Chapter 6
Jarin climbed the stairs from the brig, leaving the siren in the cell.
Had his luck finally changed? Would she dispense with Artus, leaving him to take command of the ship? A siren was one of the few beings strong enough to kill Artus. Nor was she bound by the Dark Tide blood oath that dictated no pirate could slay the captain. It couldn’t hurt to make her try, anyway.
The fear in her eyes when he pinned her wrists confused him, though. He hadn’t known a siren could fear humans. They were like the ocean made sentient, in all its majesty and untamable rage. As a sailor, he knew well enough to fear and respect the ocean. Never had he known it to fear him in return. Polinth sure did a number on her. Jarin would almost feel sorry for her, if she’d not plunged a shard of glass into his heart.
He put the siren from his mind. There were bigger concerns, like the cryptic words the old Seer, Ferrante, muttered to Jarin the last time they saw one another. The old man said that fate itself would rest on this expedition and the trinket Artus sought.
The deck was a hive of activity as the captured ship drew nearer. Jarin grimaced when the ship’s flag came into view, tattered and half-burned on the mast. Artus had taken a royal Zermes ship, which the captain swore he wasn’t going after. He said he was setting out for a Hataran merchant vessel, lest they attract the ire of the royal navy. But then, when had Artus ever kept his word?
The captain valued infamy more than he valued gold. As a pirate, that made him weak. Artus was driven to conquer and command and bring everything to heel, including the ocean. His arrogance was a threat to the entire clan. Jarin planned to neutralize that threat, but for the moment, he had to go along with the captain. When he got the chance, he’d send Artus below deck to be mauled by the siren.
The captain’s most trusted lackeys climbed rope ladders onto the Pandora, hauling crates of artifacts from the royal ship. Artus had already returned to his usual spot at the helm of the Pandora, laughing with Terrick, whose neck was stained with blood from the siren attack.
Jarin cracked the lid of one of the crates, finding a random jumble of artifacts inside: stone tablets, scrolls, brass instruments, and embroideries. Artus had received a tip-off about the shipment in a bar, the last time they docked at Klatos. Based on that tip-off, he mounted the attack. But for what?
“Jarin, my boy.”
Artus swaggered across the deck toward him, shoving crew members out of the way. As always, Fletch tailed him like a pet jackal. Berolt had been right about Artus’s mood. He grinned broadly, his gold tooth catching the sun, and spread his arms wide.
“I see you held down the ship in my absence,” he said, clapping Jarin on the back, like a father to his son. “Good lad.”
Jarin rubbed the back of his neck, nodding at the crate. “This is what we baited the wrath of the Crown for?” He picked up a burnished candlestick and turned it in his hand. “Looks like a pile of junk to me.”
“Ah.” Artus leaned in close, lowering his voice. The stench of stale tobacco washed over Jarin. “This is but the leftovers of the real feast.” He patted the pocket of his red and blue jacket. “Got myself an honest to gods’ treasure map. It’ll take me to the Amulet of Delphine, worth more than any amount of gold.”
The Seer Ferrante had predicted that Artus would pilfer such a trinket. A rare ocean jewel, he’d said, that would alter the fate of Jarin and the whole clan.
He folded his arms. “And what’s the amulet for?”
The captain wheezed with laughter. “It gives life.”
Jarin frowned. No trinket could grant life, could it? Perhaps Artus was misdirecting him.
But whatever the amulet was for, it couldn’t be good, since Artus wanted it. Jarin stayed far away from magic, if he could help it. Which, of course, he couldn’t. He carried magic around in his veins, against his will.
“Alright,” he replied. “I hope it’s worth having the royal fleet after us. We’ll have to set sail for the open waters right away.”
“Gods, you’re a sour one. Even more than usual.” He fixed Jarin with a shrewd eye. “What’s gotten into you? I’m sending Terrick and Lovel to scuttle the ship, along with everyone on board. No one left to tell the tale. It’ll be presumed lost at sea—a tragic accident. Happens all the time, ya know.”
“How many are still alive?” asked Jarin.
Artus waved his hand. “Dozen or so. Terrick and Lovel are keen to take care of ‘em, don’t you worry.”
Terrick and Lovel were selecting weapons from a chest with open excitement, arming themselves for the foul assignment. Blood-thirsty hounds. Anyone still alive on that royal ship would soon wish they weren’t, once that pair were set loose on them. The commander had to make sure that didn’t happen, and he’d have to be subtle about it, or Artus would become paranoid about Jarin undermining him again.
The captain had forbidden his crew from torturing and raping, but only in words. In truth, he turned a blind eye. He enjoyed the added fear that the exploits of scum like Lovel and Terrick evoked in people.
When Jarin overthrew Artus, Terrick and Lovel would be among the first to walk the plank. Or be thrown overboard—Jarin wasn’t picky about the details. May the weight of their sins drag them to the bottom of the ocean.
The Clan had once adhered to codes, and valued honor. But, it seemed the only men who survived the war with the sirens had been the most vicious. Half the crew were now little more than butchers. At the heart of the blackness was Artus himself. He needed to be rooted out and disposed of.
“I’ll take Drue to scuttle the ship,” said Jarin. “Be good for him to get his first blood.”
Artus shrugged and waved his hand. “Go ahead. Do it near Skull Cave and take the rowboat to Klatos. Meet us at the docks. We’ll set sail this evening.”
“You don’t still mean to go to Klatos?”
“Lad, what did I just say? No one’ll have realized the ship’s missing yet. It’s the best time to dock.”
Jarin thought of his deal with the siren. Would she keep her word and kill the captain? Nothing stopped her from making a deal with Artus, instead.
The commander couldn’t go back on his decision to take Drue to scuttle the ship, though. Artus had a shark’s nose for blood, and he’d realize Jarin was up to something. He’d have to be careful.
When he spoke, he tried to keep his voice casual. “There’s a siren in the brig. Quite a sight.”
Artus snorted. “How so?”
“Go see for yourself.”
The captain smoothed the ratty lapels on his jacket. “I might. Now get going. I’ve a thirst for the many delights of Klatos.”
Praying it was the last time he’d see Artus alive, Jarin rowed to the royal ship with Drue and Berolt.
They set sail for Skull Cave, adjusting the rigging as they stepped over dead bodies. Once they’d started the ship moving, Drue helped Jarin haul the bodies overboard. The cabin boy retched several times, but didn’t beg out of his duties.
He was a stocky lad who’d stowed away on the Pandora at Port Hyacinth in the wintertime. The deep bruising on his face hinted why he’d left his home, and he’d proven himself a diligent enough worker to earn a place on the crew. He reminded Jarin of himself and his own beginnings. He knew what it meant to have no one to turn to and nowhere to go.
“Are we going to kill the folk down below?” asked Drue after they’d dispensed with the bodies.
He gazed at the blood-stained deck, as if hypnotized.
“Do you want to?” replied the commander.
The boy shook his head, brushing his messy black hair from his eyes.
“Good. Stay up here with Berolt. We’ll leave the ship at Skull Cave and go ashore in the rowboats.”
The commander went below deck to see how many crew members Artus had left alive. As he descended the stairs, he tore off his shirt and tied it around the bottom of his face. Since he was not going to slaughter these people, he needed to conceal his identity.
Jarin already had enough blood on his hands. More blood than could ever come off. All Dark Tide Clan pirates did, except maybe Drue.
More than a dozen men and youths were beaten and gagged in the brig. Their eyes widened in fury and fear when he entered, cutlass on his belt. The cell was locked with a padlock, the key left on a shelf near the stairs. He turned the key over in his hand, deciding how to manage the situation. Although he meant to let the crew live, he also needed to prevent them from reaching Klatos before the Pandora set sail later that evening.
In the end, he replaced the padlock with ropes tied in hundreds of complicated knots. He used mostly constrictor and bowline knots, pulling them tight with each loop. By the time he’d finished, even the most experienced sailor would take a day and night to unravel the entire mess.
“You.” He pointed at the smallest youth. “Over here, now.”
The kid obeyed, shuffling to the iron bars.
“Give me your hands.”
Jarin cut the bindings around the youth’s wrists, noting the weak-looking nature of his hands. He wasn’t a sailor. The kid would be lucky to set the crew free before tomorrow, by which time the Pandora would be long gone.
The boy dolefully began picking at the knots, frowning in confusion.
“Have fun with that, kid,” said Jarin with a laugh.
Back on deck, the dark and jagged silhouette of Skull Cave appeared in the distance. The cave was deadly to sailors because of the unseen rocks beneath the water at its mouth. None but the most skilled sailors could navigate them, and every crew except the Dark Tide Clan steered well clear of the area.
The clan kept rowboats and supplies hidden inside, and the water-filled caves led to the outskirts of Klatos. It was the ideal place to enter the city by stealth. They’d row through the caves to a desolate beach and scale the city’s walls. But a strong swimmer could dive through the underwater caverns that ran from Skull Cave to Klatos and arrive in the middle of the merchant district.
“What’re you looking forward to doing in Klatos?” asked Jarin, as Berolt and Drue fed the anchor overboard at the mouth of the cave.
He’d said it to lighten the mood, after the gruesome task of disposing of the bodies, but the boy’s answer made Jarin’s stomach drop like the anchor.
“Ah, while you and Berolt were busy rigging up the royal ship, Artus pulled me aside and said he wanted to take me to Madame Quaan’s.” He frowned, scratching his head. “To celebrate my first blood. Said he’s taking the siren, because Lovel told him what she’s got between her legs. Said a rare ocean jewel like that will be worth a pot of gold.”
“Rare ocean jewel?” he repeated.
Gods. He’d been wrong about Ferrante’s prediction. Had the old man been referring to the bloody siren, not the Amulet of Delphine?
If the siren obeyed Jarin’s command and killed Artus, she’d be safe from the captain’s scheming. But would a siren obey Jarin? Especially if Artus went down there with the intent to take her ashore.
Jarin shared a grave look with Berolt.
They should’ve known Lovel would go straight to the captain to stir trouble and curry favor. Perhaps Artus had even let Jarin do the scuttle just to get rid of him. There was something bigger going on than Jarin understood. He wished for the hundredth time that the damn Seer would be specific, for once. Jarin swore the old man got off on causing confusion and mayhem.
Berolt rubbed his calloused hands together. “What do you want to do, boss?”
The blue and white water surged within the mouth of the cave, stalactites hanging from the roof like teeth. Swimming the underwater caverns would be the fastest way to get to her. His mother always warned him to never dispel the murmurings of a Seer, no matter how infuriating. And his mother, for all her faults, was seldom wrong about the mystical arts. Jarin needed that damn siren back. Or at least, to keep her out of Artus’s hands.
He gave orders to Berolt. “Take Drue in the rowboat, like we planned. I’ll meet you at the docks with the siren after I find her. Ferrante said she’ll decide the destiny of the clan, so I want her with us, not Artus. Nor in Madame Quaan’s seedy den, because who knows where she’d end up. In the meantime, get ready. If Artus survives the day, we mutiny tonight.”
The commander climbed onto the bow of the ship and dove headfirst into the churning water.