The Sail Weaver (14 page)

“You think they…?” Thom broke off in horror.

“We’re not sure of anything at this point,” the dragon said. “In fact, we hope it’s not true.”

“You really know how to ruin dinner,” Tristan said with a sigh.

“Not ruined, pour me another glass of wine,” Thom said with a laugh, glancing around the cabin. “You play backgammon?”

“What?” Tristan turned, his backgammon board was sitting on a small table between two chairs. When Riggan said he was going to unpack, he must have set it up. “Yes, although it’s hard to find people who want to play. It’s not as exciting as most games.”

“Well, consider yourself challenged!” Barrett picked up his glass and walked over to the table. “Shall we wager?”

“Of course,” Tristan said innocently. Fenfyr snorted.

At the change of the watch, Tristan and Thom walked onto deck. Tristan immediately checked the trim of the sails, watching the willowisps. He walked over and laid his hand on the Elemental Interface and whispered a soft spell, checking that the sails were functioning correctly. For an instant he thought he caught an undercurrent of something else, like the sludge of willowisps past their prime—
No,
he said to himself,
it felt different.
Chocking up the feeling to the remnants of the conversation at dinner, Tri
stan shrugged the feeling off.
Even so, he checked the Interface again. “All’s well with the sails, Mr. Barrett.”

“Thank you, Master Weaver,” Barrett replied formally. “Master of the Watch, report.”

While the officer made his report, Tristan took a moment to wander onto the deck. Most of the crew smiled at him as he walked past, but there were a few that turned away, and one or two fixed him
with a hostile glance. Ignoring them, he proceeded to the bow and stepped up on the bowsprit. There was a feeling of freedom here. He stayed near the deck, close enough so he was still safely onboard ship, not out at the end hanging in open space, but it was still exhilarating. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught stealthy movement against the hull. Without turning his head, he tried to see what was there, and spotted the very tip of a red dragon tail. 

After several minutes he stepped back down on deck. The long day was finally starting to catch up with him. He would need to be back on deck at eight bells in the morning watch and it was already well into the night watch. As he turned, he thought he saw someone move quickly away, as if he had startled them. Shaking off the feeling, and blaming it on lack of sleep and the various conversations he’d had lately, he walked across the deck.

“I think it best I turn in, Mr. Barrett, call me if anything is needed.”

“Of course, sir, I have this watch and will keep you informed.”

Tristan stepped down the stairs to his cabin, the table was gone, the silver and crystal stored away. Fenfyr was still in the middle of the room, his head through one of the stern gallery doors and his tail through another. “Do you like your cabin?” Tristan asked with a laugh.

“It could be bigger,” the dragon complained.

“There is a dragon’s roost.”

“Ah, yes, but I can’t keep my eye on you from there. My presence will discourage people from disturbing your sleep.” Fenfyr looked at him. “And I think they might try.”

“Thank you.” On that unsettling thought, Tristan turned to his bedchamber and closed the door, listening to the hum of the Winds in the rigging until he fell asleep.

XIV

Four bells chimed, the sound running through the ship. Tristan rolled over and looked at the ceiling of his bedchamber. They’d left the outer system two days before, the ship was sailing towards Terra
Triovingensimus
. They were planning on docking for a day before pushing out further towards the Rim. He was still having trouble getting used to deep-space sailing. There were no planets hanging over their heads as the ship sailed on. He’d been on deck in the graveyard watch to help set the topgallants when the Winds had inexplicably dropped. Tristan had asked Thom about it, and the first officer was stumped, they should still be sailing in heavy Winds. The Doldrums were further out towards the Rim.

He could hear Riggan moving around in the cabin. The man was proving invaluable and kept Tristan up-to-date on the ship’s gossip. Some of it he passed along to Barrett, some he kept to himself—it was stil
l Guild business.
There seemed to be a growing movement among the recently pressed men against the Guild. Riggan had circumspectly set enquiries in motion, but so far he had come back with nothing. Since it seemed confined primarily to the last group of pressed men, Tristan and Muher were becoming convinced it had been a purposeful move on someone’s part. The problem was they had no idea who it could be.

The Dragon Corps general had stopped by Tristan’s office—a room off the main cabin—and told him about a few small accidents that looked like they could have been sabotage. Nothing big, little things here and there—enough to keep the superstitious members of the crew on edge, but not enough to do real damage. Taminick continued to fly with them, although most of the crew was unaware of her presence now. Tristan knew she was still with them because Fenfyr told him—the two dragons were trying to figure out a way into the blocked-off bottom deck. All-in-all they agreed there was something not quite right, and Muher and Hall had decided to leave some of the more questionable pressed men behind at the station.

Rolling out of bed, Tristan did his yoga, put on his uniform and walked into the main cabin. Fenfyr was gone on his morning patrols—whatever that entailed. Riggan had the coffee service sitting next to one of the chairs in the main room. “Morning, Riggan.”

“Good morning, sir, I thought you might want coffee in the main room this morning since you have no meetings until later.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said, dropping into the chair.

“There’s talk, sir.”

“Oh?” Tristan waited while Riggan poured coffee.

“Someone said they saw someone sneaking into that hatchway, then soldering it up again. They said they saw them breaking the seal themselves. Of course, they couldn’t tell who it was because they were set up in a suit, there’s no air on that deck, but they said they saw it all the same. It could be true, I’m not sure. They’re saying it’s where they keep the bodies of the dead men by order of the Guild. I told them that was crazy talk, sir, like the Guild would have anything to do with that.”

“No, we would never do something like that.”

“I know, that’s what I said, and some got agitated
,
like, and kept on about it. I didn’t want to say too much, so as they’d keep talking in front of me, but there’s some crazy talk in the lower decks. I’m not saying there are those that are encouraging it, but the whispers are all coming from the same direction, that’s all I’m saying.”

“The new pressed men?”

“Aye, they seem to be the source, and I’m not saying they hate the Guild or Dragon, but the things they say, sir, would make Master
Fenfyr’s
feathers stand on end!” A soft tap on the door stopped
Riggan. “That’d be Mr. Barrett.” He walked to the door to let the first officer in.

Since the dinner in his cabin, Tristan and Barrett had begun to play backgamm
on on a regular basis, and as
the officer was on watch when Tristan was getting up, he usually came down for a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Riggan,” Thom said as he walked in.

“Morning, sir, coffee is waiting.”

“Thank you, Riggan,” Thom said and walked over, sitting down across from Tristan. “Something’s off.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve checked and rechecked, but if I didn’t know better—or at least if the
nav
computers weren’t telling me—I would be sure we were off course.”

“What do you mean?” Tristan asked curiously, aware Riggan was listening in the background.

“The Winds aren’t right for this part of space, but I’ve run diagnostics twice. The thing is, I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong.”

“Chris Muher thinks so too, although he hasn’t mentioned our course, that’s not his domain. I can ask Fenfyr to fly further out and check?”

“That might help, have you ever had that feeling that something is just wrong?”

“Once.”

“When?” Thom asked curiously.

“The day I walked into the council chambers when the Stars Plot came to light with a bang. I’d had a bad feeling all day, just couldn’t shake it. I guess that’s why I was on guard more than the others. Not many survived.”

“You were there, Tristan?” The officer looked sheepish. “Of course you were. You are the Master Weaver of the Guild. I do tend to forget out here, but back home you outrank me by more than a little.”

“I forget it out here, too, Thom, if that helps. I’m only the Warrior Weaver for
Winged Victory
for the most part. I would only ever use my rank if I had to, and even as Warrior I outrank the captain, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Thom nodded and took a sip of coffee. “I saw Taminick earlier.
Well, more to the point I saw the tip of a red tail earlier. She’s still with us.”

“Yes, and with everything that’s going on, I think she will be with us for the duration of this cruise, at least until they figure out what’s going on.”

“I’d like to know as…” Thom broke off when a huge
boom
rocked the ship. He and Tristan were on their feet as the call to quarters rang through the ship. They ran onto the quarterdeck. “Report, Mr. Aubrey!” Thom demanded.

“Pirates, sir, four ships.”

“I’m at the sails,” Tristan said, laying his hand on the Elemental Interface, getting ready to move the ship into her first battle.

“We’re at battle ready, sir!” Sullivan Aether said, running onto the quarterdeck. The Air Weavers maintained the shields around the upper, open deck while the ship was in flight, deflecting space debris and other physical hazards. They maintained it as long as possible during a fight. Although they could only do so much against the shot from the cannons of the four ships lining up to fire at them, they could at least maintain the atmosphere. Once the ships began firing, the “shielding” would drop as the Air Weavers focused to keep the atmosphere on the open deck and masts.

“Make sure you have guards on the Air Weavers.” Barrett said to the Marine stationed on the quarterdeck, then turned to Aubrey. “Where did they come from?”

“Out of nowhere it seems, sir. They got in close before we spotted them, the proximity alarms were off,” Aubrey replied.

“Damn! Bring her around.” Barrett was the calm officer now. “Where’s the captain?”

“I don’t know, sir, surely he heard the call.”

“Guns are at the ready!” Third Officer Fuhrman’s voice called over the ship-wide system. “Ready to return fire!”

“Bring us around,” Barrett snapped.

Men scrambled up the masts and Tristan focused on the sails, swinging them with the ship, keeping the willowisps in tight battle formation. Even though he was concentrating on the sails, Tristan caught a glimpse of the four ships. Three were hijacked Naval vessels, but one bore the blackened sails of a former Vermin vessel.

“Target the Vermin ship!” Barrett called.

The
Victory’s
guns fired, sending projectiles across the void and rocking the ship
with the blast. Tristan fought to keep the sails in line as the pirates retuned fire. Another round from the
Victory
took out one of the smaller vessels but the former Vermin ship was still there, its filthy sails mocking them as it swung slowly around to hit them with a full broadside.

“Target that ship!” Thom shouted. “What’s going on down there?” he demanded.

“We’re having an issue with some of the guns, sir,” Shearer’s voice came up over the intercom. “They aren’t firing.”

“Get them firing!”

“Working on it, sir.”

“Incoming!” someone on deck shouted. “It’s going to breach the shields!”

Tristan heard the call but was focused on keeping the sails in fighting trim. He didn’t register the words until he was knocked to the ground by Barrett an instant before the rattle of shot rolled over their heads, whipping through the air with a whistling sound. The hard projectiles tore up the deck around them and blasted apart like small bombs on impact. The pirates were using a combination load—utilizing both energy rounds and hard shot to do the most damage. What the metal didn’t destroy, the blast of energy often did. The rounds had been outlawed during the last years of the Third World War and the Navy stuck to that prohibition even against the Vermin.

“Are you okay?” Thom demanded, standing up and looking across the deck. “Med teams topside!” he called into the
intership
system. “Tristan?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, sorry,” Tristan said. He stood and swallowed hard as he saw the damage on deck to both the ship and the men that had been there. Medical teams appeared a moment later and he was back at the Elemental Interface, bringing the willowisps back into line and beginning the spell to fix a massive hole in the mainsail. He had to turn all his concentration to the spell. The willowisps had been injured and needed to be Healed before he could Weave them into place again.

The battle raged on, he could hear the shouts of the men and Barrett’s calm orders. After what seemed a lifetime, a harsh voice took over. Some part of Tristan identified it as the captain. Another
broadside shook the ship, the former Vermin vessel was bringing her guns to bear when suddenly some of the crew started cheering. Tristan broke his concentration enough to look up and see Fenfyr and Taminick enter the battle, focusing their attack on the Vermin ship. The smaller pirate ships turned and headed away, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the
Winged Victory.

“Concentrate all guns on that ship!”

The
Victory’s
guns fired, then Fenfyr and Taminick descended on the former Vermin ship. Tristan uttered a soft spell of release as Fenfyr swept in to release the ship. They killed it
as the enslaved dragon was released
.
Fenfyr and Taminick didn’t give the pirates on the ship the chance to escape. They tore it to shreds, yanking it apart as the
Victory
continued to fire into it.

“That’s done it!” Barrett said, and a cheer went up.

Tristan was still focused on fixing the damage to the sails. He looked up and noticed blood on the first officer’s face, right before the man collapsed. Aubrey was shouting for a medical team. Tristan turned his attention away, he had to fix the sails before an
ything else, and Weaving battle-
damaged sails was a chore he hadn’t expected to ever do. He knew how, of course, but theory and practice in the calm didn’t really compare to a ship with wounded screaming and the air hissing around him as the Air Weavers struggled to keep the ship’s atmosphere in place until the hull could be repaired.

As Tristan finally finished the Weaving and stepped back, he knew, without a doubt, that Thom had been right. They
had
been off course—and headed right into a trap.

Sometime later Riggan appeared and grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Sir! The sails are okay, you need care!”

“What?” Tristan asked, blinking.

“Your face is covered with blood, I’m taking you down to sickbay right now, sir.”

“Blood?” Tristan reached up and felt the sticky stuff near his hairline, wondering when it had happened.

“Yes, sir, blood, sir.”

“Riggan! Get over here!” Stemmer shouted.

“Sorry, sir, I have to take care of the Weaver, sir,” Riggan said with a smile. “Now come along, Master Tristan.” He tugged Tristan
away from the Elemental Interface towards a lift. Stemmer shouted at Riggan again as the lift doors closed. “He’s still not used to my being your servant.” Riggan laughed under his breath. “Not that I’m saying anything about it, you know.”

“Of course,” Tristan answered, suddenly feeling weary. “I just need to rest, Riggan, Weaving is hard work.”

“You need to get that wound seen to, then you can rest, and if anyone wishes to disturb you, well
,
they can discuss that with Master Fenfyr. I think he is in a rather bad mood.”