In Search of Spice (17 page)

Captain Larroche looked down on them. “Do any of you have anything to say?” He waited, one sank to his knees and started to sob, the others just looked down. The Captain looked at his crew, to see if any of them wanted to speak, but mention of the Gull changed opinions. Even the recruits knew of her. “We will not have creatures like you in our crew. You will be hanged after the tribunal.”

Sara spoke a few words in Spakka and the warriors laughed, dragging them off to the side.

Next up came a hulking young man with a flat face and black hair, who looked at them expressionlessly. A northerner who spoke only Spakka. His name was unpronounceable, and it wasn’t clear whether he didn’t understand the proceedings or didn’t care. Seeing two others of similar ilk, the Captain called them in as well. The crew wanted blood now, and seeing foreign northerners in front of them were ready to see them hang as well. But the Spakka weren’t helpful.

“Good fighters, hard workers. One day make Spakka. Have to knock them out to catch them.” That was about the limit of their description. They shrugged when asked about their capture, and Janis said the Spakka were always fighting the northerners. Captain Larroche resorted to questioning them in Spakka through Sara.

“Will you work hard in the ship for us?”

“If you feed us.” Sara tried not to smile as she translated.

“Will you run away?”

Shrugs. “Who knows? If the food better and the work not hard, we stay.”

“Will you fight for the ship and the people in it?”

“Fighting fun. Give spear, we use.”

The Captain looked at the Bosun, who shrugged. “Very well, they stay on probation. Who’s next?”

A young boy with broad shoulders from rowing who claimed to be a fisherman. He said the Spakka had taken his ship and killed his father and uncle. He was from a fishing village on the east coast of Harrhein. A Spakka warrior confirmed his story, and added that he was a good boy who had stood over his father despite being small. The Captain passed him into the crew where one of the Bosun’s mates took him under her wing.

A blonde giant came forth next, and a very similar one pushed out to join him. The second spoke up without being questioned, in broken Harrhein.

“We are Uightlanders! We on ship, raiding Spakka, Harrhein, anywhere we can. If not raiding, we trade. Sometimes we trade with Harrhein, sometimes we raid - depends on how good defences.” He smiled. “Usually good, so trade! You take us, we part of crew, work, fight, trade. In maybe one year, maybe two, we ask for money and go home. We like to be on ship with women!” He grinned at the girls in the crew.

Captain Larroche spoke quietly to Brian. “They look likely lads. What do you think?”

“They’ll be fine. Good lads, these Uightlanders, always an asset to the crew. Can start fights when they’re drunk, but always in good spirits.”

“OK Bosun, they’re all yours.” Captain Larroche called down to the deck. “Are the remaining ones all one nation, Midshipman Sara?”

Sara narrowed her eyes at the title, more so at a couple of titters from the crew. “Yes, Captain. All from Havant. They don’t speak Harrhein.”

“Very well. Find out if they have a spokesperson and what the Spakka have to say.”

The Spakka herded them forward, a round dozen of them. Big men, with a browner skin than most Harrheinians, and prominent noses and black eyebrows. Sara spoke to them, one answered for the others. A Spakka intervened and the conversation went back and forth.

Sara turned, looked disdainfully at the Havants, and spoke. “All pirates, sir. Not very nice ones, either. Apparently they all liked to decorate themselves with human body parts when they went to attack another ship - hands, fingers, that sort of thing. This one,” she pointed, “even wore a baby’s head.”

The crew growled, the mood turning black. The Havants looked worried, sensing something amiss and the spokesperson spoke urgently to Sara, who shrugged.

Captain Larroche felt something out of place. “All of them? From the one ship?

“Oh no, sir,” said Sara with certainty. “Apparently there are lots of pirate ships in Havant, and these are from several ships. This one used fire arrows and looted the victim before it sank, leaving the victims behind, while these ones were slavers, raiding hamlets and fishing villages when the men folk were away, killing the old people and babies while taking the children and women.”

The crew moved restively, an angry murmur coming from them. The Captain moved decisively.

“Very well. There is only one punishment for pirates. Hang them.”

Some of the brawnier crew members pushed forward to help the Spakka, who seemed to guess their intentions and were not selfish. They and the Harrhein pirates were dragged over to the railings where Else and Pat had been busy putting nooses over the spars under the direction of Little, who had anticipated this with some relish. He grinned up at the Captain, seeing Brian reluctantly making his way down to the deck.

“Hey, Captain, you want us to get on with it or do you have a ceremony to go through?” Little shouted up, causing a number of crewmen to pause and look at the Captain for his reaction.

“Just get on with it,” said the Captain with distaste. “But make sure it is quick, with a drop, not a slow death.” He turned away, most of the officers going with him as the first screams rent the air, as the Havantines realised what was happening. Sara came up the ladder to join them and he eyed her, measuring her mood. He jerked his head. “My cabin. Now.”

On the deck, Little took charge of the hanging detail and checked the knots for the nooses with Husk’s assistance. “Got to be a big knot, Husky mate,” he said, “so the head gets pushed over and the neck breaks.”

Husk grunted. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He placed the noose around the neck of the first prisoner, one of the Harrhein pirates and grimaced in disgust. “Ah you bastard, you’ve shat yourself! Be a fucking man and die well.” He pushed him over the side and watched the man fall, then his body twisted and he could hear the neck break as the weight hit the knot. When the body stopped jerking, Husk sliced through the rope just above the head, allowing it to drop into the sea and be washed away. Pat efficiently pulled the rope up to create a new knot.

The soldiers were brutally efficient in hanging the men, the Spakka watching with great interest. Most of the crew gathered around watching, only a few mothers attempting to stop their children from seeing the show. Nobody spoke, content to watch. Hanging was a common enough event in Harrhein.

In his cabin, Captain Larroche helped himself to a drink of brandy, offering the bottle to Sara in silence, who accepted it. He knocked back a substantial slug and allowed the aroma to swirl up through his nose. Finally he looked up at her. She sipped her drink, ignoring him.

“You’re a lying fucking bitch,” he said. “Thank you.”

Sara sighed. “It worked. But I can’t let myself feel anything right now. How long does it last, this empty feeling?”

“A day or so. When it goes too quick, you know you’re not human any more. That’s when it’s time to stop being a captain and take shore leave. I guess it’s a good mark for a mercenary to judge themselves by as well.”

“I’ve killed people, and it was hard the first time. But I’ve never ordered an execution before.” She looked bleak. “Yes, I know, you did the actual ordering, but I set it up for you and I am responsible. It feels a damn sight worse than your first kill.” She dropped her glass, her face broke and fat tears pushed their way out of her eyes. She cried in great, racking sobs and the Captain leaned forwards and enveloped her in his arms. His face sombre, he stroked her hair softly, as shudders ran through her. He let her cry herself out and felt her pull herself together, whereupon he released her and looked at her with a critical eye.

“Good girl. You’ll be fine, but please don’t get used to it. Here,” he retrieved her glass and refilled it. “Take another dram and we’ll get back on deck in a moment. Your Spakka will need instruction this afternoon. So, where did you learn to speak Spakka?”

“Uh, on the frontier,” she said, confused.

“Sara, I am your Captain, you can tell me. I know you are not a mercenary. Who are you and why are you on my ship?”

She hardened and demonstrably pulled herself together. “Don’t worry, sir, I am no threat to you - rather a help as I think I am showing. I can’t tell you who I am, but I am here because I am running away, hiding.”

“Very well,” the Captain plainly wasn’t satisfied, drumming his fingers on his desk. He looked hard at her, trying to place her. He remembered a fracas in Sarl, told to him by a fellow Captain over a flagon of wine. The feisty daughter of the Duke of Hardenwall had been married off to a known unpleasant rake, a Count of Sarl, rumoured to beat his women. The talk was that the Count had blackmailed the Duke. The daughter wasn’t happy and stabbed him and ran away, only to be returned in sorrow by the Duke. The Captain put two and two together and made six. Poor lass, she looked far too young to be married to a swine like that. Frontier Hardenwall was a tough place, everyone could use a sword and fought the Spakka. Just the place where a girl might learn the language. “Off you go, sort out the Spakka. I don’t care what happens in Sarl.” He finished with a merry twinkle in his eye and a wink, to let her know he had worked it out.

Sara left, mystified. She had not heard the rumours from Sarl.

The Spakka did need instruction. Firstly they wanted Sara to explain why the Kingdom executed people by hanging them, rather than using an axe to cut their heads off. This would not only be efficient and use less resources, but help to train people in using an axe and allow the King to show off his skill. Was it because she was a girl she didn’t like cutting heads off? Then they wanted an in-depth explanation of the techniques involved, whereupon Sara called over the fisher boy, Hal, and told him to take over teaching the Spakka Harrhein, and to translate for them in discussion with Little. Husk came over as well and she left them to it.

The ship settled down to routine. As Captain Larroche predicted, the winds stayed fair requiring little sailing work, though the new hands learnt to handle sails and all went through topsails lessons, including the soldiers, and the Spakka. The Uightlanders, northerners and the ex-fisherman melded in with the new recruits, and became part of the family, though the Spakka held themselves aloof. They spent a lot of time learning Harrhein with Hal, and didn’t appreciate it.

The second day out, Captain Larroche called a meeting of all hands in front of the poop deck.

“Right, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a lovely treat for you.” He grinned and the Bosun beside Pat groaned. “These lands we are going to have a mass of different countries, and just as many languages. There is no way anyone can learn them all, though Taufik seems to have done a fair job at it. However there is a trade language, Belada, which is spoken by traders and sailors throughout the countries. You will ALL need to learn it, and fortunately we have a teacher. Master Taufik speaks it fluently and will be conducting lessons. Everyone will take part - and here is a little incentive.

“Only fluent speakers will be permitted shore leave in the ports we sail to.” He grinned and relinquished the rail to Taufik.

They all studied him, some for the first time. Unusual to their eyes, small, slender, though well made, with ink black short straight hair. Black eyes, and amazingly his skin was brown like leather, as if he was really well tanned.

Taufik smiled and spoke with his slight accent, rolling his r’s. “The language is very simple - it needs to be as so many different people speak it. It has loan words from many languages and you will be pleased to know there are no irregular verbs or grammar to speak of. All you need is vocabulary, and the rest will come easily.”

He started off with a few simple words, having the crew parrot the words back to him. This occupied the afternoon and all made progress to varying degrees. When the lesson finished, Pat grabbed Perryn and pulled him into the fo’c’sle. Interested, Sara followed, arriving in time to hear Pat.

“OK Perryn, have you got some dried sawblade root in your pack?”

“Yes I do, and that is a damn good idea.”

“What are you two up to?” Sara interjected.

“Sawblade root is an aid to learning. We’ll take some before the next lesson and one repetition will be enough. Can you take hypnosis?”

“Sure,” said Pat, nodding.

Sara also nodded, and continued. “We don’t need to wait till tomorrow. Let’s take some and catch Taufik after supper and get him talking in Belada. Bet he will be happy to do it. By tomorrow we will be ahead of the rest and can get dispensation.”

As they headed in a group up to the poop after supper, they passed Suzanne, who looked at them and stopped them.

“Going for extra lessons?” she smiled. “I’ll join you. Give me some of the root.”

“How did you know?” Perryn asked in accusation.

“Your eyes. Pupils are like pin pricks. I know all about the different drugs and what they are for. C’mon, give me some.”

Perryn passed her a little dried root, she looked at it and snapped it in half, popped the half into her mouth and started chewing.

“I don’t think that will be enough,” Perryn started.

“It will be. I’ve used it a lot and know how much I need - I am very susceptible to it.”