Ship of Destiny (86 page)

Thank you.
As clear and brief as a drop of falling rain, the thought reached him. He groped for the source, but found nothing. The feel of the voice was oddly familiar, almost as if it came from Kennit, yet it was outside himself.

“Thank you,” Etta unconsciously echoed the sentiment. “Thank you more than you can know. From both of us.” She walked swiftly away from the foredeck, leaving him with a mystery to ponder.

Ahead of him, on the
Motley
’s deck, a lantern flashed suddenly. It was held aloft thrice and swung once, then masked again. It was still almost a surprise to have access to Kennit’s memories. The old pirate signals were his to decipher. Brashen was summoned to the
Vivacia.

“
THIS HAD BETTER BE IMPORTANT,
”
BRASHEN GRUMBLED TO
Althea as they bent to the oars. Etta and Amber manned a second pair. The gusting wind blew Amber’s ragged hair past her mottled face. Etta stared straight ahead.

“I’m sure it is,” Althea muttered. They worked heavily, struggling against wind, water and the darkness to catch up with the lead ship. The four ships had closed up the gap between them, but they had not stopped, even for this meeting. Vivacia led them as they picked their way through a maze of small islands. Some loomed steep and rocky, while others showed only as waves breaking and running on a jagged surface. The ships threaded a meandering path through them. Brashen guessed that at a lower tide this route would be impassible. He prayed that both Wintrow and Vivacia knew this route as well as they seemed to.

Brashen approved the choice to put as much distance between them and the Jamaillian fleet as possible, but he still had reservations about leaving his ship to go to Vivacia. Althea had assured him that Wintrow could be trusted, but he reminded himself that they knew little of the crew on the
Vivacia
, or the captains and crews of the other two ships. They had been thrown into an unlikely alliance with the pirates. Memories of being under the hatch in a sinking ship were still fresh in his mind.

Vivacia took them up just as a drenching rain began to fall. By the light of a dimmed lantern, they were hauled aboard. She already trailed boats from the
Marietta
and the
Motley
. They were last to arrive. Brashen’s wariness rose another notch. Etta climbed up first. Althea began to follow, but he stopped her with a touch. “I’m going next,” he growled low. “At any sign of treachery, go back to Paragon.”

“I don’t think you need fear,” Althea began but he shook his head.

“I lost you once. I won’t gamble you again,” he told her.

“Wise man,” Amber observed quietly as he seized the wet ladder and began to climb. As he set his hands to the
Vivacia
’s railing, incredible emotions raced through him. For an instant, he was unmanned. Tears stung his eyes. Warmth and welcome flowed through him. Joy at his safety. He set foot on the deck he had not trod since the day of the ship’s awakening.

“Brashen Trell!” the ship called back to him in a low contralto. “Paragon has done you good. You are more sensitive to us than ever you were when you worked my decks. For the first time in my waking life, I bid you welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” he managed. Etta was nowhere in sight. Wintrow stood on the deck in the pouring rain, offering him a hand to shake. The self-effacing lad he had met at Ephron’s funeral now stood straight and met his eyes. Heavy grief had aged his face. He would never be a large man, but man he definitely was. “You remember the way to the chart room, I’m sure,” he said and Brashen found himself answering a familiar smile with one of his own. Wintrow’s resemblance to Althea was truly uncanny.

He watched Althea’s face as she came aboard the ship. When she set hands to the rail, he saw how she suddenly glowed. Malta came to meet her and they immediately fell into conversation as they hurried inside. Amber seemed less affected by her first contact with the liveship. It was when she set eyes on Wintrow that her face went slack with shock. “The nine-fingered slave boy,” she blurted out.

Wintrow lifted a hand swiftly to his cheek, then dropped it self-consciously. He gave Brashen an uneasy glance as Amber stared at him. It was only broken when Jek burst from the shadows to seize Amber in a fierce hug. “Aow, you look worse than I do!” she greeted her as Wintrow hastily turned away. Brashen felt mixed emotions as he trod the once-familiar deck. Kennit, he observed, had run a tight ship. The man had been a good captain. Then he shook his head, incredulous that such a thought could even come to him.

The chart room was crowded. Etta was there, as was Malta’s Rain Wilder. Reyn seemed to be determined to be unaware of the attention he attracted. The Satrap was dramatically aware of his own importance. Two men, one broad and stocky, the other flamboyantly clad, would be the other pirate captains. The stocky man’s eyes were reddened with weeping. His red-headed comrade wore a grave demeanor. They knew of Kennit’s death, then.

The captured Jamaillian nobles lined the walls, a bedraggled and weary group. Several looked on the verge of collapse. Wintrow shut the door behind him and gave them a moment to discard wet cloaks. He gestured to seats around the crowded table, while he remained standing. The heavyset pirate captain was pouring brandy for all of them. Brashen was glad of the warming stuff. He recognized the snifter. Ephron Vestrit had reserved it for special occasions. Althea hastened to a seat beside him. She leaned close to him and whispered hurriedly, “The best of news! When Reyn and the dragon left Bingtown, my mother and Keffria and Selden were all there and in good health.” She took a breath. “I fear that is the only good news, however. My family is beggared, my home a vandalized shell, our holdings sacked. Now more than ever, a liveship would . . . I’ll tell you later,” she amended hastily as she realized all other conversation at the table had ceased. All turned to Wintrow at the head of the table.

Wintrow drew a breath and spoke decisively. “I know none of you are easy at being called away from your ships. It was necessary. Kennit’s death has forced a number of decisions on us. I’m going to tell you what I’ve decided, and let each of you plot your course accordingly.”

There it was, Brashen thought: the assumption of command and authority was in his voice. He half expected someone to challenge it, but all were silent. The other pirate captains had already deferred to him. Everyone waited respectfully. Only the Satrap’s satisfied smile let everyone know he already knew what was to come.

Wintrow took a breath. “The treaty, so painstakingly hammered out by King Kennit of the Pirate Isles and the Lord High Magnadon Satrap Cosgo of Jamaillia has been acknowledged and approved by these nobles.”

A shocked silence followed these words. Then both Captain Red and Sorcor leapt to their feet with cries of triumph. Etta lifted her eyes to Wintrow’s face. “You’ve done it?” she asked in wonder. “You’ve finished what he promised us?”

“I’ve made a start on it,” Wintrow replied grimly. “My sister Malta has been instrumental in persuading them to this wise action. But there remains much to do.”

At a look from him, his two captains resumed their seats. Sorcor’s deep voice broke the silence. There was fierce satisfaction in his voice. “When you told me Kennit was dead, I thought our dreams had died with him. I should have had more faith, Wintrow. Kennit chose well in you.”

Wintrow’s voice was grave, but the hint of a smile played on his face as he spoke on. “We know these waters well. We’ve left the Jamaillian fleet behind us in the dark. I recommend that as soon as Sorcor and Red return to their vessels, they separate and loop back through the islands and return to Divvytown. Send birds to command a massing of the pirate fleet. Then lie quiet there for a time until the other ships arrive.”

“And you, sir?” Sorcor asked.

“I’ll be going with you, Sorcor, on the
Marietta
. Also Etta and the Lord High Magnadon Satrap Cosgo. As well as our captives . . . noble guests,” he amended smoothly. He raised his voice to forestall questions. “The Satrap requires our protection and support. We will mass our fleet at Divvytown. Then we will undertake to return him to Jamaillia City, where he can present to the rest of his nobles the endorsed treaty that allies him with the Kingdom of the Pirate Isles. Our guests shall remain well cared for in Divvytown until our claims are recognized. Now, Etta—” He paused, then plunged on, “Queen Etta, chosen by Kennit to sail beside him, and the mother of his unborn son, will go with us to see that the claims of the Pirate Isles are recognized. She will reign for her child until he comes of age.”

“A child? You carry his child?” Sorcor jumped to his feet, then lunged to engulf Etta in a hug. Tears ran unabashedly down his face. “No more swordplay until after the baby’s born, now,” he cautioned her, holding her at arm’s length, then looked offended when Red laughed aloud. Etta looked shaken, and then amazed. Even when Sorcor resumed a seat, he kept his big hand upon Etta’s wrist as if to keep her close and safe.

“Kennit left us a son,” Wintrow confirmed when the hubbub had died down. His eyes met Etta’s as he spoke. “An heir to reign after him, when he has come of age. But until then, it is up to us to carry out Kennit’s ideas and keep his word.”

Brashen felt Althea’s muscles tighten every time the pirate’s name was spoken. Her eyes were black as she stared at her nephew. Under the table, Brashen’s hand sought hers. She gripped it hard.

The Satrap suddenly surged to his feet. “I will keep my word,” he announced as if it were a surprising gift to them. “These last few days, I have seen for myself why the Pirate Isles has the right to rule its own. I must count on your support to regain my own throne, but once I am returned to Jamaillia City—”

“Hey. What about
Vivacia?
Why is everyone coming on the
Marietta
?” Sorcor seemed unaware that he had interrupted the Lord High Magnadon Satrap of all Jamaillia. Wintrow took control back easily.

“Vivacia goes to keep one of Kennit’s other promises. We all are indebted to the serpents. They have gone north, following the dragon. But Vivacia insists that they will need her help to make the journey. She feels she must follow them. Moreover, Kennit had promised this to her.” He paused, and then spoke with obvious difficulty. “I cannot go with her. I long to, for I long to see my family again. But my duty is here, for a time longer.” He fixed his eyes, finally, on Althea. “I ask Althea Vestrit to take Vivacia north. Jola has spoken for the crew. They’ll follow her, as that was Captain Kennit’s will. However, I caution you, Althea. Vivacia promised Kennit that when her service to the serpents was over, she would return. And that, too, is what the ship wishes to do. Guide the serpents home. Take news of us to Bingtown. But after that, you both must return to us.”

Wintrow held up a hand as Althea began to speak, and for a wonder she heeded it and kept silent. His gaze swung to meet Brashen’s. Brashen stared at him numbly. He’d suspected it was coming, but the reality still stunned him. Wintrow had just taken Althea away from him. Once more, duty to her family and her ship claimed her. She would have her dream: she would captain Vivacia, she would sail victorious into Bingtown. Afterward, she must return Vivacia to Divvytown. Would she then leave her ship to come back to him? He doubted it. He held her hand tightly, but knew she was already gone. It was hard for him to focus on Wintrow’s next words.

“You and Paragon are free to do as you wish, Brashen Trell. But I ask that Paragon accompany Vivacia to the Rain Wild River with the serpents. Vivacia says that two liveships will guide and protect better than one. Malta and Reyn will undoubtedly wish to make that journey also.”

Reyn spoke, surprising them all. “We will need two ships against all the Chalcedeans headed this way. One to guard, one to fight.”

“We had heard rumors,” Wintrow acknowledged in dismay. “But only rumors.”

“Believe them,” Reyn said. He turned in his chair to address the Jamaillian nobles who lined the walls. His copper eyes walked over them. “As Tintaglia and I flew south, we saw Chalcedean ships accompanied by galleys. That, as you know, is their configuration for serious warfare. I suspect Jamaillia City is their target. I believe they have decided that the little plunder left in Bingtown is not worth fighting a dragon for.”

Malta’s words followed Reyn’s. “I see in your faces that you doubt us. But I saw their first attack on Bingtown. Reyn was present during their last one. Your Chalcedean conspirators saw no reason to wait for you. They expected to claim the cream of the plunder before you arrived. Nor do I think they ever intended to turn Bingtown over to your New Trader sons and brothers. Cheated of the easy prey you promised them in Bingtown, driven away by Tintaglia, they now come south. Those are the allies you chose. Your Satrap has been wiser. You have signed the treaty under duress. I can read your hearts. Given the chance, you will retract your agreement. That would be foolish. You should speed your Satrap’s alliance with the Pirate Isles, for when the Chalcedean ships and their raiding galleys arrive, you will need every friend you can call upon.” Her eyes raked them. “Mark my words. They are without mercy.”

A scant year ago, Malta had turned her wiles on Brashen. In her words, he heard her girlish cunning matured into genuine diplomacy. Some of the nobles exchanged looks, impressed with her words. Even the Satrap seemed pleased with her, nodding to her words as if she but spoke aloud his own thoughts.

MALTA CLAPPED HER HANDS TO HER EARS BEFORE REYN HEARD
the sound. When it broke into his hearing range, he flinched with her. The others looked about wildly, while one Jamaillian lord wailed, “The serpents return!”

“No. It’s Tintaglia,” Reyn replied. Anxiety clutched him. The dragon cried for help as she came. He moved toward the door, and everyone else at the table rose and followed him. Malta seized his hand as they emerged onto the deck. Together, they stared up into the downpour. Tintaglia swept over them, a pale gleaming of silver and blue against the overcast night sky. Her wings beat heavily. She swung in a wide circle, then gave cry again. To Reyn’s amazement, her call was answered. The ship’s deck hummed with the force of Vivacia’s reply. A deeper call from Paragon echoed hers.