Buxacan Spicerunner Read online

  “Yes, sir, they’re as ready as training can make them. They need battle seasoning now.”

  “Good. Let those on recruit pay know that today they are promoted to full hands. And issue a round of spirits, so they can celebrate.”

  “Yeah yeah, sir!”

  Three hours from Ariton they found a three masted runner approaching from the southeast. StrongArm might have been harrying shipping from Mitter and Encaster. Winois closed with the stranger. She matched the description of the Hack and Slash.

  “Let them see our colors,” Winois ordered. The horse banner streamed.

  ‘IY’

  The runner displayed the neutral stripes of Kimbula. Kimbulan runners were very well armed, as they had no government or navy of their own, but this one sported too many guns. Besides, she was in the right place.

  ‘Stand to and prepare for boarding and inspection’

  “Deck! Signal from the Kimbulan: V…A…” The lookout paused, then, “Um…perhaps you should read it for yourself, sir.” He sounded nervous.

  Winois snapped open his glass and looked. ‘Vall you’.

  ‘True colors, StrongArm’ .

  In response to that signal the Kimbulan flag went down and a black flag showing a muscular arm with a cutlass in its hand went up.

  “Battle stations!” But the pirate’s guns were out faster and StrongArm fired first. Water splashed, splinters flew, men screamed, and one of the stays sang as it parted.

  “First blood to you, sir,” Winois commented. Then he concentrated on the business of fighting his ship. After several salvos, the young hero realized he was giving as good as he got. He’d lost men and taken damage, but his crew hadn’t given up and he could see—

  “Gun captains! Concentrate on his foremast!”

  Their adversary was now close enough that the thunder of his guns was simultaneous with their firing. The pirate gunners were fast, but apparently unconcerned with making full broadsides. Musket balls hummed past Winois’ head.

  He waited impatiently as his own gun crews adjusted angle and elevation to put the whole broadside on StrongArm’s foremast. Individual shot continued to crash into the Flame. A burst of grape scythed through one gun crew, and put their gun out of the action.

  Why is that gun aimed so high? Captain Winois looked to the other ship and was surprised to see it so close. “Bra—” There was a rending crash as they collided. Sea vermin swarmed onto his deck. Hooks flew everywhere, fouling the ships further.

  “Repel Boarders!” Drawing sword and pistol, Winois charged into the fray. The scum were going after the unarmed gun crews first, wreaking fearful havoc. Leaping bodies and wreckage, Winois was able to rally some of his men into a cohesive unit. Others took cour-age at the sight, but most of the new men were dying, calling for quarter, or fleeing below.

  Two pirates charged Winois simultaneously from different sides. He dropped one with a quick thrust to the chest but the other, a tall lanky lad with a squint, tossed a net over him. Winois had already fired his pistol, now his sword was useless as well. He struggled against the net as he fell until a blinding pain erupted in his head and he knew no more.

  Winois awoke suddenly on a rug on the deck, realized that he was bound hand and foot, and relaxed. By the smells, he was in his own cabin. He thought it best to assess his situation as well as he could before his captors discovered he was conscious.

  “So you’re the famous Captain Winois,” a rough voice said. “Greatest sea-warrior of Agresia.”

  So much for subterfuge. Winois opened his eyes. He was indeed in his own cabin. A short, stocky man with a thick black beard smiled at him from his desk. He was drinking a bottle of Winois’ wine. He wore a fine green shirt with the sleeves roughly hacked off. By the size of the muscles displayed, there was no question of who he was.

  “A pleasure to meet you, sir!” the big man added cheerily.

  “I wish I could say the same, StrongArm.” Damned if I’ll call him ‘captain’.

  StrongArm smiled again and strode over to stand by Winois. He reached down and took hold of the captain’s jacket and hoisted Winois bodily to his feet with one hand! StrongArm looked him in the eye for a moment, and set him gently in a chair.

  “Come now, Captain, the unpleasant part is over! Would you like some wine?”

  “That’s my wine and this is my ship! Where are my men, StrongArm?”

  “This,” the pirate held up the bottle and poured himself a glass, “is a spoil of war. This,” now he gestured around the cabin, “is now my prize, and your men are my prisoners. Your surgeon is caring for the wounded below and all but nine of your other sailors are here on this very ship.”

  “What of the other nine?” Winois asked, fearing the worst.

  “They’re in your longboat, making for Ariton. Lieutenant Paway is in charge of them. I figure they’ll return in a couple of watches. They have until sunrise, though.”

  “If they don’t return by sunrise, then what?”

  “Then what?” StrongArm sounded genuinely surprised. “There is no ‘then what’! I’m sure they’ll return. With five thousand flames, to boot!” He chortled at the thought. “I didn’t even make any threats. No question my price will be met!”

  “Then why did you ask for so little, StrongArm?” Winois sounded unimpressed.

  The pirate sat back down and packed some tobacco in his cheek. He selected one of Winois’ teacups to spit in.

  “I’m a ship’s captain like you,” he said. “I assess risks and make the big decisions. But I’m also a businessman, and I have to assess what the market will bear. The Naval Affairs Committee would certainly pay more than ten thousand flames for the return of their newest frigate and its hero captain. But I doubt they could raise that much cash by dawn, and I’m not willing to accept credit.”

  Winois looked at StrongArm with towering contempt. “You’re not a captain like me!”

  StrongArm stood so quickly that he toppled his chair. He dashed the contents of his wineglass in the Agresian’s face. “I’d hoped we could be civilized, sir!” He’d gone from jolly to enraged in an instant. “I’m not a captain like you? You’ve been a captain for what, four months? I’ve been a captain for fourteen years! You’ve patrolled what, the coast of Agresia? I’ve been to every port in the Buxacan Sea and half of those in the Stitian Ocean to boot! And unlike you, I have never been defeated!” StrongArm stepped up and kicked the chair out from under Winois. The fall wasn’t as painful as the words. “I liked you better on the deck,” he said in a more conversational tone. He took the bottle from the desk and left the cabin.

  It was a very subdued Winois that stood on his helmdeck and watched the Hack and Slash sail north. StrongArm’s men had repaired all of their own damage during the night, using the Flame’s stores, of course. They sailed off smartly, like men who knew their business well. Winois watched morosely as his own men set about cleaning the gore and wreckage that was left on his own deck. He may have been shamed, but damned if he’d take the Flame into Ariton looking like a derelict. He went below and opened his logbook.

  Defeated this day by the pirate StrongArm of the runner Hack and Slash. Moderately damaged but seaworthy. All stores, supplies, coin and arms stolen, except ships guns. Thirty-seven men killed. He listed each name, position and rank, and recommended two for posthumous medals. Twenty men wounded and not expected to live. Another depressing list. Seventeen wounded and to be invalided out of the Service. Also listed by name and rank, with the recommendation that all receive quarter-pay pensions. And twenty-three wounded but expected to return to duty. Five of these were recommended for promotion.

  When he was done with his entries, he moved the rug he’d lain on for hours and lifted one of the planks. Hidden there was the only bottle left aboard. It was sweet Sevulian rum. Winois took a long slow swallow, and tried not to think of how the Committee would see this or what Lorenes would feel for him, now.

  18

  The Black Flag Society’s
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  New Crew

  Finve and Samdin couldn’t quite believe the size of the man they were watching. They had learned to avoid the men wearing the red and black armbands. They had to be the city watch, though they were armed only with short billet clubs. When the armbands spoke the others listened, even though they carried cutlasses and pistols. But everyone ignored the men in the blue vests. They traveled in pairs and carried the same clubs as the watchmen, but didn’t seem interested in stopping fights or escorting rowdy drunks to their homes or ships.

  This man was different.

  The boys had been picking garbage in an alley right on the waterfront after dark when they noticed him. He was a giant in a blue vest but carried no weapons. He had planted himself on the dock in front of their alley and seemed to be watching them wordlessly. After a little while they realized that he wasn’t watching them so much as the door to the tavern that made up one wall of the alley. Eventually a group of sailors came out and the big man finally moved. He stepped in the midst of the sailors as if just passing through and suddenly seized one by the neck. The struggling man was hoisted right off the ground until the giant’s hand was even with his own shoulder.

  “You owe the Treasure Chest money.” The voice matched the man perfectly. It was deep and heavy with menace. Neither his voice nor his face showed any sign of strain as he continued to hold his victim off the ground. The giant looked around at the other sailors and they scattered. The dangling man was beginning to gurgle so the giant put him down. He tried to run after his friends but the giant slapped him in the chest hard enough that he actually flew backward for several feet.

  “I don’t got any money!” the smaller man protested.

  “You owe forty crowns.”

  “I don’t got it, I tell you.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “I don’t got nothing—” The giant grabbed him by an ankle and picked him up again. “AAAAIIIEEE SPEN IT!” He gasped and panted. “I spent it!”

  “That’s unfortunate.” The giant walked into the alley where Finve and Samdin were hiding, still carrying the man by his ankle. Once they were away from the street, the smaller man was dropped painfully on his head.

  “Last chance,” the giant said with a sigh, as if he were bored with the whole thing. “You give me at least ten crowns and you won’t be hurt. Four, and I won’t break anything major.” The smaller man thought he saw a chance and made a break for the entrance. Or tried to; the man in the blue vest was surprisingly fast. The debtor was forcibly stripped in a futile search for his coin, and then the giant broke his arm like kindling.

  “Your ship sails in two weeks. You won’t be on it unless you’ve paid. I didn’t break your leg because you were telling the truth about not having any money, but you should have come to the Treasure Chest and made a payment before you got drunk.” The man in the blue vest punctuated each sentence with a punch and finished his speech with a powerful kick that sent the injured man out of the alley. The clothes were collected and thrown after him.

  Awestruck by what they’d seen, Finve and Samdin could only cower in fear behind the barrel that was their only cover. When the giant looked right at them as if he could see in the dark, and ordered them to follow him, Samdin fainted.

  When Samdin came to, the giant was still there. He must have asked a question because Finve was answering.

  “No, we live here. We’re brothers.”

  “You don’t look like brothers,” the big man rumbled, more thoughtful than accusatory.

  “We had different fathers,” Finve said quickly. “We live just a few streets that way.” The man in the blue vest might have been willing to believe they were brothers, but—

  “No you don’t. You’re so filthy you stink, and you’re picking garbage for food.”

  “That’s because we’re poor!” Samdin said.

  “Youse must have stowed away on one of the Kimbulan runners. Nobody that lives here is so poor that they don’t have a home, or enough to eat.”

  “We’re not stowaways!” said Samdin.

  Finve spoke right on top of him, “Just because you never noticed the poor before don’t mean we don’t exist! Please, Ster, let us go.”

  “Yeah, we don’t owe no money to a chest!”

  “Ster? I’m only a few years older than youse. Name’s Olik Pango. And I know the poor exist—I’m poor. Do I look like I ever missed a meal?” Olik stood and gently guided the boys out of the alley. “And who cares if you stowed away? Youse’re here now.” They were back on the dock, the one that followed the shoreline. Some of the people they saw glanced at them, but most ignored the strange trio.

  “Don’t even know where here is,” Samdin said. “Are we in Kimbula?”

  “There’s no slaves in Kimbula,” Finve asserted. “You can’t sell us.”

  “Youse aren’t in Kimbula. There’s no slaves here, either. This is Port Buxaca.”

  “Where’s that?” “Who owns Port Buxaca?”

  Olik laughed. “One at a time! Where we are is a secret, and nobody owns us. We rule ourselves.”

  The stowaways mulled the information over as Olik led them into a warehouse.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Home.” One section of the upper story of the building was partitioned off. Inside they saw a pallet with bedding and a pillow. There was a slop jar and another bucket full of clean water. There was a table made of scrap lumber and a chair with a mismatched leg. A gas lantern and a book rounded out the furnishings.

  “This is where I live,” Olik said. “Told youse I was poor.” He pointed to an open crate. “There’s a bit of soap, towel. Clean yourselves while I get dinner.” And just like that he was gone again. They were afraid to trust him, but the prospect of eating something overrode their instincts.

  Olik returned with enough food to feed four ordinary men and gave them half of it. “But there’s a cost. Youse have to tell me your names and where you’re from.” Between mouthfuls, the gutter rats’ story came out. When the meal and the story were over, Olik gave them one of his blankets.

  “I’ll have Sturo make another bed and a coupla chairs. I’ll talk to my friend’s da about jobs, cause I can’t support youse, but youse can stay here as long as youse like. Don’t try stealing in Port Buxaca, you’ll regret it. You’ll always have enough to eat and now you got a roof over your heads, so there’s no need for it anyway. Youse want to steal or hurt people, you gotta join a Crew. Me and my friends are forming a new Crew; youse can join us.”

  “Thank you, Olik. We have to think about it.”

  “Yeah, thanks for everything. We been running so long and now you gave us a place to sleep and jobs and food—”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve been planning this for so long I thought…Well. Youse haven’t even met my friends yet! I won’t bring it up again. You make your own decision—later. Not everybody here wants to go to sea. I’m going to sleep.”

  The next morning the boys were introduced to Danno Pizi. The first thing he asked, after he learned their names, was if they were hungry. He didn’t even wait for an answer, but led them straight to the kitchen.

  “I’ve hired you some help, dear,” he said to the woman making eggs. There was another woman frying bacon. The smell of fresh bread was overpowering—loaf after loaf lay on one counter. The woman he’d addressed was slightly plump and had gray streaks in her hair.

  Her eyes were dark and friendly and she smiled sweetly at them. “Eggs this morning boys. Be ready in a few more minutes. No one goes hungry at the Dalarian Arms. Then I’ll put you to work. Scrubbing pots and washing dishes is hot and tedious, so you’ll eat first. Fetch yourselves some milk from the cellar—over there—then sit down at that counter. There’s also coffee, tea, orange juice, apple juice and even small beer, if that’s what you’re used to.” With that she turned back to her eggs. Danno told them that they were to do as she said and left.

  Breakfast was delicious, even more so
to Finve and Samdin, who hadn’t had eggs for quite some time. The work was as hot and tedious as they’d been told. As fast as something was cleaned and put on the rack, either Stess Pizi or the other woman picked it up again. Breakfast was served right up until noon. Lunch was their choice of beef stew, pork roast or chicken pot pie. Even when they’d had homes they had never seen so much food in one place.

  “I didn’t think there were this many people staying in the inn,” Finve complained, as he finished scrubbing the same pot for the fifth time.

  “There aren’t,” said Stess Pizi. “Everyone on this island tries to eat here at least one meal a month. And those who can afford it come every day. We do a fair business with overnight guests, and my husband serves quite a bit of the beer and wine and spirits but most of our income comes from this kitchen.”

  Finve could well believe it. Dinner was even better than lunch had been, and attracted a much larger crowd as well. The two women stopped cooking at eight in the evening, but the dish and pot cleaning continued for another full hour. Finve and Samdin were tired, but their bellies were full and they would be paid at the end of the week.

  They met Olik’s carpenter friend Sturo, who could take a handful of nails and some scrap wood and turn it into furniture. Brog was a novelty—neither of the Tayans had ever seen a free Clav. Arno was a gambler and Drac showed them the flag he’d designed. The Bando brothers were polite but didn’t speak much.

  The Chain Islander who was to be the captain of their Crew was charismatic and full of plans for their soon to be realized wealth and fame, which they could share in. His name was Afnir. The sailor called Dason was funny and likable, but without the driving force of Afnir. Ellor took them on their first trip to Cat House Row. He knew all the girls by name. There were two more that hadn’t come back from sea yet: Chos was part of StrongArm’s Crew, and Sako was Navigator for a Kimbulan runner.