Scimitar War (51 page)

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Feldrin tucked Kloe into bed and kissed the sleeping child’s cheek, then opened a recessed cabinet at the head of his bunk. Within a specially designed nook sat a bottle of Scarport Spiced rum and two crystal tumblers. He retrieved the bottle and one glass, removed the cork and poured himself a measure. He hadn’t had a drink in over a year, but the rum went down smoothly and soothed the lump in his throat. The taste brought back the distant memory of a night long ago when he sat at a table with a headstrong young mistress of ships, and, with some difficulty, drank her under the table while bidding for his berth aboard this very, as yet unfinished, vessel.

He grinned and raised his glass. “Here’s to you, lass.” He drained the tumbler, then turned his attention to the small chest he had found waiting for him beside the chart table. It was locked, but on the table was a key, along with a letter with the Norris family seal. Opening it, he saw it was written in Camilla’s hand.

Dearest Feldrin,

This is Cynthia’s property, recovered from the pirate who stole it from her and murdered so many of our friends on Plume Isle. It’s rightfully yours now. I have more than I ever could have wished for, and want for nothing. And for that, I have you and Cynthia to thank.

Love, Camilla

Feldrin turned the key in the lock, and opened the chest. All the breath in his lungs left in a gasp as he spied the gleaming contents. The interior was set with velvet-lined trays, each strewn with glittering gems and cunningly wrought jewelry. There was more wealth there than he could earn in a lifetime as a common sea captain. He shook his head and smiled.

Feldrin relocked the chest, left Kloe sleeping in the cabin and climbed awkwardly up the companionway to the main deck. He took a deep breath of sea air, and relished the feel of a ship beneath him for the first time in more than a year. The breeze was light, and the schooner was flying all her canvas in a towering pyramid of white. He sighed in contentment.

“Course, Capt’n?” Chula asked as he came up beside Feldrin.

“One seven five degrees.” Feldrin retrieved a worn bit of vellum from his pocket. The numbers were faded from his handling, but he had memorized the coordinates long ago. “Vulture Isle, Chula, and don’t spare the canvas.”

“Aye, sir! It’ll be good to see home again.”

“Aye,” he agreed, tucking the bit of sharkskin back into his pocket. “Aye, it will.”

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Dark-skinned fingers traced across the wide scar on Edan’s stomach. His breathing was deep and regular, his skin cool, even in the sweltering midday heat. The caress was light and unnoticed, as it was intended to be. She would have let him sleep for a little longer, but it was not to be.

A streak of flame and gossamer smoke shot through the high window of the lighthouse. Flicker flew once around the room and landed on her master’s bare chest. Oblivious to her blazing body heat, he continued to slumber, but she stomped her little foot to get his attention.

Edan stirred, opened one eye, and groaned.

“Oh, come on, Flick. I just got to sleep.” He brushed her aside and tried to roll over, but she wouldn’t relent. She fluttered up to his shoulder, chirped loudly, grabbed his hair and gave it a tug. Edan groaned again.

“Ya best be doin’ as de little demon say, Edan.” The young woman lying beside him rolled out of the bed with a chuckle, retrieved her discarded loincloth and started to put it on. “She neva gonna let you be gettin’ back ta sleep now.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said, opening an eye again to glare at the firesprite. “Why don’t you go terrorize Mouse, Flick?”

She chirped and stomped her foot again, then pointed toward the ceiling and pantomimed scanning the horizon. That got his attention, and he sat up.

“You saw something?”

She nodded, pointing up again.

“If you’re lying just to get me up…” But he was already climbing out of bed. He wrapped a scrap of brightly colored cloth around his waist and tied it in a knot. The woman grabbed the trailing ends and gave it a tug, situating the impromptu garment lower on his slim hips. She ran one dark hand down his chest and smiled.

“I like dat. You pretty, Edan.”

He smiled; no one had ever said that to him before. “You’re pretty, too, Keita.”

“I be seein’ you later.” She kissed him, then spun out of his eager grasp and dashed down the stairs, her laughter echoing up from below.

“Later,” he murmured.

Flicker tossed her head, and he followed her up the stairs to the top of the tower. The stone stairs were warm under his feet, and the afternoon sun glowed through the curved glass of the lighthouse windows.

His
lighthouse…

His aid in controlling Vulture Isle’s volcano, which had allowed the natives to return to their home island, had earned him a great deal of respect. In recompense, they had worked tirelessly to help in the construction of the tower. A steady convoy of schooners with supplies from Southaven had not hurt; Flaxal Shipping had bankrolled the construction, and his old master the lightkeeper had been more than generous.

A glance at the naphtha reservoir told him that it would need to be filled before nightfall. That, and winding the mechanism that rotated the light, would keep him busy until dark. But first, he retrieved a long viewing glass from a rack beneath the window and stepped out onto the curved balcony.

“Where, Flick?”

She pointed to the northwest, and he noted a distant speck of white on the horizon. Edan raised the glass and smiled.

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Gossamer crystal and smoke fluttered and spun in a halo of chase and catch above Cynthia’s head. She tried to ignore the high-pitched chatter and focus on the sharkskin scroll spread out on her lap, but it was hopeless. Mouse sat on her shoulder and sighed in sympathy; there was nothing he could do to calm them down once they started their play. Only Flicker had the ability to pacify the sprites’ tumultuous offspring, but she wasn’t here.

“Don’t worry about it, Mouse,” she said as she rolled the scroll up and lay back on the soft sand. “Let them play.”

“Dem li’l monsters at it again?”

Cynthia turned to the withered old voice that accompanied the withered old lore keeper, and patted the sand beside her. “Yes, Whuafa. There’s no stopping them now.”

“Well, may as well sit ‘n watch de fun!” His ever-present apprentice aided him in taking a seat, and he accepted a hollowed gourd of his favorite drink. “Ah, dat’s nice.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at the fiery glittering display. “Yes it is.”

Cynthia enjoyed watching them, actually, and she rarely had anything so pressing that she felt truly perturbed by their interruptions. She smiled up at the three little trails of sooty smoke and one of shimmering dust as the three little firesprites, Flame, Spark and Ember, chased the sole young seasprite, Cricket, in tight spirals. The girls were trying, as always, to catch their brother, but Cricket was faster than any of them. He was laughing and dodging them and they were all chittering and squealing in delight. Once this started, it could go on for hours. Cynthia didn’t mind as long as the girls didn’t catch anything on fire.

Suddenly, Flicker arrived with a peal of scolding chatter, and the four little sprites snapped to a stop. The three firesprites fluttered to their mother, chattering and pointing to Cricket, undoubtedly blaming him for their misbehavior. Cricket just hovered there, looking unabashed, thumbing his nose at his sisters. Flicker scowled disapprovingly at them all.

“Aw, jus’ when dey was gettin’ goin’!” Whua
fa scowled at the firesprite and snorted in disgust.

“You have something for me, Flicker?” Cynthia asked, noticing the tiny scroll tube the firesprite carried. She and Edan often exchanged notes by using the sprites as messengers, since the lighthouse was halfway up the southern peak of Vulture Isle, a good hour’s walk from the beach where she usually studied.

Flicker chittered and nodded, then dropped the scroll case into the sand. Cynthia knew better than to pick it up immediately; the bronze case was hot from the firesprite’s touch. With a thought, Cynthia brought a tendril of seawater up the beach to douse the little case, then picked it up. The sharkskin vellum within was warm, slightly scorched but not burned.

She unrolled it, read the short message, and her heart skipped a beat. Mouse, reading over her shoulder, let out a piercing chirp of glee that nearly split her eardrum, and shot into the sky. He streaked out of sight, a meteor of shimmering dust vanishing toward the northwest. Cynthia stood, her eyes searching the horizon. A distant speck of white caught her eye and her throat tightened.

“What dat about?” Whuafa asked, squinting up at her.

“Feldrin…”

Cynthia Flaxal Brelak dropped the note to the sand and walked into the arms of the sea.