hair, deferred to the shorter one carrying ship papers: a young woman in plain sailor’s smock and summer deck trousers, her face brown, her body boyish in shape—strong shoulders, narrow hips. What kind of fight had they escaped?
Testhy and Jeje politely flicked their foreheads in salute to the captain.
“Who are you and what aid do you seek?” the captain said in Dock Talk.
Jeje hesitated, studying the tall, thin young captain. Hair worn back in a four-strand sailor’s queue, a good sign: the politically appointed landsmen captains usually wore their hair in land fashions and were worthless to a man or woman, in Jeje’s liberal opinion.
“Jeje sa Jeje, chief of Vixen, scout for our current hire, four ships out of Sarendan, Drapers Guild owners, carrying cotton-silk and other cloth goods up to Jabreis. Attacked by pirates.”
Heavy brows furrowed. “Brotherhood?”
“No. But it’s a big fleet. Three big raffees, one old trysail, at least six schooners, some sloops.”
“Tops’l?”
“Blank.”
The wind brought a mutter from one of the bowmen in the mizzen-top, “No wonder we seen no one for nigh three days.”
The captain glanced over the rail at his two consorts, then at his first lieutenant, who grinned with anticipation. “Sounds very like Gaffer Walic’s fleet. For that we’ll need reinforcement.” He scanned the darkening sky, sniffed the wind. “If we bustle we can catch the tide. Follow us into port.”
Jeje and Testhy scrambled back down into the Vixen and followed the navy ships into Tchorchin Harbor. Clouds tumbled upward in the northeast, sending gusts of wind slamming into their sails; the tide was making as well. Just before midnight bells they glided in, the Vixen rating that rarity, a mooring at the wharf, alongside the naval craft.
“You’re now chief mate,” Jeje said to Loos, the older of the Fisher brothers.
Nugget waited until Jeje and Testhy reached the shore, then helped herself to the little pile of coins kept in the chart cubby and jumped onto the dock.
“Hey,” cried the new chief. “Come back! She didn’t say liberty.”
“She didn’t say no, either. If anything’s open I want to find some cinnamon rolls as good as Rig’s. If I do I’ll get enough for all of us,” Nugget called back.
Leaving the would-be chief sighing as he thought, So much for command.
Testhy and Jeje followed the first lieutenant, stumbling with exhaustion and clumsy efforts to regain land balance. Testhy felt as if the brick promenade leading to the harbormaster’s huge, castellated building was moving with a slow roll, and his knees had gone watery.
Jeje picked up on his tension without knowing the reason, but she was too tired to remark on it as the first spatters of a rainsquall splashed warmly on their faces.
The harbormaster was a tough old woman who reminded Jeje at once of her grandmother on the other end of the continent. She felt her spirits lift, a relief that vanished as the questioning went on far too long. When did the atmosphere change? She was only aware of it when the harbormaster said, “The matter will be dealt with,” and dismissed them with a cold-eyed nod.
Testhy had been watching the scribe in the far corner, who’d signaled something to the harbormaster when Jeje gave the names of their three marine leaders: Handar Kodl, Fussef Niz Findl, and Inda Elgar.
Ryala Pim was here, Testhy thought as they followed a runner to a small anteroom. Reported us as pirates who stole her ships, like she said she would.
They’d scarcely sat down on the worn benches outside the harbormaster’s office when, to their surprise, the first lieutenant returned with a furtive air.
He was short, fair, and looked very much younger than he had on deck—Dasta’s age, or maybe even Inda’s. He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Cap’n sent me to say you better hop.”
“What?” Jeje gasped.
The lieutenant’s Dock Talk was staccato, hard to follow, as he motioned to
Testhy and Jeje politely flicked their foreheads in salute to the captain.
“Who are you and what aid do you seek?” the captain said in Dock Talk.
Jeje hesitated, studying the tall, thin young captain. Hair worn back in a four-strand sailor’s queue, a good sign: the politically appointed landsmen captains usually wore their hair in land fashions and were worthless to a man or woman, in Jeje’s liberal opinion.
“Jeje sa Jeje, chief of Vixen, scout for our current hire, four ships out of Sarendan, Drapers Guild owners, carrying cotton-silk and other cloth goods up to Jabreis. Attacked by pirates.”
Heavy brows furrowed. “Brotherhood?”
“No. But it’s a big fleet. Three big raffees, one old trysail, at least six schooners, some sloops.”
“Tops’l?”
“Blank.”
The wind brought a mutter from one of the bowmen in the mizzen-top, “No wonder we seen no one for nigh three days.”
The captain glanced over the rail at his two consorts, then at his first lieutenant, who grinned with anticipation. “Sounds very like Gaffer Walic’s fleet. For that we’ll need reinforcement.” He scanned the darkening sky, sniffed the wind. “If we bustle we can catch the tide. Follow us into port.”
Jeje and Testhy scrambled back down into the Vixen and followed the navy ships into Tchorchin Harbor. Clouds tumbled upward in the northeast, sending gusts of wind slamming into their sails; the tide was making as well. Just before midnight bells they glided in, the Vixen rating that rarity, a mooring at the wharf, alongside the naval craft.
“You’re now chief mate,” Jeje said to Loos, the older of the Fisher brothers.
Nugget waited until Jeje and Testhy reached the shore, then helped herself to the little pile of coins kept in the chart cubby and jumped onto the dock.
“Hey,” cried the new chief. “Come back! She didn’t say liberty.”
“She didn’t say no, either. If anything’s open I want to find some cinnamon rolls as good as Rig’s. If I do I’ll get enough for all of us,” Nugget called back.
Leaving the would-be chief sighing as he thought, So much for command.
Testhy and Jeje followed the first lieutenant, stumbling with exhaustion and clumsy efforts to regain land balance. Testhy felt as if the brick promenade leading to the harbormaster’s huge, castellated building was moving with a slow roll, and his knees had gone watery.
Jeje picked up on his tension without knowing the reason, but she was too tired to remark on it as the first spatters of a rainsquall splashed warmly on their faces.
The harbormaster was a tough old woman who reminded Jeje at once of her grandmother on the other end of the continent. She felt her spirits lift, a relief that vanished as the questioning went on far too long. When did the atmosphere change? She was only aware of it when the harbormaster said, “The matter will be dealt with,” and dismissed them with a cold-eyed nod.
Testhy had been watching the scribe in the far corner, who’d signaled something to the harbormaster when Jeje gave the names of their three marine leaders: Handar Kodl, Fussef Niz Findl, and Inda Elgar.
Ryala Pim was here, Testhy thought as they followed a runner to a small anteroom. Reported us as pirates who stole her ships, like she said she would.
They’d scarcely sat down on the worn benches outside the harbormaster’s office when, to their surprise, the first lieutenant returned with a furtive air.
He was short, fair, and looked very much younger than he had on deck—Dasta’s age, or maybe even Inda’s. He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Cap’n sent me to say you better hop.”
“What?” Jeje gasped.
The lieutenant’s Dock Talk was staccato, hard to follow, as he motioned to
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