The Pirate's Scourge: Blood Sea Tales, #1

Blood Sea Tales

Book One

The Pirate's Scourge

Chris A. Jackson

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to all our friends who are battling for their lives against the most dreadful foe imaginable.

We fight at your side, shipmates.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Ed Greenwood for his imagination and generosity.

And as always, thanks to my wife, Anne, for her help, patience, and passion for the sea.

The Pirate’s Scourge

Blood Sea Tales

Book 1

Chris A. Jackson

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Nothing is more dangerous than a warrior enslaved.

Upon the lawless Blood Sea, mariners survive by wits, cunning, and skill. Pirate captain Kevril Longbright is a survivor. With his own ship, a faithful crew, and an ambitious partner handing him fat merchant prizes, he is truly the scourge of the sea, free and beholden to none.

Or is he?

Accepting jobs from Jhavika Keshmir is far easier than scouring the sea for his own targets. But when Kevril captures a mystical truthsayer, Preel, he learns that the truth can be both a blessing and a curse.

Preel reveals the foul enchantment behind Jhavika’s uncanny ability to convince others to do her bidding. Far from being his own master, Kevril is a slave to Jhavika’s every command. Enraged by her lies and manipulations, the pirate captain embarks upon a perilous quest for freedom. But enslavement can take many forms, and Kevril finds himself increasingly drawn to Preel and her mysterious talent.

Who knew the truth could be so damning, so freeing, and so seductive...

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Copyright Notice

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are coincidental.

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Copyright © 2018 by Chris A. Jackson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

Published July 2018 by Jaxbooks Publishing

Previous version of this story was published under the title Stormtalons: The Queen's Scourge

Cover design by Fiona Jayde

Interior images from Pixabay have been altered for use

ISBN 978-1-939837-19-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-939837-20-2 (ePub)

ISBN 978-1-939837-21-9 (Mobi)

jaxbooks.com

Map

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Copyright Notice

Map

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Epilogue

Thanks for reading!

About the Author

Novels by Chris A. Jackson

Chapter One

Scourge of the Sea

Few things are what we first perceive them to be.

The Lessons of Quen Lau Ush

From the diary of Kevril Longbright –

Every time I look in the mirror I'm reminded that scars are lessons. They are flesh memories that fade but never fully vanish. When I look at my scars, I remember who gave me each one and what I learned. Some lessons are easy, like never turn your back on an angry man with a shovel. Others are subtler. I have yet to forget any of the lessons carved into my flesh, but I long for the day when remembering them is no longer necessary.

––––––––

Dragon Mists, my arse. I pulled my jacket closed against the chill sea fog. "Maybe ice drakes, but not real dragons."

When cold air spilled down from the mountains to clash against the warm water of the Blood Sea, the result was a fog so thick it's said you can drown just by taking a deep breath. Sailors call this fog the Dragon Mists because of the legends of dragons living in the coastal cliffs. There may well have been dragons here once long ago, but they've all flown away to the Serpent's Eye, thank Odea.

Some call this fog the Pirate's Blanket, you know, Miko said. My first mate hated sailing through fog as much as I did, but neither of us wanted to admit it, so we told each other tales. A more appropriate moniker for what we're about, don't you think, sir?

True enough.

I found a fingernail that hadn't yet been bitten to the quick and sheared it short with my teeth. A bell tolled two notes from somewhere ahead, and the lookout waved a white flag three times to starboard. Our quarry was out there, anchored safely and alerting other ships to its presence with its bell. A good practice safety-wise, but to pirates like us, it was like ringing a dinner bell. Come and get it.

The patter of bare feet on the deck heralded Tofi, one of the ship's brats, as he dashed up. By the mark ten on the lead, sir. He kept his voice low, for I'd ordered a quiet ship, and scampered off at my nod.

The wind howled a shrieking gust overhead, heeling Scourge over a strake, but while her topgallants were drawn into hard planks and the topsails bellied full, the lower reefed mainsail and forecourse flapped and backfilled. The sheltering cliffs were making the wind fluky, allowing the mists to hang low over the water. From the quarterdeck I could make out Scourge's bowsprit and the signals of the lookout there, but the rocks that could rip us to pieces remained a mystery.

Sailing into a windward, cliff-shrouded cove in fog, Captain? Miko's pearly teeth gleamed against her nut-brown skin like a lighthouse on a moonless night. "I hope we're getting paid enough for this."

"Could be worse. Could be leeward cliffs." I grinned to banish my nervousness. It didn't work.

The roar of the surf set my teeth on edge, waves pounding on reefs that could grind Scourge to kindling if these fluky winds denied her steerage. The distant bell tolled again, our only guidance through the fog.

Sane mariners, like our quarry, drop anchor in any one of the dozens of bays along the coast and ride out these foggy blows in the shelter of the high cliffs, ringing the ship's bell every quarter glass to warn off others. Those caught unawares by the fog at sea run well offshore under reefed sails, sounding a horn at intervals and praying to Odea for guidance, protection, or salvation. Personally, I've never found the sea goddess very forgiving, though that doesn't stop me from praying to her on occasion.

Then there are those of us who are less than sane, desperate, or seduced by rewards that exceed the risk. Either way, they don't call it the Pirate's Blanket for nothing, and I had a job to do.

A job... The notion still stuck in my craw, but I had no choice in the matter. I'd gone into my partnership with Jhavika with eyes open and couldn't balk now. Just like I couldn't stop pirating.

An honorable occupation at this point in my life was not an option, and pirate was better than shit-kicking farmer or dirt-side bandit. The former...well, there's the shit-kicking part, but other factors had driven me off my family farm. The latter usually ends up with said bandit dangling from a tree or gallows. A pirate's really just a bandit afloat, but nooses are easier to evade at sea. Besides, there's a living in it, and freedom. I was my own master, or more-so than most men or women could claim to be. Scourge was mine, free and clear; I owed no tithe to lord or master. I did pay Jhavika a fair percentage of my take, of course, because we were partners. She picked the targets and told me where to find them, and I did the pirating. Call me what you will, but I'll ride anyone's coattails to wealth, and Jhavika had very long coattails indeed. That woman's aspirations knew no bounds.

The lookout on the bowsprit madly waved a black flag. He'd spotted a reef or rock ahead, though I could still see nothing.

Wear ship, Miko. I looked aloft. The topsails now flagged, only the topgallants drawing. No wind to tack. This isn't the place to be stuck in irons, and we aren't in a hurry...yet.

Aye, Capt'n. She gave a quiet order to bring Scourge off the wind and jibe sails. As the helmsman spun the wheel, she whispered to me, "Not enough wind to blow away a decent fart in here!"

True enough. As Scourge came about, I stared hard into the fog off our starboard quarter. My blood chilled as I spied a line of white breakers amid the horizonless steel-gray of sea and sky.

Every eye on the ship watched that line with their hearts in their mouths, rocks barely a ship-length away that would have meant our end if we hadn't shifted course.

A biscuit toss is as good as a league, I suppose. Miko ran a hand over her shaven pate and grinned.

The helmsman chuckled nervously.

I was out of fingernails to chew. Remind me to give that lookout a bonus.

Tofi ran up again, panting from his dash. "By the mark five, sir." He sounded nervous, too.

That's fine, Tofi. It wasn't fine. Scourge drew three-and-a-half fathoms and there was a four-foot swell running. With this steep shore, I needed quicker soundings. Tell Wix to run a second lead line.

Aye, sir! Tofi cringed and darted off.

I knew Wix got the message when I heard a snarled curse from forward. My bosun is both the least-popular and most-respected member of my crew for two reasons. Firstly, he's in charge of maintaining crew discipline, and backs up that authority with the quickest left jab I've ever seen. The second reason is that he's an ill-tempered bastard who loves his work and violence—a trait of his part-ogre heritage—more than strong drink and fornication. His response to laggardly behavior involved the knotted end of a rope, and insubordination triggered that left jab. I sometimes had to curb Wix's enthusiasm—too many broken noses—but for the most part I let him have free rein.

As Scourge began making way on her new course, close-hauled on the opposite tack and away from the reef, Tofi returned. By the deep eight, sir, and Master Wix says two leads his pimply arse, and why for fook's sake are we flyin' the fookin' courses if there ain't no fookin' wind?

Tell him to furl the courses and thank him for his opinion of my seamanship, Tofi. I grinned at the boy and added, And tell Master Wix to keep his fookin' voice down.

Tofi paled anew. Aye, sir.

As he dashed off, another ship's brat, Boxley, ran up. Four knots by the log, sir! She grinned enthusiastically at my nod and darted away.

Recruiting eager young boys and girls for a life on the sea was simple. There were always starving urchins loitering around waterfronts, willing to work for three meals a day and a place to sleep. Boxley had gutted a man who tried to rape her when she was eight and stowed away aboard Scourge to avoid a hangman's noose. After five years, she was the toughest of my ship's brats, and every sailor aboard knew it. I wasn't supposed to know that Miko doted on her, sneaking her extra rations and teaching her to read and write. My bet was I'd have a new midshipman out of the deal, a welcome addition to the worthless gaggle of laggards I had now. I'd just as soon throw the lot of them over the side, but I desperately needed another one or two officers, and training youngsters was safer than hiring strangers, albeit slower and harder on my nerves.

The bell rang again, clear and pure, now off our port beam.

She's sitting in Weatherly Cove. I reviewed the chart in my mind's eye. I knew these waters like I knew the chips in my teeth. The bay we were edging into sported three coves, each separated by a rocky outcrop and shoal. The westernmost, Weatherly Cove, had a tricky entrance bracketed by hard bars, difficult to negotiate with these contrary winds and impossible to do in haste, which our final approach would require. Bugger!

Boats? Miko asked, one brow cocked.

Sometimes I think she reads my mind.

Yes. Attacking a merchant ship from boats was chancy, but not as chancy as blundering into Weatherly Cove in fog and fluky wind like a blind man looking for quicksand. "One more tack and we'll anchor in six fathoms. Quietly, mind you! Then lower three boats. Tell Wix to handpick the boarders."

Miko grinned. You just made his day.

Wix loved nothing more than a brisk boarding action, probably because it gave him the opportunity to hurt people. Make sure he knows we aren't out for blood on this one.

Her grin turned to stone. I'll tell him personally. Miko hurried off the quarterdeck, leaving me alone with my anxiety.

Out for blood... I'd seen too many boarding actions where blood was all we got for our trouble.

Don't get me wrong, I'll kill if provoked, or if there's money at stake, but slaughtering innocent sailors only buys trouble. While it's true that dead men tell no tales—unless a necromancer is involved—I learned long ago that it was preferable to be wanted for piracy than hunted as a murderer. The Scourge's former captain never learned that lesson. His penchant for wholesale slaughter precipitated his own death, and nearly mine. Captain Kohl and his first mate lost their lives in a trap. The rest of us were lucky to escape. I fingered the scars I'd earned that day, determined not to make that mistake.

Tofi and another brat fed me continuous soundings, running between the foredeck and the quarterdeck as fast as the leadsmen could throw their leads and pull them in. I kept an eye on the forward lookout and ordered course changes when he waved his flag. We brought Scourge around once again, avoiding a craggy black rock jutting out of the sea to windward.

By the deep six! Tofi reported, his breath coming short. Black sand and shell, sir!

Helm to windward and slack sheets. Relay forward to lower the anchor, Tofi.

Aye, sir! He dashed off.

Scourge came upwind, sails luffed and were furled, and we lowered our best bower into the sea like a babe being nestled into its crib. The crew knew this drill well; every command passed in a whisper, sails furled without flapping, and lines and blocks ran smoothly with no squeaks or clatter. Boats were lowered into the sea without so much as a bump or bang of an oar on a gunnel.

My tension eased a trifle. For some reason, running my ship onto rocks in a fog caused me more anxiety than the pending boarding action. I don't know why. Maybe I value my ship more than my skin.

My bosun climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and pressed one scarred knuckle to his thick brow. Miko followed, looking as anxious as I felt.

All secure, Capt'n. Wix grinned—a horrific sight, considering he had only three teeth in his head, not counting the two prominent tusks jutting from his lantern jaw—and nodded to the sailors lined up along the ship's waist, their cutlasses, boarding axes, and pikes at the ready. Picked you out some right dandies.

They all know my preferences on this operation, Master Wix?

They know, sir. He curled his lip, cracked his walnut knuckles, and spat over the rail, clearly displeased by my order.

Good. I turned to my first mate. "Miko, would you please appoint one of our fine young midshipmen to command Scourge while we attend to a little mayhem?"

Many pirates don't bother with a midshipmen's berth, but advance capable seamen directly to officer rank when necessary. I prefer to train my future officers personally. A few years wearing a jacket, giving orders, and learning the finer points of mathematics and navigation before becoming full-fledged officers works far better than after. It not only allows me to train them properly, but gives me time to weed out those who can't make the grade.

"Nothing would make me happier, sir. Miko turned to the four pimple-faced mids sulking around the helm. Mister Geit, you'll command Scourge in our absence."

Aye, sir! Geit, a gangly redhead of eighteen years with a nasty disposition, grinned at his peers, suddenly his subordinates.

And if I hear of any nonsense upon our return... Miko let that hang.

No nonsense. Aye, sir. Geit snapped a salute, still grinning malevolently. Though he tended to hate everyone indiscriminately, he was particularly cruel to his fellow mids. He'd recently ordered one of them to shinny up to the topgallant and fly his pants from the pennant halyard for no reason other than spite. Unfortunately, he was also senior and the best navigator among them.

Let's go. I led the way down to the middle deck, Miko and Wix at my heels. We'll each take a boat. Hand signals only once we're away.

Bout fookin' time, Wix muttered. All this prancin' about like a flock of concubines on a fookin' ballroom floor...

I knew Wix was just working himself up for the fight. When my bosun was truly upset he went scary quiet and all the Gods of Darkness wouldn't cross him.

Hemp, my steward, slouched up with a disapproving scowl, holding out my old patched jacket. "Be careful, sir!"

His concern didn't fool me; Hemp cared more about keeping my clothes free of gashes, bloodstains, and holes than he did about my tender skin. I relented, doffing the good jacket and donning the worn, then allowed him to sling a baldric over my shoulder and affix my worn but serviceable cutlass—he was probably afraid I'd nick one of my finer blades.

Finally ready, I strode to the main hatch cover, surveyed the weaponry arrayed there, and chose a pair of boarding axes to tuck through my belt. Miko had already armed herself with a boarding pike, cutlass, and her two wakizashi for close work. Wix rarely used anything but his daggers in a fight. They had heavy bronze guards with inch-long spikes that he preferred to punch with instead of using the blade. I'd seen him punch through chainmail with them.

We boarded the boats and shoved off, quiet and efficient, a dozen seasoned pirates in each. Surely more than enough for a merchant, I thought. Our target was the merchant junk Yellow Blossom, owned by Lord Fa-Chen of Haven. Yellow Blossom sported a complement of no more than two dozen, I'd been told, and they'd be sailors, not fighters. Surprise should give us an even greater advantage.

Oars dipped and pulled with barely a ripple and, thanks to canvas-padded oarlocks, no sound could be heard over the roar of the nearby surf. Our prey's bell tolled again, this time closer, though its direction was still hard to discern in the fog.

I squinted into the mists and whispered, Two points to port.

A black cliff coalesced out of the fog, the merchantman's high transom. She was as pretty a junk as ever I'd seen—sea-worthy, spacious, and well cared for, with gilt scrollwork in the likeness of yellow roses entwining her stern gallery windows. A damned shame.

We eased forward. A sharp-eyed lookout could cost lives at this point, but we'd gotten lucky coming up on her stern; the high sterncastle hid us from the crow's nest. Above us loomed two rows of stern gallery windows. The higher, narrower windows were dark, but light glowed from the lower great cabin.

Bugger! If we climbed the ornate transom, whoever was inside might see us and raise an alarm. I motioned Miko and Wix to port and starboard. They could make their ascent up the quarter galleries to the poop deck, then fight their way forward with height as an advantage. I decided to take the fight right to the captain's cabin. If we took the captain prisoner, the conflict would end without undue killing. Or so I hoped.

I tapped a sailor on the shoulder and pointed up the transom. He nodded, grinned, and started climbing, nimble as a monkey and quiet as a mouse, a coil of knotted rope over his shoulder. At the lit windows he paused and peered over the sill, then looked down and made a suggestive gesture. Evidently, Captain Tan was entertaining.

Perfect... A distracted captain would be easier to capture. I motioned for the sailor to continue up and secure the line. When the knotted rope fell down into eager hands, I took it and climbed to the lower stern gallery windows.

Within, glistening flesh moved in rhythmic enthusiasm, grunts and moans audible through the stern glass. No better way to pass the time while waiting for weather, they say. Deciding on the direct approach, I gripped the line hard, kicked out from the transom, and swung back toward the window boots first.

Odea help me, but I love this part of my job.

Glass shattered, and I managed not to cut myself too badly or bash my head on the sill. I rolled to my feet and drew my cutlass, but the captain was quicker than I'd guessed. She vaulted from the bed fully naked, dagger in hand.

Captain Tan. I saluted with my cutlass as pirates scrambled into the cabin through the windows to back up my swashbuckling ploy. One of them whistled long and low, and I had to admit that the captain cut a dashing figure in naught but her skin and a bared stiletto. Pardon our intrusion. I can see you're busy with... I glanced at the young man lying shocked on the bed—Impressive—and couldn't help myself. "...with weighty matters, but I must insist you drop the knife and put some clothes on."

Captain Tan glanced at the knife, then at her lover's flagging ardor—the dagger's blade was shorter by half—then glared at me. "Who the hell are you?"

"Captain Kevril Longbright of the Scourge at your service. I bowed with a flourish. Now, the dagger if you please, Captain."

Her eyes widened a trifle in recognition, and the dagger fell from her grip. Snatching up a blue jacket, she flung it on, then reached for trousers. Her paramour hadn't moved, apparently too scared to even reach for a blanket.

She glared at him and snapped, "Oh, stop gaping and get dressed, Maurice!"

Maurice? He didn't look like a Maurice. To me, a Maurice is pale, portly, and pompous. This fellow sported a lithe chest, muscular legs, and an abdomen as flat as a table, with skin the hue of burnished teak. Islander blood mixed with Chen or Toki, I guessed, likely a pleasure slave or trollop, considering his good looks and magnificent proportions. The captain apparently like them young; Maurice looked to be in his late teens at most.

Sounds of scuffles could be heard from above and forward, then one cry, a scream, and a clash of arms.

If we hurry, Captain, we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed. I gestured to the door.

Gods-damned pirate! she spat, fastening her trousers and slamming her feet into boots.

Her lover managed to draw up the blanket and fumble from the bed. Macie Moll, one of my more competent boarders, stepped forward to steady poor Maurice, a lascivious grin on her face.

Is he a slave or a guest? I asked the captain as she struggled with the second boot. The young man didn't bear a slave's mark, but some slavers didn't tattoo their stock.

Why does it matter? She glared at me.

If he's a slave, I'll be taking him as plunder. If he's your guest, he'll go with you. That, of course, meant she'd claim him as her guest. It didn't really matter; I didn't need any slaves and knew he'd be a distraction, gifted as he was. Rumors spread quickly aboard a ship, and Scourge was no exception.

Maurice is Lord Malchi's son. He's been assigned as my midshipman for training in seamanship.

My pirates chuckled, and I raised an eyebrow. "And I can see he's progressing well." I wasn't worried about retribution from Lord Malchi. A score of rich merchants in Haven styled themselves as lords, a fancy designation but lacking any authority. Crime lords was a more apt title. I worked with one, in fact. I waved at the door. "Shall we, Captain?"

Tan glared again and strode for the door.

"Macie, see that the lordling is properly dressed, but no liberties are to be taken. Understand?"

"Aye, sir. She looked crestfallen. C'mere, Maurice! Grab your drawers and put that spar away!"

Captain Tan opened the door to find herself facing my bosun. He filled the portal like a nightmare in the flesh, the spikes of his dagger guards dripping blood. She stumbled back a step. I couldn't blame her; Wix can be startling.

Wix? Any trouble? There was blood on his shirt.

No, sir. He tore his eyes from the gap in the captain's jacket and swallowed. A few scuffles is all. One dumb fook tried to poke me with a sword. He won't be eatin' solid food for a span, but he'll live.

Good. Bring everyone together on the middeck and search the ship for anyone hiding.

Aye, sir. He hurried off, casting the captain one more glance.

Shall we join your crew, Captain? I nudged her between the shoulder blades with the tip of my cutlass.

You're poking a sleeping dragon here, Captain Longbright. She started forward. There'll be repercussions for this.

"These are repercussions, Captain Tan. In addition to directing me to richly laden ships for our mutual profit, Jhavika occasionally tasked me with discouraging her competition: a threat here, some mayhem there. This was one of those assignments. I'd intended to give the message when the whole crew was assembled, but now would do just as well. The dragon's awake, and its fire is stoked."

The captain glared over her shoulder. What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?

"I'm talking about your master, Lord Fa-Chen. I gave her a wolf's grin. This is in retaliation for his meddling in business that isn't his. Jhavika Keshmir is paying him back, Captain. We'll be putting you off in boats so you can deliver the message personally."

Keshmir's nothing but a pir— Biting off the word, she whirled around and slammed open the door to the middeck.

"Lady Keshmir was a pirate once, Captain, and takes no offense at the moniker, but she's moved up in the world since going ashore. She's now a...business woman. I prodded her toward the crowd of nervous sailors surrounded by heavily armed pirates. Only a couple of the sailors were injured; one sported a deep stab wound to the shoulder, and another—obviously the man whose jaw had been destroyed by Wix—wore a bloody cloth wrapped beneath his chin and knotted atop his head. Have a care with that tongue of yours. I'll put you ashore in the condition I found you if you keep wagging it heedlessly."

The captain joined her crew and kept her mouth shut. A wise woman.

Miko caught my eye, her usual gleeful smile after a relatively bloodless operation conspicuously absent. That meant a problem. As the last of the stragglers were herded together, I motioned her aside.

What?

Cargo's crap. Nothing but baled hemp and coarse-wove muslin. She made a face. This shows up in Haven, it won't be worth the spit it takes to shine a boot.

Damn Jhavika to... I let that drop. Jhavika had promised me a rich cargo, but cursing her now wouldn't do me any good.

I glared at the captain and crew, then up at the rigging, spars, fittings, and cordage, and made some calculations. It would take time, but we weren't in a hurry; the north winds would howl for another day at least. Jhavika might be satisfied with mere vengeance, but I needed profit. I made a decision and turned back to Miko.

"Fuck the cargo. Take a launch back to Scourge and bring her in slow and careful. We raft up, strip this ship for every scrap of canvas, bronze, block, and line."

Aye, sir.

And have Wix post someone trustworthy at the captain's door. I'll go through Tan's things myself.

I'm on it! She still didn't look happy, but that was the best I could do.

As Miko relayed my orders, picked her crew, and set off in one of the boats, I turned to the ship's captain. Captain Tan, I'll put you and your crew ashore with your boats and whatever provisions you wish to take with you.

"How magnanimous of you." The mists carried more warmth than her voice.

Or I could strip you all naked and throw you in the sea. I pointed my cutlass between her eyes and grinned. Your choice.

The muscles of her jaw bunched and relaxed several times. I could do worse than I'd threatened, and she knew it. I'll choose the former option.

"Good. This isn't about you, Captain. It's about your lord and his recent actions. Our intent is to hurt him, not you. We'll take everything valuable from this ship and burn her to the waterline. Please let Lord Fa-Chen know why this happened when you next see him."

She smiled tightly. I'll be sure to give him your name.

The implied threat stoked my temper. "And, considering the piss-poor excuse for cargo you're carrying, if Maurice here... I pointed to the shivering young man who had recently been warming her bed, ...truly is Lord Malchi's son, perhaps I'll take him to ransom."

Maurice's eyes widened and his mouth opened.

He's not, Tan said before the young man could answer for himself. He's not a slave either. Just a hired trollop to keep me company.

I surmised as much. Too bad; a fat ransom would have compensated for the lack of cargo. "Don't worry; I won't take your toy from you."

Thank you, Captain. Her chin rose an inch and I could see that her estimation of me rose with it. She knew I could have taken him anyway. There were slavers in Haven who didn't ask questions. I've heard of you, but you're not what I expected.

"None of us are what other people expect we are, Captain. I sheathed my cutlass and nodded toward the ship's boats. Master Wix, put them in the boats with provisions and water. Canvas and cordage, too. There's enough driftwood on the beach to rig shelters. When the weather clears, they can coast-hop for Haven."

Aye, sir!

The crew moved with a will, and Yellow Blossom's four boats were in the water and loaded within minutes. We shoved them off with a cheer, good wishes, and a few cat-calls. As they pulled away, Macie Moll pleaded with poor Maurice to take up the life of a pirate and share her hammock.

Master Wix! Put someone on the bell so Miko can find us in this soup, then take this ship apart!

Aye, sir!

As Wix shouted orders and my boarders fell to plundering, I went aft. Amid the shouts, clatters, crashes, and laughter of pirates doing what they did best, I meticulously inspected the captain's cabin. Tan had a nice set of silver plate, some jewelry, dresses, a fine set of navigational instruments, and a pair of matched daggers with ruby-pommeled hilts. Worth a tidy bit, but not enough to make up for the lack of cargo. I laid it out in piles and started rummaging through the hanging lockers and drawers. There had to be more.

I reached back into the dark beneath a shelf and felt a stab of pain. Shit! With visions of traps and poisoned needles in my head, I jerked back. The end of my finger was bleeding, but it felt like any other mundane cut, not stinging with poison. I sucked my lacerated finger and felt again more carefully, then dragged out an old strongbox with metal reinforcing, one corner bent and sharp. This is more like it. It was locked, but the pommel of my cutlass knocked the padlock free. I opened it to find rows of newly minted Toki imperial crowns. Thank Odea. Perhaps Tan had been sent to buy more valuable cargo in Hyto for the return trip. We'd do okay on this take after all, it seemed.

As I closed the strongbox and fitted the bent lock back together, movement outside the stern gallery