Ship of Magic

Aye, and before sun-up tomorrow, most of their hard-won loot would have passed into the hands of the soft innkeepers and whore-masters and merchants of Divvytown. Kennit shook his head pityingly and dabbed once more at his mustache with his lemon-scented handkerchief. He permitted himself a small smile. At least this time, in addition to sowing their plunder throughout the town, his crew would spread the seeds of Kennit's ambition. Before sun-up tomorrow, he'd wager that half of Divvytown would have heard the tale of Captain Kennit's sooth-saying at the Others' Island. He intended to be exceptionally generous with his men this day when it came to divvy-time. He would not flaunt it, but he'd take no more than a double crew-share this time. He wanted the pockets of his crew to be heavy with their pay; he wanted all Divvytown to remark and remember that the men of his ship seemed always to come to port with well-laden purses. Let them mark it up to the luck and largesse of their captain. Let them wonder if a bit of that luck and largesse might not benefit all of Divvytown in time.

The mate came to stand respectfully beside him as he leaned on the rail.

“Sorcor, do you see that bit of a bluff there? A tower there would command a long view of the river, and a ballista or two beneath it could defend it from any ship that ever discovered our channel. Not only could Divvytown be warned well ahead of any attack, but it could defend itself. What do you think?”

Sorcor bit his lip but otherwise contained himself. Every time they put into port here, Kennit made this same proposal to him. Each time the seasoned mate answered the same. “Could there be found enough stone in this bog, a tower might be built, and rocks hauled up to throw. I suppose it might be done, sir. But who would pay for it, and who would oversee it? Divvytown would never stop quarreling long enough to build and man such a defense.”

“If Divvytown had a strong enough ruler, he could accomplish it. It would be only one of the many things he could accomplish.”

Sorcor glanced cautiously at his captain. This was new territory for their discussion. “Divvytown is a town of free men. We have no ruler.”

“That is true,” Kennit agreed. Experimentally, he added, “And that is why we are ruled instead by the greed of merchants and whore-masters. Look about you. We risk our lives for our gains, every sailor of us. Yet by the time we weigh anchor again, where will our gold be? Not in our own pockets. And what will a man have to show for it? Naught but an aching head, unless he has the ill luck to catch the crabs in a bagnio as well. The more a man has to spend in Divvytown, why then the more the beer or the bread or the women cost.

“But you are right. What Divvytown needs is not a ruler, but a leader. A man who can stir men to rule themselves, who can waken them so that they open their eyes and see what they could have.” Kennit let his gaze move back out to the men who bowed their backs to the oars as the ship's boats towed the Marietta into dock. Nothing in his relaxed stance could indicate to Sorcor that this was a carefully rehearsed speech. Kennit thought well of his first mate. He was not only a good seaman, but an intelligent man despite his limited education. If Kennit could sway him with his words, then perhaps others would begin to listen as well.

He ventured to shift his eyes to Sorcor's face. A frown furrowed the mate's tanned brow. It pulled at the shiny scar that was the remains of his slave tattoo. When he spoke, it was after laborious thought. “We be free men here. That wasn't always true. More than half of them who have come here were slaves, or going to be slaves. Many wear a tattoo still, or the scar where a slave tattoo was. And the rest, well, the rest would have to face a noose or a lash, or maybe both if they went back to wherever they come from. A few nights back, you spoke of a king for us pirates. You're not the first to speak of it, and it seems the more merchants we get here, the more they talk up such ideas. Mayors and councils and kings and guards. But we had enough of that where we come from, and for most of us, it's why we're here instead of there. Not a one of us wants any man telling us what we can or can't do. We get enough of that on shipboard. Begging your pardon, sir.”