The Sail Weaver (12 page)

“No.” The slavers were trying to get away.

“I’ll bring them,” Fenfyr said happily.

“No tasting on route,” Tristan said, smiling at the dragon.

“Yeah, yeah, no tasting makes it hard to torture.” The dragon sighed, a huge
whuff
of grapefruit-scented air whipped around them. “I will be back on the ship as soon as I dispose of these men.” The dragon’s eyes were glinting. “Less than an hour.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“We’ll escort you, sirs. Just to make sure you get on the ship okay, and the general gets to sickbay safely,” one of the men, wearing Master Sergeant’s stripes
,
said. “Sorry, we heard the slavers were out, we never guessed they would come after you!”

Tristan got into the back of the transport. So, the Dragon Corps knew about the slave trade? Or was it only on this station? He needed to get a hold of the Guild and Darius again, everywhere he turned, things seemed to take a new twist. He was still deep in thought when they reached the gangway for the ship. Tristan headed up, and managed to get onboard without being piped on. He went to his cabin and Muher was taken to sickbay.

Riggan was waiting with a pot of tea. “I heard what happened, sir.”

“How?”

“The only thing faster than light, sir, is gossip. Are you injured?”

“No,” Tristan said, stripping off his jacket. Riggan took it and hung it in the closet. “General Muher was, they broke his wrist.”

Pouring the tea,
Riggan
made a
tsking
noise. “They’re getting bolder. They always go out on nights when the pressgangs are out, that way no one’s the wiser.”

“How common are they?” Tristan asked, sinking into the comfortable chair by the stern gallery door.

“More common than they once were. They ‘recruit’ for all kinds of people, the mines, the cargo-haulers, the pirates, sometimes even the Navy will buy one or two, depending on what they’ve got.”

“The Navy? Surely they don’t need to purchase crew with the pressgangs?”

“No, but they purchase, um, entertainment, sir.”

“Oh,
” Tristan said. He sipped his tea. “So most people know about the practice?”

“No, I didn’t say that, sir. There are officers on ships with slaves who never know that there are slaves amongst them. The slave quarters are in the parts of the ship where the officers don’t go, or they are moved during inspection. The slaves are kept off the fighting decks, so when they sweep for the guns the slaves won’t be discovered.”

“Riggan?”

“Sir?”

“Does this ship have slaves?”

“Not yet, sir, no.”

“Well, that’s something.” Tristan put his feet up and waited until he heard the rumble of Fenfyr on the stern gallery.

When the dragon put his head through the door Tristan sighed in relief, feeling safe for the first time all day.

XII

The decks were alive with activity when Tristan walked out onto the quarterdeck from his cabin the next morning. As Weaver, his cabin both opened to the corridor below the deck and had a set of steps that led directly to the quarterdeck. It allowed him quick access to the Elemental Interface when needed. It also allowed him to come and go quietly if he wanted to. Watching the men clean the decks, he tried to relax, they were raising the masts in less than an hour, and it was an activity that was perilous, even on tiny sailing vessels.

“Good morning, sir,” Barrett said.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrett. How
goes
it?”

“We are on schedule for the masts, sir, and should be set to sail when you are ready this afternoon.”

“Very good, Mr. Barrett.” Tristan paused, considering the wisdom of what he was about to do. “I am having the Air Weavers and General Muher to dine in my cabin this evening, will you join us?”

Barrett beamed at him. “Yes, sir!”

Tristan smiled and leaned against
the Interface housing. It was
merely
a
pedestal with a number of computer inputs on it for the time being. He would connect the Elemental Interface right before the ship sailed. He could see Shearer calmly directing the men, even
though he could sense a level of tension around him. The crew was worried, and judging but Riggan’s morning report, even more convinced the ship was haunted than ever. After the near loss of their Weaver to slavers and a member of the crew found dead by the soldered hatch, their mutterings were becoming outright complaints. The general consensus was that the masts were going to fall through the bottom of the hull and expose them all to space so quickly that the Air Weavers couldn’t save them.

“Barrett!” Stemmer stormed onto the quarterdeck, ignoring Tristan. “You need to check that mess on the mainmast crosstrees. The sails are a disaster.”

The first officer cast a glance at Tristan. “Sir?”

“The sails, they are in such a state I doubt we can raise the masts at all,” Stemmer said.

“What is wrong with the sails?” Tristan said, stepping forward.

The captain turned on him with a growl, and Tristan realized the man hadn’t noticed him, rather than purposefully ignored him. “Your sails are a mess, Weaver.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, walking towards the steps that led to the main deck. Some of the men paused to watch as he headed towards the main hatch to below deck. He could hear the captain berating Barrett, and everyone was pointedly ignoring them. When he reached the hatch, Shearer was there, waiting for him.

“Sir?” the boatswain asked as he walked up.

“The captain said there is an issue with the sails on the mainmast. I was going to see what was wrong.”

The other man frowned. “I hadn’t heard. I’ll come with you.” He swung open the hatch and led the way to the lift. “I heard about the attack last night, sir. We never expected that slavers would come after you and the general.”

“You know about them?”

“If you are around the stations long enough, you hear about them. I’ve been sailing for years. It was five years before I heard about them. They do fly under cover a lot of the time.” The lift doors opened. “Have you been in the lower decks before?”

“No.” Tristan opened his mouth to elaborate, but changed his mind.

The corridor was lit with bright industrial lights, quite different
from the decks that housed the crew. Tristan could hear the sounds of work going on all around them, the clank of metal on metal, voices raised in song and others shouting orders. Unlike the upper decks, these decks had the massive masts, crosstrees and sails barring their way. Shearer led Tristan on a walkway over the crosstrees for the mizenmast, as they crossed Tristan looked down towards the bottom of the ship. He could see the soft sparkles of the willowisps reflecting on something—then realized he was seeing the shine of a dragon. Stopping for a minute, he bent to get a better look. Two dragons. He recognized Fenfyr, with him was a dragon that shone a soft red in the light of the sails.

They stepped back on the deck and made their way further down the corridor, finally stopping at the massive mainmast. Even though they were nearer the topgallants than the mainsail, the mast towered above them. Tristan immediately looked over the exposed sails, still tied to the masts like giant glowing worms. He let his eyes travel over them, checking them. He could hear Shearer speaking to someone to his left. Without thinking, he stepped forward and looked down into the depths of the ship, trying to see if there was something wrong with the sails further down. As he bent over the edge he felt a hand grab his ankle, yanking his foot out from under him. It was only his surprised shout and Shearer’s speed that saved him from a fatal fall.

“Are you okay, sir?” the boatswain asked, concerned.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Someone grabbed my ankle.”

Shearer growled. “Not on my ship they won’t.” He headed towards the edge where Tristan had been and swung down over the opening with the ease of a circus performer. Tristan walked back over and, staying back from the edge, tried to see what was happening. He could just make out the boatswain on the rigging of the mainsail. There was another figure ahead of him, but as Shearer got closer the man let go of the ropes and dropped, bouncing off rigging and masts as he fell. The
thud
when he hit bottom was barely audible.

Tristan took a moment to look over the sails, all the while aware of Shearer swinging back up through the rigging. There was
nothing wrong with the sails, they were sparkling gently with their golden glow, waiting for their release. It was then that it hit Tristan—there had never been anything wrong with the sails. It had been a set up. But who and why? Stemmer had ordered Barrett below, and Tristan had gone instead. Traditionally, the captain would have checked the sails first. So—who was meant to be standing there?

Without a word, he and Shearer headed back to the lift. “I couldn’t see who it was. Not that I know all the men by sight. Especially if he was one of the new crew.”

“This is not your fault, Shearer.”

“This is my ship, my men and I am more than a little annoyed that one of them tried to kill our Weaver,” the man growled. “You know how long I have worked to serve on a ship like this? This is unacceptable. I am just going to settle this now.” He got off the lift at deck ten. “I will see you for the raising.”

Tristan nodded and leaned against the wall of the lift as it traveled up to the top deck. It had been close, and he didn’t like that feeling. The question of why kept bouncing around in his mind, but since the “who” was an unanswered question, the
“
why
”
wouldn’t be answered anytime soon. The lift slowed and he stood, straightening his jacket and stepping out of the lift when the doors opened. The corridor was empty, the soft lights of the crew decks a contrast to the lights below. He decided to stop by his cabin and return to the quarterdeck via his private staircase.

He closed the door to his cabin and walked to his desk, turning on the secure line to the Guild Master. Rhoads was in his office when he called and Tristan related the latest incident. Brian muttered something about security, then signed off without another word. Tristan hoped he wasn’t going to be saddled with more security traipsing around behind him.

Once that was done, he headed back up on deck. It was time to raise the masts. As much of the crew as possible was crowded on the decks. The quarterdeck was crammed with all the officers. Tristan stood by the Interface, watching as the last of the crew jockeyed for positions to watch the raising. Fenfyr had appeared and was sitting on the stern gallery with his head over the
taffrail
.

“Prepare to raise the masts!” Stemmer called.

“Prepare to raise the masts!” Shearer repeated.

“Masts at the ready!” a call came from in the decks.

“Masts at the ready!” Shearer said.

“Raise the masts!” the captain ordered.

“Raise the masts!” Shearer said.

The massive plates rolled slowly open again, and the first tip of the main topgallant mast came into view. Tristan had the impression that the entire crew drew in a breath. The fore topgallant mast eased up, and as the main topmast came up the mizzenmast began to rise from the depths of the ship. They continued slowly up, like massive trees rising around them, towering over their heads until finally with a huge
boom
that rocked the entire ship, the great masts locked into place.

It was silent for a long moment, then the crew let out the breath they had been holding in a collective cheer.

The bells were chiming the change of the watch when Tristan stepped off the gangway into the shipyards where Fenfyr was waiting for him. He smiled up at the dragon, then stopped in shock when he noticed Brian Rhoads and Darius standing there as well. “What’s going on?”

“We decided the ship needed a proper send off, since they were trying to sneak it out of port on us,” Rhoads said.

“Yes, Tristan Weaver, it is true. We have gathered loyal vessels and all the dragons in the area to give you a proper launching. There will even be fireworks,” Darius added.

Tristan’s stomach lurched. “Oh?”

“It is a wise thing, Tristan, the more people who know, the better,” Rhoads said. “The more public this event, the better.”

Tristan couldn’t disagree with the logic, he only wished they’d warned him. He was nervous enough about this as it was. “Sounds fun.”

“It will be,” Brian said, looking a little disappointed that the docks didn’t have good enough acoustics to give his voice the boost he liked. “About the attacks…”

“We are concerned,” Darius finished.

“I’m not even sure who was supposed to be the victim. Stemmer should have been down there, he told Barrett to go, and I volunteered. If the man hadn’t committed suicide I wouldn’t even
have thought it was an attack, more a mistake.”

“But he did, and when he hit the deck, he smelled odd,” Fenfyr said. “Taminick could smell it as well.”

“That was Taminick?” Tristan asked. He’d only met the other dragon twice before, she generally served in deep space, hunting Rogue ships or Vermin. She had lost her siblings to a Vermin attack and was right on the edge of being a renegade.

“Yes, she came to smell. She said there is something wrong, too, she can tell. They have done something so we can’t tell what it is, but there is a wrong smell there.”

“Wrong how?” Rhoads asked.

“Wrong, I can’t explain it to a numb nose,” Fenfyr grumbled. Tristan hid a smile.

“But it is wrong?” Darius looked at Fenfyr.

“Very. We want to know why it is sealed down there. Taminick almost tore the door off, then we realized—it is booby-trapped.”

“What?” General Muher said from behind Tristan. “Booby-trapped?”

“Damn, Chris, you walk like a cat, scare a man to death,” Brian said.

“Yes, booby-trapped, if we had tried to open it, we would have been hurt if not killed, there are anti-personnel and anti-dragon traps on it.”

“Which means we need to get in there,” Muher said, frowning. “Once we are in space, we will get on that.”

“We who?” Tristan asked.

“Some Dragon Corps members were accidently pressed the other day,” Muher laughed.

“Accidently?”

“Okay, planted,” the general said, grinning. “But we have Corps on board as well as the Marines. Hall is a bit of an ass, but loyal.”

Tristan leaned against Fenfyr, feeling overwhelmed. It felt like it was all getting out of control. Fen made a soft thrumming noise—the dragon equivalent of a purr—and Tristan relaxed a little. “Okay, how many ships and dragons are going to be here?”

“Just don’t hit anyone and you will be fine,” Rhoads said.

“Oh.” Tristan sighed. “I am going to get a few things at the shops before we sail.”

“Oddly enough, so am I,” Muher said.

“We’ll be waiting,” Fenfyr said, stretching out on the docks.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tristan said to Muher as they walked into the shopping district.

“No, I don’t think you do out here during the day, I actually want a few things to take with me. When I got shipped out to join
Victory,
I didn’t really have much time to get luxuries for a long deep-space cruise, and I would like a few things to keep me from going insane.” As he spoke, he was absently rubbing his arm. Even though the break was easily healed by the tissue-binders, Tristan knew it would ache for a few days after.  His left leg had been broken in the blast that leveled the Council Chambers in the Stars Plot attack and even now ached, along with the scar on his back.

As they made their way through the shops, it became clear that Muher had been telling the truth. Even if he was also keeping an eye on Tristan, his main objective seemed to be getting things to take with him on the ship. In two hours the man had collected enough stuff to require a porter to take it back to the ship. He tipped the man and grinned at Tristan. “Told you.”