“Ease off a bit, Cap’n Stillwater,” said the man behind him. “Ya pullin’ too hard. This ain’t no race. Slow an’ steady is safest, eh?”
Keelin let out the ragged breath he’d been holding in and matched his pace to the rest of his team’s, aware that his anger towards the witch hunters had got the better of him. He’d just spent so long trying to find his revenge that it often clouded his mind.
The pillar dropped the last few feet into the post-hole dug for it and they pulled it upright. A girl and her father rushed forwards with a cart full of dirt and quickly shovelled it into the hole around the pillar, and after a few minutes they were instructed to let go of the ropes. The pillar held upright, and someone patted Keelin on the back.
“Ten minutes’ break, then on to the next one.”
Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate coordinating the work and sank gratefully down onto the dirt. He pulled a water skin from his belt, sucking down gloriously wet sips and letting the sweat run down his face and drip from his chin. His eyes found Beck again. The Arbiter didn’t bother to rest – she moved straight on to the next wooden pillar and took up the rope on her own again, working tirelessly. Keelin remembered the screams that tore from his sister’s throat as the fires lit by Arbiter Prin ate her alive. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he could no longer tell if they stemmed from pain or rage.
Not two years ago Keelin had thought he was close. He’d traded with another witch hunter – passage from Larkos to Fortune’s Rest in return for Arbiter Prin’s location. It turned out the witch hunter had lied; the little town he directed Keelin to had never heard of an Arbiter by the name of Prin.
A few months later Keelin learned of the Observatory in the ruins of HwoyonDo, the capital city of the Forgotten Empire. There, he was assured, he would be able to find Prin and his vengeance. He paid a high price for the information, and the seller gave no reassurances.
Keelin told his crew, and they were more than happy to follow him – not for his dream of vengeance, but for the riches hidden within the lost city. Unfortunately, the waters around the Forgotten Empire were as dangerous as the jungle that covered the land, and more than a few ships had been lost sailing blind. They needed the charts of someone who had sailed through those waters before, and only one captain, and one ship, was known to have gone there and come back. Keelin looked around for Drake Morrass, but he couldn’t see the infamous pirate anywhere. He’d started following Drake in the hopes of swiping the charts from him, but somewhere along the course Keelin had found himself believing in Drake’s vision of a unified Pirate Isles. The Five Kingdoms and Sarth were coming, and they were trying to wipe out the pirates. Keelin couldn’t allow that. The isles, and the folk who lived there, had taken him in after he escaped his father. Tanner Black may have made Keelin a pirate and given him a job, but it was the people of Fango and Sev’relain and Black Sands who gave him a home. Drake wanted to protect those same people because he wanted to wear a crown and be in charge of them; Keelin just wanted to help them. He’d seen too many people and cities burn in his short lifetime.
“You ready, Captain Stillwater?”
Keelin nodded to the hairy pirate and followed him to the next pillar. He noticed Beck had finished raising another and was holding it steady as dirt was poured into the post-hole. Keelin still didn’t trust the woman, but he had to give her some grudging respect. She was damned useful to have around.
Aimi raised her left hand and pointed at the target, drawing back her right hand. She took a deep breath and let it out smoothly. Throwing her right hand forwards, she let go of the knife. The little blade spun end over end over end before clattering against the outside wall of Keelin’s cabin and dropping to the deck. She’d missed the target by a good two feet.
Harsh laughter sounded behind her and she cringed as she recognised Smithe’s voice. The big quartermaster was a special kind of creepy, and Aimi knew his type . She’d spent long enough working in a tavern in Old Sev’relain to be able to tell which pirates were to be avoided at all costs, and Smithe was definitely one. He was the kind of man who enjoyed the violence of the way of life over the freedom. He lived to hurt folk and he would take his enjoyment anywhere he could get it. She tried to avoid Smithe as much as possible, but The Phoenix wasn’t the largest of ships and her relationship with its captain, along with her breasts, only served to draw the quartermaster’s attention.
“Useless bitch,” he said with a sneer as Aimi collected her knife. She clenched her jaw tight; there was no point in bristling at the man’s comments. Smithe outranked her and could make her life unbearably hellish with the assignment of duties and shore leave, and that would only tempt Keelin to intervene on her behalf, which, she suspected, was exactly what the quartermaster wanted.
As Aimi bent down to collect her knife something thudded into the wall just inches from her head. She fell backwards, scrambling away on her arse, her heart pounding in her ears and her mouth suddenly as dry as a desert, all to Smithe’s braying laughter.
The knife that had come so close to ending her life was still wobbling in the wall. It was a long blade with a single edge and a handle that incorporated individual finger guards all made of shiny steel. Aimi could well imagine how a punch from a man like Smithe with that knife in hand could easily do as much damage as a stab.
“You’re trying to spin the blade,” Smithe said as he walked over, sparing only a glance at Aimi. She sat on the deck, staring at him wild-eyed. He pulled the knife from the wall and kicked Aimi’s little piece of metal towards her. “It wants to fly straight from your hand.”
Smithe walked a good distance away, then turned back towards the cabin. He held his knife by the blade and pointed it at the wall, then drew back his hand until it was beside his head. In one quick motion he extended his arm and released the little knife, which flew with alarming speed towards the target Aimi had hung on the wall. It embedded itself with a solid thunk.
“Throw the blade straight and true,” Smithe said, approaching the cabin and pulling his knife from the target. “Let the weight of the handle even out its flight.”
Aimi gathered her legs beneath her and stood, picking up her knife as she did. Smithe sat down on a barrel, watching her with his too-intense eyes. Aimi hated how nervous the quartermaster made her feel. She walked to the spot from which Smithe had thrown and focused. First she pointed her knife at the target, then drew it back just as Smithe had, then extended her arm and released.
Her little knife hit the wall of the cabin just a foot from the target and stuck there for a moment before the weight of it dragged its point loose and it clattered to the deck. Smithe laughed again.
“I was closer,” Aimi said indignantly.
“Closer don’t mean shit,” Smithe spat. “Ya gonna fight with the rest of the crew, then ya need to know how to stick the enemy an’ not us. Not that ya throw would’ve done much more than piss a real man off. Throw harder or don’t fucking bother.”
Aimi felt her cheeks go hot. “I’ll try.”
Smithe leapt off his barrel and stormed over to her. She held her ground, but with the big quartermaster bearing down on her it wasn’t easy. She wanted nothing so much as to run and hide in Keelin’s cabin.
“Might be my life depends on your fucking trying, one day. Or maybe even the captain’s.” Smithe stank of stale sweat with a hint of sweet perfume, telling Aimi much about his shore leave activities. While the rest of the town was helping build defences and prepare for an attack, Smithe was visiting the brothel.
For a while Aimi just stared at the deck beneath her, desperately willing her legs not to shake. Eventually Smithe snorted and turned away.