Chapter 9 High Tide
She was a fine ship, a broad four-master, and she flew the Admiralty flag from her stern gaff.
Moored in the bay, she was barely visible in the morning fog, and her longboats were already tied at the wharf.
A cloud of officers hovered around the magister, studying his roster.
Their uniforms were crisp, the colors bold.
They had flint pistols at their hips, and I knew at once they were fusiliers.
I smoothed my sash and marshalled my thoughts, framing my story before I approached. I was Honor Renn, Ensign Bluemage on the Kingship Frigate Dawn Watch, which had been scuppered to the deep by the Endorathil weeks prior. I’d been pulled out of the sea by the Ship of Spells and…
No.
I’d not mention that part.
I stepped over to a minotaur who was waiting by the dock.
“She’s a big one,” I said.
“Aye,” he said.
“Is she taking stores or crew?”
“Looking for someone.” He peered down at me. “Maybe you.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out the ship’s details in the heavy fog, and a cold wave swept up from my toes.
The Templemore.
The name rattled through my bones like loose shot in a barrel.
I glanced through the officers and spied the broad hat of the captain.
Commodore, actually. Commodore Bracebridge.
He was stocky, with a high forehead, graying hair in a queue, and lips pursed as though sucking a limon.
Unremarkable, really, save for the three-taloned scar that ran from his hairline to his chin, leaving one eye a milky white.
Three talons, like those of a great hawk.
The minotaur was watching me, so I gave him a quick nod and stepped back, turning to make my way back to the markets.
“There she be,” called the magister. “Aye, lass!”
“Not her,” I heard the minotaur say from behind. “Wrong girl.”
I walked faster, cursing the heaviness of damp sand and praising the iron of minotaurs.
“Ensign!”
I balled my fists but kept going, past the booths selling hoysters, past the shops selling fish.
Stop, I begged myself. This is your chance.
Get on with an Admiralty ship, tell them what they want to know, work your way up, and you’ll make blackmage in no time.
But my feet didn’t obey, and I didn’t know why.
I ducked into an alley behind the Whiskee Drum, blood pounding in my ears.
A man was rinsing bottles in a bucket, and he swung round.
Damn Forge to hels.
“You,” said the barkeep.
“I have coin now, Jak,” I lied, sliding a foot back in casting stance. “I’ve come to pay my debt.”
“I don’t care about yer coin,” he growled. “You nigh cost me my business.”
He pushed up his sleeves.
“And my name ain’t Jak.”
I ran through all the spells I could use. Confolio Dis, Praesidium, even the new Carmen Lumiere that had been so successful last night. Or I could just unleash the chimeric and see what happened. I still had no idea what these hands could do.
I flung a protection spell over my head as he swung.
His fist struck the chimeric-crackling pattern, and he staggered backward at the force.
I took my chance and ducked, slipping past him through the open door.
It was early morning, but the place was packed, and I darted between the patrons.
Shouts followed as I spun out the front door, just in time to see the Templemore’s officers heading round the back.
I hung right and made it to the storehouse in record time.
“I’m not here,” I barked to the shopkeeps, ignoring their curious looks as I rushed toward the loft.
I scaled the ladder and flung myself to the mattress.
Why? Why had I run? The Templemore had no quarrel with me.
There was no writ for my arrest, so I had nothing to fear, but I was afraid, and I didn’t know why.
It clearly had something to do with the Touchstone.
Either that or the chimeric that worked to consume me.
I pushed up to my knees, grabbed my rucksack, and had begun to stuff in my few belongings when I heard voices down below. I peered over the side of the loft. There were uniforms in the office with their damned iron flints.
Ensign Renn.
I froze.
Ensign Renn. Are you there?
Echo?
The uniforms marched into the storehouse, so I pulled my gloves off and grabbed the ladder, setting it ablaze with crackling chimeric. It collapsed to the storehouse floor in a shower of ash.
Ignateus on the north wall, please, said Echo. Big enough for you to squeeze through, then jump. We’ll catch you.
The storehouse thundered as officers below began to drag crates, piling them up toward the loft. Barrels of bananas, boxes of cloth. They were building steps so they could climb.
My heartbeat thundering in my ears, I scrambled to the north side gable.
It was slatted, and I could see shapes through the gray down below.
With a deep breath, I drew a circle with my fingers.
Just like last night, the pattern sizzled at my touch, and I leaned my hand against it as it creaked and burned.
Stomp, thump, stomp. They were nearing the top.
“HMRS Templemore!” barked a voice. “You’re not in trouble, Ensign. Stand down!”
Two hands now, I pushed. The wood crackled and flared.
“Under order of Commodore Bracebridge, Admiralty Office! We order you to stand down!”
I grit my teeth, closed my eyes, and flung my weight against the rune circle. And just like that, the wood was gone, and I was falling.
Falling awkwardly, tumbling through the sky, all arms and legs and rucksack and fear, when I jerked to a halt an arm’s length above the sand.
“Hels’ bells, she’s heavy,” grunted Smoke.
I opened my eyes.
He was on one knee, arms outstretched, the Kinestorum spell clear by the strain on his face. Devanhan Fahr grabbed my waist and swung me to my feet. I let him hold me for a moment while my head stopped its spin.
No one had held me before. No one had caught me when I’d fallen.
“We should go,” said Echo.
So, we did. We raced through the streets like sailfins breaking the waves, hearing the shouts as the uniforms clocked our tail.
I was impressed at how easily Smoke kept up with us, despite his shorter frame, but he was a dworgh, all muscle and might and will by the trunkload.
As we rounded the Whiskee Drum, Fahr whirled to cast a spell.
I didn’t recognize the pattern, but one of the officers hit the sand and I knew it was a bind spell.
His hands danced, and this time, a rune shield burst from his palms.
“Go!” he barked, but I hesitated. Smoke grabbed my hand.
“Listen for once, you silly chit!”
“They have flints!”
“They won’t shoot him,” Echo insisted, urging me forward.
We turned and ran, dodging the townsfolk as we raced toward the docks. My heart leaped at the sight of Buck in a dory, and our boots echoed on the damp wharfen wood. But at the far end of the dock, standing above his longboat, gray hair waving in the salt breeze, was Bracebridge.
“In,” said Smoke, and he hopped into the boat. Echo followed, but I heard a shot and spun around.
Fahr was thundering toward us, a trio of uniforms on his heels. I was glad that Navy flints only had one shot, but I watched another fusilier draw his even as he ran.
“No!” shouted Bracebridge, and, from the far end of the dock, he drew his own iron.
“No!” I shouted at the same time. I lunged forward, hands outstretched. “Praesidium Lumiere!”
The chimeric-laced pattern burst from my palms, swallowing Fahr in its crackling swell as the dock echoed with the sound of a second pistol shot.
He leaped through the shield and onto the dory, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him.
The shield disintegrated, and I glanced over my shoulder.
The fusilier staggered to a stop and looked down, puzzled, as a dark stain spread across the lapels of his uniform.
He buckled to his knees and pitched forward into the sand.
At the far end of the dock, Bracebridge lowered his own flint, its black muzzle curling with smoke.
Hels’ hooks. He’d shot his own man.
He turned his face to watch us now—no, to watch me, his lips tight, his milky eye stark against his sun-baked skin.
“I told you they wouldn’t shoot him,” said Smoke. “He’s too pretty. All the oceans love our Dev.”
“Spin us out of here, Buck,” said Fahr. “Rate of knots.”
“Aye, Dev,” said the bosun.
Forge bless waterspinners, I thought to myself as the dory sped through the choppy bay with no oar and no sail, just skilled mages moving the waves with their runes.
On the docks, the uniforms raced to their longboats, but the fog rolled in, and soon, the uniforms, the docks, and the heavy gray of Flogger’s Bay was gone.
“Well, I’d say Blue’s secret is out,” said Fahr as he dropped to sit, one arm resting along the gunwale. “Bracey will cross the oceans to catch her for himself now.”
I couldn’t even think. I should have been happy. I should have been free.
“Good catch back at the storehouse, Smoke,” said Fahr.
“Heavier than a cannon, she is,” said Smoke. “Lubber rations suit you, girl. Is it the cheese?”
“Welcome back, Ensign,” said Echo, and he smiled.
I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t even speak. My eyes were stinging, my throat tight.
“Why’d you come back?” I whispered.
Fahr sat forward, hands clasped between his knees.
“Twelve harpiar, as you said.”
I nodded.
“We killed all but one. He’s in the brig for questioning. The captain has asked…”
Fahr’s voice trailed off, and I risked a glance. Seemed he couldn’t look at me, either.
He cleared his throat.
“The captain has asked if you’d like to come aboard.”
I nodded again.
“Just a parley, mind,” he added. “He’s not offering you a berth.”
“Yet,” said Buck.
“Hooks and crooks,” muttered Smoke in his crisp accent. “Don’t lie to the girl. He aims to. We all know that, so can we please spin this dory and get back to the ship without all the fussymuss?”
I tried to smile at him, but my face hurt. He rolled his eyes.
Either way, it seemed my tides were changing.
A bell rang across the water, the lapping of waves against a hull. The Touchstone rocked quietly on the surface of this gray stretch of sea.
I was allowed to keep my berth in the galley, and that night, I slept like a stone.
It was noon when I was summoned to the captain’s cabin.