Drake marvelled at the number of ships they’d brought together. He’d owned more at Fortune’s Rest, of course, but most of those had been smaller vessels, not suited for combat at sea. The thought of the Rest brought a bitter tang to his musings.
Ruien Portly had arrived with no more than twenty ships in total. Drake had entrusted the old pirate with repurposing the Rest into a fleet with as many combat-ready vessels as possible. Some had simply not been fit for purpose, and more were lost at sea during a particularly violent storm that the fat bastard should have seen coming. Drake would have strung Ruien up for his foolishness, but the man was a seasoned commander and right now they needed as many of those as they could get.
Not all of the vessels floating around the bay were Drake’s to command, and that rankled him more than he could say. A few weeks ago ten ships had appeared on the horizon, and they claimed to be from Chade. At first Drake had been more than a little pleased that Anders had managed to convince Rose and her Thorn to help out, at least until the man in charge had informed Drake that the ships answered to Elaina Black and no one else. They were waiting in the bay for her return, and claimed they wouldn’t take part in any conflict without her. Not even Tanner had been able to change their position.
To make matters even more infuriating, Zothus had finally returned home just a few days ago, and he’d brought fourteen ships and a few hundred freed slaves with him. The ex-slaves were quickly integrated into either the town or the fleet, and Zothus claimed they were courtesy of Keelin, but the ships were another matter. Much like the fleet from Chade, the ships from Larkos claimed they answered to Elaina Black and no one else.
Tanner’s sea bitch of a daughter was in command of twenty-four battle-ready vessels, and she was very much in the column of missing. In truth, Drake wasn’t certain he wanted her to appear. He’d agreed with Tanner to make Elaina his queen just as soon as the crown was good and certain, but it would be a marriage of necessity. Drake didn’t want any of the Blacks sharing his bed, no matter how good she might look naked.
A new ship, one Drake didn’t recognise, was drifting into a berth down at the docks. It would be safe; T’ruck would have made sure of that. The giant captain’s behemoth floated at anchor just outside the bay. North Storm was almost fully manned now, and T’ruck insisted on inspecting every ship that came to New Sev’relain.
“Another one?” Beck said. Her compulsion was a comforting feeling now that Drake was so used to it. “And more sails on the horizon.”
“Looks like,” Drake said, turning a warm smile on the Arbiter. Beck returned the smile for a brief second before it dropped from her face, replaced by something a lot like hunger. The Arbiter was in Drake’s bed almost on a nightly basis these days, and it was something he was more than a little thankful for. Beck was wild and passionate, and ever since their encounter with the Drurr, her appetite had been insatiable. She was holding something back though, and Drake yearned to find out what. He spotted a familiar figure wandering the streets of his little town. A smile stretched across his face and he waved to the man, beckoning him up to the balcony.
By the time the door opened and Anders stepped through, he was already carrying two drinks and Drake wagered the man would have had another if he could only grow a third hand. Anders may be a booze-soaked sot, but he was also one of the most reliable spies Drake had ever employed. He also owed his life to Drake more than once over, and that made him almost as loyal as family.
“Oh, fuck me,” Anders said, near jumping out of his skin when he spied Beck sitting nearby. “Must you wear that coat, my dear? You damned near scared the intoxication right out of me, and believe me, you wouldn’t like me when I’m sober.”
“I don’t like you now,” Beck said flatly.
“Charming,” Anders said, finding an empty table and setting his drinks down. “That’s only because you don’t yet know me. I’m a very amiable sort once…”
“Anders,” Drake said.
“Aye, Captain.” Anders snapped to mock attention. “Are you aware you have an Arbiter in your midst, Drake? She’s wearing the coat and everything.”
Beck had taken to wearing her coat again soon after the slaughter of the Drurr. Whether it was because she no longer cared who knew of her profession or because she needed the reminder herself, Drake was unsure. The Arbiter stood up, sauntered over to Anders, and plucked one of his mugs from the table before retreating to her seat near the door.
“Damned unnerving,” Anders continued. “Did I ever tell you an Arbiter almost killed me once?”
“Heretic, are you?” Beck said.
“No,” Anders said with a dramatic shiver as Beck’s compulsion forced the truth from him. “By all the gods, that never gets any less unpleasant, does it? No, no heretic. I just happened to be in the way of an Arbiter looking for our good Captain Drake here.”
Beck cocked an eyebrow at Drake. He shrugged.
“Got some news, have we, Anders?” Drake said. “I do hope it’s good.”
“Well, of course it isn’t.” Anders collapsed into a chair and scooped up his one remaining mug of beer. “See, the thing about good news is that it travels fast, faster indeed than should really be possible. Why, I could hear some good news and bear it here more expediently than any other, and yet somehow the word of that news would still outdistance me.
“Bad news, on the other hand, likes to hide and wait. It likely made it here a good few days ago, where it’s been waiting for me to deliver it just because it hates to be its own bearer.”
“Anders,” Drake prompted with a growl.
“Alright. Just remember how we messengers detest getting shot.” The drunkard sent a glance at Beck. “Believe me, I know from experience.”
After a few moments of silence, Anders finally got around to delivering his news. “They’re coming, Drake. Now. Already.”
“Fuck.” Drake wondered how quickly he could get the rest of the ships ready. “How many?”
“At least fifty ships. Mostly galleons. A few Man of Wars.”
Drake looked out at the bay. Without the ships from Chade and Larkos they would be smashed, overrun by sheer numbers. He needed to come up with a way to convince them to fight for him rather than Elaina Black.
“How is it this is the first we’re hearing of those sorts of numbers?” he said.
“That Five Kingdoms whelp of a king is a smart bastard,” Anders said around a mouthful of beer. “He locked down Land’s End while they made the preparations. I barely managed to get out ahead of the fleet. It was an impressive feat of ingenuity. You should have…”
“How long do we have?”
Anders sighed. “Not long. Probably not even long enough for me to make my usual escape. I tell you this so you realise the depth of my predicament in bringing you this dire news.”
“Aye, you’re a real hero, Anders,” Drake growled. “Where in the Hells is Stillwater?”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“There’s something else,” Anders said with a heavy sigh. “They have a pirate directing them here, making sure they don’t fall foul of your treacherous waters. A man by the name of Poole?”
“Daimen Poole?” Drake said.
“Most likely. Thick isles accent. Dirty-straw hair and a squat nose.”
“Aye, that’s Poole. Treasonous bastard.”
“He seemed quite reluctant, if that’s any consolation.”