the navigator lieutenant.

  “I suspect that, as pirates, they’re not too concerned with maritime law,” Winois replied cuttingly. “You would agree, I trust?”

  The lieutenant subsided and said nothing.

  Winois ordered a course change to the northeast, in case StrongArm turned for home. It was known that the pirate port of Rumtown was near the equator, but whether it was on Kimbu
la or one of the islands near it, or even in the Chains was anybody’s guess. In any case, it was to the north and away from Buxa. At dawn there was no sail in sight.

  “Damn! He must have turned west,” Winois said when he was informed. He and the navigator worked up a search pattern on the chart. They would sail to the west in a pattern of figure eights. They’d cover a great deal of ocean that way, but would need Stessaca’s own luck to find StrongArm before he struck again.

  Commercial runners would start to feel safer once they were south of the Line and safer still the more easting they made so as to avoid the Imperial Navy and her privateers. It was no wonder StrongArm would come here. The only real surprise was that they weren’t facing more such vermin in Agresian waters.

  The daisy chain of figure eights had the Flame sailing on all points and the crew became more competent as the hunt dragged on. They weathered another storm, more violent than the last, and encountered another ship as the skies were clearing. It was, again, a Northern Trading Company ship, inbound from Stafa. They reported they’d seen a sail to the west heading east before the storm hit. Winois headed for the stranger’s probable location and was rewarded some time later with a sighting. They continued to close, only to discover a ketch. Winois ground his teeth in frustration. He sent an ‘IY’ as soon as they were in signal range. The signal was the standard request for a ship to identify itself. In response, the ketch ran up a Kimbulan flag. Satisfied, Winois then sent, ‘Seen pirates?’, and got a negative reply. Where could the Hack and Slash have gone?

  The next day they crossed the longitude line that was even with Port Sipa, which was the western limit of the Flame’s patrol area.

  “Maybe he turned south, Captain, slipped behind us and went east.”

  “I fear you are right, Ster Paway. Make our heading due south until the continent is sighted, then east. If we reach Ariton without finding the pirate again, we’ll put in for resupply and new instructions. It may be that the Committee needs the Flame by Dalaria or even north of the Line. Oh, and let’s ease off on the drills. You agree that the men are ready for action?”