Ship of Magic

He observed her idly. As Sorcor had observed, her three masts were taller than usual, to permit her more sail. A canvas tent for the crew's temporary shelter billowed on the deck; no doubt the sailors working the ship could no longer abide the stench of their densely packed cargo, and so had forsaken the forecastle for airier quarters. The Sicerna, as the name across her stern proclaimed her, had been a slaver for some years. The gilt had flaked from her carvings, and stains down her sides told of human waste sloshed carelessly overboard.

As predicted, a fat yellow-green serpent trolled along in the ship's wake like a contented mascot. If the girth of the serpent was any indication, this slaver had already put a good part of its cargo overboard. Kennit squinted at the slaver's deck. There were a great deal more people standing about on the deck than he would have expected. Had die slavers taken to carrying a fighting force to protect themselves? He frowned to himself at the idea, but as the Marietta slowly overtook the Sicerna, Kennit realized that the folk huddled together on the deck were slaves. Their worn rags flapped in the brisk winter rings, and while individuals shifted, no one appeared to move freely. The captain had probably brought a batch up on deck to give them a breath of fresh air. Kennit wondered if that meant they had sickness down below. He had never known a slaver to worry solely about his wares' comfort.

Sorcor was closing up the distance between them now, and the reek of the slave ship carried plainly on the wind. Kennit took a lavender-scented kerchief from his pocket and held it lightly to his face to mask the effluvium. “Sorcor! A word with you,” he called.

Almost instantaneously, the mate was at his side. “Cap'n?”

“I believe I shall lead the men this time. Pass the word firmly amongst them. I want at least three of the crew left alive. Officers, preferably. I've a question or two I'd like answered before we feed the serpents.”

“I'll pass the word, sir. But it won't be easy to hold them back.”

“I have great confidence they can manage it,” Kennit observed in a voice that left little doubt as to the hazards of disobedience.

“Sir,” Sorcor replied, and went to pass the word to those on deck and to the armed boarders who waited below.

She waited until Sorcor was out of earshot before Etta asked in a low voice, “Why do you choose to risk yourself?”

“Risk?” He considered it a moment, then asked her, “Why do you ask? Do you fear what would happen to yourself if I were killed?”

The lines of her mouth went flat. She turned aside from him. “Yes,” she said softly. “But not in the way you think I do.”

They had crept up to hailing distance, when the captain of the Sicerna called to them across the water.

“Stand off!” he roared. “We know who you be, no matter what flag you show.”

Kennit and Sorcor exchanged a look. Kennit shrugged. “The masquerade ends early.”

“Hands on deck!” Sorcor bellowed cheerfully. “And heave the ropes up.”

The decks of the Marietta resounded to the pounding of eager feet. Pirates crowded the railing, grappling lines and bows at the ready. Kennit cupped his hands to his mouth. “You may surrender,” he offered the man as the lightened Marietta closed with her prey.

For an answer, the man barked some command of his own. Six stalwart sailors abruptly seized up an anchor lying on the deck. Screams sounded as they hove it over the side. And in its wake, as swiftly as if they had eagerly leaped, went a handful of men who had been manacled to it. They vanished instantly, their screams bubbled into silence. Sorcor stared in shock. Even Kennit had to admit a sort of awe at the other captain's ruthlessness.

“That was five slaves!” bellowed the captain of the Sicerna. “Stand off! The next measure of chain has twenty fastened to it.”

“Probably the sickly ones he didn't expect to last the journey anyway,” Kennit opined. From the deck of the other vessel, he could hear voices, some raised in pleas, others in terror or anger.

“In Sa's name, what do we do?” Sorcor breathed. “Those poor devils!”

“We do not stand off,” Kennit said quietly. Loudly, he called back, “Sicerna. If those slaves go over the side, you pay with your own lives.”

The other captain threw back his head and laughed so ringingly that the sound came clear across the water to them. “As if you would let any of us live! Stand off, pirate, or these twenty die.”

Kennit looked at the agony in Sorcor's face. He shrugged. “Close the distance! Grapples away!” he shouted. His men obeyed. They could not see the indecision in the mate's eyes, but all heard the screams of twenty men as a second anchor dragged them down. They took part of the ship's railing with them.

“Kennit,” Sorcor groaned in disbelief. His face paled with horror and shock.