Sailing To Redoubt
C. Litka
Chapter 01 Storm, Shipwreck,
and Pirates
01
I clung to the railing on the
tilting deck. The horizon would not stay still. It would sink below
the Island Crown’s railing, leaving only the sickly green-tinted
clouds racing silently overhead, like a school of kelp darters with
an armorfish in pursuit. This was followed, moments later, by an
uncomfortable twist as the Island Crown righted itself on top of the
broad crest, revealing the eastern horizon. A horizon of menacingly
dark, lightning-laced purple clouds – the racing green clouds’
armorfish, as it were. And then, the Island Crown would once again
twist and tilt the other way. This time the angry horizon would be
swallowed by the oily-smooth green wall of the next wave as the ship
slid into its deep trough. My stomach wasn’t easy. My mind wasn’t
particularly easy either.
There wasn’t a breath of
wind. It was hot as an oven. The only sound, the hiss and gurgle of
the sea rolling away from the Island Crown’s stem, and the remote,
thump, thump, of its steam engine.
‘Welcome back to the
islands, Lieutenant,’ said a grinning Mr. Derth, the Island Crown’s
second mate, as he, clinging to the handrails, slowly dodged his way
along the sloping deck, making certain all the cabin doors were
secure. ‘I bet it brings back fond memories of your island youth.’
‘In my island youth, I’d
be securing the last of the storm shutters over the windows at the
mercantile. No islander would be at sea in this weather. Look around,
you don’t see a sail. They’ve long since found themselves a
sheltered cove on the lee side of a tall island. About now they’re
brewing a big pot of kaf and will ride out the storm in comfort.’
‘I can’t say I don’t
envy them. Still, we’re steel and steam, not thin wood planking and
batten sails. And we have a schedule to keep with plenty of sea room
and no islands to worry about. Besides, we’ve yet to meet a typhoon
that has the Island Crown’s name on its ledger,’ he added with a
sweep of his hand and a grin. ‘And we’ve met more than a few...’
‘Now don’t go tempting
fate and the storm gods, mate.’
‘Oh, don’t go all islander
on me,’ he laughed. ‘The glass ain’t all that low. Yon storm’s
going to just brush by us.’
‘I trust you’re right, Mr.
Derth.’
‘Too late now, not to,
Lieutenant,’ he said with a grin, and continued weaving his way
forward on the steeply angled deck.
With each rise of the true
horizon, the menacing purple clouds arched ever higher in the sky.
Below them, a thin white line marked the sky from the dark sea. Still
eerily silent, the whole world seemed to be holding its hot breath.
As ugly as the scene was, or at least promised to be, I could not
tear myself away. So I clung to the railing and the iron pillar that
rose to the bridge deck above, watching the storm’s approach.
Finally, when the white line of the sea was close enough to be seen
as the surface of the ocean being torn to wispy threads by the force
of the onrushing wind, I decided that it was time to retire to my
cabin. Too late.
As I lurched across the
sloping passageway, I felt the Island Crown begin to swing about to
face the coming blow. The wind screamed and struck the ship. And
before I could get my cabin door completely closed, the roaring, wind
driven rain sent me reeling into my cabin. Wind and spindrift tore
around it several times before I found a foothold to brace myself,
and shouldered the door closed.
Slowly the Island Crown
righted itself and its movement changed as it plunged through the
onrushing storm. There was nothing left for me to do, but climb into
the hammock I’d hung across my small cabin, and ride it out.
For what seemed like endless
hours, the wind howled and the waves pounded the Island Crown, while
the thump, thump of the engine defied them. I could hear its single
screw frantically racing for a moment every time its stern was lifted
clear of the water. While I didn’t exactly envy the crew, and their
tasks, perhaps doing something more than swinging helplessly in a
hammock, would’ve made those hours crawl by faster than they did
for me. Eventually, sometime during the night, I fell into a restless
sleep.
02
All storms must end, and this
one blew by shortly after dawn. Mr. Derth was right; we must’ve
just brushed along its edge, since island typhoons can blow for days.
When I finally rolled out of my hammock, the day was bright, and
while the Island Crown was still lively bounding along, it had a
familiar rhythm that my stomach didn’t mind. Indeed, I had an
appetite. So I put on a fresh, tropical uniform of white shorts,
shirt, sandals, and the cap of an Aerlonian Navy lieutenant, limited
time, and stepped out into the bright morning. The sky was rain
washed clean, deep blue and streaked with thin white clouds; the
tattered hem of the racing typhoon. The sun was already warm, the air
mild – a smiling Tropic Sea day once more.
I made my way to the grey and
green painted saloon below the bridge. Stepping in, I was delighted
to discover the enticing aroma of fresh roasted kaf beans, strong
enough to overlay its customary pall of nondescript stews and
cabbage. The weary off watch was struggling to stay awake as they ate
their lukewarm porridge and drank that hot kaf from battered tin
mugs.
‘Sleep well, Lieutenant?’
Chief Engineer Gildock, asked sarcastically.
‘I was rocked to sleep,
Chief. Beautiful day isn’t it? There’s always a welcomed
freshness after a bit of rain, isn’t there?’
‘Oh, it will get hot and
close enough soon enough.’
‘Where you’re working,
anyway,’ I replied cheerfully while pouring myself a cup of kaf
from the battered pot. ‘Still, thanks mates, for the chance to
enjoy this cup on this side of the great divide.’
‘We live to serve our
customers,’ the Chief replied raising his cup.
I raised mine to him and the
crew as well. ‘”We live” are the operative words, I believe.’
‘Oh, fosh! That little blow?
And you an islander – and a naval officer!’ exclaimed Derth.
‘An LT officer, mate – LT
as in limited time. And all I’ve been commanding is a desk in the
Admiralty in Kanadora these past two years. Plus, I’m seven years
away from the islands. I may’ve grown rather soft.’
‘I’d say rather posh,’
growled Gildock.
‘And posh,’ I admitted.
03
Mid-morning found me lounging
on a deckchair on the bridge deck enjoying the ever more familiar
Tropic Sea. The deep blue sea sparkled in the sunlight that was hot
on my shoulders. The breeze carried hints of the jungle from the
tall, lush green island off to port. There were two more islands
around the half of the horizon I could see, both blue in the
distance, both crowned by a cloud. You were never out of sight of an
island in the Tropic Sea. I noted seven sails spread around the
horizon – all but one small fishing boats. The one was a large,
three masted island trader.
I sighed and smiled. It was
good to be home, or at least within three days, of home. I’d left
the islands to attend university nearly seven years ago, and was last
home for a visit more than two years ago, between graduating and
joining the Aerlonian Navy.
‘Would you mind stepping up
to the bridge for a minute, Lieutenant Lang?’ Captain Wera called
down from the navigation bridge.
‘I’d be delighted, sir,’
I replied. I climbed to my feet and then up the steep steps to the
navigation bridge, close at hand.
‘What do you make of that
fellow, Lieutenant?’ he asked, handing me his binoculars and
nodding to that three masted island trader that I’d been watching.
It had come at us from that tall, single peaked island off our port
side. ‘He altered his course to close in on us. I’m wondering
what he’s thinking.’
‘I was wondering that
myself,’ I replied. Bringing the binoculars to my eyes, I brought
the ship into focus. The three blue-dyed batten sails were already
suggestive – though there were probably a hundred islands with
blue-dyed, batten sailed ships plying the Tropic Sea. But few of them
would have been that large. Once I was able to clearly see her hull –
a black painted lorcha with its distinctive yellow trim – there was
no question. She had the wind on her aft quarter and was sailing all
out, throwing up a creaming white bow wave.
‘A Banjar trading lorcha,’
I replied.
‘Humpf. A trading lorcha?’
muttered the Captain. ‘With a 50 man crew lining the windward
rail?’
‘Well, let’s say a nominal
trader.’
‘Why not simply say a
pirate?’
I lowered the glasses and
smiled. ‘If you asked him, he’d claim to be a trader.’
‘And you’d believe him?’
‘Well, no. And he’d not
expect me to,’ I smiled. ‘But it’s all part of the island way
of life. You’re given the benefit of doubt until you open fire.’
‘I’m not an islander,’
grumbled the Captain.
I turned back to watch the
approaching lorcha. ‘He’s rather far out of his usual haunts. I
recall reading a report that the Banja’s neighboring islands of
Zanra and Trillora have both increased their navies thanks to
Feldarain aid. It would seem that the Princes of Banjar are having to
send their traders further afield these days.’
‘Humpf! He can’t possibly
be thinking that he can do business with me, can he?’
‘I doubt it. He’s probably
sailing all out like that to snatch up any worthwhile ships coming
out of shelter form the neighboring islands before they scatter to
the four winds.’
Occasional piracy was an ugly
facet of the island way of life. However, the island way of life
dictated that the boats that were sheltering together in a storm must
put aside their trades and rivalries to observe a truce for the
storm, plus a day afterwards to give all the kelp darters of the
boats a fair chance to escape any armorfish that may have also taken
shelter in the lagoon with them. To do otherwise would be like
netting fish in a barrel. Fair is fair, even in piracy. Plus, it is
widely believed to anger the island gods whom the islanders,
including pirates, depended on for their luck and prosperity.
We watched in silence for a
while as the Banjar continued to rapidly close with us.
‘Surely he can’t be
thinking that we’re potential prey,’ the Captain muttered,
shaking his head. He glanced aft, towards the canvas covered 10 cm
cannon just visible on the after edge of the bridge deck beyond the
boat davit. ‘But then, I’m not fond of pirates, so let him try.’
‘He does seem rather eager,
doesn’t he?’ I muttered, as I considered the situation. Manned
with 50 sailors, a Banjar lorcha would certainly eye every island
ship they encountered with thoughts of capturing her, making her
cargo their own, and selling her crew as slaves. However, one would
think that a steel steamship from one of the southern continents
would be another matter. At least in broad daylight. Steamships, like
the 70 meter Cealan & Cha Line Island Crown, are always armed
with a 10 cm cannon or two that can fire explosive shells capable of
reducing the swift sailing, wooden sailing ships of the islands to
driftwood in short order. Prudent would-be-pirates did not attempt to
take steamships, at least in broad daylight. Given a dark, cloudy
night, well, that might be a different story, if the pirate captain
wasn’t all that prudent. It was no coincidence that batten sails of
the Banjar were dyed dark blue.
‘Perhaps he’s not seen
your 10 cm pieces yet, since yours are not bow and stern mounted,’
I said after a while. ‘Not seeing them there, he might want to take
a closer look at us on the off chance that the lack of bow and stern
cannons is due to storm damage. I doubt that he’ll venture any
closer than he needs to spy your pair. But then again, maybe he’s
just taunting you. It would be in character.’
‘Well, I’ve been sailing
the islands long enough to be a bit of a character myself,’ he
growled, and turning to the first mate, who had the watch, said, ‘See
that the port cannon is armed and manned, Mr. Bril. I have the
bridge. Two can taunt.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Bril,
with a grin, and hurried aft, calling out to the deck crew, who were
hammering away on a storm damaged ventilator, to clear and man the
gun.
Once the gun was cleared for
action, Captain Wera altered course slightly to make certain that the
Banjar captain, now less than a kilometer off, could see his manned
gun. And that it was manned and cleared for action. The altered
course also brought the gun to bear on the Banjar lorcha.
In response, the Banjar
captain backed his sails, bringing his ship to a standstill, allowing
the Island Crown to steam by, with its 10 cm cannon tracking the
lorcha; its crew eager for the order to fire. Like the Banjar crew
across the way, the entire Island Crown’s off duty crew were lining
the railing, eager for any action.
‘That captain fellow looked
a’mite disappointed,’ muttered Captain Wera as he dropped his
binoculars once we put the lorcha astern. ‘An ugly looking chap.’
The lorcha reset her sails and
crossing our trailing wake of white water and a wispy white smoke,
swung around to our starboard side and began to gain on us again.
‘So he wants to see our
starboard gun, as well, does he?’ muttered the Captain. A jerk of
his hand to his first mate, who was watching him from the gun mount,
sent the gun crew scampering to the starboard cannon. The eager
spectators, shifted to starboard, as well.
I followed the Captain across
to the starboard wing of the navigation bridge and scanned the sea to
see if there were any sails on the horizon that might prove more
profitable prey for the Banjars than the Island Crown. No sails, but
ahead and off to starboard, I saw a flash of color and a spark of
reflection which was not a sunbeam off a wave.
I stared hard. I could just
make out a handful of figures waving their shirts from what looked to
be a raft when it rose to the top of the swell.
‘Sir, I believe there are
some shipwrecked survivors.’ I pointed in their direction.
The Captain swung around and
focused his glass on them for several moments before sighing, ‘Ah,
yes, I believe you’re right. I don’t suppose it would be proper
for an Aerlonian gentleman to leave the Banjars to rescue them…
Would it?’
I took it to be a rhetorical
question, and didn’t answer. It was his call. He turned back to the
bridgehouse and called out, ‘Quartermaster, 2 points to starboard,
quarter speed!’
The quartermaster at the helm
repeated the order, swung the wheel and rang the engine room.
Walking to the after edge of
the navigation wing, he called out, ‘Mr. Bril, See to the launching
of the starboard longboat, and gather a boat crew. Lively now, we
have some shipwrecked survivors to collect, before the Banjars can
get to them.’
‘May I volunteer to join the
boat party, Captain?’ I asked.
‘Suit yourself, Lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I
replied eagerly, and hurried to my quarters to dig out my sidearm and
a box of ammunition from my kit bag. I shoved the box of bullets in
my pocket and belted on my service revolver as I hurried around to
the other side of the ship where the crew were freeing the longboat
for launching.
‘The Skipper has given me
permission to join your boat crew, Mr. Bril – with your permission,
of course,’ I said, stepping next to him as he directed the
operation.
‘Oh, you’re welcome
enough,’ he replied glancing aside to me, and noting my sidearm,
added, ‘Are we to expect trouble?’
‘Armorfish for sure,’ I
replied, and glancing across the half a kilometer of water that now
separated us from the Banjar lorcha, I could see activity around
their stern boat as well. ‘And well, it looks like the Banjars are
just as eager to rescue them as we are. They’re potentially
lucrative slaves to the Banjars, so there may be a spot of trouble
with them.’
‘I doubt that your revolver
will be able to settle any trouble with the likes of them,’ he
murmured, turning back to the davit to call out some more directions.
I had to admit that he was
likely right. But we did have a 10 cm cannon.
04
I glanced up from loading my
revolver at the crackling of gunfire. The rise of the swell revealed
that the Banjars in the boat they had launched were cheerfully firing
into the sea with their handguns and rifles – no doubt at any
armorfish in sight. The wreck had attracted quite a pack of them.
There’s a shared love
between armorfish and humans. They love to eat us, and we find them
delicious eating, as well. However, in this case they weren’t being
hunted for dinner. The Banjars were attempting to draw blood in order
to attract the armorfish away from the wreck. Their handgun fire was
just a playful lark, as revolvers aren’t likely to do any harm to a
three to five meter long armorfish with its hard, bone-like back
plates with a double row of spikes. Oh, it might startle, and maybe
annoy them, but that was about it. The larger caliber rifles,
however, might draw blood, and since it takes only a trace of blood
to attract their attention. Any blood drawn might draw at least some
of the armorfish away from the wreck, making getting the survivors
off a little safer. Hopefully their ploy would work, since I could
see quite a few glistening spiked backs not only circling the low,
waterlogged wreck, but occasionally surging up onto its wave washed
deck to snap at the six survivors perched on the top of a half-height
cabin.
I snapped the cylinder of my
revolver shut as the Banjar captain bellowed an order to his boat
crew to cease firing and man the oars, in order to race us to the
wreck. I had taken my station in the bow of the launch and had a boat
hook close at hand to hold us alongside the wreck when we arrived. We
had four men at the oars, with Mr. Bril standing in the stern manning
the tiller. He too, was now wearing a holstered revolver, along with
a rifle on the bench before him.
The larger crewed Banjar boat
beat us to the wreck by less than half a minute. The Banjar captain,
who was on board their launch, was already bellowing out orders for
the shipwrecked crew to come aboard, or be dragged on board, when we
arrived, tactfully on the other side of the wreck.
The wreck looked to be a
single-hulled yacht of some twelve meters, wooden built with a single
mast, that was now floating alongside on the Banjar side. The cabin
down the center of the yacht was the last refuge of the crew, as
water filled its interior and waves washed over its deck. Only the
natural buoyancy of its wooden construction was keeping it afloat.
The crew, save one, were sitting on their kit bags and seemed unmoved
by the Banjar captain’s orders. The one, a slim woman, was standing
alongside the stump of the yacht’s mast and had been telling the
Banjars to shove off. All of the yacht’s crew were dressed in
loose, tan colored, calf-length trousers, a sailors’ knives on
their belts, and white, loose, open necked shirts with colorful
bandannas, topped by a variety of brimmed and rather waterlogged
woven grass hats. In short, the typical dress of a more cosmopolitan
type of islanders.
‘Push off, you lot!’
roared the much more colorfully dressed Banjar captain, directing his
attention to us, as I hooked the lip of the yacht’s deck with the
boat hook and pulled us close alongside. Adding, with an even darker
glare, ‘This is our salvage by right of first claim.’
His numerous boat crew
growled, seconding his claim. They were a very colorful band of men
and a few women. They were dressed either brightly dyed loincloths or
baggy trousers, with skirts in reds, oranges and yellows, many with
open jerkins of armorfish leather and armor. They also had several
bandannas around their necks. The men and women both wove strings of
shells and beads through their long hair, and all sported several
armorfish leather belts around their waist for their long knives,
short swords, and handguns. The barrel chested captain wore chains of
gold under his open armorfish jerkin.
I gave him a casual island
salute, touching my forehead with my fist. ‘We do not contest your
right of salvage...’
‘We’ve already declined
your offer of salvage,’ snapped the rather savage looking young
lady at the mast. ‘They have no claim.’
‘And wisely so,’ I said,
saluting her as well. ‘We make no claim to salvage. We’re here to
offer you and your crew passage to Fey Lon, courtesy of the Island
Crown, and, I might add, passage home as well, if necessary, courtesy
of the Aerolonia Navy’s distressed mariners’ fund.’
‘Bugger off, mate,’
growled the Banjar captain. ‘I’m giving you one and only one
warning. They’re mine, and I intend to have them, one way or
another. And there’s nothing you can do about it,’ he added with
a sweep of his hand to his crew at his back, who outnumbered us three
to one, and outgunned us by a far greater margin.
I bit back my first impulse to
mention our 10 cm cannon in the offing. It would be of no help here
and now. Instead I smiled and said, ‘We don’t want trouble.
Trouble will only feed the armorfish...’ One of which, as if on
cue, surfaced and slid over the battered railing and across the
mostly submerged deck of the launch to snap at the crew on the cabin,
and then at us in the boat, before wiggling back into the water. It
then swam under our boat, raking its spikes against its bottom, just
to prove its point.
‘I don’t mind trouble. And
I wouldn’t mind feeding you to the armorfish or making you guests
of the Bird-of-night as well,’ replied the Banjor captain. ‘So
bugger off and let me take off this sorry lot of hopeless excuses for
sailors.’
‘I will make a great deal of
trouble for you if you try,’ snapped the lady at the mast.
I had only one card to play,
and it was a weak one. But as I said, it was my only one.
‘We’re within the waters
of the Principality of Merkara. Piracy and slavery is outlawed in
Merkara waters. As an officer of in Aerlonian Navy, and an ally of
the Prince of Merkara, I’m ordering you to cease your efforts to
take these people prisoners. They have refused your offer of aid, so
please return to your ship and be on your honest way.’
He laughed. I didn’t blame
him. Given the circumstances, I had to make a great effort to play
that card without laughing myself. Still, it was on the table.
‘And if I don’t? Are you
going to try to stop me?’
‘I’ll see that you’re
hunted down and hung as pirates. We’ll be in Merkara by this
evening (a lie) and I’ll report you as a pirate upon arrival,’ I
replied, boldly enough. They did hang pirates in the Principality of
Merkara, and who knows, perhaps Captain Wera would briefly call on
Merkara... ‘Plus, we’re only three days out of Fey Lon and its
Aerlonian naval base. There’s likely a fast corvette or frigate at
anchor that would like nothing better than to hunt down a Banjar
pirate.’ That part, at least, might not be all bluff.
The Banjar Captain considered
my threat for a second or two, and then grinned, ‘The seas are
wide.’ And adding, with a sweep of his arm, ‘Bak, Nan, Lee, jump
to it and haul our guests onboard. The rest of you, keep yon crew in
your sights, but don’t shoot until I give the order. We don’t
want trouble, now, do we?’ he added with a laugh, watching me.
As Bak, Nan, and Lee, made
their way to the gunwale of the boat, armed with thick canes to beat
the yacht crew into submission, I let my hand fall to the handle of
my revolver at my side.
And yet…
I looked across the wreck to
the thickly packed Banjar boat. I could think of nothing else to do.
Nothing wise, anyway. A gun fight would not only result in getting
myself and my shipmates shot and possibly killed, but would likely
kill the survivors on the wreck in the crossfire as well. It was now
up to Captain Wera aboard the Island Crown and his 10 cm cannon...
The Banjar captain’s smile
widened, as he read my thoughts on my face. ‘Off you go mates,’
he snarled to Bak, Nan, and Lee, who had prudently paused on the
gunwale to survey the surrounding waters for armorfish.
But before they could be off,
the grim faced lady at the mast lifted her arm, and pointing it at
them, said in a clear, cold, loud voice, ‘Die.’
I can’t say, with certainty,
what happened in the next few seconds. But something did happen. I
was left with an impression that there was some sort of flickering
and then, silently, Bak, Nan, and Lee collapsed into the arms of
their comrades behind them, as if dead.
For several long seconds I,
and everyone else on both boats, just stared at the limp bodies,
trying to make sense of what just happened. And then we all turned to
the grim faced figure at the mast. She still had her arm
outstretched, and was now pointing directly at the Banjar captain.
‘Now go,’ she commanded,
in her hard, cold voice.
The Banjar captain, after
staring in disbelief at his collapsing men, roared, ‘Bak, Nan, Lee,
jump to it, I said! Get her!’
Held upright only by their
comrades behind them, the three limp men didn’t jump to it.
One of the rowers behind me –
a native islander – was next to speak. ‘Sorcery,’ he muttered
quietly. And then loudly in rising panic, ‘She’s a sorceress!
Why, they’re the fire-cursed Vente, mates!’
This sent a startled ripple of
fear through the Banjar boat’s crew. The other islander on our
crew gasped as well.
‘Leave now, Captain, or you,
and your crew, will all die,’ said the alleged sorceress, pointing
directly at him.
Undaunted, the Banjar Captain
roared, ‘Shoot her!’
‘Die,’ she commanded, in
reply.
A flicker?
And he did, folding and
collapsing like Bak, Nan, and Lee into the arms of his crew behind
him.
‘Fire-cursed magic!’
exclaimed our islander crewman behind me.
A couple of wild shots
followed, but almost to a man, the Banjar crew decided not to die.
They flung themselves into a flurry of howling activity, not to open
fire, but to escape the fire-cursed Vente wreck with its sorceress.
They scrambled to their oars, and frantically pushed their boat away
from the wreck. Once clear, they started rowing for their ship,
putting their back into it, without orders to. The slender woman at
the mast kept her arm pointing at them until the were out of reliable
gun shot range.
And just to be fair, our two
islanders had tried to follow suit, but Bril and I held the boat
tight to the wreck, while Bril howled, ‘Hold up, you blasted fools.
What are you up to? I gave no orders!’
I suppose to most islanders,
no orders were necessary to get clear of a fire-cursed Vente
sorcerer, given their dark reputation. Islanders learned to fear the
Vente from a young age. The stories of the Ventes arriving in the
moonless darkness of the night to carry very naughty children away
with them, were used to frighten naughty children into behaving. The
Vente were, however, more than just stories to scare children. They
were part of the dark pantheon of island mythology – like demon
armorfish, the volcanic fire gods, or the storm gods with their
lightning ships of blue fire. I’m far from certain that the Banjar
captain could have even made them approach the wreck if they had
known they were Vente. Or that he would’ve even tried.
Of course, like the demon
armorfish and the storm gods, the Vente were mostly myth and legend,
at least this far south in the Tropic Sea. Actual Vente or not, it
was the fact that the woman at the mast pointed to four men, told
them to die, and they did, that made them Vente. That was enough.
And, truth be told, if I’d been one of them, a true islander, I’d
be rowing hard with them as well.
But I wasn’t quite a true
islander, despite having been born and raised in the islands. And I
was university educated. And I didn’t believe in the island gods
and magic. And finally, she wasn’t pointing at me. That said, I
could not say what had just happened. It didn’t seem like one
needed to believe in magic, for magic to work...
Dropping her arm, the woman,
the alleged sorceress, turned to us. ‘Is your offer still open?’
‘Ah, yes… Yes, of course,’
I stammered, and glanced back to Bril. I was, after all, only a
passenger. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, Mr. Bril?’
Luckily, Bril, likely as
stunned as I was by what had just happened, was an Aerlonian, and
viewed island superstition with either humor or disdain. He merely
nodded “Yes” absently, adding, grimly, ‘That’s what we’re
here for.’
That was good enough for me –
especially since I didn’t think we really had an alternative.
‘Right, then, let’s get
everyone on board,’ I said, as brightly as I could, turning back to
the sorceress. ‘And the sooner the better. We want to be on our way
before the Banjars find their courage again.’ I braced a foot on
the gunwale and held out my free hand to help haul the crew onboard.
She nodded and turned to her
crew with a nod. They stood, and, as she slowly named her crew, three
men and two woman, one by one, they grabbed their kit bags and jumped
down to the narrow, wave washed deck, and crossed it in a bound or
two. I helped each to climb aboard with my free hand. Each gave a nod
of thanks and settled on the nearest bench or in the hollow behind
me.
The slender sorceress was the
last to collect her kit and, timing her jump to the swell, she landed
on the deck, just as an armorfish, half the length of our boat,
leaped straight out of the sea behind Bril to land on the wreck’s
deck with a thump and a mighty splash. With its many teethed jaws
wide open, it swooshed across the slippery deck towards the
sorceress.
She made a desperate leap for
the boat. I abandoned the boathook to free both hands and caught her
by the waist, lifting her up, over my head, hoping to get her clear
of the snapping jaws of the armorfish. I staggered back and twisted
to avoid going over the other side of the boat, to collapse into the
collective laps and kit bags of her crew around me. She landed on top
of me – her damp chest on my face.
She quickly pushed off, her
hands on my shoulders, to scowl down at me with her cold blue-green
eyes for a second or two.
I smiled, and asked, a bit
breathlessly, ‘Still have all ten toes?’
‘Yes,’ she replied,
coldly, without a smile, and rolled off of me to take a seat with her
crew, who quickly made room on the bench for her.
‘Are you done having fun up
there, Lieutenant?’ called out Bril, as I sat up and took a seat
facing aft at the very bow of the boat.
‘I believe so. Home, Mr.
Bril,’ I replied cheerfully, much relieved that we had carried off
the rescue against all odds. I settled back as we pushed off the
wreck, and took in the mythical Ventes – if indeed that was who and
what they were. They looked no different than any other islander.
I beamed a friendly smile at
the six waterlogged survivors sitting silently on the benches and
crouching before me, and asked, ‘Victims of the typhoon, I take
it?’
The sorceress gave me one
withering look of disdain with her cold blue-green eyes for uttering
such an inane question, and looked away and back towards the wreck.
The fellow by the name of
Vara, who may have been the captain of the yacht, replied quietly,
‘The storm was mostly to the south of us. Still, we were making for
shelter along a white-water reef, looking for a passage into the
lagoon of yonder island, when a white squall struck us with great
force, driving us over the reef and into the lagoon, taking off our
mast in the process. Before we could clear the wreckage and get some
steerage, the squall drove us across the lagoon and over the reef
once more, this time taking out a large section of our bottom hull.
We managed to lighten the boat, and get a couple of lines around the
hull to hold it together and stay afloat all night. Luckily you came
along, so we haven’t suffered all that much.’
I nodded sadly. ‘Ill luck
and good luck. The hazards of the sea. I appreciate your loss. Still,
you’re alive and safe,’ I added with an encouraging smile. ‘And
you’ve nothing more to worry about. The Aerlonian Navy base on Fey
Lon has a fund to see that shipwrecked and stranded mariners get
home.’ Though, if they were actual Vente Islanders, that might
prove difficult. But that was a problem – and perhaps an
opportunity – for another day. It may also explain why my
assurances didn’t seem to cheer them up. Still, I suppose returning
home, no matter what island home it may be, without the yacht you set
out in, was never going to be all that happy of a return. It was,
however, better than being a lump in an armorfish’s belly.
‘Oh, by the way, my name is
Taef Lang, Lieutenant, LT, Aerlonia Navy. I’m actually just a
passenger aboard the Island Crown, on my way to Fey Lon. I’ll be
happy to look after matters concerning your return when we arrive.’
Vara nodded, glancing to the
sorceress, who continued to stare back at the wallowing wreck.
I decided to play the
Aerlonian, and fain ignorance of islands myths. So I looked to the
sorceress, and asked, ‘How did you do that? To the Banjars, I mean.
Just pointing at them… It was like magic,’ I added with a forced
laugh. And then adding, authentically curious, ‘It wasn’t magic,
was it?’
She ignored the question. But
I continued on, nevertheless.
‘Did you really kill them?
Not that I blame you. You would’ve ended up as slaves or worse. And
to be honest, I don’t know what we could’ve done to prevent them
from taking you, if you hadn’t sent them packing. Captain Wera
would not have needed much of an excuse to sink the Banjar ship, but
we would’ve all been feeding the armorfish by then, so I guess we
all owe you a debt of gratitude,’ I said, rambling on, to no
effect.
I looked to Vara, and the
rest. They offered to add nothing more, taking their cue from the
sorceress.
Still, undaunted, I said,
‘Well, we have Vara and Muse, Hiks, Kin, and Ade, here.’ I nodded
to each in turn, and then returned to the sorceress with a smile,
‘But I don’t know your name, ah… Miss?’ I didn’t dare to
call her a sorceress to her face.
She ignored me.
So I laughed and added, ‘Oh,
well, I suppose we’ve already met.’
She turned her head and
focused her cold gaze on me for a chilling moment or two. Thankfully
she didn’t point at me, but I had the feeling she was fighting that
urge. Finally she said, scornfully, ‘Forgive us. We have suffered a
very exhausting experience and are not in the mood for palaver. You
can interrogate us once we have time to recover.’
‘Of course. Sorry. I was,
actually, just trying to make polite conversation,’ I said,
contritely. ‘But, as you say, we’ll have time enough to chat once
you’ve rested.’
Which was wishful thinking, as
it turned out.
Note: This is a not quite final version. The Complete Book will be released in March 2019 as an ebook for free and a $12 trade paperback. Stay tuned for the exact release date.
