The Sail Weaver (22 page)

“How many, Fen?”

“Many, Tris. I’m not sure. That’s what Taminick is trying to find out, but there is a fleet coming, a big one. Bigger than the
Jupiter
Incursion. We have alerted our Guild, and Darius has spoken to the Weavers.”

“We need to tell Thom.”

“We do, we need to tell him to be ready,” the dragon said, sounding sad.

“What is it?”

“Unless we find more ships to fight with us, Tristan, we are dead. That’s how many are coming.”

“Fen…”

“We will fight, I know we will, but if they come through here, there is nothing we can do.”

XXII

The call for the crew to report rang through the ship several minutes after Fenfyr returned. The dragon slipped out of the cabin, heading up to perch on deck, and Tristan walked up to the quarterdeck to stand by the Elemental Interface. All the officers were gathered together by the
taffrail
and the captain was standing in front of them. He frowned when he noticed Tristan, his frown becoming a scowl as he watched Fenfyr settle on the main deck.

“Quiet!” the captain called, his voice amplified by the ship-wide com system. “I have news!” The mutterings fell silent. “I have been informed by Naval Headquarters that a Vermin Scout has been sighted!”

The crew growled angrily.

“Listen!” the captain continued. “They have assigned us the task of tracking this ship and killing it! They know that nothing will stand between this ship and victory!”

The crew let out a cheer.

“Mr. Aubrey, change our course to a heading of one fourteen mark seven. We are on our way. Prepare for battle!” 

The cheer slowly built until it became a roar.

“Dismissed.” The captain turned towards the officers. “I expect you to be every bit as ready as the crew.”

“Yes, sir!” they said in unison.

“Very good,” Stemmer said, then walked to Tristan. “I trust you are ready for battle as well, Weaver?” Tristan stared at the man. The quarterdeck grew quiet as the tension grew between them. The captain cleared his throat. “You will be ready for battle,
Master Weaver,
sir,
” he said, grating over the last three words as if they caused him physical pain.

“Of course,” Tristan answered, making a point of not using the man’s rank. “As will
Lokey
Fenfyr
, I am sure.”

“Of course,” the captain spat out and stalked away.

Tristan turned to look at the settings on the Interface, trying to hide his annoyance. The captain was openly insulting him in front of the crew and officers. It didn’t bode well. When the time for battle came, who would they follow, the captain or the Weaver? It shouldn’t be a question of either or, they should work together as a team, but Stemmer’s hatred of the Guild was palpable.

“One fourteen mark seven, very interesting,” Thom said, coming up beside Tristan.

“Why?”

“Remember what we heard from Harkins and Cook of the
Noble Lady
?”

“About the pirates meeting in sector nineteen?” Tristan said.

“Yes. Our new heading will take us right into the heart of that sector.”

“That, of course, is followed by the question of where the captain got the information,” Muher said, joining them. “As far as I know, nothing has come over the
comm
in the last six hours.”

“The Vermin are heading in,” Tristan said, telling them what Fenfyr had told him. “But he had no idea where they would break through. Taminick is still out, trying to find out where they are.”

“So who is this mysterious scout ship?” Muher asked.

“And why does it happen to be entering our space in a sector where pirates manning Vermin vessels just happen to be gathering?” Thom frowned. “Something stinks here.”

The ship suddenly rocked to the side. The blast of the Winds that hit them was strong enough to tear one corner of the sail on the mizzenmast away. Tristan grabbed onto the Elemental Interface as Thom and the officers began shouting orders. Fenfyr launched himself off the ship, flying to the mast and grabbing the sail in his
massive
foreclaws
and holding on while the crew scrambled up the mast. Tristan tuned it all out and focused on keeping the sails in one piece as the Winds increased in force. He was aware as the crew got each sail furled and tightly secured so only the smallest bit of sail on the mainmast remained. There was enough to maneuver and keep them on an even keel, but nothing else. As he did that, he spoke the spell for Healing into the
mizzensail
that
Fenfyr
was holding, feeling it bond to the ship again. When that was accomplished, he took a step back from the Interface and looked around.

The Winds had caught them by surprise and the
Winged Victory
was showing the damage. A few ropes hung slack on deck and several large pieces of equipment had broken loose and rolled across the deck. One man was pinned under a large square box of some kind. He was screaming, his mates trying to keep him calm until the med teams could get to them. Looking across the quarterdeck, he noticed that Aubrey was holding his right arm very carefully and the Navigator Avila had blood on her face. A medical team arrived and took them both away. Tristan glanced around, looking for Thom and Muher, but they were nowhere to be found.

On a hunch he went below and called Riggan. “Did you see Mr. Barrett and the general?”

“I certainly didn’t see them get into the private elevator and head for the lower decks, Master Tristan, if that’s what you are asking.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t do that either,” Tristan said with a smile. He walked to the lift and punched the button. Considering the time it took for the car to get back to him, Thom and Muher must have taken the opportunity to go to the bottom deck. “Go tell Fenfyr what’s happening,” he said to Riggan then got into the lift and hit the button for the bottom deck.

By the time the doors opened, he was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. Stepping out into the semi-darkness of the lower decks, he could hear his heart slamming against his ribs and hoped that nothing else could hear that deafening noise. He walked silently along the corridor. He’d never been there, but Riggan and Fenfyr had both described it to him, so he knew where he was and where he was going. The hatch that had been soldered closed was at the fourth turning on the left on the passage.

There was no one there, no crew wandering on errands, nothing, only the creaking of the ship and the soft sound of the atmospherics—the lower decks used forced air to reduce the strain on the Air Weavers. As he moved, he became aware of a soft break in the silence, it was not really loud enough to make out, the barest whisper of sound. Looking ahead, he guessed it was coming from the hall to the sealed hatch.

When he reached the corner, he stopped and turned so he could look where he was going without exposing too much of himself. Peering around the wall, he could make out two uniforms, Thom’s Naval blue and the black of the Dragon Corps. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped into the hallway, still silent, wondering how to let the other’s know he was there without breaking the quiet—without letting anyone know they were there.

That was when it hit him.
It felt like he’d been punched. A
wave of nausea engulfed him and he hit the deck, his cheek slamming into the cold plating. Trying to fight the nausea, part of his mind was telling him to keep quiet and not give into the urge to vomit while the rest of him was fighting to rid itself of whatever was filling him. As he fought it, he realized what it was—there was magic there, something vile and filthy in every inch of the hallway. Someone yanked him over, and he looked up at Thom’s white face, the magic was affecting him as well, although he probably didn’t realize what it was. Tristan shook his head and tried to stand. When he couldn’t manage that, he rolled back over onto his hands and knees and crawled out of the passage and into the wider corridor as far as he could go before he collapsed again.

A sound came from the opposite direction and Tristan braced himself for the worst, only to be carefully picked up by Fenfyr. He heard the dragon hiss angrily, and a moment later he was being carried and then dropped into the lift. Muher and Thom stepped in and with a growling
“Go!”
from the dragon, the lift was in motion.

“Help me up,” Tristan said, holding out his hand.

“What happened?” Thom asked, hauling him to his feet.

“There was something in the hall,” Tristan explained.

“I felt it too, I think we both did. I was sick from the minute I turned the corner.” Muher waited as the doors opened and they walked into Tristan’s cabin. “What exactly
were
you doing down
there?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tristan replied.

“We had a reason to be there,” Thom said. “You have no reason to be on those levels. You could have been killed. How many times have we told you…”

“I’m okay, so stop yelling, I have a headache.” Tristan rubbed his head.

“Here you go, sir, this will help.” Riggan appeared with the tea service. He set it down on the table, gave Thom and Muher a stern look and left.

“You can’t go wandering all over the ship!” Muher snapped.

“I was not wandering all over. I knew right where I was going, I was following you two.” Tristan poured himself a cup of tea, trying not to let his hands shake too much. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sick,” Thom admitted, dropping into one of the chairs. He reached for the tea pot. “Chris?”

“Me too. There was something in that hallway. Poison?”

“No, it was dirty magic,” Tristan said.

“Dirty?” Thom looked confused.

“A long time ago, a very, very long time ago, they used to divide magic into two kinds—white and black, good and bad, but it’s not that simple. Over the centuries, magic and
spellworkers
have evolved and things changed. Magic is not black and white, but there are shades of intent or use. Dirty magic is magic designed to poison, to stop, to harm someone. It’s Healing turned backwards. I’ve only met a few practitioners of that aspect of the craft, and oddly they were all Rogues.”

“Rogues?” Muher stared at him. “You think there is a Rogue Weaver on this ship?”

“I don’t know, it hit me too hard to do any kind of diagnostic. I know there was one on the ship at some point, because they cast a net over that hallway. If you had spent more time there, it would have eventually killed you. I’m more sensitive so it hit me harder and faster. I wonder if that’s what Fenfyr has been smelling? Magic does have a scent, according to dragons.”

“We have to get back down there,” Thom said.

“If you go back, the magic will kill you, Thom.” Tristan leaned forward. “We need to find a way into that area that doesn’t involve
going through that hatch.”

“It’s the only one into the bottom hold.”

“There has to be another way.”

Muher laughed bitterly. “If the weather were better we could go out and cut a hole in the hull. What did I say? Why are you staring at me?”

“The hole, could it have reached that deck?” Tristan asked.

“It not only could, but it did. Damn! Why didn’t I realize that?”

“Realize what?” Muher asked.

“The pirate attack, they cut a damn precise hole in our hull. I thought they were probing for weaknesses, but they weren’t.”

“What then?” The general looked from Tristan to Thom.

“They were making a way to get something or someone onboard ship. But what and when? It must have been in the graveyard watch when the work crews were done and the area closed off so the Air Weavers could take a break.” Thom huffed angrily. “I need to get into that hold!”

“We have to be careful, whoever performed the magic might have left a marker in the spell so it will hit you harder when you go down there again,” Tristan explained. “We have to find another way in.”

“We do,” Muher agreed. “Until then, we play it low and slow and keep our ears open.”

“I’ll let Riggan know to be extra careful.”

“All of us, Master Tristan,” Muher said. “I think we all need to be careful.”

They finished tea and then headed up to the quarterdeck. Tristan wanted to check the sails before he went to sleep, and Thom wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly. Muher tagged along “just to look threatening”. The deck was quiet as the ship settled down for the night, a small crew was on deck, but most were below at dinner or already in their bunks. Tristan glanced at the Elemental Interface, then stopped. His heart started hammering again. Someone had been at the intricate device, he could see a deep scratch in the surface of the deck by the bottom of the piece. Bending over, he checked it carefully. Nothing had been unseated yet, but that’s what it looked like they had been trying to do.

He quietly left the quarterdeck and walked into his cabin. “Riggan, can you come up on deck in about three minutes? Bring a bag of some kind.”

“Of course,” Riggan said.

Tristan went back on deck and looked around, Thom and Aubrey were talking quietly on the other side of the quarterdeck and Muher was gazing over the
taffrail
. Moving slowly so no one would notice, Tristan bent over the Interface again and spoke softly, the Latin comforting in the situation. The clips that held the device to the deck slid away and Tristan stood; keeping his hand on the Interface, he turned so he was blocking it from the view from the deck. A moment later Riggan appeared. Without a word, Tristan lifted the Elemental Interface up and slid it into the bag. Riggan met his eyes for a moment, Tristan mouthed
“hide it well”
and the servant disappeared.