Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

"I might have taken offence at that if I didn't know that every name you just called us was true," said Locke. "We told Stragos we didn't know the first damn thing about sailing." "The Protector seems mighty set on having you out to sea regardless." "How long have you been in his navy?" asked Jean.

"Been at sea forty-five years, maybe. In the Verrari navy even before there was Archons; been in the Thousand-Day War, the old wars against Jerem, the war against the Ghostwinds Armada… seen a lot of shit, gentlemen. Thought I had it sewn up — been master on Archon's vessels for twenty years. Good pay. Even got a house coming, or so I thought. Before this shit. No offence." "None taken," said Locke. "This some sort of punishment detail?"

"Oh, it's punishment, Kosta. It's punishment all right. Just weren't no crime done to earn it. Archon sort of volunteered me. Fuck me, but that's what all my loyalty bought. That and a taste of the Archon's wine, so I can't just quit or run away on you. Poisoned wine. The waiting sort of poison. I take you to sea, outlive all this nonsense, I get the antidote. Maybe my house, if I'm lucky." "The Archon gave you poisoned wine?" said Locke.

"Didn't know it was poisoned, obviously. What was I supposed to do," Caldris spat, "not fuckin" drink it?"

"Of course not," said Locke. "We're passengers in the same boat, friend. Except it was cider with us. We had a hell of a thirst." "Oh, really?" Caldris gaped. "Ha! Fuck me raw! Here I thought I was the biggest damn fool on the Sea of Brass. Here I thought I was the damnedest halfwit of a blind, uselsss… old… ah…"

He soon noticed the glare Locke and Jean were giving him in unison, and he coughed loudly. "Which is to say, sirs, that misery does love company, and I can see that we're all going to be real enthusiastic about this here do-or-die mission."

"Right. So, ah, tell us," said Jean. "Exactly how are we going to get on with this?"

"Well, first I reckon we talk, second I reckon we sail. I got just a few things to say before we tempt the gods, so open your ears. First, it takes five years or so to make a landsman into a halfway decent sailor. Ten to fifteen to make a halfway decent sea-officer. So fuckin" attend this: I ain't making no halfway decent sea-officers of you. I'm making shams. I'm making it so you're not embarrassed to talk rope and canvas around real sailors, and that's about it. Maybe, just maybe, that's what I can do to you in a month. So you can pretend to give orders while taking "em from me. Taking "em good.""

"Fair enough," said Locke. "The more you handle, the more comfortable we'll be, honest."

"I just don't want you to decide you're heroes who" ve learned the full business, so's you start changing sails and trim and courses without my leave. Do that and we're all gonna die, fast as a one-copper fuck in a one-whore cathouse. I hope that's clear."

"Not to get ahead of ourselves," said Jean, "but where the hell is this ship on which we would never, ever dare do anything like that?"

"It's around," said Caldris. "Getting a bit of finishing in another bay, just to help it hold together. For the time being, that there's the only vessel you're fit to board." He pointed at the dinghy. "That's what I'll learn you on." "What does that little thing have to do with a real ship?" Locke said.

"That little thing is what I learned on, Kosta. That little thing is where any real sea-officer starts. That's how you cop to the basics — hull, wind and water. Know "em on a boat and you can think it out on a ship. So, off with your coats and vests and fancy shit. Leave anything you mind getting wet as I'm making no promises. Boots as well. You'll do this barefoot."

Once Locke and Jean had stripped down to their tunics and breeches, Caldris led them over to a large covered basket that sat on the stones near the docked dinghy. He undid the cover, reached in and removed a live kitten. "Hello, you monstrous little necessity." "Mrrrrwwwwww," said the monstrous little necessity.

"Kosta." Caldris shoved the squirming kitten into Locke's arms. "Look after her for a few minutes."

"Urn… why do you keep a kitten in that basket?" The kitten, dissatisfied with Locke's arms, decided to wrap her paws around his neck and experiment on it with her claws.

"When you go to sea, there's two necessities, for luck. First, you're courting an awful fate if you take a ship to sea without at least one woman officer. It's the law of the Lord of the Grasping Waters. His mandate. He's got a fixation for the daughters of the land; he'll smash any ship that puts to sea without at least one aboard. Plus, it's plain common sense. They" re good officers. Decent plain sailors, but finer officers than you or me. Just the way the gods made "em.

"Second, it's powerful bad luck to put out without cats on board. Not only as they kill the rats, but as they're the proudest creatures anywhere, wet or dry. Iono admires the little fuckers. Got a ship with women and cats aboard, you'll have the finest luck you can hope for. Now, our little boat's so small I reckon we're fine without no woman. Fishers and harbour boats go out all the time, no worries. But with the pair of you aboard, I'll be damned if I'm not bringing a cat. A little one suits a little vessel."

"So… we have to tend this kitten while we're out there risking our fives?"

"I'll throw you overboard before I'll lose her, Kosta." Caldris chuckled. "You think I'm lying, you just test me. But keep your breeches on; she'll be in the covered basket."

Speaking of the basket seemed to recall it to his mind. He reached into it again and drew out a small loaf of bread and a silver knife. Locke saw that the loaf had many small marks upon it, about the size of the muzzle of the little creature trying to slip out of his arms. Caldris didn't seem to care. "Master de Ferra, hold out your right hand and don't whine."

Jean extended his right hand toward Caldris. Without hesitation, the sailing master slashed the knife across Jean's palm. The big man said nothing, and Caldris grunted as though pleasantly surprised. He turned Jean's palm upside-down and smeared the bread with the blood trickling from the cut.

"Now you, Master Kosta. Keep that kitten still. Vile luck to cut her by accident. Plus she's armed, fore and aft."

A moment later, Caldris had made a shallow, stinging cut across Locke's right palm and was pressing the loaf of bread up against it as though to stanch the wound. When he decided that Locke had bled sufficiently, he smiled and moved to the edge of the stone plaza, overlooking the water.

"I know you both been passengers on ships," he said, "but passengers don't signify. Passengers ain't involved. Now you're gonna be involved, proper, so I got to make things right for us first."

He cleared his throat, knelt at the edge of the water and held up his arms. In one hand he held the loaf of bread; in the other, the silver knife. "Iono! Iono Stormbringer! Lord of the Grasping Waters! Your servant Caldris bal Comar calls. Long you been pleased to show your servant mercy, and your servant kneels to show his devotion. Surely you know a mighty fuckin" mess waits over the horizon for him."

He tossed the bloody knife into the bay, and said: "This is the blood of landsmen. All blood is water. All blood is yours. This is a knife of silver, metal of the sky, sky that touches water. Your servant gives you blood and silver to show his devotion."

He took the loaf of bread in both hands, tore it in half and threw both halves into the water. "This is the bread of landsmen, that landsmen need to live! At sea, all fife is yours. At sea, yours is the only mercy. Give your servant strong winds and open waters, Lord. Show him mercy in his passage. Show him the might of your will within the waves and send him safe home again. Hail Iono! Lord of the Grasping Waters!"