of the councilmen smell like they’ve drenched themselves to their collars.”
Jonathan let out another heavy, moaning sigh. “I thought tossing my cap in with a load of pirates meant life would never be boring. But we haven’t done any pirating in ages.”
“Well, there hasn’t been any need for it,” Lysander said stiffly.
Jonathan’s head swung up. “No need? Last I checked, we were sailing to the top nose of the Kingdom to rescue one of your ships from the paws of some over-stuffed merchant. And what did we pack to fight with? A mound of gold.”
“We aren’t rescuing them. They aren’t in any danger.” Lysander shifted his weight. “They couldn’t afford Alders’ docking tax, so he’s just … holding them until he’s paid.”
“Aye, holding them to a tax he had no right to levy,” Shamus muttered out the side of his mouth.
Lysander shot him a look. “The seas are just a bit frayed, at the moment. Once the council elects a new high chancellor, everything will be back in order.”
Jonathan slung his body up with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want things to be back in order — I want us to be proper pirates again! Sheath our mercy and draw our blades!”
He tore the cutlass from his belt and swung it in a series of wide, dramatic arcs — so wide and dramatic that Lysander had to leap back to avoid having the scruff nicked off his chin.
Shamus pounded a thick fist against the helm, eyes shining brightly. “Oh, imagine the look on old Alders’ face when he sees us coming —”
“We aren’t storming Harborville,” Lysander said firmly. “I won’t risk it.”
“There’s nothing to risk, mate. The council is so busy fighting each other that they’d never suspect it was us. I’ll bet we could sack a dozen ships before they even thought to check their wake for pirates.”
“The council has always been after our trade. It wouldn’t take much to convince merchants to go to war over us, and I won’t be the enemy that unites them. I haven’t got the army to take on the seas.”
“Midlan does,” Shamus mumbled, glaring at the shadowy lands to their east. “The King can’t be pleased about what happened to his Duke. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to throttle us already. A man like that can smell weakness a hundred miles out. If the seas don’t get their problems settled, Crevan’ll be coming to settle them for us. You mark my —”
“No, I’m all out of marks,” Lysander jabbed a finger between Jonathan’s eyes, “and I’m all out of patience. If I hear so much as a whisper about bad luck or piracy again, I’ll toss you both in the brig. Understood?”
“Aye, Captain,” they mumbled.
“Good.” Lysander straightened the hem of his shirt roughly before he marched down the steps.
It was a long, quiet walk to the bow. Lysander passed the watchman on his way. He listened for the call of the bell behind him, timing each step with its strokes. Twelve. The very middle of the night. No sooner had the last echo faded than the deck shuddered beneath him.
The ship trembled for half a moment as she struck the choppy northern waves. She groaned, trying to get her footing. But her nose plunged ahead the moment she found her pace.
Lysander walked until the deck ended. There was an ache in his back. It stabbed between his shoulders and made him long to slouch against the railing. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sigh as Jonathan had, or worry aloud like Shamus. But there was plenty of worrying and sighing as it was.
What his men needed now was a strong back — and no matter how he ached, he was determined to stand tall.
A crest of rocks rose from the waters to the east. They would go on like that for miles, until the jagged shore finally gave way to a ring of sheer cliffs. He wagered they were still a week’s sail from Harborville. It was agony, to be so far adrift while his men sat in prison. He would’ve given anything to be there with them.
There’d
Jonathan let out another heavy, moaning sigh. “I thought tossing my cap in with a load of pirates meant life would never be boring. But we haven’t done any pirating in ages.”
“Well, there hasn’t been any need for it,” Lysander said stiffly.
Jonathan’s head swung up. “No need? Last I checked, we were sailing to the top nose of the Kingdom to rescue one of your ships from the paws of some over-stuffed merchant. And what did we pack to fight with? A mound of gold.”
“We aren’t rescuing them. They aren’t in any danger.” Lysander shifted his weight. “They couldn’t afford Alders’ docking tax, so he’s just … holding them until he’s paid.”
“Aye, holding them to a tax he had no right to levy,” Shamus muttered out the side of his mouth.
Lysander shot him a look. “The seas are just a bit frayed, at the moment. Once the council elects a new high chancellor, everything will be back in order.”
Jonathan slung his body up with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want things to be back in order — I want us to be proper pirates again! Sheath our mercy and draw our blades!”
He tore the cutlass from his belt and swung it in a series of wide, dramatic arcs — so wide and dramatic that Lysander had to leap back to avoid having the scruff nicked off his chin.
Shamus pounded a thick fist against the helm, eyes shining brightly. “Oh, imagine the look on old Alders’ face when he sees us coming —”
“We aren’t storming Harborville,” Lysander said firmly. “I won’t risk it.”
“There’s nothing to risk, mate. The council is so busy fighting each other that they’d never suspect it was us. I’ll bet we could sack a dozen ships before they even thought to check their wake for pirates.”
“The council has always been after our trade. It wouldn’t take much to convince merchants to go to war over us, and I won’t be the enemy that unites them. I haven’t got the army to take on the seas.”
“Midlan does,” Shamus mumbled, glaring at the shadowy lands to their east. “The King can’t be pleased about what happened to his Duke. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to throttle us already. A man like that can smell weakness a hundred miles out. If the seas don’t get their problems settled, Crevan’ll be coming to settle them for us. You mark my —”
“No, I’m all out of marks,” Lysander jabbed a finger between Jonathan’s eyes, “and I’m all out of patience. If I hear so much as a whisper about bad luck or piracy again, I’ll toss you both in the brig. Understood?”
“Aye, Captain,” they mumbled.
“Good.” Lysander straightened the hem of his shirt roughly before he marched down the steps.
It was a long, quiet walk to the bow. Lysander passed the watchman on his way. He listened for the call of the bell behind him, timing each step with its strokes. Twelve. The very middle of the night. No sooner had the last echo faded than the deck shuddered beneath him.
The ship trembled for half a moment as she struck the choppy northern waves. She groaned, trying to get her footing. But her nose plunged ahead the moment she found her pace.
Lysander walked until the deck ended. There was an ache in his back. It stabbed between his shoulders and made him long to slouch against the railing. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sigh as Jonathan had, or worry aloud like Shamus. But there was plenty of worrying and sighing as it was.
What his men needed now was a strong back — and no matter how he ached, he was determined to stand tall.
A crest of rocks rose from the waters to the east. They would go on like that for miles, until the jagged shore finally gave way to a ring of sheer cliffs. He wagered they were still a week’s sail from Harborville. It was agony, to be so far adrift while his men sat in prison. He would’ve given anything to be there with them.
There’d
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