Nine The Red Tempest

NINE

The Red Tempest

MARY

I am still unclear as to why I volunteered for this," Charles groused, shivering beside me as Hart slipped out of Tithe's sheltered harbor and into the vast, open expanse of the Winter Sea.

The waves were draped in dusky light. Clouds hung heavy in the west, mirroring the line of the sea atop a colorful slash of open sky, where the sun sank from one shroud into the next. Pale orange, pink and bronze caught the waves, illuminating a path all the way to the horizon.

"Because you couldn't stand to be left behind?"

He buried his chin deeper into the high collar of his coat, making his beard puff up. The look he cast me was dry, edged with a secret only he and I knew.

"I've learned to pay my debts," he muttered. "I still owe you. For what I did, spying for Lirr. For never telling Demery. You still haven't… have you?"

"No. Even Samuel still doesn't know," I assured him, bumping my shoulder into his. "You already paid a high price. Though I'd like to think you came with us for friendship."

He nodded, raising his eyebrows in consideration. "And adventure?"

"You don't sound sure about that."

"I fear I am not. I'm aging, Mary." Charles's tone rode the divide between jesting and seriousness, with a melancholy shadow to his eyes. "I've started to think of home and hearths, long mornings and early bedtimes, floral curtains—save me. Ah, and a woman with a sharp mind and a willingness to bear with my existential ramblings. She is critical to this scenario. Saint, I think I even want children. Is that mad?"

I laughed. "Charles, if that's the future you want, fight for it. Though you may have to do so in the South Isles, where no one is hunting you for highway robbery or piracy."

He frowned. "It was a little warm for my liking, but perhaps. What about you? Why are you going to Mere, I mean—though if you care to divulge your dreams of the future, you know I listen well." His eyes slid to mine. "I struggle to believe you would risk your life to save Benedict Rosser, after what he tried to do to you."

I squinted at the sea. The first time I'd met Samuel's brother, he had used his Magni influence to lure me into a more than compromising situation—and attempted to keep me there, against my will. Charles had interrupted us, and he'd seen how the encounter had shaken me.

"I don't know what I want my future to look like," I admitted. "Before leaving the Wold there was simply no question. I would marry, keep my own house, stay away from the wider world. I didn't know anything else, didn't realize all that was out here to see. So now my notions are… vague. Security, yes. A family, but neither of those need be on land. All I truly know is I enjoy my life and I want to see more." I gestured to Hart and, by extension, the sea. "And I care for Samuel."

"And he cares for you," Charles added with the hint of a question.

"I believe so."

That made his brows darken in disapproval. "You have been sailing together for months and months. This ship is not large, Mary. What is stopping you?"

I suddenly decided that this conversation was not one I wanted to have.

"I am going to Mere for two reasons," I said with strengthening conviction. "Firstly, because I care for Samuel, and he was going to make a choice that he would regret for the rest of his life. I could not let him do that. And, it seems, there are other forces at work that could threaten all of us."

"Ah yes, the mysterious Ess Noti," Charles mused. "And perhaps even the Usti?"

"If the Usti meant us harm, they already had us at their mercy."

"Perhaps the time was not right. Perhaps you were more useful elsewhere, for now, or your connection to Demery protected you. Or… Perhaps you are already being watched." He leaned a little nearer, dropping his voice. "Closely."

"Oh, hush," I shot back, resisting the urge to poke him in the eye. But his words gave me pause, and an ominous feeling crept up the back of my neck. "Bastard."

Charles shrugged. "I never claimed to be otherwise."

Down the deck, the bosun's whistle piped and I heard Samuel's voice from the quarterdeck, strong and carrying. It stirred my blood in more than one way—I was all too happy to be distracted.

"Ms. Firth! A north wind, if you please?"

In answer I drew in a deep breath, down to the roots of my lungs. Then I began to sing, pushing aside Charles's words and all the uncertainties surrounding us.

The closest winds came to me in a heady rush, swirling around me. These were my trained winds, the ones that always lingered nearby, tied directly to my will and the flow of my magic. They surrounded Charles and I, stirring our clothing and hair and carrying my voice out over the water.

Next came the true wind, streaming down from the sky high above and, at my command, rushing south. As I sang that wind turned colder and sailors began to support me with a chant, a rhythmic backdrop to my melody as they raised the sails. Canvas rose with a creak of lines and tackle and a ripple of heavy fabric. We tacked, and shadows eased across Charles and I and the deck beneath our feet.

The ship turned, slowly, south. Wind whipped my hair past my face as I finished my song and looked at my friend, my smile quick and my eyes alight.

"Perhaps I wasn't entirely truthful," I amended. The song had stirred me, making my blood rush faster and my worries dim. The wind did not care for distant threats—it cared only for swiftness and freedom. "Part of me is ready for a new adventure."

"Mm." Charles closed his eyes for an instant, breathing deeply with the skirt of his long coat flapping around his thighs.

When he opened his eyes again, they glistened. Just like mine.

* * *

A day south of Tithe we navigated a series of sunken islands and hidden reefs to a small, abandoned islet. The remnants of an ancient farm—little more than moss-covered stone walls and a croft with a collapsed roof—were tucked into forbidding shoulders of rock. A handful of rugged, wild goats watched us from ridges as we anchored in a small harbor and set to the work of disguising Hart .

The crew, a diminished complement of one hundred and fifty men and women, gathered in the close, tar, smoke and sweat stink of the gun deck.

"You and your comrades were told back in Tithe that we head into enemy waters after Ophalia Monna, who was stolen from us by Mereish intruders," Samuel said, facing down the length of the deck. The hammocks had been stowed and the crew stood around or sat on the long guns, lashed in their cradles. Sea-chests were tucked between the guns, and the deck was impeccably clean, illuminated by the open gunports and a wash of daylight. On the breeze, gulls cried. "You, however, know the truth. We sail to the Mereish mainland to recover the captain of the late Harbringer , my brother Benedict Rosser. Believe me when I say that I take not one of you for granted. Thank you for staying with Hart during this clandestine mission. As Mr. Penn has promised, you will be well paid."

Nods and murmurs met this.

Samuel went on, "I will take no chances near the Mereish mainland, so Hart must be renamed, our complement disguised. We will fly Usti colors. If necessary, we will make port as Usti smugglers. Those of you who are Usti or speak that language, report to the Uknaras—Illya and Olsa—immediately." At this, Samuel gestured to the Usti couple, who stood next to me off to one side. "Everyone else, we must be about our tasks."

Before long, Hart 's gunports were painted blue and their edges hidden with artful paint, while new, false gunports were marked at lesser intervals. This would not hold up to close inspection, but it would not do for Macholka —translated to the Leaping Stag , from an Usti folktale—to halve Hart 's warship complement of forty-two guns. We were merchants and smugglers now, sly and discreet.

There was little for me to do save calm the frigid wind around the ship and ensure the painters could finish their work in relative comfort. I leaned over the stern as the Usti letters were inscribed above the gallery windows, one at a time.

Positioned as I was, I saw the sails round the island at the same time as the watchmen. The newcomer flew Mereish colors, boasted bold red sails, and, by her track, she was making for our cove.

No warning bell sounded. No watchman cried out. But the message rippled down the deck.

I looked up as Samuel appeared at my side, clear-eyed and alert. He was already wearing an Usti overcoat—broadly belted and spewing fur at every opening—along with a fur-lined hat. His hair was loose at his cheeks and his beard less kempt, but well oiled. His sun-darkened skin was naturally ambiguous, though his face leaned towards the Aeadine—his nose a little too straight for an Usti, his cheekbones a little too smooth. But he was passable.

My features were not, though that hardly mattered. Stormsingers were commodities bought and traded and stolen, and no one cared where we came from.

I thought of my contract, carefully stowed with Samuel's documents in the main cabin, and steeled myself.

"Cap'n," Ms. Skarrow called, craning out from the balcony below, spyglass in hand. Below her, the small waves of the cove chopped placidly. "Do we beat to quarters?"

"No. Finish your work as usual, though pick up the pace. Thank the Saint we already stowed the midship guns." Samuel turned. "Mr. Uknara!"

Illya topped the quarterdeck stairs, Olsa a step behind.

"You are my first officer, as we discussed. Ms. Uknara, you are my Sooth. Mr. Keo! Assemble our ‘Usti' crew and get everyone else below. Mr. Penn, see our armsmen prepared, though discreetly. Mary?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'll change, but stay out of sight."

He offered me a brief, bracing smile then looked at the nervous crew. "Stay calm. Like as not she'll pay us no mind and be on her way once her water casks are full—there's little else on this island to be had. Finish your tasks. Go about your evening. Nothing is amiss."

His confidence bolstered the crew, but my stomach was still uneasy as I made my way down to my cabin and hurriedly opened a trunk. An array of garments spread out before me: Aeadine, Mereish, and Usti. I chose an overcoat from the latter, braided my hair into two braids threaded with linen, and wrapped them around my head. I topped it all with a fur-lined cap like Olsa usually wore, and my transformation from free Aeadine Stormsinger to captive of Usti smugglers was complete.

I made my way through the ship to the central hatchway of the gundeck, where a grating covered with canvas let in the barest shred of lanternlight, sound, and the occasional gust of wind to lift its edges. I wasn't the only one to shift here—Charles already loitered in the dim space, along with a dozen crewmembers and Poverly, the steward's girl.

Not one of them, spoke and Poverly put a finger over her lips at my approach. I lightened my steps and came to stand near Charles, just out of the light.

"What's happening?" I asked, so low I thought I might have to repeat myself.

"The Meres dropped anchor," Poverly returned.

"They ran up the white and gold," Mr. Penn added, sidling closer to me. His cap had slipped up on his bald scalp, forming an impish point, and the irregular shape of his ears—the tops lost to frostbite over the Stormwall—were on full display. Ten or so crewfolk loitered about him, pistols and knives discreetly shoved under their coats.

"The white and gold?" Charles repeated. "Sorry, forgot my Mereish flags."

"Meanin' peaceful intent," Poverly interjected, joining our little cluster. I'd noticed her watching Charles a little too keenly since we left Tithe, but I'd been fourteen once too, and Charles was an attractive man.

"Hush," another woman hissed.

We fell silent. Muffled voices came to us through the canvas-shrouded grating, and I recognized Samuel's rumble and cadence, though his words were obscured.

"Pov, here, child," the other woman beckoned.

Poverly complied reluctantly at first, then more quickly once the woman crouched with her hands laced into a stirrup. One of the other crewmen did the same, and together they boosted the girl up to the edge of the grating. The assembly gathered close with bated breath and straining ears.

"I can't hear them," Poverly complained. "You're being too loud."

"Oh, aye, I'll just stop breathing, then," the woman holding her up grumbled.

I retreated into the shadows and placed a bare hand on the nearest post. Everyone present knew I was ghiseau , but that didn't mean I intended to flaunt my condition or its benefits.

Tane's presence shivered down my fingers and into the wood as a subtle, glowing thread of spectral flesh passed up into the deck above.

Words slipped into my mind, muffled but discernable. Images came too, hedged with an odd, luminescent quality that I'd learned was how Tane always saw the world. It was something like Samuel's Sooth Sight, but subtler, more sensitive, and pervasive. He saw the signposts; she saw the feet that had trodden the path.

Charles gave me a sideways look then stepped in front of me to block the crew's view. Mr. Penn peered at us and tugged his cap back into place.

Above, Samuel stood by the rail and spoke across the water in Mereish. I didn't speak the language but Tane did, and her translation came to me a breath delayed.

"… too kind," Samuel's voice said, with a hint of deflection. "Though the hour is very late, perhaps I might extend our own hospitality to you in the morning?"

"Nonsense," came a more distant reply, masculine and flippant, distinctly Mereish. "Men such as we should not be slaves to the sun, and it's been an age since I had word from a free port. Come. Join me."

I caught my breath.

A tense silence. Tane caught the expression on Samuel's face as he looked across the water, composed but not altogether calm. The other captain was pressuring him. He knew it and let his irritation show.

Still, he inclined his head. "It would be my pleasure. We will join you presently."