Scimitar Sun (36 page)

“Open the blasted thing, or I’ll have the cat out of the bag for ya!” The threat had the desired effect, even though Cynthia knew Feldrin Brelak had never flogged a crewman. The cook opened the stove’s firebox and stepped back. “Everyone stand away, now!” Feldrin stepped forward and pitched the entire bowl of oil, including the firesprite, right into the firebox.

As the volatile oil hit the bed of burning coals, flames erupted from the stove and leapt almost to the overhead. Everyone except Edan cringed and Mouse cried out in alarm, darting behind Cynthia’s neck. The flames subsided quickly as the oil was consumed, and Edan ventured forth to peer into the glowing hot furnace. Cynthia and Feldrin also edged forward, the seamage muttering a prayer to Odea.

Inside the stove’s firebox, Flicker lay sprawled atop the bed of burning coals, her hair alight and her wings smoldering gossamer-smoke once again, but she lay without moving, unresponsive. Then her coppery skin began to glow with the heat, and wisps of steam began to hiss and pop from her mouth. Her tiny torso convulsed and she coughed up a teaspoon of water, which puffed into steam. Another cough and more steam, then she rolled over and vomited an astonishing amount of water onto the burning coals — enough to damp the fire a bit, though the vapor quickly hissed away. Flicker coughed and spat and sputtered, then her eyes fluttered open and she looked weakly out at them.

“She’s alive!” Edan cried, reaching forward. Feldrin pulled him back before he could thrust his hand right into the fire.

“Have a care there, lad. Here.” He grabbed a pair of serving tongs from the rack and handed them over. “Use these.”

“Right. Thanks.” He reached in with the tongs and grasped the golden chain clasped around Flicker’s waist. He hauled out the end of the chain and clasped it around his wrist. Cynthia wondered briefly why it didn’t burn him, then remembered that he’d told them the chain was magic. Maybe it didn’t get hot at all. Then Edan sat down in front of the stove to watch Flicker as she glowed in the heat of the coal fire. “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay here with her for a while before I take her out. Just to make sure she’s okay.”

“I’d like to bloody know how in the bloody Nine Hells she got loose!” Feldrin barked, fishing a bottle of rum from the cupboard and pouring a sizable portion into a cup. He knocked it back and sighed. “Would’a burned us to the waterline if it weren’t fer Mouse!” He chucked the seasprite on the chin and poured a tiny measure of rum into the cup for him. “Well done, my seasprite friend!”

A ragged cheer went up from the crewmen as the sprite downed a huge swallow of rum and chirped a tiny burp, grinning with pride.

“And well done all! Quick action by all hands!” Feldrin passed the bottle around, and everyone but Cynthia and Edan had a measure. “A measure fer the deck crew as well, by Odea! I’ll take the rest of the night watch myself.” He patted Cynthia on the back and grinned at her. “And thank you, love, fer savin’ my ship.”

“I’ll get payback later, dear. Don’t worry. There’ll be months and months of diapers to change.” That brought a roar of laughter from the crew. Soon everyone but Edan, Cynthia and Cook left the galley.

“Can I ge’cha somethin’ ta sit on, mistress?” the cook asked, rubbing his hands together. “Or somethin’ ta drink?”

“A chair would be welcome, thank you, and I could do with a cup of blackbrew.” Cynthia said, leaning against the butcher block counter and sighing deeply. He returned with a stool for her, then put a huge kettle on the stove top to heat.

“How does she look?” she asked Edan, resting a hand on his shoulder as she settled onto the stool. Heat poured out of the open stove. Edan’s face was barely a foot from the firebox door and flushed red with the heat, but the young man seemed oblivious. Mouse fluttered down to peer into the flames, mesmerized by the fire and obviously sorry for nearly drowning the firesprite.

“She’s okay, I think,” he answered, turning with a weak smile. “Just scared me, is all. I’ve known Flicker my whole life. She’s a lot of trouble, but I just couldn’t imagine losing her.”

“I understand, Edan. I feel the same way about Mouse.”

Mouse emitted a “Hmph!” of feigned disgust then settled onto her shoulder and snuggled into her neck, his wet clothes dampening her skin and hair.

Cynthia and Edan stared silently into the fire until Flicker fell asleep, nestled amongst the burning coals. Cynthia finished her blackbrew; though her nerves were finally settled, her stomach was still churning. Finally, she patted him on the shoulder and stood.

“I’m going back to bed, Edan, and I suggest you do the same. You’ve still got a big day tomorrow.”

“Oh, right! Yes, I should. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep now, but I suppose I should try.” He picked up the tongs and eased the sleeping firesprite out of the stove and into the bowl that had contained the oil. She stirred a little, but slept on. “I’m really sorry this happened, Mistress Flaxal. I truly don’t know how she got out of her cage, let alone out of my room!”

“Just see that it doesn’t happen again, Edan,” she said, handing the empty cup back to Cook with a nod of thanks. “Remember, if the ship burns, we’re all in deep water, literally.”

“Yes, Mistress Flaxal. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get out again.” He stood and cradled the bowl in his arms, the golden chain still linked firmly from his wrist to Flicker’s waist. “And thank you for bringing her back. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I’m just glad we could save her,” Cynthia said, and headed for her cabin. She had no idea what would have happened, this close to Fire Isle, if Flicker had died and Phekkar had chosen to exact revenge. She might be able to keep one firesprite from burning the ship, but she doubted she could hold off the wrath of an angry god.

≈

Sam huddled in the bin of galley supplies, chewing a slab of jerky and cursing her ill luck. She should have realized that the sea witch would be able to put out the fires. She chewed and thought, and chewed some more. At least she hadn’t been discovered, though she couldn’t imagine Edan not telling them about her. And if they did a thorough search of the ship…

But maybe not
, she thought, remembering the encounter with a flush of adrenalin. Maybe he wouldn’t betray her.

As hard as she tried to suppress them, memories of the evening besieged her; she couldn’t get Edan out of her mind. When she had been with him, she had forgotten herself entirely, forgotten who she was, what she was. She had even forgotten the burning ball of hate that kept her going, kept her focused. For those hours, she’d ceased to be Sam and had become Samantha once again; the memory of it troubled her.

She didn’t like Samantha much. Samantha was weak, a silly girl with illusions of silly things like love, family and friends. There was no room for these things in Sam. She was a pirate, and her goals involved blood and revenge, not love and family.

“And fire,” she thought, worrying another bite off the slab of jerky.

Yes, fire
. She wondered if there was another way she could burn the ship, something she could set afire that even the sea witch couldn’t put out. Suddenly she remembered another fire, the white rain of burning hell that had consumed the
Guillotine
and left her scarred. She knew that
Orin’s Pride
wielded that weapon, the weapon that had destroyed her world. She would never forget seeing the likeness of the sea witch carved into its bow as she swam through the burning water, her arm on fire. During her recent explorations she had seen the canvas-shrouded catapult on the foredeck, but had not yet had the opportunity to search the ship fully. She had not found the store of fire casks.

“Maybe…” she muttered to herself, swallowing the salty meat and gnawing off another bite.
Maybe when Edan goes ashore, I’ll be able to look around a little more.

≈

Edan lay in his bunk, Flicker securely in her cage by his bedside, the gold chain still around his wrist and her waist. Sleep would not come; his mind whirled with images, memories and questions.

Who was she? Why had she seduced him? And most important: why had she released Flicker? The girl had to have released the firesprite. He had no doubt about that.

He thought once again about telling Captain Brelak about her. She had stowed away and had endangered the ship. But what would they do to her? He had heard the captain’s threat to the cook, and he knew what bringing the cat out of the bag meant. Would they whip her?

Maybe it was a mistake
, he thought, watching Flicker snooze on her perch over the low flame.
Maybe she just opened the cage out of curiosity, then she panicked when Flicker flew out at her. Yes. It was a terrible mistake, and now she’s gone back into hiding to avoid being punished.

The explanation seemed reasonable, but it didn’t keep him from worrying about her. Would he be able to find her once he passed his trials? Would she come to him again?

“And who in the hells are you?” He rolled over and tried once again to sleep, but his mind would not be still. It was too full of the riotous memories of the girl and their tumultuous lovemaking, the horror of seeing Flicker lying drowned in his hands, and the trials he would face with the rising of the sun.

Tomorrow, he would become a pyromage.

If he survived the fire.

He closed his eyes. The one image that was missing from his unrest was the one that had plagued him for the past weeks. He rolled over and watched Flicker sleep, not thinking about Camilla at all.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dawn of Fire

“Miss Camilla!”

Chula’s booming voice and the pounding on the door brought Camilla out of bed as if it was on fire. The first light of dawn barely seeped through the drapes, and she shook her head to clear the last traces of sleep, wondering if the noise had been a dream.

“Miss Camilla, wake up! Dere’s a bloody big ship right outside de reef, an’ two more besides! Dey be warships!”

“Warships?” She snatched up a robe and pulled it on, then flung open the door to see the big man standing there, fully armed, with concern etching his features. “What? A warship is where?”

“Come see, Miss Camilla!” He pushed past her and thrust aside the curtains to her balcony. “You can see de bloody great t’ing from here!” He waved an arm at the towering mangroves guarding the western side of Scimitar Bay, and over their tops Camilla could see the fluttering pennant and white skysails of a ship. “Bloody big ship! An’ two more, not so big. De smaller ones’re anchorin’ right at de seaward end of de channel, but dat big ‘un’s jus’ hove-to, ‘bout half a mile off, like it be waitin’ fer somet’in’.”

“What the in the Nine Hells…”

“I’m thinkin’ dey gonna come ashore, Miss Camilla. Dey puttin’ boats in de watta. Lots’a boats.”

“I’ll meet them at the pier, Chula. Get some people together as well, but not too many. We don’t want to provoke a fight.” He shouted out agreement and left her rooms. In moments she was out of her night shift and putting on chemise, petticoat, corset and stockings, cursing fluently throughout the laborious process. “They might have at least waited until after breakfast!”

≈

Count Norris climbed down from the deck of the
Lady Gwen
into the pitching launch, barely suppressing a grin of triumph. The launch was crowded with twenty marines and sailors, all armed. Eight other launches, similarly manned, bobbed nearby: six from the
Clairissa
, which was hove-to half a mile to leeward, and two from
Fire Drake
, which lay at anchor in front of the
Lady Gwen
, right in the mouth of the channel into Scimitar Bay. He had left Huffington aboard, preferring to use a direct approach rather than that man’s subtle methods.

“Bring us ashore, Lieutenant Garris.” He took his seat near the stern of the boat, where he was least likely to be dampened by water splashing over the bow. “Land us at the pier and have the other boats beach on either side.”

“I’ll handle our deployment, if you please, milord Count,” the lieutenant snapped in a curt tone before calling out the orders to row ashore. The nine boats made their way swiftly up the channel as the sailors heaved rhythmically on the oars.

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Norris nodded and hid his smile; the officer had ordered the exact deployment he had suggested. “My apologies. Simply a suggestion to display our force for the most
diplomatic
effect.”

The lieutenant stiffened but said nothing, and they proceeded into the harbor with no sound but the creaking of oars, the grunting of sailors and the occasional call of a coxswain. Norris stood as they rounded the corner out of the chop and entered the calm waters of the bay. A thin smile of satisfaction spread across his face as he noted the disarray of the seamage’s forces. Dark-skinned men and women were running from the village to the pier, many of them bearing spears and other weaponry, but there was no orderly reception on the pier such as had met them the first time they visited. Then a marine’s surprised outcry took him aback.

“Good gods! What bloody manner of ship is that?”

“Silence there!” the lieutenant barked. But the exclamation only served to turn every man’s head toward the two ships in the bay. The towering masts of the sleek three-masted schooner docked at the pier were impressive but relatively familiar; they had all seen the two-masted schooners in Tsing’s harbor. But the second ship — none had ever seen a vessel like the wide, double-hulled ship that floated at the shipyard dock, her sleek, raked masts in place, rigged and ready for sails.

“It would appear that the seamage has an even greater naval force than we thought,” the count said to no one in particular. He gazed at the ships, already working the surprise into his plans and to his advantage. A flash of color caught his eye and he turned to see a figure walking briskly down the pier, crimson gown fluttering in the light morning breeze. He recognized her immediately and clenched his jaw in frustration; once again, he was being met not by the seamage, Cynthia Flaxal, but by her lackey.