The albino cook was carrying a small cauldron full of his Island curry. ‘I came lookin’ for you to offer you seconds,’ he said.
Kal had already had a large portion, not to mention the big meal she had eaten at the Mooncusser. However, she lived her life by the simple philosophy of
you take what you can, when you can
. ‘Fill me up,’ she said, greedily.
Alright!’ he laughed. ‘I do like to see people enjoy a whole heap of my cookin’. Can’t be too likky likky, you know what I mean?’
Kal didn’t, but she nodded along anyway. ‘What’s your story then, Che?’ she asked him as he ladled her out a fresh serving. ‘Paying for your passage to the Auspice Islands with your cooking skills?’
‘I never did dream that I’d be goin’ back,’ he said. ‘Yesterday I was a short order cook at the Greasy Goblin; I had been workin’ in the city for ten years, when the captain walks in last night and offers me the position of sea cook. He says my curry is the best thing he’s ever tasted, and that you can’t beat the cookin’ skills of a true Islander.’
‘So, you’re going home,’ Kal said.
Che nodded. ‘Can’t say that I look forward to it. My father, he drove me away when I was young. A monster, he called me, the only white face in a family of black Islanders. Cursed by the gods, he said. My father is not even partic’ly superstitious; I just think he was ashamed of me.’
‘It’s possible your father might be suffering under a
real
curse now,’ Kal said, ‘if you believe what people are saying.’
‘Man,’ Che exclaimed. ‘I was born this way; I never heard tell or saw black skin
turning
white before. That’s some bad science indeed! They say that Vuda has cursed her people, but I don’t think so. Why would she do a thing like that? I’ve been prayin’ to Vuda all my life and she never lifts a finger to help me, so why would she bother to punish people either? I’ll look in on my father, for sure—out of respect—but don’t expect me to have any sympathy if he’s been zombified. He had it coming for the way he treated me as a child.’
Che shuffled off through the hold, and Kal noticed that his gangly body was slightly hunched, and he dragged his left leg behind him—it was a body that told the story of a lifetime of abuse and ill-treatment. She ate her curry in thoughtful silence, while staring out at the rain (although the Swordfish wasn’t armed, there were gunports along the side of the hold). In Amaranthium, people believed that the gods had died hundreds of years ago, but in the Auspice Islands at the edge of the world, Vuda still lived in people’s imaginations. She was a god of ritual and superstition, of charms and spells, potions and prophesy—dark magic known as vudu, or
science
, as some Islanders called it.
When the rain cleared and the dawn broke, Kal shook the evil thoughts out of her head and went back up topside.
* * *
The Swordfish made headway south, aided by a north-westerly wind, at a brisk fifteen knots. Kal found Lula standing by the tiller on the quarterdeck, talking to the navigator, a tall Nubaran who was shirtless despite the winter wind and stinging spray. His powerful body and good looks were marred only by his smile: when he greeted Kal, he flashed her a mouthful of rotting black teeth.
‘Jako,’ he introduced himself, offering Kal his hand. She shook it firmly, despite noticing that Jako’s entire palm was a chalky white colour. But she was the one they were relying upon to vanquish the curse, so it wouldn’t do to show fear in the face of it. Besides, Kal’s only real concern was infection passing via cuts and scratches, and she had made a habit of checking herself regularly since they set sail.
‘It’s true what they say then,’ she said, taking in his broad, glistening chest. ‘Nubarans don’t feel the cold.’
‘It is
not
true!’ Jako said. ‘I’m freezing! I just need to feel the wind on my skin and the boards beneath my feet to pilot the ship!’ (Kal noticed that he was also barefoot.) ‘I know the waters between here and Port Black like the inside of my own codpiece—and if I was naked, I could get us there blindfold!’
Kal smiled. This was fairly tame as far as banter at sea went, and sure enough, Lula opened her mouth to up the stakes with a bawdy broadside. She was cut off though by a shout from the maindeck: ‘Moonheart! Get down here!’
Kal obeyed the captain’s command and presented herself to Dead Leg, who was leaning against the mainmast. He looked at ease, casually chewing an apple, but in reality he was watching the crew like a hawk. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for socialising when we find an anchorage … maybe five days from now, ha ha ha. How are your eyes, girl?’
Kal looked back over the stern of the ship. ‘I can still see the dome of the Basilica from here,’ she said.
Dead Leg squinted through the mist. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said. ‘You can see fifteen miles further from the nest, though, so get up there! When you see that blasted city drop off the map, then I’ll declare us safe.’
Kal clambered up the shrouds—the rigging that supported the mainmast. The crow’s nest was tub-shaped, but with railed sides, so Kal could dangle her legs out while she sat up there. The horizon was twenty miles away now, and when the spire of the dome of the Basilica finally vanished, the sea between Amaranthium and the
Swordfish
was empty, save for a pod of dolphins that was chasing the ship.
They were free of the city, and Kal was free too: free of the life that had been closing in on her; free of her fealty to Benedict Godsword, whose career and lifestyle had taken him to places Kal could never follow—at least not as a friend. The Senate House was no place for an adventurer and trouble-shooter like Kal. Maybe she would join the crew of the
Swordfish
permanently instead, and travel the world searching for excitement, love and money. Kal watched the dolphins for a while as they passed the hull, jumping and diving alongside the dipping and rising bowsprit. Then her eyes flicked to the southern horizon ahead of them and she let out a cry: ‘Ship ho!’
Sea Dog started barking in response.
‘Sails?’ Dead Leg shouted up.
Kal could see a white square rising above the line between sea and sky. ‘Yeah, it has sails!’
‘I mean, how many?’
Kal took the telescope off the hook and zoomed-in on the approaching vessel. As it came about, Kal could make out the corners of each mast’s topgallant. ‘Three!’ she shouted down.
Down on deck, Dead Leg, Lula and Jako huddled together for a brief conference. Kal could guess what they were talking about: a three-masted ship was more than likely a warship, and in these waters it was probably a Republic ship of the line. However, since it was approaching the city then it probably wasn’t looking for local smugglers, let alone the
Swordfish
in particular.
And yet … when the warship had turned to change course, it seemed to be in order to approach them head on, and the wind was now blowing the
Swordfish
directly into its path. Kal looked again through the glass. As the ship drew near, her keen eyes could just about make out the figurehead: a grinning skeleton wearing a crown and holding aloft a sword.
Kal now recognised the ship.
It was the
Mort Royal
.
Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
She monkeyed back down the mainmast and ran aft to the tiller. ‘It’s Ben,’ she gasped, catching her breath. ‘He must have left the city before us, and has now turned around to head us off. I’m afraid we’re about to get boarded by a consul of Amaranthium!’
I.vi
Marqued for Death
Dead Leg gave the orders for the halyards to be slackened, and for the
Swordfish
to be brought into the wind. Soon the ship was stationary, with its sails luffing, bobbing up and down on the swells rather than cutting through them. Kal’s stomach started to churn for the first time, but whether from the motion of the deck or from the imminent encounter with the
Mort Royal
, she couldn’t say.
‘No point in making this more difficult than it needs to be,’ Dead Leg said. ‘There’s nothing on board any more that will interest them anyway.’ Kal noticed a couple of the crew rush down to the hold as if to
make sure
that there was nothing of interest to be found.
‘I’m not going to let him take you away from me,’ Lula told Kal as they stood together at the bulwark, watching the
Mort Royal
manoeuvre under oar until it was prow to prow, portside to starboard with the
Swordfish
. ‘I’ll fight anyone who tries.’ She opened her coat and patted the cutlass at her hip.
Kal smiled at the implication; the
Mort Royal
was so big that the entire deck of the
Swordfish
was in its shadow. The warship had not one, not two, but
three
gun decks, and Kal estimated that there were fifty cannon on just the one side.
‘Do you know how many gunners it takes to operate just one of those forty-two-pounders?’ Dead Leg asked as he came to stand beside them.
Kal shrugged. ‘Three?’ she guessed.
The captain laughed. ‘At least ten,’ he said. ‘And what with the soldiers, those pulling the oars, and not to mention the team on the rigging, there must be no less than a thousand hands on board.’
Lula winked at Kal. ‘We’ll take five hundred each, then?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kal told her friend. ‘Ben’s just here to talk me into going home. I’ll refuse. He’ll offer me money. I’ll refuse. He’ll leave. He doesn’t control me, Lu.’
The crew of the
Mort Royal
threw down ropes, and Dead Leg obliged by ordering his crew to secure them. When the two ships were tethered, however, a heavy corvus bridge fell down across the gap, its metal spikes smashing into the deck of the
Swordfish
. Dead Leg swore; the damage wasn’t insignificant. Kal’s nervousness grew; this encounter wasn’t going to go smoothly, and she was going to get stuck in the middle of both parties.
Ben appeared at the top of the ramp, and he strolled down followed by a retinue of the Senate Guard. He dressed well these days, now that he was a consul, and today sported a luxurious (if slightly creased) blue sea coat that was decorated with gold buttons. He wore a dandy black hat with a wide brim to brush off the winter weather, and polished leather boots. Only a day-old stubble betrayed the early start he must have undertaken to get ahead of Kal.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said as he set foot on board the
Swordfish
. He stopped and nodded to Dead Leg. ‘Permission to come on board, Captain?’
‘Permission granted,’ Dead Leg replied in a controlled voice.
‘Good!’ Ben said. ‘I was just taking my new ship out for a cruise to test its seaworthiness. See what she’s capable of. Just because the Republic hasn’t been involved in a navel battle for ten years, doesn’t mean that we won’t get embroiled in one tomorrow. If you hear a loud boom later, that’s just me testing the guns. If you hear a
very
loud boom, then we’ve blown the powder-hold!’
Dead Leg stumped his wooden leg impatiently as Ben talked. The captain wasn’t as easily impressed by Ben’s prattle as many of the fawning sycophants in the Senate House were. ‘Anyway,’ Ben said, ‘I thought I’d give the men a drilling in conducting a search of a ship.’ He pulled a fob watch from his doublet. You have twenty minutes, Captain,’ he said, addressing the other captain on board: Captain Silas Dogwood of the Senate Guard, who had accompanied him down the ramp. ‘See if you can find me some contraband!’
Dogwood—a short fat man with a gleaming breastplate—gave a crisp salute and a leering grin. He barked orders to his squad, and the soldiers dispersed around the ship.
‘Nothing personal, matey,’ Ben assured Dead Leg. ‘Oh, hello, Kal,’ he said, apparently noticing her for the first time. ‘Fancy seeing you here. How about you fix us up with a mug of grog, or whatever you have on board, while we’re waiting. I bet the captain has a plentiful supply in his cabin. Right, Captain?’
Dead Leg grunted, and waved Ben and Kal to the aft of the ship, then stumped off to supervise the inspection.
* * *
The captain’s cabin was sparse and plainly-furnished. Dead Leg’s pride and joy was a large table, roughly-hewn from tropical hardwood. Ben put his boots up on it as he slumped in the chair. Kal opened up the large drinks cabinet and sorted through the bottles. Hidden away at the back, she found a bottle of Black Kraken rum. This was the good stuff; not something that Dead Leg would suffer to be watered down and served as grog to the crew. If he found it half-empty later on, she would just blame it on Ben.
She found some fancy cut glass tumblers and poured herself and Ben a generous helping each. Kal took hers to the window bench, where she could look out astern over the southern horizon. Would she ever make it to those warmer climes? The inspiring view was desecrated by what Kal first thought was a fresh onslaught of rain. But then she realised, judging by the colour, that it was probably Jako, relieving himself as he took a break from manning the tiller above.
Ben was toying with the captain’s pair of compasses. ‘So, Kal,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ Kal said. ‘You got my note then?’
Ben shrugged. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I
did
get word from the lads at the East Gate that you were seen leaving the city in the company of Lula Pearl, a suspected smuggler. She bribed them with just three crowns each to keep their mouths shut. I know that because I always pay them double to keep me in the loop.’
‘You won’t find anything on this ship, Ben,’ Kal said, shifting along the bench to hide the roll of calico that had been laid out there. It was ridiculous that trading in this thick, coarse material should carry a penalty. The sample Kal was sitting on was dyed deep blue, and had wooden and glass beads strung onto the tassels along its fringe; it was a bit shabby: hardly the kind of thing that would sell at a good price to a discerning customer. Kal wondered, not for the first time, why Lula bothered.