Chasing the Lantern (3 page)

The longboat scraped to a stop against the stony shore. Up above the tideline the pier turned into a weathered boardwalk bordering the docks from the rest of the town. Captain Fengel stood and nimbly climbed the ladder up to the pier, conveniently having stopped just next to it. His crew half-walked, half-swam after him, or made for the bow and the shore.

Lina floated in the drowned longboat, resting. Then, in floundering fits and starts, she pushed away from the boat and dog-paddled her way up to the shore where the boardwalk stretched out to the pier. She collapsed, panting, and barely noticed the shadow that fell across her. Lina glanced up to see Captain Fengel peering down at her through his monocle, a vaguely surprised expression on his face.

"You can't tie that wreck up here!" shouted a voice.

A figure appeared out of the gloom. Tall, sandy-haired and ruggedly handsome, he was a pirate straight out of the penny-shows that Lina had loved as a child. He looked to be several years older than her, in his early twenties, his smile easy and cocksure. He held a mug in one hand, brimming with foamy ale. "Other ships need the space," he said with a smile.

Fengel and Lina both glanced back down the dock at the empty piers. Henry Smalls crept over to join them, standing deferentially behind his captain and looking like a scruffy, half-drowned bulldog.

The stranger stepped over Lina as if she weren't even there and came to a stop before Fengel. He grabbed at the captain's hand and pumped it, slapping his shoulder as well. "Goddess' teats. I was waiting for you up at Skydock near our usual watering hole. Then I saw the little longboat floundering around down here in the lagoon. Where's our bleeding ship at?"

Fengel considered the man calmly. It must only have been a trick of the light that he seemed to sway. Henry stepped beside his captain. "It's gone, Lucian," said the little steward. "The
Flittergrasp
is gone."

Their captain reached out, took Lucian's drink, and downed it in one smooth gulp. "First mate Thorn," he said to Lucian, his voice a harsh croak. "We’ve had a rather rough time of it. I would appreciate if you could take up the command for now."

Lucian stared at Henry in dismay, his drink forgotten in the face of their news. "But how? What happened to the ship?"

"Aetherite blew it up in Triskelion," said Henry. "We've barely made it back."

"In a
longboat?
Across the Atalian Sea?"

"It was a kind of balloon at first. Someone's idea of an airship. Happened to be attached to the longboat, thankfully."

Lucian covered his eyes. "Our ship. Our beautiful ship." He straightened with a sigh. "Captain...there's no loot either, is there?"

Captain Fengel only frowned.

The first mate groaned. "Captain, you need to pay off Mr. Grey. Very, very badly. And now, without a ship..." He looked back to Fengel. "Captain, we need to talk about this. But you'll have to go pay obeisance to Blackheart first."

Fengel staggered as if he had been shot. An ugly scowl curled its way onto his face. "Ah. Yes. Obeisance."

"She's up at the Bleeding Teeth. But—hello. Who is this?" The first mate stared down at Lina, one eyebrow raised.

Lina tried to stand and talk at the same time, and failed. Lucian reached down to help her up. "Lina," she tried again, attempting a smile at the dashing first mate. He winced, and she knew she had been less than successful.
Oh, that's right. I've no hair anymore.

"Doxy from Triskelion who wanted to be a pirate," said Henry. He turned to Fengel. "Sir, you can't put off your obeisance to Blackheart, but we can't be going up to Natasha in this state."

Fengel shook, as if surprised to find himself where he was. "What? Poppycock." His voice wavered. He looked around, as if taking in the dock and the town for the first time. His eyes darted down to the groaning pirates laying about the pier and he frowned as if surprised to see them there. "Mr. Mate, I would be obliged if you could take care of the crew."

Lucian nodded. "Of course, sir.  Of course." Then he blinked. "How should I take care of them, sir?"

Fengel swayed. "We've just come back to port. Do what we usually do."

Henry Smalls spoke up. "It's exposure, Lucian. Lots of small beer, clean water, and food."

Lucian nodded, then turned back to the captain. "But with what money, sir?"

"Lucian, I leave that…in your capable hands."

Lucian peered at him. So did Henry. Fengel didn’t seem to notice. Lucian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll just take them to Garvey's Hole. Put it all on the tab." He frowned back at Henry Smalls. "That tab's still good, yes?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Until tomorrow, apparently."

Fengel clapped Lucian on the shoulder. "Good. You have your orders, Lucian. Henry, you're with me. And…you too, Miss Stone."

Saying nothing more, he staggered past them onto the boardwalk and up the hill.

Lina stared after him, then turned to the other two men. She worked her mouth to get enough spit to talk. "Obeisance?" she asked. "To who? Who's this Natasha? Not even the serpent made him flinch."

Henry and Lucian both narrowed their eyes. "His wife," they said as one. The loathing in their voices sent a shiver up Lina's spine.

Chapter Two

The heat-fatigue was making things rather difficult.

Fengel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The wooden stair he climbed was steep and built haphazardly into the earthen slope between terraces. His breath came in short gasps, stolen in the moments between mounting one step and pushing down upon the last.

A platform landing appeared halfway up this terrace. Grateful, Fengel stopped a moment. It was not large. Several small shacks clustered on it like a clutch of frightened pups backed into a corner. Their brightly painted signs advertised a tailor, a tattooist, and a black apothecary. A drunk sailor knelt at the edge of the platform, retching his rum over its lip. Two rogues stuck to the shadows, peering at Fengel and fingering daggers. To his right rose more of cliff-hugging Haventown. At his left the slope continued down to the docks and the lagoon. The air stank of brine, beer, and subtle jungle smells. Nostalgia washed over him and Fengel sighed.
Home. I'm home at last. Hurrah.

The failed job in Triskelion, the loss of his
Flittergrasp
, and then the mad flight from that city. It made him want to shake his head, except that the muscles in his neck ached and his mouth was dry as a bone. Dimly Fengel realized that he should get food and water, though he didn't feel desperate. Just confused.

Fengel tried to focus. Where were they going again? Was this it? The upward stair looked rather imposing. Surely he hadn't meant to climb it now? Visible weakness in a captain was anathema upon a ship, and he was a little off at the moment. He certainly wouldn't have put himself in a position to show it to any of his crew. Or would he? Fengel pulled at his beard.
This will take careful deliberation.

"Something wrong, Captain?" The voice came from the stair directly behind him.

He turned to peer at the duo below. Henry Smalls, his faithful steward, looking grizzled and drawn. Beside him stood a young...boy? No, not with that figure. A woman then, petite and with knife-hacked hair. Probably. If only she wouldn't stop shifting in and out of focus, he would be able to tell.
Miss Stone. That's right, I brought her along.

The silence stretched. Not good.
I need to say something.
Fengel grinned. "Absolutely capital, Mr. Smalls. Here we are, after all."

His steward blinked up at him. "Sir? It's still a goodly distance to the Bleeding Teeth."

Blast.
This landing wasn't their goal then. "Of course, of course," replied Fengel, making a dismissive gesture with his hands.
Think fast.
"I meant here, the view of the lagoon. Positively charming. Should the Servants flitter down from the Goddess on high, this is the place where they would choose to do it."

Smalls and the young woman looked out over the placid but scummy lagoon. "If you say so sir," he replied dutifully.

Fengel sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really didn't want to climb anymore. "You are a man of simple tastes, Mister Smalls. Still, I persevere."

He continued in their climb, taking care not to groan at the ache in his calves. Prim, proper, and impervious. Never let them think that you did anything against your will, and never show them your limits. Never let them see you stumble. That was the key to success, though by itself it only took one so far. What was the Bleeding Teeth? He had known a few minutes ago, and felt a peculiar undercurrent of dread at the thought.
Ah!
He had it now. The place was a tavern atop the highest terrace. Which explained the dread; more climbing was needed. Still, Fengel brightened. A tavern meant food and drink, both of which were sorely needed.

Night fell as they climbed the switchback stairs and terrace boardwalks, and Haventown blossomed to life around them. The air filled with catcalls, raucous laughter, and the sound of breaking glass. Lanterns and candle flames were lit, illuminating foggy windows and setting dirty glass aglow. Pirates, smugglers, and sailors appeared as they ascended, all swaggering and strutting through the rebel town. Barkers stood before the brothels and better taverns to hawk the goods inside. Three footpads waited in a narrow alley while a young woman lured in victims. Past her two rival captains shouted at each other while their crews placed bets or called out barbs of their own. An aetherite conjured up dancing, living flames for his own amusement. Fengel spied Blackheart's Bandits, keeping things peaceable if not exactly keeping the peace. High above them floated the airships in Skydock, the fabric of the gasbag frames and their skysails reflecting the light back below like great, soft lanterns.

Fengel focused on the buildings, ignoring the crowd. Where was the Bleeding Teeth? Farther up? Had they passed it already?

Henry's voice floated up to him. "The Sheikdom of Salomca started it all."

Fengel started to prepare a response. But the steward was talking to Miss Stone, not to him.
Hmm. This could help a bit. I must remain canny.
Fengel slowed, eavesdropping as they made their way up Haventown. 

"This was, oh, twenty years back or so, lass. The Sheikdom started preying on Royal Navy ships, the ones making the new trip to the Yulan Colony, what everyone now calls Breachtown. They founded Haventown here to launch their raids. When the fighting heated up back home they left, and the towns here had to fend for themselves. Between that, and the merchants sucking treasure out of the Yulan, well, you get pirates."

"But why doesn't the Kingdom just clean us out if we're such a bother?" asked Miss Stone.
Lizzy?
No.
Molly?
Fengel tried to remember her first name.
Lina, that's it.

"They try, on occasion. But we're two weeks away by ship and they still wage war with the Sheik. Also, the Copper Isles are bigger than you think, lass. A whole chain, not just what we saw outside."

They ascended the last stair and found themselves on the topmost terrace. Here the town spread out to either side, its boardwalk stretching out across the clifftop like a crescent moon. Taverns, sailmakers, warehouses, and brothels all clustered together in the middle, dwarfed in turn by the wide platforms and cleared-jungle enclosure of the Brotherhood Yards where they spilled out over the cliff. Opposite the Yards at the far end hung the Skydocks, piers stair-stepping up a slope in the cliff. Several airships floated at mooring there; the closest caught Fengel's eye.

The
Copper Queen
was crafted from dark oak, an old sailship in truth, rope and cabling hanging it from a gasbag balloon. Thick hawsers and chains lashed it to the overhanging pier of the Skydock. There was something about that ship, some important fact that pricked at his memory, demanding recall. But the information was hidden, and he turned away. It was obvious that the ship hadn't flown in years, and wouldn't again anytime soon.

Fengel turned back to the nearest buildings, peering through the crowds for the Bleeding Teeth. He seemed to recall that there was a signboard above it, with a scarlet smile carved into the wood.
There.
It lay a hundred feet up the boardwalk, sandwiched in between two other buildings and half-built onto the slope of the jungle cliff top.
Food and drink!

Henry and Lina conversed behind him as he approached the tavern. "That's good to know," said Lina. "But what's this about obeisance?"

"Well, we're not really like a proper town now, are we?" replied Henry. "Haventown works because even pirates need a place to sell the booty, repair the ship, and have a few drinks. But it's anarchy lass, everyone's only real allegiance is to their ship. Sometimes things get ugly. Twenty years ago it was pretty bad; ships firing on each other, vendetta murders in the brothels. Then one of the first sky-pirates had his drink shot out by a stray pistol-ball. Euron Blackheart put his foot down, knocking heads and sinking ships until everyone agreed that he was in charge, the king. So now whenever a captain comes back into port they have to swing by and acknowledge him before anything else. Usually he holds court in the Bleeding Teeth."

Fengel reached the front of the tavern, climbing several steps up to the porch. Henry's story was familiar, was right, but he had forgotten something, something important.

"So who is Natasha?"

"Well...Euron's getting a little long in the tooth. Copper Queen back there is his ship, and it hasn't flown in a decade. Day to day things are run by his daughter now, Natasha Blackheart."

Lina's voice dropped low, conspiratorial, with a strange edge to it. "You mean Captain Fengel's wife?"

"The same."

Oh.
The fog clouding his brain dissolved. Not food and drink. Natasha and obeisance. That was why they were here. Fengel grimaced, fighting down the swell of mixed, mostly negative emotions that welled up inside him. Through the door came music, braying laughter, and the sound of something breaking.