Ship of Magic

Deep inside her, she felt the men working. Drills twisted into her timbers, followed by heavy eye-bolts. Lengths of chain were measured across her and then secured to stanchions or heavy staples. Oncoming supplies were mostly water and hard-tack and chains. For the slaves. Slaves. She tried the word on her tongue. Wintrow had believed slavery to be one of the greatest evils that existed in the world, but when he had tried to explain it to her, she could not see much difference between the life of a slave and the life of a sailor. All, it seemed to her, were owned by a master and made to work for as long and hard as that master saw fit. Sailors had very little say about their lives. How could it be much worse to be a slave? She had not been able to grasp it. Perhaps that was why Wintrow had been able to leave her so easily. Because she was stupid. Because she was not, after all, a human being. Tears welled afresh into her eyes, and the slaver Vivacia wept.

Even before they could see the ship itself, Sorcor declared he knew she was a slaver by the tallness of her masts. They were visible through the trees as she came around the island.

“More sail to run faster, to deliver ‘fresh’ cargo,” he observed sarcastically. Then he shot Kennit a pleased grin. “Or perhaps the slavers are learning they have something to fear. Well, run as they may, they won't outdistance us. If we put on some sail now, we'll be on her as soon as she rounds the point.”

Kennit shook his head. “The shoals are rocky there.” He considered a moment. “Run up a Trader flag and drag some rope to make us appear heavy laden. We'll just be a fat little merchant vessel ourselves, shall we? Hang off and don't approach too close until she's going into Rickert's Channel. There's a nice sandy shoal just past there. If we have to run her aground to take her, I don't want to hole her.”

“Aye, sir.” Sorcor cleared his throat. It was not clear whom he next addressed. “When we take a slaver, it's usually pretty bloody. Serpents snapping up bodies is not a fit sight for a woman's eyes, and slavers always have a snake or two in their wakes. Perhaps the lady should retire to her cabin until this is over.”

Kennit glanced over his shoulder at Etta. It now seemed to him that any time he came on deck, he could find her just behind his left shoulder. It was a bit disconcerting, but he'd decided the best way to deal with it was to ignore it. He found it rather amusing that Sorcor would refer to a whore so deferentially, and pretend that she needed some sort of sheltering from the harsher realities of life. Etta, however, looked neither amused nor flattered. Instead there were deep sparks in her dark eyes, and a pinch of color at the top of each cheek. She wore sturdier stuff this day, a shirt of azure cotton, dark woolen trousers and a short woolen jacket to match. Her black knee boots were oiled to a shine. He had no idea where those had come from, though she had prattled something about gaming with the crew a few nights ago. A gaudy scarf confined her black hair, leaving only the glossy tips free to brush across her wind-reddened cheeks. Had he not known Etta, he might have mistaken her for a young street tough. She certainly bristled enough at Sorcor to be one.

“I think the lady can discern what is too bloody or cruel for her taste, and retire at that time,” Kennit observed dryly.

A small cat smile curved Etta's lips as she brazenly pointed out, “If I enjoy Captain Kennit by night, surely there is little I need to fear by day.”

Sorcor flushed red, scars standing white against his blush. But Etta only shot Kennit a tiny sideways glance to see if he would preen to her flattery. He tried not to, but it was pleasing to see Sorcor discomfited by his woman's bragging of him. He permitted himself a tiny quirk of his lip acknowledging her. It was enough. She saw it. She flared her nostrils and turned her head, his tigress on a leash.

Sorcor turned away from them both. “Well, boys, let's run the masquerade,” he shouted to the crew and they tumbled to his command. Kennit's Raven came down and the Trader flag, taken long ago with a merchant ship, was run up and the rope drags put over the side. All but a fraction of their crew went below. Now the Marietta moved sedately as a laden cargo ship, and the sailors who manned her deck carried no weapons. Even as the slaver rounded the point and became completely visible to them, Kennit could tell they would overtake her easily.