Ten Jessin Faucher

TEN

Jessin Faucher

SAMUEL

T he main cabin aboard Jessin Faucher's Miaghis —which translated rather dramatically to The Red Tempest —was small, considering the size of the forty-eight-gun warship. It stretched across the width of the stern, bulkheads spread with neatly spaced charts, maps and diagrams, giving more the sense of a professor's office than a captain's quarters. Books were arrayed on shelves, caged so as not to fall with the roll of the ship, and the central stove in its iron cradle kept the air warm, dry and welcoming. The scent of the fire mingled with beeswax, tobacco smoke and citrus, pleasantly overtaking the usual salt-and-damp scent of ship.

Captain Faucher directed Illya and I to a table, where his steward poured coffee from an ornate silver service. As he did, we unbuttoned our outer coats—or rather, I did while Illya carelessly tossed his over the back of his chair and squinted around the room.

"I see you enjoy your books. You're an academic?" Illya observed. He spoke in his native tongue, and it transformed him. When he spoke Aeadine his words were clipped, perfunctory and shallow. But in Usti his voice deepened and slowed, his articulation contemplative and at ease.

"Very much so," Faucher replied. He spoke in Usti as well, a common second tongue for Mereish. "Knowledge is power. Please, sit."

Illya sat, and I considered our host as the steward left.

"I was surprised to find someone else in my favorite abandoned harbor," Faucher began, pouring thick, sweetened cinnamon cream into his coffee and giving it a single stir. "Tithe may be a neutral port, but I refuse to pay for water. Some things should be free, do you not agree?"

I picked up my own coffee, leaving it black, while at my side Illya liberally dosed his with honey and plain, white cream. "Agreed."

Faucher watched me. "It is also a good place to keep one's head down for a few days."

"I suppose so," I acknowledged, tucking the hint of a conspiratorial smile around my eyes. Inwardly, my suspicion coiled. Faucher had already pegged us as smugglers, which was a success, but there was a chance he had marked our false gunports and painting efforts on his approach. Either way, it was clear we had secrets. I doubted protestations of innocence would go far, but I might be able to steer Faucher's suspicions onto safer waters.

Faucher mirrored my smile. "Tell me, what news have you?"

The three of us spoke for some time, sharing information. Faucher was naturally discreet on all matters to do with the war, our focus centering on the Usti and trade. This, thankfully, was something Illya was very familiar with.

"What is your cargo?" Faucher finally asked.

"Hesti parchment, for the most part," I said, naming the only cargo we had been able to procure on such short notice. "Bound for the printers in Port Gedden, though we will only be taking it as far as Yashm."

"The South Isles." Faucher nodded. "I envy you, sailing into summer while we ride out the Black Tides."

Even spoken in Usti, the name struck me. I felt my mask stiffen and drained my coffee to cover it. The Black Tides, when seaside settlements pulled their boats into the hills and thanked their ancestors for building their homes out of reach of the ravenous waves. A time of natural upheaval and unnatural superstitions.

A time when cults tortured young mages and made them into monsters.

If Faucher noticed my reaction, he did not comment. "Everything— save the people, I suppose—is milder down in the isles. The tides, this year in particular. The winter. Though you are still bound to sail through harsh weather. I trust you have an experienced weather mage?"

Illya snorted. "She manages, when the mood strikes her. I have never had such a stubborn witch."

"What is she?"

"Aeadine."

"Ah."

I felt a fleeting urge to defend Mary, but praising one's Stormsinger was the equivalent to shaking a pouch full of gold in the Knocks.

"A firm hand will go a long way," Faucher advised. "Hunger makes them weak, that I do not advise. But a little pain is a fine incentive."

I tried to drain my coffee a second time and found it empty. I set down my cup a little too firmly. The clatter brought both men's gazes to me.

"I wonder if I might ask a more delicate question." Faucher turned his eyes to Illya then returned them to me. "Is there any talk in Tithe of the Godvind ?"

I forced myself to speak civilly. "I have not heard of it."

Illya also shook his head.

"She's a Mereish vessel, vanished a month ago in these very waters." Faucher nodded towards the window and the sea beyond. "The Free Channels."

"Pirates?" Illya suggested.

Faucher gave a half-hearted nod. "Perhaps, though she herself would have been no great prize. She was a passenger ship."

I caught something in his tone. "Those passengers are now missing."

Faucher nodded.

"Who are they?"

"That," Faucher refilled his cup, then mine without asking, "is a question for my betters. I do know that Usti warships left Tithe to pursue the matter. That must signal some… gravity, to the situation."

My Sooth's senses prickled. There were five Usti warships stationed in Tithe, but none of them had been in port during our brief stay. The Star of the Sea , the very ship we had intended to hand Monna over to, was one of them.

"I would prefer, naturally," Faucher went on, "that the Mereish be allowed to pursue their own investigation into the disappearance of our people, but the Usti were quite firm on handling the matter."

"They could be dead," Illya pointed out.

Faucher shrugged noncommittally. "I have reason to believe otherwise."

"The incident took place in the Free Channels," I mused. "The Usti are bound to keep the peace here, and neither the Mereish nor the Aeadine have jurisdiction. It is part of the Accords."

"The Accords which serve the Usti very well." Faucher's tone took on an icy edge. "I suspect the Usti will report—grudgingly, tactfully—that the Aeadine are at fault for the disappearance. And where will that leave us Mereish? With more fuel for the fire but only the word of our oppressors to ignite it."

Oppressors? I sat back in my chair, looking more directly and openly at Faucher than I had since we arrived. "You are a Separatist."

Faucher's laugh was light and sincere. "No, no, no one with half their wits would support the Separatists, at least not in mixed company." His gaze scanned between the two of us. "And our company is rather mixed, is it not? An Aeadine privateer, an Usti smuggler? A ship reeking of fresh paint and the figurehead of a stag?"

I withdrew my hands from the table and prepared to stand. In contrast, Illya leaned more heavily back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stacked his feet.

"What do you want?" the big Usti asked with only a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Faucher leaned forward. "I came looking for a ship called Hart . I found him, it seems, but this…" The Mereish waved his finger between Illya and I. "Has given me pause. Why disguise yourselves when you have Usti papers giving you free passage? Unless your quest is unsanctioned."

"Why would you be looking for Hart ?" I asked. Denial, again, seemed a waste of breath.

"Because I want to know why the Usti queen has hired Aeadine privateers to do her dirty laundry." Faucher sat forward, elbows on the table, legs braced wide beneath. "What are you doing? What missions does she send you on? Tell me, be honest. You and I need not be enemies."

I calculated our options. Illya and I could fight our way to the longboat, but, even if we made it, we would be open targets traversing the distance between The Red Tempest and Hart .

"First, let me remind you," I began. "You have no jurisdiction in the Free Channels, and, regardless, we have committed no crime against you. I do have a Letter of Marque from the Usti, and I am justified to use whatever means necessary to accomplish my goals."

Even if those goals are selfish? a small, aloof voice inquired.

The Mereish captain's gaze raked my face. "Sailing under false colors is a crime."

I smiled at that, wry and knowing. "True, Captain Faucher. This world, this sea, this war—it makes criminals of us all. I am bound by contracts and obligations, as are you, and too often my greatest sacrifice is my honor."

That felt a little too honest, a little too raw. But I had gambled correctly. Something passed through the other man's eyes, something like solidarity.

Resting his elbows on the table, he looked from Illya, now silent, and back to me. "I might say the same. We are the sum of our choices, and what are we to do when all those choices are evil? When the powers who govern us push us away from peace and into further violence?"

"We heed our consciences," I replied. I sat forward, mirroring him across the table.

"In this too, we agree," the other man said. "Which is why I will not apprehend you, as I have been instructed to do. Instead, I will let you go and give you this." He reached inside the breast of his coat and pulled out a stack of folded papers. "You are in a unique position in this war, Captain Rosser. I hope you will use this evidence wisely, and that perhaps—" he held up the envelopes meaningfully "—some day you might repay me in kind."

Illya stood and I accepted the papers—waxed and scrawled with Usti lettering. My heart beat too quickly and my blood felt light, bubbling through my veins. Who was this man and what was he after?

My Sooth's senses were silent.