The Lady’s Gambit was a midsize, two-mast brig that bought and sold cargo all over the empire. Captain Carmichael employed a crew of ten men, although Hope wasn’t sure why, since only half of them seemed to be working at any given time. The rest lounged on the deck, drinking grog and playing a game with little numbered stones.
“It’s true that when the weather is fair, she only needs a crew of four or five,” said Carmichael when Hope asked. He held the wheel easily in his calloused hands, his dark brown eyes gazing to the horizon. “A steady breeze and a clear sky makes it look easy enough. But the sea can be fickle, and she’ll turn on you in a single breath of wind. When the weather’s foul, the extra hands at the rigging could mean the difference between life and a watery grave.”
“Killed by the weather?” Hope asked skeptically.
He gave her a knowing smile. “You’ll see soon enough, if my nose is right. And it usually is.”
“You can smell a storm?”
“There’s a certain taste to the air, and an unnatural calmness to the water. Look there.” He pointed to the dark green stippled water that stretched before them. “Can you see it there, holding its breath, like it’s ready to pounce?”
Hope shook her head.
“You only just came aboard. You’ll get the hang of it in time. Now go tell Ranking we best batten down. This one’s going to be bad.”
The only clouds Hope could see were far off on the horizon. It seemed unlikely that they would reach the ship soon, if at all. But she made her way across the deck to the fore of the ship, where most of the crew was gathered. The sun was shining down hard and the wind had been faint all day, so the sailors were all stripped down to the waist, their thin, sinewy shoulders tan and gleaming with sweat. Two of them were arguing about the stones game they were playing, and the others were chiming in with their opinions. As Hope walked past them, the argument broke out into a fistfight. The two sailors punched and kicked and bit each other with brutish savagery, while the rest sat and cheered for one or the other. Ranking leaned against the rail and watched the fight with an amused smile.
When Hope reached him, she said, “The captain said you—”
“Leave off until they’ve finished.” Ranking waved his hand in her direction, not bothering to look away from the fight.
Things had not improved in the few days since their first meeting. But Ranking was first mate, and his authority extended to everyone on the crew except Hope. The rest of the crew would not listen to her. She could do nothing except wait until the fight was over.
As she watched the crude exchange, she keenly missed the quiet calm of the monastery. Racklock and Crunta had been cruel, but they had at least been predictable. She had learned how to manage or avoid them years ago. On this ship, drunken bouts of violence were liable to erupt at any time, with no purpose except to relieve boredom. These sailors lacked any decorum, discipline, or as far as she could tell, sobriety. At first, she had found it difficult to tell who was drunk, until she realized that they were all drunk, all the time. There was a passage in the Vinchen code that cautioned against excessive consumption of strong drink. She had never understood the concern before. The monks brewed ale, and they drank it in moderation, savoring each sip. But these sailors poured grog down their throats as if it were water, and if they remarked on the taste at all, it was only to wince at the unpleasantness. At any given time, half the crew seemed barely able to stand, much less sail a ship. She wondered how they even made it from one port to the next.
“Well, Southie,” said Ranking as the two fighters dropped to the deck in exhaustion with no clear victor, “what was it you wanted?” He glared at Hope impatiently, as if he had been the one waiting on her.
“The captain said to batten down. There’s a bad storm coming.”
Ranking’s eyes went wide. “Piss’ell, why didn’t you say so before?”
“I tried—”
“No time to be getting into pointless arguments with the likes of you.” Ranking blew shrilly on a tin whistle he had on a string around his neck. “Listen up, you bludgeon toms! We’ve got a luffer coming down our throats before this sun sets. The captain ain’t never been wrong about a storm and I don’t expect this one will be any different. So unless you want to be bedding down with the crabs tonight, I suggest you batten down and get to your stations.”
He blew his whistle again and the crew instantly got to their feet, looking alert and clear-headed, as if the whistle had cast a magic spell over them all. They split off into different directions, their faces full of purpose.
Hope turned to Ranking, a little awed by the sudden change he had wrought on the men. “What can I do?”
“Unless you Vinchen have figured out how to stab a storm in its eye, just stay the hells out of the way.”
Hope watched as the sailors went about their work, still marveling at their transformation. They sealed all the portholes, latched the doors, secured the lines, and stowed any loose items in little wooden compartments that had been built into the deck at certain points along the ship. And then they waited.
Under normal circumstances, waiting would have included a great deal of drinking, yelling, and violence among the sailors. But now they stood quietly at their stations, some on the deck, some up in the rigging. Their eyes remained alert, and their expressions grave. As the skies darkened, one of them began to hum in a low voice. Two others began to hum as well, a ghostly harmony carried on the strengthening wind. Then from up in the rigging, the smallest and youngest member of the crew besides Hope, a man named Mayfield, started singing in a clear tenor:
No matter which way the wind goes,
It never blows for me.
A sailor’s life is never fair,
But for the beauty of the sea.
The clouds, which had seemed far away before, rolled in so quickly, it looked as though a giant blanket had been thrown across the sky. The dark green waters turned a choppy, white-flecked gray. Lightning snaked across the sky, followed by peals of thunder.
No matter who I love or hate,
Or if I married be.
None of it can hold my heart,
Like the freedom of the sea.
The sailors stopped singing. The whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then the dark gray sky cracked open. The rain came down in a hissing torrent, hammering Hope’s head, shoulders, and back. She made her way across the suddenly slick deck as waves slammed into the side of the ship, sending sheets of seawater across her path. One hand for the ship, one hand for yourself. Words Carmichael had spoken to her on the day she arrived now came to her mind. They hadn’t made much sense before. But as the ankle-deep waves threatened to pull her feet out from under her and take her over the side, she understood. One hand at all times holding on to something, while the other was at the ready to fend off a line or a boom as it swung past.
Eventually, she reached the helm, where the captain stood, his head held high despite the pounding rain.
“Look lively, my wags! Take in the trysail!” he shouted over the storm.
The ship rode up and down the waves. Soon they grew so high that when the ship dropped down in the valley, Hope couldn’t see the sky at all, just a wall of curling dark water. When they crested again, the wind slammed into the white sails so hard, it sounded like a drum.
“Haul in those sails before they’re ripped to tatters!” roared Carmichael.
Hope watched through her curtain of streaming blond hair as the sailors climbed the rigging and began to gather in the sails and tie them to the yards. The wind jerked at the wet lines they clung to, and it amazed Hope that they weren’t flung out to sea. They slowly worked sail by sail up the masts, which swayed dangerously in the gale.
“Are the masts bending?” Hope yelled to Carmichael.
“They have to be supple, or they’d snap like dry twigs in a storm like this,” he shouted back.
The sailors had taken in nearly all the sails. Only the top back sail, which Hope had learned was called the main royal, remained, looking taut as a drum. Then suddenly the sail split and the wind tore at it like an eager beggar, raking through the hole and twisting the sail almost sideways. The sailors slid quickly back down to the deck just as the mast began to bow to the side so low, the top was nearly a forty-five-degree angle to the water.
“Cut that sail loose or it’ll rip the mast clean out by the roots!” shouted Carmichael.
Ranking, the ends of his long mustache dripping with water, nodded grimly to the captain. He pulled a knife from his belt and held it between his teeth. Then he began to climb the mainmast, as it whipped back and forth like a switch.
“How is he even holding on?” yelled Hope.
Carmichael laughed. “Say what you will about Ranking, he’s a true sailor, with fishhooks for fingers!”
Ranking slowly made his way up the mainmast. Every time the ship crested a swell, a fresh blast of wind slammed into him. He held on, waiting for the ship to drop back into the valley where they were somewhat sheltered so he could continue his ascent. Finally he reached the top and cut the lines. The sail flew off into the air, then darted down into the water, where it disappeared quickly in the churning gray. The mast eased back into an upright position. Ranking slid down to the deck and into the waiting arms of the crew, who cheered and lustily sang a new tune over the roar of the waves and thunder:
A sailor in the storm,
Is small as Old Wrink’s prick.
Better know,
Which way to go,
Or the sea will take you quick!
The storm finally passed near sunset. The sea evened out, the wind and rain tapered off, and the clouds parted to reveal a yellow sunset that turned the water to molten gold. The sunlight filtered through the still-dripping rigging, casting small patches of rainbow through the ship. The sailors, who had been working continuously to keep everything secure, stopped and lifted their faces to the sun, their eyes closed and faces smiling.
“How about it, Hope?” asked Carmichael. “Still scoff at the weather?”
“Never again.” And she meant not just the weather, but these men. When it was necessary, they had shown a bold courage and reckless tenacity unlike any she had ever seen, even among the Vinchen warriors. Both the sea and the sailors earned her respect that day.
“Hey, Southie!” called Ranking. “Thanks for not being a meddling slice and letting us get on with our jobs!”
Even Ranking, Hope was surprised to discover, had earned a little of her respect. Although she wondered how long it would be before he squandered that away.
* * *
That night, the sailors got drunker than ever. They ate and drank and sang for hours. On the previous nights, Hope had kept her distance, made uneasy by their coarse, frequently lewd behavior. But that night as she watched them, she began to understand the camaraderie and true fondness for each other that lay beneath their rude speech and rough action. She had agreed to stay on this ship awhile, learning about the world and the people in it. It occurred to her that standing aloofly as she had these past few nights was not the way to go about that. But could she ever call such men comrades?
“They can be filthy as sturgeons and loud as a pack of gulls.” Captain Carmichael sat next to her. “But they’re a damn fine crew in a pinch.”
“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with them?” asked Hope.
“A captain must maintain a certain distance. Can’t let his crew get too familiar, or they stop respecting his leadership.”
“It sounds lonely,” said Hope.
“I suppose it might.” Carmichael stared out at the dark water, which glittered with starlight. “But a man’s never truly alone when he has the sea.”
“You talk about the sea as if it was a living thing.”
“It is.”
“But it’s just water.”
“The sea is more than just water. It’s the plants and the weather. It’s creatures in it and on it. It’s all those things. You and me, we’re part of the sea.”
“I don’t feel part of anything,” Hope said quietly.
“What about that Vinchen order you come from?” asked Carmichael. “Aren’t you a part of that?”
Hope didn’t know the answer to that question. She was not, nor could she ever be, a true Vinchen warrior. Her gender made that impossible. She knew that. Yet Hurlo had never said so, and the fact that he had made her armor said louder than any words that he considered her a warrior. The thought of him brought a mixture of fondness and pain. The world had lost a great man. She would not want to join the brothers who had murdered him, even if they were to change their minds and allow it.
She wondered if perhaps she could be a part of the sea, and its people. Did she want that? And if she did, would they accept her?
* * *
They made port the next day. As Captain Carmichael eased the ship into the docks, Hope stared with wonder at the cluster of buildings, some two storied, that ran along a clean grid. It was larger than her home village and the monastery of Galemoor combined.
“What city is this?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t call Vance Post a city,” said Carmichael. “More like an oversize trading station.”
“Cities are even bigger than this?”
Carmichael smiled. “Much.” He cleared his throat and addressed the whole crew. “Let’s get this cargo unloaded so we can get paid.”
The crew were back to their drunken idle selves, but mention of getting paid brought new life to their eyes, and they quickly secured the ship to the pier and unloaded the cargo onto the dock. The dockmaster inspected the cargo, then signed the shipping paper Carmichael gave him.
Carmichael held up the signed paper for Hope to see. “Now we take this down to the Imperial Trade Commission and exchange it for money.”
The streets of Vance Post were crowded with merchants, some in fine dress, others in simple dress, but all neat and clean. After several days aboard the Lady’s Gambit, where bathing was too high a luxury to afford, Hope knew how grimy she must look to them, her skin streaked with tar and salt, her yellow hair clumped together in spikes from repeated soakings in seawater. She pushed those self-conscious thoughts to the back of her mind, though. Her primary responsibility was the safety of her captain, so she scanned the streets carefully, her hand close to the pommel of her sword.
“You can relax a little, Southie,” said Ranking. “I don’t reckon we’ll see a lot of action in this place.”
“It does seem very orderly,” admitted Hope.
“It’s a place where people do business, and not much else,” said Carmichael. “The only people who live here are merchants and their families. It’s the largest port of call in the southeastern part of the empire. If you’re trading in this region, you’re coming through Vance Post.”
“In other words, this is where the money is,” said Ranking.
“That would seem to make it a tempting target to thieves,” said Hope.
“It might,” said Carmichael. “If it weren’t for the fleet of imperial naval ships stationed here at all times.” He gestured to a large square building across the street from them. Above the dark wood door hung a sign that read IMPERIAL TRADE COMMISSION. It was fixed with the imperial crest, a bolt of lightning colliding with a wave. “It may not be as impressive as Stonepeak or New Laven, but Vance Post is one of the most important ports of call in the empire. Now, come on. Time to do business. My least favorite part of being a captain.”
He led them through the front doors of the Imperial Trade Commission. The room inside was lit by dim sunlight that filtered in through the windows. Several men lounged idly on benches that lined the walls. On the far side of the room, an imperial officer in a white-and-gold coat sat at a large wooden desk with a small oil lamp. A man stood in front of the desk, his hat in his hands as he talked quietly to the imperial officer. Carmichael stopped a respectful distance from them and waited.
The desk was flanked on either side by an imperial soldier, their gold chest plates glinting dimly from the lamp on the desk. Hope unconsciously tensed up at the sight of the uniforms. It was the first time she had seen those colors since the massacre of her village, and they hadn’t changed in the slightest detail. She felt the dark hunger of vengeance beginning to spread and took a deep breath to anchor herself against it.
“Not fond of the imps, eh?” Ranking whispered to her as they waited.
“Imps?” Hope whispered back.
“Imperial soldiers. Thought you Vinchen would be all cozy with them, but your jaw just turned steel, so I reckon you’ve got a grind.”
“I do not trust imperial soldiers,” she admitted.
“Maybe we do have something in common, then.”
Hope wanted to ask him what he meant, but the man in front of them was gone and the desk was now open, so Carmichael stepped forward.
“Captain Carmichael of the Lady’s Gambit with a delivery.” He placed the rumpled, salt-stained, signed paper on the clean desk, awkwardly smoothing it out with his rough hands.
The officer held up the sheet with one thumb and forefinger, squinting as he tried to make out the sun-bleached ink. “Lamp oil, whale bone, salted meat…and lumber.”
“Aye,” said Carmichael.
The officer nodded, reached into his desk, and counted out a small stack of coins. “One gold, twenty silver,” he said as he slid the stack to Carmichael.
“Thank you, sir,” said Carmichael. “Any new cargo we can pick up?”
“It’s been a slow week,” said the officer, nodding to the sailors sitting on the benches. “Some of them have been waiting days for decent cargo.” He moved a few sheets of paper around on his desk, then held one up. “The only thing I have right now is a shipment of food and spirits bound for Dawn’s Light.”
“Dawn’s Light?” asked Ranking. “But that’s—”
“I’ll take it,” said Carmichael.
Ranking clamped his mouth shut, but Hope could tell something about the destination alarmed him. The officer seemed surprised as well.
“You can handle the voyage?” he asked.
“I can,” said Carmichael.
The officer shrugged, wrote something on the sheet, and handed it to Carmichael. “Take this down to the dockmaster and he’ll see your cargo gets loaded.”
“Thanks kindly, sir.” Carmichael turned and headed for the door, Hope and Ranking following behind.
As soon as they were back on the street, Ranking said, “Piss’ell, Captain. Dawn’s pissing Light?”
“I’ve never heard of that island,” said Hope.
“Military outpost way out on the eastern edge of the empire,” said Carmichael. “Last spit of land before the Dawn Sea.”
“It’s pissing no-man’s-land,” said Ranking. “You run into trouble out there, you’re on your own.” His eyes were wide and he kept looking around as though the mere mention of the place might somehow magically transport him there instantly.
“I don’t plan on us getting into trouble,” said Carmichael.
“You know it’s out past the Breaks,” said Ranking.
“I can handle the Breaks.”
“I hear there’s pirates lurking in the Breaks.”
“I’ve heard the same,” admitted Carmichael.
“Pirates? Like Dire Bane?” asked Hope. The infamous pirate that her teacher brought to justice was the only one she was familiar with.
Ranking spat. “This lot is nothing like Dire Bane. No honor, no mercy. They’re barely more than animals. I hear when they raid a ship, they kill the entire crew. And then instead of dumping the bodies overboard, they eat them.”
“Dawn’s Light is a risk,” admitted Carmichael. “But we need a new main royal, which is going to eat up a fair chunk of what we just made. And like as not, soon we’ll need a new mainmast entirely. We need the money. We could be there and back by the time any other cargo shows up here. Otherwise we’ll just be lolling around like the rest of them, losing money to those ridiculous overnight dock fees. Besides, Hope can take care of any pirate trouble we run into, isn’t that right?”
“Of course, Captain,” said Hope, because that was what he wanted her to say. But she wondered if it were true. Her skills were still so untested. Her only real combat experience had been with one lone, overconfident Vinchen warrior and a big stupid fish. She felt a cold prickle of trepidation at the idea of a new adversary. But even stronger, she felt a yearning to meet the challenge and know herself as a true warrior.
The code said a Vinchen should never crave battle, so as they returned to the ship, she tried to put those thoughts aside. But the feeling chased her the rest of the day as they waited for their cargo, and even into her dreams, where she cut down pirates dressed in white and gold.