CHAPTER ONE
ANY PORT IN A STORM
THE SKY FADED TO THE HUE OF BLOOD as Talion’s anchor plunged into the depths of Clockers Cove Harbor. Canvas flapped and fluttered overhead, the familiar cries of the topmen furling their charges a soothing song on the sultry breeze. The bow fell off to leeward as the cable paid out through the hawse hole. At the call of eighty fathom followed by make fast!, she swung to settle into the flow of the incoming tide. The side paddle wheels churned in reverse briefly to ensure the anchor was placed, and then the wheels fell silent.
“All secure, Captain!” Hawk snapped a salute, her face fixed in her typical perpetual scowl. “Lookouts report no navy ships in port.”
“Best news I’ve heard in a month.” In the fading evening light, Phinneus Shae continued to scan the cluttered waterfront and anchorage with his spyglass. Between the Cygnaran Navy and the Mercarian League, the list of ships he didn’t want to see had grown quite long.
Talion had anchored well out in the protected bay, which was standard practice for newly arriving merchantmen waiting for dockage, but Shae did so out of caution. He spotted a few familiar ships—at least one of which he knew to be a corsair—but none on his list. Despite its proximity to Caspia and Mercir, Clockers Cove remained one of the least patrolled and regulated ports on Cygnar’s coast and was a haven for pirates and smugglers. It remained that way for one reason: graft. The regional barons realized long ago there was money to be made in illicit activities, and though they didn’t exactly sanction smuggling, they did little to curb the activity here, content to skim profits off the top and line their pockets with gold. That didn’t mean the Mercarian League and the Cygnaran authorities wouldn’t have spies here looking for Talion, of course. The price on Shae’s head hadn’t gone away. Putting into any Cygnaran port was not without risk, but with risk, there was gain.
And Morrow knows we need some gain...
“Keep double lookouts on watch through the night.” Shae closed his spyglass and put it away. “Two boats in the water. Send for Lord Rockbottom, Quinn Corcorian, and Doc Killingsworth, and tell our engineer and surgeon to keep their shopping lists short. Just what we need. We get what we came for and haul anchor on the morning tide.”
“I guess that answers the question about shore leave.” Hawk turned to snap orders to the crew.
“Remind me again why we’re stickin’ our noses in here, Captain?” Master Walls, Talion’s quartermaster, hawked and spat over the rail, assessing the chaotic waterfront skeptically with his one good eye.
“Two reasons: supplies and a means to pay for them.” Shae clapped Walls on the shoulder, ignoring the hoot of warning from Stubs, the salty old pirate’s long-time monkey companion. “Quinn’s been nagging at me to replace the main drive couplings for six months, and Doc says if we don’t get some fresh greens soon, we’ll have scurvy aboard. We’ll be dropping off Lady Aiyana and Master Holt as well. One of Rockbottom’s informants sent word that he’d heard a rumor that might interest her, and this is as close as we’re going to get. On the other end, Rockbottom’s got a lead on something profitable for us.”
“I’ll be sorry to see Aiyana and Holt leave, but it’s about damned time we had some gainful employment.” Walls scratched his beard, and Stubs reached down to pick something from the man’s matted hair and pop the morsel into its mouth. “Things have gotten a mite thin since we lost Tempest.”
“That they have, my friend.”
The loss of Tempest, the ship Shae had captured from the Mercarian League with the intent to expand his fleet, had been the first incident in a plague of bad luck for the pirates. A Cygnaran squadron had surprised Talion and Tempest taking a smuggler departing from Five Fingers a few months back. Tempest had taken a full broadside in the stern, destroying her steam engines and steering. Talion had been damaged as well, and Shae had barely been able to rescue only a few of Tempest’s crew before the Cygnaran warships closed in. He had harried the Cygnaran ships in an attempt to draw them away from the crippled frigate, but it was to no avail. Tempest had gone down with guns firing both sides and had taken down one frigate with her. The lives of her crew had bought Talion the opportunity to escape. Since that dreadful day, work had been hard to come by. Many of Joln Rockbottom’s contacts for mercenary work had gone silent, and their financier had dipped deeply into his private investments to keep their single remaining ship up and running. Now, finally, the dwarf had received word that someone wanted to hire them.
“Know anything about this job, sir?” Hawk asked, scowl intact.
“Some kind of salvage is all we know. We’ll get the specifics tonight. Send for Lady Aiyana and Master Holt. They should be packed and ready by now.”
“Aye, sir.” Hawk snapped an order to a sea dog, and the woman dashed off to retrieve the enigmatic pair.
Lady Aiyana and her bodyguard pistoleer, Master Holt, had been with the Talion for some time, but the Iosan had always stipulated that she might need to leave the ship intermittently on personal business. What that personal business was she kept to herself—she made it clear that questions would not be welcome. She’d promised to contact Shae through one of Rockbottom’s associates if and when they could rejoin the crew. All told, he would miss them. The Iosan’s magic and the pistoleer’s uncanny marksmanship had been a welcome addition and had saved his life on at least one occasion.
Shae looked over his ship, officers, and crew, and she nodded in satisfaction. Despite living close to the bone for months, everything looked ship-shape. “Walls, you’re with me. Pick out a few sea dogs to go along. Issue pistols and cutlasses.”
“Expectin’ trouble?” Walls asked.
“Not particularly, but I’m damn well going to be ready if it finds us.”
“Ready we’ll be, sir!” Walls hustled down to the middeck to round up the crews and launch the boats.
“Request permission to go along, sir,” Hawk said, and he could see from her face that she wasn’t happy with the assignment to stay aboard.
“Sorry, Hawk, but I need you here. If a fleet of Mercarian League mercenaries shows up, I need you to haul anchor and haul ass out of here. We’ll meet up at that inlet off the Fenn Marsh.”
“I don’t like it, sir.” Hawk folded her arms, her scowl deepening. “The League knows we’re looking for work, and it’d be just like them to lure us in here and set us up for an ambush. Ghostmaker could be waiting for you ashore. She’s had a bullet with your name on it for months.”
“And she’s come up empty.” Despite his bravado, Shae had to admit the bounty hunter had been persistent. They’d all hoped she was dead after falling from Tempest’s mast with a hole blasted in her leg, but she’d shown up with her rifle and a chip on her shoulder only weeks later, still gunning for him. “Clockers Cove isn’t the best environment for a long-range sniper, Hawk. Ghostmaker would be better off out in the open, not amongst a clutter of narrow streets.”
“True, but the League is still after us, you even more than Talion.” Hawk could be as persistent as Ghostmaker, he determined. “There could be a brigade of soldiers waiting for you in there and, we’d have no way to know.”
“Rockbottom said this was one of his more reliable sources, so I don’t think it’s a setup.” Still, he knew there was more than just professional concern in Hawk’s paranoia. The two of them had been romantically involved for some time. They kept it quiet but often argued about the danger of their profession. She thought he took too many risks, and he thought she worried too much. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled and high tail it if something smells afoul. If you spot trouble from out here, fire a round from the Commodore to let us know, then head for open sea.”
“Very well, sir.” Hawk stalked away, her shoulders stiff as a board.
Shae went down to the middeck, where the launch crews were making ready. Lady Aiyana and her ever-present shadow Master Holt emerged from the sterncastle, both carrying bags. She drew the hood of her cloak up over her distinctive Iosan ears and shocking white hair as she smiled at Shae.
“Thank you for agreeing to put us ashore here, Captain. I’m sorry my business draws me away at such an inopportune time.”
“You mean when we finally might be getting a paying job?” He laughed and nodded. “I’m sorry to see you both go, but business is business, as they say.”
“Indeed.” She turned to nod to her stonily silent companion, and the two moved toward the boarding hatch.
“Come on, Walls.” Shae started for the boarding hatch, checking his hand cannon and mechanikal sword, Squall, on the way.
While the sea dogs manned the boats, handing down Aiyana and Holt’s bags, Quinn Corcorian, the ship’s engineer, and Doc Killingsworth, their surgeon and cook, joined them at the rail. Lastly, Lord Joln Rockbottom stumped out of the sterncastle with his blunderbuss, Fire Breather, propped on his hip, his peg leg thumping along the deck.
“You’re sure about this contact of yours, Joln?” Shae asked, keeping his voice low.
“Money in the bank, lad!” The dwarf grinned, his gold-capped teeth gleaming.
“That’s just what I wanted to hear. Let’s go.”
They boarded the boats, Walls on the tiller of the first and Shae on the second, and started for shore without further conversation. The sea dogs knew their jobs and performed them without unnecessary chatter. Walls checked the priming of his pistols, and Joln tapped his peg leg in time with the oars’ beat. Doc just chewed the stub of his cigar and pared his nails with a grimy knife. They arrived at the pier and climbed up the rickety ladder as the sunset faded to deep crimson. Clockers Cove reminded Shae of Five Fingers more than any other Cygnaran city. Its bawdy waterfront was just waking up for the evening, with dozens of sailors, scallywags, swindlers, and prostitutes strolling about looking for business, pleasure, employment, or all three.
“Pick four sea dogs to watch the boats, Walls,” Shae ordered, eyeing the crowds. The sea dogs fit right in, but Aiyana and Holt stood out a bit and drew a few furtive glances. Shae didn’t worry overmuch about the pair. Anyone mistaking them for easy marks would be in for a shocking surprise. “Four more with us and the rest with Quinn and Doc.”
“Aye, sir.”
As Walls split up the crews, Shae turned to his engineer. “Try not to spend me into the poor house, Quinn.”
“Just what we need, sir. Don’t worry.” The engineer grinned and saluted, happy as a lark that he’d been given the okay to buy the parts he needed to tend his beloved machinery.
“Back in a trice!” Quinn waved his escort together, and they hurried off.
“Lady Aiyana, Master Holt, this is farewell.” Shae held out a hand. “You’ll both be missed.”
“And we’ll miss you, Captain.” Aiyana shook his hand, her smaller one feeling tiny and fragile in his, though he knew she was far from that.
Holt matched his grip firmly and gave him a rare smile. “Our paths will cross again, Captain Shae. I’m sure.”
“Just send word if you need a ship.” Shae released Holt’s hand and watched the two heft their bags and vanish into the bustling waterfront. He felt a chill, wondering if he’d ever see the pair again, but shook it off. Nothing was certain in the world, and nobody was truly safe.
He turned to the others. “All right, Joln. Where are we meeting this contact of yours?”
“The Green Turtle.” The dwarf pointed up a nearby street. “A fine establishment just a few blocks up the hill.”
“After you.” Shae followed, one hand on Squall and his mind on the spells he had at his disposal. “Keep your eyes open.”
“Only got the one, Captain, but I’ll keep it peeled.” The quartermaster chuckled, and Stubs voiced a hoot of agreement.
The walk up the hill proved uneventful except for a few propositions from the local ladies of the evening, and one offer of “A load of first-rate blasting powder Cheap!” which Walls met with the business end of one of his pistols and a surly “Bugger off!” The selling smuggler vanished like he’d been poked with a pitchfork. What Walls lacked in social skills, he made up for with intimidation.
Shae kept his attention focused on passersby and the occasional faces in windows or balconies, habitually on the lookout for Ghostmaker’s distinctive shock of white hair. As always, walking on solid ground felt strange after so many months at sea, as if the cobblestones beneath his boots were pitching and swaying like the deck of a ship, but he was long used to the sensation. Besides, he wasn’t going to be ashore long enough to get his land legs. They reached the Green Turtle, and Shae was pleasantly surprised to discover Rockbottom hadn’t been exaggerating. It seemed a first-rate place with clean windows brightly lit from within and a gleaming placard hanging above the door.
The inside was all polished brass and gleaming wood, the walls festooned with bits of ships’ rigging, nets, and nautical weaponry. A vast common room opened to the left and a darker, closer bar to the right. A raven-haired hostess in a daringly cut frock greeted them with a bright smile.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Her eyes lingered on Shae for a moment longer than the others, probably due to his warcaster armor.
“You may,” Rockbottom said. “We’re here to meet an associate of mine. Balish Torghun. He said he would have a table for us.”
“Yes, of course.” The hostess consulted a book on her podium and made a mark with a pen. “A table for six. I’m afraid your escort will have to be seated elsewhere.”
“Not a problem.” Shae turned to the sea dogs. “One drink at the bar and only one. You hear me?”
“Aye, sir!” The bosun’s mate in charge grinned and led the way to the bar.
“This way, gentlemen.” The hostess led the way through the labyrinth of tables to a large corner booth near the back.
A dwarf with short-cropped red hair and a flamboyant doublet rose as they approached. The man he was with—dark haired with pale features and a square jaw—did not. Shae eyed the fellow briefly; he wore a simple but expensive suit jacket and a high-collared shirt with a silver pin at the throat. There was an air of authority about him, but there was no mark of rank or coat of arms on his jacket. Shae noted that the man assessed him also, but he would have expected nothing less.
“Joln, good to see you in such glowing health.” The dwarf extended a hand, which Rockbottom shook.
“And you, Balish.” Rockbottom nodded to Shae and Walls. “My associates, Phinneus and Walls.”
“And my friend, Elan.” Balish gestured to the dark-haired man, who nodded politely but still didn’t rise. Balish waved them into the booth. “Please, let me order us some wine.”
The dwarf was, of course, one of Rockbottom’s many contacts. Most of their legitimate mercenary work, and a good bit of their piracy, came through the dwarf’s vast network of informants and go-betweens. When someone needed a ship to carry out a task, be it smuggling, looting, exploring, or even recovering stolen goods, they made discreet inquiries, and finder’s fees were paid. Letters were sent to Talion’s homeport of Bottomton, and arrangements were made to meet and discuss terms. Shae insisted upon meeting the people he worked for personally. More than once he’d turned down jobs just because he had a bad feeling about the potential employer or didn’t like the sound of the job. So far, this fellow Elan had not won any points.
They took seats, Shae with his back to one wall and across the table from their potential employer. A servant took their order and hurried off.
“My friend Balish tells me you need something recovered,” Rockbottom said.
“That is true. The people I work for have learned of a man who may know the location of something we wish to recover. We are not in a position to pressure this man, as he is wary and somewhat troubled with his current situation, but we feel that you and your ship might be of service.”
“I see.” Shae thought he heard a faint Khadoran accent in the man’s voice. That didn’t mean much, but he filed the information away just the same.
“That’s a lot of ‘mays’ and ‘mights,’ if you don’t mind my sayin’,” Walls put in.
“I agree.” Shae paused as the waiter returned with two bottles of wine. The servant poured out five goblets and uncorked the second bottle, which he left at the table. Shae waited for him to depart before continuing. “Some specifics are in order before we accept the job.”
“I will tell you all I can.” Elan swirled his wine and sipped. “Are you familiar with the vessel Seacutter, Captain?”
“No.” Shae looked to Rockbottom. “You, Joln?”
“A Mercarian League ship lost some time ago, wasn’t it?”
“Precisely that. Yes, five years ago.” Their potential employer sipped his wine again. “Seacutter was lost on her way back from the southern continent of Zu. I gather you’re familiar with the route to the Southern Ocean?”
“We are,” Shae said, though his last trip south had nearly ended in disaster.
“Seacutter was carrying one item of cargo we wish to recover. Until recently, nobody knew where the wreck was located. We have learned that a man, a one-time merchant captain who was held for ransom by some notorious pirates, knows how to find it.”
“And you want us to get this cargo for you.” Shae sampled his wine, appreciating the fine vintage a lot more than the flavor of this job. It sounded too simple. “That’s all?”
“That is all, yes.” Elan nodded and smiled thinly. “The rest of the ship’s cargo and any other treasure or valuables you find are yours to keep. I’m authorized to offer you the sum of twenty thousand crowns for the successfully recovered cargo.”
Shae cocked an eyebrow. “And you’re not going to tell me what this cargo is, I gather.”
“Correct, other than it is not dangerous to you or your ship. It’s a large iron barrel marked with a single character in the language of Zu.” He produced an envelope from a pocket and put it on the table. “This is the name and location of the fellow who has information as to the location of the wreck, and it includes a rendering of the character inscribed on the cargo container.” He laid his hand flat on the envelope. “If we agree to terms, I’ll give you this and an advance of two thousand crowns.”
“And if this fellow’s information turns out to be inaccurate?” Shae asked.
“Then you keep the advance, and our business is done.”
Shae had to admit that seemed fair—and a nice payoff for a simple salvage operation. He looked to Joln but saw instantly that the prospect of so much money for so little effort had seduced the dwarf into submission. Shae would get no critical assessment from that quarter. Walls, on the other hand, looked skeptical. Shae glanced at him.
“Walls? You don’t look happy about this.”
“Not.” The quartermaster picked up his goblet and drained it in one swallow then reached for the second bottle. “I just wonder why you need us to chase this cargo down. Why not do it yourself?”
“A fair question, and one I can answer with ease.” Elan finished his wine and accepted a refill from Walls. “First, as I said, this fellow is rather. . . troubled after his time in captivity. His family paid a substantial ransom to save his life, but the sum put them in a state of financial difficulty. He feels guilt for this, and he has resorted to alcohol to drown that guilt. When we learned he might know something of value, we sent someone to talk to him about his experience. He told them to go away, to put it politely. They did learn it was the pirates who had taken his ship and who knew the location of Seacutter.”
“Ah, I see. So who better to palaver with pirates than other pirates?” Walls nodded and drank down his second cup of wine. He shrugged at Shae. “Seems reasonable to me.”
“And to me, but I’m still not comfortable with this mysterious cargo.” Shae finished his wine and pushed his cup aside. “You say it’s not dangerous, but it must be valuable for you to be willing to pay so much to recover it. If these pirates know where Seacutter is, why haven’t they taken it yet?”
“It is quite valuable to the right people, Captain, but of no value to common pirates. They wouldn’t know what it was even if they opened the container. A warcaster of your prowess should be able to convince them to tell you where the shipwreck is and recover the cargo with little difficulty.”
Shae had to admit the man had thought this through. Shae’s Mariner and Freebooter warjacks could operate underwater for short periods of time, and Shae had used them to recover sunken treasure before. This seemed right up their alley. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t negotiate.
“Three thousand up front. If I’m going to convince these pirates to tell me where Seacutter is, I’ll need to offer them some incentive.”
“Very well, Phinneus, three thousand crowns in advance, one thousand to be returned if the information this man gives you proves to be erroneous.” Elan raised his cup. “Do we have a deal?”
“We’ve got a deal, Elan.” Shae topped off everyone’s cups, and they all drank.
Elan raised a hand and made a gesture. A man wearing a long black coat approached the table. Shae’s hand drifted to the butt of his hand cannon.
“Volsh, retrieve three thousand from my room, place it in my black satchel, and bring it here to me,” Elan ordered.
“Sir.” The fellow bowed and hurried off.
“Can I offer you dinner, gentlemen? The Green Turtle has a skilled chef, and Balish tells me you’ve been at sea for some time. Ship’s rations must be growing tiresome.”
Rockbottom said, “Well that’s very kind of you. I think we—”
Despite the temptation, Shae cut Rockbottom off before he could accept the offer. “Thank you, but we’ve got to get going.” He caught the dwarf’s eye and shook his head. “Time and tide wait for no one, and we’re on a schedule. No offense.”
“Of course not.” Elan smiled evenly and sipped his wine.
In short order, Volsh returned with a black leather satchel, which he offered to Shae.
“Your payment, Captain, and this.” Elan slid the envelope across the table. “You now have everything you need. May you have a pleasant journey.”
“Thank you.” Shae tucked the envelope into a pocket, stood, and took the satchel. It was pleasingly heavy. “We’ll be in touch through Balish here.”
“Very good.” Once more, Elan didn’t stand or offer any gesture of farewell.
“Good to see you again, Joln.” Balish shook Rockbottom’s hand then Shae’s. “Best of luck, Phinneus.”
“Thanks.” Shae handed the satchel to Rockbottom and strode from the Green Turtle after collecting his sea dogs from the bar. Outside, he walked beside Walls in the fore with his sea dogs around Rockbottom behind to stave off interest in the dwarf’s parcel. He remained vigilant but was also deep in thought.
“Problem?” Walls asked after the first block. “You got that suspicious look in your eye.”
“I don’t know. Something about that man rubbed me the wrong way.” Shae scratched his jaw and shrugged.
“Seemed a bit standoffish to me, too, sir.” Walls scratched Stubs under the chin and fished a peanut from a pocket for the monkey. “He didn’t shake your hand. My pappy always said never to trust a man who won’t shake your hand.”
“Maybe that was it.” They made their way back to the docks, Shae wondering why he had a feeling of foreboding about Elan. It didn’t make sense that this was some kind of elaborate trap. It would have been easier to set something up right here in Clockers Cove. What was it? Maybe the mysterious cargo had him spooked.
“You know anything else about this Seacutter, Joln?” Shae asked. “What she was carrying, for instance?”
“No, lad, I don’t. I just remember some squawk about the loss of another ship on the route from Zu, and this was after the rutters had been charted all nice and pretty so even a blind foremast ’jack couldn’t get lost.” The dwarf shrugged. “The Mercarian League sent ships to search, but they never found a trace.”
“Wonderful.” Shae knew the trade goods likely to be brought back from Zu, but he doubted a single barrel of anything short of gemstones would garner so much interest. “We’ll just have to be on our toes.”
“You gonna keep our destination a secret ’til we’re aboard ship, Captain?” Walls asked.
“Oh, no, I hadn’t planned to.” Shae fished the envelope out of his pocket and broke the seal. He removed the single sheet of parchment and read it under the light of a streetlamp. “Ramarck and the fellow’s name is Grayfenn, Torse Grayfenn. Ever hear of him?”
“Nope.” Walls shrugged.
“Not I, lad.” Rockbottom shook his head, then stopped in his tracks and nodded ahead, his hands clutching the black satchel to his chest with white-knuckled ferocity. “But we may want to get out of Clockers Cove before we’re spent dry.”
On the pier ahead, a wagon drawn by a laborjack had pulled up. Quinn and several sea dogs were muscling three heavy pieces of ironmongery down the pier and into the boats, one of which was already laden with a number of bulging sacks. Killingsworth and Quinn were arguing over how to fit the drive couplings and ten bags of cabbages, carrots, and peppers into the two boats with room for all the sea dogs.
“Just what we need, Joln.” Shae clapped the dwarf on the shoulder and laughed. “Just what we need.”
“Aye but every time we get two crowns to rub together, there’s always something we bloody can’t live without.” He glared up at Shae. “If this job doesn’t pay off, we’ll be eatin’ our boot leather.”
Shae’s amusement with the dwarf’s avarice died. “Don’t I know it, my friend.”