New Lands (THE CHRONICLES OF EGG) (4 page)

“You sure?”

I couldn’t help smiling. “No question. That’s the
Grift
—he captured it from the Cartagers in the Barker War. We were just on it last week.”

As Racker stared at me in shock, Reggie put a hand to his mouth, like he might throw up. Another crewman had been close enough to overhear, and the word spread across the ship in panicked cries:

“DEADWEATHER BOY SEZ IT’S HEALY!”

“
BURN
HEALY?!”

“SAVIOR SAVE US! IT’S HEALY!”

Boz, the grim-looking first mate who was manning the wheel, looked over his shoulder at Racker.

“Gonna run the white flag, cap’n?”

The crew had pretty strong opinions about that.

“DO IT!”

“QUICK! ’FORE HE SENDS US T’ THE BOTTOM!”

“PAINT THE DECK WIT’ OUR GUTS, WE DON’T SURRENDER!”

“CALM YOURSELVES!” yelled Racker. “THERE’S NO NEED—”

We never heard the rifle shot that took Racker’s hat off his head. Healy’s ship was too far away for the sound to travel. But suddenly, the hat was skittering across the deck, and when a crewman picked it up, there were two round, clean holes where the ball had passed through the crown.

That was enough for the captain. “Run the white! Strike the sails!” he croaked from a frightened crouch below the deck rail.

IN THE THIRTY MINUTES
it took for the
Grift
to come alongside and tie up to us, half the crew turned religious, wailing on their knees to the Savior as they begged mercy for a lifetime of sins. The other half had pretty much the opposite reaction, breaking out a hidden store of rum and drinking themselves blind.

Racker made Guts put his weapons away so he wouldn’t complicate the surrender. Guts grumbled about it, but we knew Healy marauded under a code that guaranteed the safety of children. Since he’d included us in that category the last time around, Guts and I figured we didn’t have much to fear.

I actually felt a little guilty about the situation. While the crew were losing their minds in mortal terror of Healy’s arrival, I was looking forward to it. Although I still had no idea why, Healy had gone out of his way to be helpful to us in the past—he’d not only rescued us when we were lost at sea and given us passage to Deadweather, but the pistols we carried were left over from the
crates of weapons he’d sent us to help defend the ugly fruit plantation from Pembroke’s soldiers.

Not only that, the food on the
Grift
had been much better than on the
Thrush.
If things went our way, we might have a shot at a decent meal.

As the
Grift
tied up to us, Racker ordered the crew to form a line on deck with our hands over our heads in surrender, Guts and me included. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The religious types couldn’t stop trembling, the drunks were swaying on their feet, Guts was twitchy…Pretty much the only man among us who could hold still was one of the drunks, and that was because he’d passed out cold on the deck.

The pirates slid a long plank from their deck to ours, and while a line of them kept watch with rifles from the deck of the
Grift,
Burn Healy—a shade over six feet, with wide shoulders, curly brown hair topped by a black hat, and a face that might have been handsome if the look in his gray-flecked blue eyes wasn’t so terrifying—strode across the plank and onto the
Thrush.

It was a pretty treacherous walk. The
Grift
’s higher deck made for a steep downward slope, both ships were bobbing in the water, and over the gap between them, there was nothing to hold on to or to break a fall. But Healy pulled it off the same way he did everything, with a light touch and a confidence so total you couldn’t help staring at him in awe, or fear, or both.

He was followed by his first mate Spiggs, a barrel-chested man with a hawklike face. Behind Spiggs came two rough-looking pirates, each with a saber in one hand and a pistol in the other. All four men carried the Healy mark: a small, red flame tattooed on the side of their throats.

Healy walked up to Captain Racker without so much as a glance at the rest of us and got straight to business.

“Cargo and destination?”

“Mostly timber. Bit of ugly fruit. Headed to Pella. Then the Barkers.” Racker’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and he didn’t seem to know whether to look Healy in the eye or keep his head bowed in submission.

“You trade with Cartagers?” The question itself wasn’t threatening, but Healy’s tone was so menacing that I felt my stomach drop.

As he watched Healy’s left hand slowly travel to the cutlass hanging from his belt, Racker seemed to forget how to talk. His lips fluttered, but no words came out.

“Do you understand the question?”

“Y-y-yeh.”

“Meaning, yes, you trade with Short-Ears?”

As he nodded, Racker began to tremble. I could understand why. When he wanted it to, Healy’s tone of voice could make even the most harmless-seeming words sound like they were threatening a violent and sudden death.

As I watched the two of them, fearing for Racker’s life, I wondered how I ever could have looked forward to an encounter with such a terrifying man.

“Does it please you, being a traitor to the Rovian crown? Or are you so craven that it never crossed your mind?”

“J-j-just t-t-trying…t-to…earn…m-my bread.”

“So we’re leaning toward craven, then?”

The captain nodded miserably and squeezed his eyes shut, like
he expected to be sliced in half by Healy’s cutlass and didn’t want to see it coming.

Healy just stared at him, expressionless.

In the silence that followed, one of the crewmen uttered a low moan.

Finally, the pirate’s eyebrows jumped ever so slightly, dismissing the subject.

“Ugly fruit…Bound from Deadweather, I suppose?”

Racker opened his eyes a crack. “Y-yessir.”

Healy turned his head, his sharp eyes moving down the line of trembling crewmen. When they reached me, I saw a flicker of recognition—but as his eyes burned into mine, I realized I was risking death by staring back and quickly looked at my feet.

Healy returned his attention to Racker. “You’re familiar with a pirate named Ripper Jones?”

Guts growled in his throat at the mention of the pirate who once owned him.

“Only b-by reputation,” answered Racker.

“Captains a frigate called the
Red Throat
—three-masted, square-rigged, thirty guns. Have you seen such a ship in the past week?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Would you know it by sight if you had?”

“I-I-I th-think, sir. Ha-haven’t seen
any
ships this week, other th-th-th…” Racker had to pause for a bit to get his nerves under control. “Th-than what was in port at-at Deadweather.”

“Which was what?”

“S-s-sea Goblin…Frenzy…Blood Lust…”

“Nothing under sail?”

“N-no, sir.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Y-y-yes.”

Healy nodded. Then he raised his voice, addressing the entire crew.

“It’s in the interest of every man who sails the Blue Sea…that Ripper Jones be scoured from these waters forever.”

He turned his head to take us all in with his fearsome eyes. “So if any of you encounter him, or his ship—you will kill him…sink it…or find me immediately so that I can do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes?” came a frightened squeak from Racker.

Healy looked disappointed—not just at the captain, but the whole crew. Who immediately fell to croaking their agreement as loudly as they could muster.

“Yeh!”

“Got it!”

“You betcha!”

They didn’t sound too convincing. Then again, it was a pretty tall order. And I wondered whether Healy was hunting down the only pirate on the Blue Sea with a reputation as terrible as his own for personal reasons—everybody knew Healy and the Ripper hated each other’s guts—or because of the Ripper’s attack on the
Earthly Pleasure,
a passenger ship full of Rovian nobles that Roger Pembroke owned.

Healy and Pembroke had some kind of relationship that I couldn’t for the life of me understand. Millicent had once told me that Healy worked for her father, and while I couldn’t imagine
Burn Healy taking orders from anybody, at times they did seem like allies. But then at other times, they seemed like the mortal enemies you’d expect a businessman and a pirate to be.

It was mystifying. But so were a lot of things on the Blue Sea.

Finally, Healy let his eyebrows jump again.

“Right, then. Place five bushels of ugly fruit on the deck of my ship, and we’ll leave you to your wretched commerce with the scum of the earth.”

The crew fell over themselves racing to the cargo hold to fetch the fruit. Guts and I were about to follow them below when Healy stepped in our path.

“Hello, Egbert,” he said evenly.

When Healy spoke to me, Reggie was a few feet away, and I heard him make an odd gurgling noise that I think was an expression of shock.

“Hello, sir,” I said.

“Come. Have a chat with me.”

As Healy strode over to the deck rail, Guts and I traded looks:
was Guts supposed to come, too?
In the end, he settled for hanging back just out of earshot.

When I reached Healy, he was studying the western horizon, his back to the rest of the ship. I stopped an arm’s length away from him. The first time we met, I’d watched him throw a pirate overboard without warning. Even though the pirate had deserved it, I didn’t want to take any chances.

“Tell me something,” he said, his eyes still on the horizon. “Is that captain giving me the truth?”

“I think so,” I said. “Haven’t seen any ships since we’ve been at sea.”

“What was happening in Port Scratch when you left?”

“The field pirates were on a bender. Roger Pembroke had tried to bribe them, so they had some money, and a lot of guns—thanks for those, by the way.”

Healy gave a little shrug. “I had extra. About the Scratch, though—any sign of the Ripper, or his men, any discussion of him? It’s important.”

I shook my head. “I wish I could help.”

He was quiet for a while, still searching the empty sea. I was starting to wonder if the conversation was over when he turned his head, looking at me for the first time.

“How
did
things go with Pembroke, by the way? He seems not to have killed you. Is he still trying?”

“Far as I know.”

“And I take it you didn’t kill him?”

“No,” I said. “Sorry—I did
want
to,” I quickly added, because Healy had suggested it the last time I’d seen him, and I felt like I’d let him down.

“No need to apologize. It was just a suggestion.”

“Your guns were an awfully big help, though. Probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”

“Glad to hear it. Did you hang on to any? Or did the field pirates cadge them all?”

“We’ve still got a few.”

“Well, keep the powder dry. Never know when it might come in handy. There’s pirates in these waters, you know.”

Then he winked at me. It was hard to know how to take that. Here was a man everyone agreed was the most pitiless killer on the Blue Sea, who moments ago had seemed on the verge of
slitting Racker’s throat just for selling ugly fruit to Cartagers…and now he was joking with me like a friendly innkeeper.

I didn’t know whether to feel pleased or terrified.

Healy turned his head to look at Guts, who was skulking by the foremast, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping on us.

“What happened to the girl you were with?”

“Went back to Sunrise with him.”

Healy cocked his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Was she…?”

“Pembroke’s daughter.”

His eyes widened. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Hat’s off to you, boy. Got a talent for trouble…You headed down to the Barkers now?”

“No…Pella Nonna.”

The humor left his eyes. “What the blaze for?”

I didn’t want to mention the treasure, but I had no idea what else to say. So I wound up gaping at him like an idiot while my palms went clammy.

“Going to tell me it’s complicated again?” Healy’s face darkened, which was a frightening sight. “Are you looking to get in with the Short-Ears?”

I shook my head hard, even as I wondered what he had against Cartagers. “No! Not at all. It’s…I just…need to…see some Natives.”

He searched my face for a moment. Then the dark look turned to one of recognition.

“Ahhh…,” he said slowly. “Let me guess: lost treasure of the Fire King? Is
that
what it’s all about? This business between you and Pembroke?”

The look on my face must have convinced Healy he’d guessed right. I looked away. As I studied my shoes, I could feel his eyes on me.

“Piece of advice, son. Whatever you think you’re after, I seriously doubt it’s worth the trouble. And Pella Nonna’s no place to be. Especially in the next few weeks.”

I looked up, confused by what he’d said, and the look on his face confused me even more. His eyebrows were knitted together, less in anger than what I could’ve sworn was concern.

Then he looked away, took a deep breath, and let it out with a heavy sigh.

Since when did a pirate—and not just any pirate, but Burn Healy—sigh? Over anything?
It was even more disorienting than the wink he’d given me.