Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

Locke counted nine hands. Most of the men who raised them were visibly aged or far too slender for good health, and Locke nodded. "We hold no grudge for your honesty. You'll take up your share of work once you're fit again. For now, find a spot on the main deck below, or beneath the forecastle. There's mats and canvas in the main hold. You may sleep or watch the fun as you see fit. Now, can anyone among you claim to be any sort of cook?" One of the men standing behind Jabril raised a hand.

"Good. When the anchor's up, get below and have a look at the stores. We've a brick firebox at the forecastle, plus an alchemical stone and a cauldron. We'll want a hell of a meal once we're out past the glass reefs, so show some initiative. And tap a cask of ale."

The men began cheering at that, and Jean blew his whistle to quiet them down.

"Come, now!" Locke pointed to the darkness of the Elderglass island looming behind them. "The Sword Marina's just the other side of that island, and we're not away yet. Jerome! Capstan bars and stand by to haul up anchor. Jabril! Fetch rope from Caldris and help me with this fellow."

Together, Locke and Jabril hoisted the "incapacitated" soldier to his feet. Locke tied a loose but very convincing knot around his hands with a scrap of rope provided by Caldris; once they were gone, the man could work himself free in minutes. "Don't kill me, Captain, please," the soldier muttered.

"I would never," said Locke. "I need you to carry a message to the Archon on my behalf. Tell him that he may kiss Orrin Ravelle's arse, that my commission is herewith resigned and that the only flag his pretty ship will fly from now on is red."

Locke and Jabril hoisted the man over the side of the entry port and dropped him the nine feet into the bottom of the launch. He yelped in (no doubt genuine) pain and rolled over, but seemed otherwise okay.

"Use those exact words," Locke cried, and Jabril laughed. "Now! Master Caldris, we shall make for sea!"

"Very good, Captain Ravelle." Caldris collared the four men nearest to him and began leading them below. Under his guidance, they would keep the anchor cable moving smoothly toward its tier on the orlop. "Jerome," said Locke, "hands to the capstan to raise anchor!"

Locke and Jabril joined all the remaining able-bodied members of the crew at the capstan, where the last of the heavy wooden bars were being slid into their apertures. Jean blew on his whistle and the men crammed together shoulder to shoulder on the bars.

"Raise anchor! Step-and-on! Step-and-on! Push it hard, she'll be up ere long!" Jean chanted at the top of his lungs, giving them a cadence to stamp and shove by. The men strained at the capstan, many of them weaker than they would have liked or admitted, but the mechanism began to turn and the smell of wet cable filled the air.

"Heave-and-up! Heave-and-up! Drop the anchor and we'll all be fucked!"

Soon enough they managed to heave the anchor up out of the water and Jean sent a party forward to the starboard bow to secure it. Most of the men stepped away from the capstan groaning and stretching, and Locke smiled. Even his old injuries still felt good after the exercise.

"Now," he shouted, "who among you sailed this ship when she was the Fortunate Venture} Step aside."

Fourteen men, including Jabril, separated themselves from the others. "And who among you were fair topmen?" That got him seven raised hands; good enough for the time being.

"Any of you not familiar with this ship nonetheless comfortable up above?"

Four more men stepped forward, and Locke nodded. "Good lads. You know where you'll be, then." He grabbed one of the non-topmen by the shoulder and steered him toward the bow. "For" ard watch. Let me know if anything untoward pops up in front of us." He grabbed another man and pointed to the mainmast. "Get a glass from Caldris; you'll be masthead watch for now. Don't look at me like that — you won't be fucking with the rigging. Just sit still and stay awake.

"Master Caldris," he bellowed, noting that the sailing master was back on deck, "south-east by east through the reef passage called Underglass!"

"Aye, sir, Underglass. I know the very one." Caldris, naturally, had plotted their course through the glass reefs in advance and carefully instructed Locke in the orders to give until they were out of sight of Tal Verrar. "South-east by east."

Jean gestured at the eleven men who'd volunteered for duty up on the heights of the yardarms, where the furled sails waited, hanging in the moonlight like the thin cocoons of vast insects. "Hands aloft to loose topsails and t" gallants! On the word, mind you!"

"Master Caldris," shouted Locke, unable to disguise his mirth, "now we shall see if you know your business!"

The Red Messenger moved south under topsails and topgallants, making fair use of the stiff breeze blowing west off the mainland. Her bow sliced smoothly through the calm, dark waters, and the deck beneath their feet heeled only the tiniest bit to starboard. It was a good start, thought Locke — a good start to a mad venture. When he had settled most of his crew in temporary positions, he stole a few minutes at the taffrail, watching the reflections of two moons in the gentle ripple of their wake.

"You're enjoying the hell out of yourself, Captain Ravelle." Jean stepped up to the taffrail beside him. The two thieves shook hands and grinned at one another.

"I suppose I am," Locke whispered. "I suppose this is the most lunatic thing we've ever done, and so we're entitled to bloody well enjoy ourselves." "Crew seems to have bought the act for now."

"Well, they're still fresh from the vault. Tired, underfed, excited. We'll see how sharp they are when they" ve had a few days of food and exercise. Gods, at least I didn't call anything by the wrong name." "Hard to believe we're actually doing this."

"I know. Barely feels real yet. Captain Ravelle. First Mate Valora. Hell, you" ve got it easy. I" ve got to get used to people calling me "Orrin". You get to stay a "Jerome"."

"I saw little sense in making things harder for myself. I" ve got you to do that for me." "Careful, now. I can order you whipped at the rail."

"Ha! A navy captain could, maybe. A pirate first mate doesn't have to stand for that." Jean sighed. "You think we'll ever see land again?"

"I damn well mean to," said Locke. "We've got pirates to piss off, a happy return to arrange, Stragos to humble, antidotes to find and Requin to rob blind. Two months at sea and I may even begin to have the faintest notion how."

They stared for a while at Tal Verrar sliding away behind them, at the aura of the Golden Steps and the torch-glow of the Sinspire slowly vanishing behind the darker mass of the city's south-western crescent. Then they were passing through the navigational channel in the glass reefs, away to the Sea of Brass, away to danger and piracy. Away to find war and bring it back for the Archon's convenience.

"Sail ahoy! Sail two points off the larboard bow!"

The cry filtered down from above on the third morning of their voyage south. Locke sat in his cabin, regarding his blurry reflection in the dented little mirror he'd packed in his chest. Before departure, he'd used a bit of alchemy from his disguise kit to restore his hair to its, natural colour, and now a fine shadow in much the same shade was appearing on his cheeks. He wasn't yet sure if he'd shave it, but with the shout from above his concern for his beard vanished. In a moment he was out of the cabin, up the awkward steps of the dim companionway and into the bright light of morning on the quarterdeck.

A haze of high white clouds veiled the blue sky, like wisps of tobacco smoke that had drifted far from the pipes of their progenitors. Thed'r had the wind on their larboard beam since reaching open sea, and the Red Messenger was heeled over slightly to starboard. The constant swaying and creaking and deck-slanting were utterly alien to Locke, who'd been confined to a cabin by infirmity on his last — and only previous — sea voyage. He flattered himself that the trained agility of a thief went some way toward feigning sea legs, but he avoided scampering around too much, just in case. At least he appeared to be immune to seasickness this time out, and for that he thanked the Crooked Warden fervently. Many aboard had not been so lucky. "What passes, Master Caldris?"