Ship of Spells

Chapter 8 Low Tide #2

Suns. Moons. Forge fog a faun. Why did I always do this, smack people and smash chances only to end up alone at some ratty tavern or back-o’-the-alley bar? What was it that kept me running, and when would I ever stop?

I lifted the cup I’d snitched, waggled it at the barkeep.

“Another, if you will, Jak,” I said. I didn’t know his name. Everyone was called Jak in places like this. “Tab is on the dworgh. They have a Letter of Marque.”

He rolled his eyes but poured me a second.

This one, I nursed, milking the feel of the tin in my palms. Even gloved, they glowed, and I wondered if I could pay someone to cut them off at the elbows.

I could live as a beggar. Or true enough, as a whore.

Swabs loved their wooden legs, glass eyes, and hook-hands, and I’d never have to concern myself with magik for the rest of my short, miserable life.

“…moored beyond the docks…enemy…ship of spells…”

I slowed and lifted the rum to my lips, listening like a fly on a port latch.

There were two of them on the stools next to me, a homani and a harpy. The homani was thin and hairy, with three earrings in one ear. The harpy was male, with an elongated crest and a beak longer than Kit’s.

I made myself small and insignificant. Not hard to do, generally, despite my job-precluding pride.

“Ye have a crew?” asked the homani.

The harpy nodded.

“Aye,” he said, his voice scratches on stone. “Twelve of us, strong and fierce.”

“And a ship?”

“Who needs a ship, sir, when we has the sky?” The harpy laughed. “’Sides, we has a soul aboard.”

My stomach pitched. The Touchstone had a traitor?

The man grunted, passed the other a black purse. “Half now, half on the doin’.”

“Usuals, aye.”

The harpy pocketed the purse in a satchel at his hip and moved to leave his stool. The homani grabbed his arm.

“If ye can spare the boy, do it,” he said. “We can fetch a pretty sum from the old sot.”

“Even still? It’s been ten year or so.”

“Aye. He’s got a new wife but still no son.”

“We get half, then?”

“You fetch him. I sell him.” He thrust out his arm. “Half.”

The harpy took it, palm to elbow. “Square.”

And that was that. Each man downed his drink and left the tavern.

I sat for a long moment afterward.

It had only been one phrase, one unfocused utterance of the words “ship of spells.” They could easily have said “ship’s bells,” or “ship of hels,” or “ship of fools,” for all I knew. I sipped the rum, feeling it warm my throat as it went down.

Besides, even if they were talking about the Touchstone, I owed her nothing. The bastard, Thanavar, had marooned me on this pitiful spit, all because I was Navy and him privateer. All because I was proud. All because a ship that had chosen me no longer found me worthy enough to keep.

I cast a quick glance to the window. Smoke and Fahr were gone. I’d have to go out into the markets, brave the crowds, rush the docks. If I told them. If I cared.

I threw back the rum.

“Pay,” said the barkeep.

“Oh, the dworgh—”

“Gone,” he said. “You drink. You pay.”

Hels’ hooks. I had no coin. As quartermaster, Smoke had arranged a kit for me, consisting of this peacoat, a woolen blanket, neckerchief, second tunic, and socks.

Fahr had passed me an ink stick, some chalks, and a small, leather sketchbook because I told him I liked to draw.

An amenable life, all told, contained in one hand-me-down sack, but they had completely overlooked my need of a purse.

“I…”

…had a mind to bolt. I was fast and nondescript. I could be lost in that sea of faces in a heartbeat.

“I…”

Bolted.

But he was expecting it and grabbed my arm before I could flee. It was above the glove, so chimeric flared, and he hollered, snatching his hand away. There! For once, my luck had turned.

“What is this?” I shrieked. “Poison?”

“What?” He glanced around at the patrons. “Here! You pay your bill.”

I gripped the cup, forced the chimeric to heat and glow.

“You cut your rum with magik?”

“No!” Stools scraped along the wooden floor as patrons rose to their feet. “No, it’s just rum!”

I bubbled the brew until it flashed in a burst of chimeric.

I shrieked again and sprang back from the bar.

Chaos ensued.

I snatched the rucksack and made my escape.

It was brilliant, and damnations, yes, I was proud.

It was raining when I rushed out into the square.

I caught them as they were boarding the longboat, skidded to a halt on the slippery dock.

“A plot!” I gasped. “I heard them talking about taking the ship!”

Fahr and Smoke exchanged glances.

“I’m sorry, Blue,” said the first mate, wiping the rain from his face. “But you can’t come back.”

“I don’t care about that. Listen.” I crouched down, keeping my voice low. “A crew of twelve harpiar has set their sights on the Touchstone. They will attack from the skies.”

Smoke rolled his eyes.

“And why would they do that, Blue?” he asked. “We’re not at war with Braithe. The harpiar are our allies. Why, ask Kit if you doubt.”

“Blue can’t ask,” muttered Buck, “if she ain’t on the ship…”

My heart swelled at that moment, and I knew that at least I had two friends in all the world.

“I’m sure you heard something, Blue,” said Fahr. “But it has nothing to do with us, or our ‘hels ’n’ holy commission.’”

“Oh, I like that,” said Smoke.

“Heave to, Mr. Buck,” said Fahr. “Thanks for the warning, Blue, but we’re good. Safe seas.”

The bosun leaned hard into the oar, and his men followed suit. I rose to my feet, wiped the rain from my eyes as the longboat pulled away from the wharf.

“And they should spare the boy,” I called over the waves.

“What did you say?” called Fahr.

“Even after ten years, he’s worth twice as much…” I stepped back, then back again. “That’s what they said. And the harpy got paid half right there! Ha! A pack of hornswagglers more generous than you lot!”

Smoke glanced at the mate before he dug into his pocket.

“Here,” he called, and he tossed it toward me. I caught it. A coin purse was nothing after catching spells from a blackmage on the open sea.

“I hope you live,” I called out. “I’ll be here, waiting for you to sorry up if you do.”

I saluted, then—touched my forehead with the knuckle of my hand and turned to march off the wharf. I forced myself not to run, but my throat had grown tight, and I was desperate to stem the tears before they spilled from my lashes. I was glad it was raining, then, when they fell.

Alone. Again. And always. Three moons, two suns, and one me.

Hels, this cut deeper than losing the Dawn Watch.

That very afternoon, I found myself lodging in a run-down storehouse.

It was owned by a pair of fauns, and they were looking for a mage to help with theft.

I was good at protection spells, and they were impressed by my “magikal tattoos.” I didn’t tell them it was chimeric.

Chimeric was the enemy’s weapon. I knew I’d swing for certain if that got out in the town.

The shop was a small warehouse for trade in goods like tobacco and sugar, and crates were piled high to the rafters. The walls were rotting planks, however, and the ceiling leaked from multiple holes. Small animals had made nests among the barrels.

The shopkeeps gave me a mattress stuffed with chaff, a single waxed weathersheet to keep the drips from my clothes, and a berth in the loft where I could keep an eye on everything down below. All in all, it sounded good, with no snoring homani or restless harpiar in a canvas sack.

The first thing I did was head to the market to buy food. I’d lived on hard tack, salt fish, and limons for months since setting to sea, so a loaf of honey bread, a block of cheese, and a sack filled with winefruit was a dream.

The second thing I did was report to the dock’s magister and register my name, trade, rank, and availability for hire on the next ship heading out. I still had my sash, woven with threads of wan and blue. It was tattered, but it was Navy and therefore credible.

I’d be damned if I spent any more than a week in this gray town, despite the minotaurs and the fauns.

That first night, I watched from my perch, bare feet dangling over the side.

Runescars had appeared on my toes now, and I studied them as they swung forward and back.

My hands, my arms, now my feet. They didn’t hurt much, and as I flexed my fingers, I marveled at how they spoke, tracing patterns I’d never learned, speaking a language I didn’t know.

Still, I hadn’t lied to Smoke and Fahr. I had no idea what would happen when the scars ran out of skin. I just didn’t see the point in dwelling.

The second day, I headed to the docks to see if there were any ships hiring.

There weren’t, so I picked up some taffy and sat by the sea, watching the birds and the ships, the low fog and the crabs that scuttled across the sand.

I liked crabs. I understood them. Soft on the inside but hard on the out, impossible to crack unless you had a rock.

People had all manner of rocks, so best to avoid them, just in case.

And I had for most of my life. I wondered how the crew of the Touchstone had changed that so quickly. I wondered why it mattered.

They had marooned me here with barely a thought because I’d let my tongue run out like a line until it snapped. I had been warned. I had known better. I wished I knew why I kept dashing my heart against the same rock, time and time again.

Maybe I was the one with the rock.

The ache in my chest had shriveled to a pebble, now. That was my real magik, my singular alchemy—taking hot, real things and turning them to stone. Hearts, love, hope, joy. My mother had taught me early on that life cut deep.

Which was why I’d left home at twelve. Odd jobs and stowaways, woolback farms and river barges. Until I stumbled upon Berryburn Yard, I’d spent no more than six months in any one place. At Berryburn, I’d stayed two years, thought perhaps I might not run again.

Something in my chest sharpened at the folly.

Echo had been right. I didn’t fit at Berryburn, either. They had wanted me gone and so put me on the first ship calling.

Story of my life.

There was a sound to the left, and I looked up to see the pair of fauns plodding through the sand on their way back to the storehouse.

They called themselves Mister and Missus, but other than that, I didn’t know anything about them—how long they’d been a couple, if they had children, how they’d come to run the storehouse.

Still, they looked content, and I knew I’d never have that kind of love.

I’d had many lovers over the years. A farmhand here, a barmaid there, a pair of corporals fresh from the sea.

A tumble in the dark was all I knew, all fury and need until the moons waned and I did, too.

I’d never stay until morning. I’d be gone before the suns.

I’d had lovers but never love.

I thought of Fahr. There was a day I could have tumbled him easily and without regret.

He was pretty and skilled, with those dancing brown eyes and that flashing smile.

I liked smiles, oddly enough. There weren’t enough of them in my world.

They were like taffy, sweet and sticky and you wanted more until you didn’t.

But I was growing weary of the tumble, the salty talk, and the endless chase.

Lovers came, lovers went, and my heart was as worn as rope on a whaler.

My mind wandered to the captain, and I couldn’t help the thrumming of my pulse.

Now he would be something different. Heat curled my toes, rolling up like the break of a wave as I wondered what it’d be like to fog the enemy.

I bit my lip. Oh, what a roll he would be.

I’d shatter that steel and plunge in deep, drink his wine and bring him to his knees.

The ship would thunder as roles were swapped, and I’d be the captain hot for the chase.

Interesting way to fight a war, but it was a battle I knew I would win.

It was true. I was a wretched, wretched woman.

I pushed to my feet, dusted the sand from my breeches, and headed back to the storehouse, an extra swing to my hips tonight.

Merchants watched me go, not sure what a new mage in the market meant for their sales, I knew.

Magik was a skilled trade, like carpentry or weaving, but it came with dreads of its own.

I could add value to their little town, but if I was selfish, I could ruin them all.

My mother was as selfish as they came. I was more like her than I wanted to be.

That second night was quiet as well, and the next day panned out same as the first. No ships hiring, no Navy list to port. I earned my taffy the third night, however, when three lubbers came to call.

It was raining, and they snuck in through the boards.

With barely a thought, I sent a chimeric-enhanced Carmen Lumiere their way, bathing the entire storehouse in light.

They fled, pushing out through the boards the way they’d come.

I slid down the ladder from the loft and stood for a long while in the darkness.

They hadn’t been quiet about it, so it was clear that they’d been here before, but to be honest, there was no deterrent, no dog nor fence, not even a solid wall to keep them out.

The shopkeepers were kind, but they were struggling.

They had no crab shell to keep them safe.

That night, I trudged around the outside of the building, searing protection runes into the wood with my fingers. The planks hissed as chimeric and rain met, and smoke curled at my touch. It took the rest of the night to finish, and by dawn, I was soaked to the bones.

Forge broke low that morning, turning the rain to drizzle and the drizzle to fog, and I stood back to survey my work.

Very little satisfied me, but this was good.

I pressed my palms into the loading doors, burning them with the impression of the chase rune.

My signature, I supposed. My new, true name.

Aro’el.

That morning, there was a Navy ship in the harbor.