Jay Kristoff - Darkdawn

The captain lifted his spyglass with a small smile.

‘These god-botherers won’t lay a damned finger on us.’

The first cannon shot skimmed across the water a hundred feet shy of their prow. The second one twenty feet short of their stern, close enough to scorch the paint. And the third flew past close enough that Cloud could have shaved with it.

The Luminatii warship was running parallel to the Maid, her gold-threaded sails gleaming. Cloud could see her name written in bold, flowing script down her prow.

Faithful .

Her cannons were ready to unleash another blast of arkemical fire – the three earlier bursts had been warning shots, and Cloud didn’t fancy his chances of a fourth. Besides, considering what the Maid had hidden in her belly, one good kiss from old Faithful here would be all they needed.

‘All stop,’ the captain spat. ‘Hoist the white flag.’

‘Stop, you useless shitwizards!’ BigJon roared from the quarterdeck. ‘All stop!’

‘O, aye,’ Sister Ashlinn muttered from the railing beside him. ‘You know the oceans and your ship all right, Captain …’

‘You know,’ Cloud replied, turning to look at her, ‘my first impressions of you were quite favourable, good Sister, but I have to say, the more I get to know you, the less fond of you I grow.’

Her bodyguard folded his arms and scoffed.

‘WE SHOULD HAVE A DRINK SOMETIME …’

The ocean was too deep for the Maid to drop anchor, so once the sails were stowed and their head turned to the wind, there was little for the crew to do except stand about and wait for the Faithful to make berth alongside. Cloud watched the massive warship cruise closer, his belly sinking lower all the while. Her flanks were bristling with arkemical cannons from the workshops of the Iron Collegium, and her decks packed with Itreyan marines.

The men were dressed in chain mail and leather armour, each embossed with the sigil of the three suns on his chest. They carried shortswords and light wooden shields, ideal for close-quarter fighting on the decks of enemy ships. And they outnumbered the Maid ’s crew two to one.

Up on the aft deck, Cloud could see a half-dozen Luminatii in gravebone armour, their cloaks blood-red, feathered plumes of the same hue on their helms, fluttering in the sea breeze. Their leader was a tall centurion with a pointed beard, piercing grey eyes, and the expression of a fellow in desperate need of a professional wristjob.[fn1]

‘Damned god-botherers,’ the captain grumbled.

‘Aye,’ BigJon said, stepping up beside him. ‘Lady Trelene drown them all.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Cloud muttered, more to himself than his first mate. ‘It’s well hidden. They’d have to rip the hull apart to find it.’

‘Unless they know exactly where to look for it.’

Cloud looked at his first mate with widening eyes. ‘They wouldn’t have …?’

The littleman lit his drakebone pipe with a flintbox and puffed thoughtfully. ‘I told you not to plough Antolini’s wife, Cap’n.’

‘And I told you she asked nicely.’ Cloud lowered his voice. ‘ Very nicely, in fact.’

‘You think these Luminatii boys are going to be as sweet?’ BigJon scoffed, watching them prepare to board. ‘Because they’re settling in to fuck us, sure and true.’

Cloud winced as the grapples were thrown, sinking into the Maid ’s railing and splintering the wood. Faithful ’s crew slung heavy hay-stuffed bags along her flanks to cushion the impact as the Maid was hauled closer by mekwerk winches, and the two ships finally came together with a heavy thump. Lines were lashed tight, and a gangplank extended from conqueror to conquered.

Centurion Wristjob glowered down from the Faithful ’s aftercastle.

‘I am Centurion Ovidius Varinius Falco, second century, third cohort of the Luminatii Legion,’ he called. ‘By order of Imperator Scaeva, I am authorized to board your vessel in search of contraband. Your cooperation is—’

‘Aye, aye, come on over, mates.’ Cloud flashed his four-bastard smile, doffing his tricorn with a low bow. ‘Nothing to hide here! Just wipe your feet first, neh?’

The privateer muttered over his shoulder.

‘You’d best head below to your cabin, Sister. Things will …’

Cloud looked to BigJon, blinking hard at the empty space where the girl and her bodyguard had stood a few moments before.

‘… Where the ’byss did they go?’

Luminatii crawled over the Maid like fleas in a Liisian grandmother’s chest hair.

The search was cordoned and meticulous, and Centurion Falco had obviously dealt with smugglers before – he found all three of Cloud’s dummy stash spots easily. Thankfully, and despite BigJon’s conspiracy theories, the boarders hadn’t come close to finding the real ones, and Cloud’s hidden cargo remained safe as houses. But accompanying Falco in his search and answering his questions as politely as he could, the privateer quickly came to a rather disturbing realization.

The god-botherers weren’t actually interested in contraband at all – what they were looking for was people. And, acutely aware the nun he was carrying was likely no more a nun than he was a priest, the privateer was worried his sinking belly might actually start leaking out through his boots.

‘And these are your only passengers?’ Falco asked.

‘Aye,’ Cloud replied, raising a fist to knock on the cabin door. ‘We’re not usually in the business of transporting livestock.’

‘They came aboard where and when?’

‘Godsgrave. A few turns back. Booked passage all the way to Ashkah.’

The centurion gave a curt nod, and Cloud knocked loudly.

‘Sister?’ he sang. ‘Are you decent? There’s a few fellow servants of the Blessed Light here who’d like to ask you some questions.’

‘Enter,’ came the reply.

Cloud opened the door and found the Vaanian girl already standing politely to one side, back against the bulkhead, hands before her like a penitent.

‘Forgiveness, Sister—’ Cloud began.

‘Step aside, plebian,’ Falco said, forcing his way into the cabin.

The centurion dragged off his plumed helmet, smoothed down his sweaty mop of hair, and gave the sister a respectful bow. His steel-grey eyes flitted to the bodyguard in the corner, the muscles in his jaw tensing. The big fellow made no sound.

‘Forgive me, good Sister,’ he said to the nun. ‘I am Centurion Ovidius Varinius Falco, commander of the warship Faithful . By order of our imperator, Julius Scaeva, I must conduct a search of this ship, and thus, your cabin.’

The girl kept her eyes to the floor in a convincing show of modesty, nodding once. ‘No apologies are necessary, Centurion. Please, conduct your search.’

The centurion nodded to his four marines. They stepped into the room, eyes to the floor out of deference, each obviously about as comfortable in the nun’s cabin as a real nun would’ve been in a dockside fightpit. Careful not to impinge too much on the good sister’s personal space, they began searching the chests, the barrels, knocking on the floors and walls in search of hollows. For his part, Falco kept his eyes on the big fellow in the corner of the room, but the figure remained motionless.

Cloud stood and watched, butterflies beating about in his belly. He could hear marines going through the other cabins farther down the ship, and none too gently by the sound. He wrapped his arms around himself, jaw clenched tight.

Colder than a real nun’s nethers in here …

‘Forgive me, Sister,’ Falco said suddenly. ‘I confess no end of strangeness in finding you in such … colourful company.’