“Feather is missing,” Keelin whispered. He gave Aimi’s shoulder a quick squeeze and stood.
Aimi lifted her head and looked around. The whole camp was in a state of disarray as some folk struggled to rise and wake up properly while others grasped swords and stared about in fear. Kebble had his rifle readied, but couldn’t seem to find a target. Elaina was squatting down on her haunches, staring upwards at the canopy.
“Perhaps he’s taking a shit?” said Smithe, with a yawn and a look that said he wasn’t best pleased about being woken up.
“That’s what I thought when I got up for the watch,” Bronson said. “That was a fair while back. Don’t know anyone who shits for that long.”
“Fremen takes his bloody time about it,” Smithe growled. “Likes to read a book while he hangs his arse over the ship.”
“We need to look for him,” Aimi said.
Judging by the looks sent her way, her statement was not well received. Not a single member of the expedition, not even Keelin, jumped at the prospect of forming a search party for their valued crewmate.
“First light ain’t too far off,” Elaina said, still staring upwards. “It’d be safer to wait.”
“What if he’s out there, hurt?” Aimi said.
“In this light we could walk right by him and not notice,” Elaina said. “Not to mention, we can’t see all the other dangers.”
“We can’t just leave him.”
“I don’t wanna go out there in the dark,” Elaina’s quartermaster put in.
“What if whatever got Feather is just waitin’ for us too?” Jolan said, his voice quivering.
“He’s right,” Jotin jumped in. “It’s a bloody trap, is what it is.”
“Enough,” Keelin growled, his voice quiet but full of command. Everyone stopped talking, and Aimi could hear the chitter of insects and the sound of something heavy moving through the leaf litter.
“Feather?” Keelin shouted. The noise almost seemed to echo around them. No answer floated back, and Aimi could hear nothing but the unseen wildlife and the crackling of their fire. It wasn’t strictly cold enough to warrant a fire, but not a single member of the expedition had wanted to bed down for the night without the light, and there was plenty of fuel to be found.
After a while Keelin gave a weary sigh. “Elaina is right. It’s too dangerous to go out in the dark, and we might walk right by Feather. We’ll wait until first light, and we’ll search for the boy then. Chances are he just got scared and decided to run back to the ship.”
Aimi knew a lie when she heard one. Feather could be called many things, but coward wasn’t one of them. All the same, it seemed to satisfy everyone else, and she wagered some of them needed to think Feather had simply run off.
They spent most of the morning searching in groups of three, only to find no sign of Feather. Elaina said she’d found a trail that quickly ran cold and could easily have belonged to one of the search party. As the sun drew near its zenith, Keelin called a halt to the search, stating they needed to move on while there was still enough light to make good progress. Aimi hoped Feather was alright, but there was a pit in her stomach that said otherwise.
Chapter 34 - King’s Justice
“Aye, that’s a fuckin’ lot o’ ships,” Daimen said with a whistle.
Captain Rothin Wulfden winced at the curse. He was stout with a belly like an ale barrel and more knowledge of the sea than almost any man Daimen had met. The captain was also a horrendous bore who deplored the use of foul language and chastised anyone who practised it. Unfortunately for the captain, Daimen was too old to care much about what he thought.
“Thirty-eight so far,” Wulfden said pompously, near bursting with pride. “Most are fully seaworthy – some are waiting for repairs.”
“What about the fuckin’ crew?” Daimen said. “Fully loaded, are they?”
The good captain fell silent and scratched at his belly.
“Ah, that’d explain it then,” Daimen said with a grin. “With this many ships you’re sure to sail on in an’ crush the bloody pirates like the undisciplined fucks that they are. Not so easy to do when ya can’t even crew ya ships.”
“We lost a lot of men in the last attack. Well-trained sailors are not so easy to come by, and the soldiers we send must be taught to fight on unstable footing.”
Daimen laughed. “Sea legs and sea gut, hardest things for the land dwellers to learn, eh?”
“Indeed. Sarth will soon be sending more ships and more men to help. We expect to sail into the Pirate Isles with over fifty fully manned ships. I’d like to see your Drake Morrass repel those numbers.”
“Ah, stop with the ‘my Drake Morrass’, will ya? I’m one of you now, got me a pardon to prove it.” It was mostly the truth. Daimen had a provisional pardon and a provisional deed to a lucrative spot of land in the south. Whether or not the king signed those documents was conditional on Daimen leading them to and helping them wipe out the pirates of the isles.
“Indeed,” said Captain Wulfden, sounding anything but trusting.
The sad truth of the matter was that the good captain and his officers were as much Daimen’s gaolers as they were his superiors. Rarely did Daimen find himself out of their watchful sight, and rarely while in their sight did he find himself feeling like a free man. Though they’d never believe him, the captain and his men had no need to be so strict. Daimen wouldn’t flee even if the opportunity should present itself, and the way Land’s End was locked down, he couldn’t see an opportunity anywhere on the horizon.
He’d had plenty of time to think about his situation while he was locked up, and he’d come to the conclusion that the king was telling the truth. Drake would sacrifice anything to achieve his goals, even an entire town. The good folk of the isles were better off without a treacherous cur like that, just as they were better off without Tanner Black. And Daimen would be happy to help remove them, given the hefty reward that had been laid out in front of him.
“We should be under way before the new moon,” Captain Wulfden continued as he gazed out across his fleet. It wasn’t technically his fleet yet, but everyone with an ounce of say in the matter was pushing for the captain to be made admiral.
“So soon?” Daimen said. “Fuck me, a storm is coming.”
The captain ground his teeth and scratched at his belly again. “The less time we give the pirates to prepare, the better. Your intelligence had best be right, Poole. I have the authorisation to execute you on the spot if you attempt a ruse.”
It wasn’t the first time the captain had made that threat, and Daimen would have put good money on it not being the last.
He opened his mouth to defend himself, only to be interrupted by a loud belch followed by a number of profound apologies from a man in a faded green suit that looked as though its better days were many years behind it.
“I do apologise, gentlefellows,” the man slurred with a grin that showed at least one missing tooth. The smell of alcohol wafted off him so strongly Daimen suspected he bathed in booze. “I appear to have lost my purse. Could any of… you… How many of you are there? I count one, two, three, six, seven.”
There were four of them, and apart from Daimen they were all dressed in their finest naval uniforms. Only the most dedicated of drunks would attempt to squeeze a bit out of the sailors.
“Could I borrow a bit or two? Just enough to get to an inn, I swear,” the man slurred, staggering a little.
“The docks were meant to be cleared of vagrants, Barrows,” Captain Wulfden growled, doing his very best to ignore the drunkard swaying back and forth in front of him. “Have him thrown in gaol.”
“Whoa now.” The drunkard stumbled back a step and fell on his arse in a muddy puddle. With a groan, the man got his hands beneath him and lurched back to his feet. “It’s not my bloody fault I’m here. It’s yours. I was out on shoe… schuuure… shore leave when you all just closed the port. My ship packed up and fucked off before you locked them down, and they went and left me here. Now, my good sir, I do not have much in the way of skills or talents. I do, however, know my way around a ship. Or at least bits of one. The good bits, mind, not the bilge.”