45b Redheads

The last of the silver inlay was really just detail work, so Pepper did it herself. She had no illusions about her ability to enchant the hull from scratch, but after a messy breakup, the idea of hammering silver into wood with her bare hands was damn cathartic.

What did I do wrong? We worked well together, didn’t we? Did he dislike my command style? Or did he just want to be in charge? That couldn’t be it; by all accounts he was terrible the first time he was captain.

She and Sebastien had never quite discussed what they were together, so she had assumed he was courting her. Or, perhaps even that less formal “dating” thing she’d heard poor people did. What she absolutely didn’t expect was for him to take his cut from their first job, buy a sloop, and take off.

“I’m sorry Pepper, but it would never work between us.” He had said, “Better to stop it now.”

What in Nine Hells is that even supposed to mean?

Caulky didn’t know either; she’d called him a right cunt and signed on formally with the Fever Sea Sirens. Ricarlo had been slightly more forthcoming, but even he had done very little to illuminate the situation. Pepper had fully disabused him of that absurd Scourge persona, but he still had a penchant for the dramatic.

“He’s got other obligations, and I won’t say more on the subject.” He’d said, “I owe him that much, and the Lady prefers to keep her dealings private.”

She finished up, leaping onto the dock so that she could look at the finished design, a stylized kestrel worked into the hull. It would add a lot of weight, but the nature of the enchantment would counteract that nicely. Her beautiful little ship was right on the edge of being too large for runes of levitation to be financially viable, but she was recently flush with cash after single handedly stopping a war.

“Oi, Pepper.” Winsome said, walking up behind her. “You got more mail.”

“Is it another one from my father asking me to come home?” Pepper asked, tail stiffening.

“Nah. It’s from that drow guy you didn’t fuck.” Winsome said, “He wants to borrow money. I’m pretty sure he’s gotten a lot of stuff mixed up. Guys are supposed to get letters asking for money from women they did fuck, right? For the kids or whatever.”

“Give me that.” Pepper said, deftly snatching the letter from her ship mage, “and stop reading my mail without asking.”

“In my defense, I was high.” Winsome said.

“That stopped being convincing three letters ago.”

The sweaty amurrun girl scanned through the letter quickly. She had liked Captain M’Dair; he deserved a few moments of her time.

Dear Captain Pepper Black,

I hope this letter finds you well and that your endeavors were successful. After we last met, I sailed north as intended and made my way to Port Peril. I spoke to your father, and suggested that he be more understanding of your wishes, though I admit that I may have been more polite than persuasive.

Sosima and Cog send their regards, and if you think she would be receptive feel free to pass along my well wishes to Caulky. I did wrong her, though I believe my reasons were justified. I consider us even.

I am afraid that, though I would like to keep in contact in the future, this letter is not one sent primarily for pleasure. As you may know, my wife and I have a rocky relationship. Ours was an arranged marriage, and probably a bad match in all honesty. After getting a taste of freedom, I had no interest in returning to my post at her side and wished to renegotiate the terms of our marriage. She has rejected my more reasonable requests out of hand.

Her mother, Lady Dovnu D’Lann, took exception to my inquiries and has decided to employ a clause in our marriage contract that requires that I either promptly repay the full value paid to my grandmother upon the date of our wedding, or that I undergo a procedure to strip me of my magic. In both cases the formal contract of our marriage will end, but should I lose my magic I will also lose much of my ability to operate as a free captain.

I am asking anyone of my acquaintance if they would be willing to buy out a portion of my debt, as almost any deadline or penalty levied by someone like you would be more bearable than those I am currently facing. My current standing offer, subject to further negotiation, is to repay any debts within two years with a 15% markup. If you would be interested in assisting me, I will be in touch with your father. Alternatively, I am hoping that our mutual friend Melku will agree to act as a point of contact in return for a small cut of the proceeds.

Best Wishes,

Emrys M’Dair, Free Captain of the Enterprise.

“Damn it, Nendra.” Pepper said, her ear flicking with irritation, “I told you something like this could happen.”

“So, what do I have to do to talk you out of giving him money?” Winsome asked.

“Nothing.” Pepper said, her ears back, “We don’t have the gold to spare regardless.”

“Yeah, speaking of, the crew wanted to talk about that.” Winsome said, nodding at the silver inlayed hull. “Exactly how much did that cost? Because we split about seven thousand between us for that last job.”

“Plus looting rights!” Pepper said, “That is part of the contract.”

“Yeah but there was no one for the grunts to loot. Even Caruthers was busy with the whole escape situation. ” Winsome said, “My point is that they noticed you spending more than they all made put together on enchanting your ship.”

“Our ship!” Pepper said, tail lashing, “It was a business expense! We will be able to sail nearly three times our normal rate in fair weather. That will open up all sorts of tactical and logistical doors for us!”

“Yeah… I’ll see if I can sell that explanation to the guys. Bad timing too, with hurricane season.” Winsome said, “When are we headed out?”

“Tomorrow, when the tide turns.” Pepper said, then squinted at the ocean. “Around noon, I believe. Please inform them they are to be present.”

“Yep.” Winsome said, saluting lazily and walking away.

Pepper leapt onto the Kestrel, and bustled into her room. She changed into one of her fresh dresses and sat down at her desk to examine her itinerary.

The itinerary was a thing of mad beauty, a calendar scheduling the next few years of her life in the form of dozens of interlocking chains of events and targeted dates for their completion. There were many things that Pepper needed to do if she was to become Hurricane Queen, as well as more personal concerns.

“Create the fastest ship in the Shackles” led directly to “Win the Free Captain’s Regatta,” which in turn was the fastest method available to receive seed money to settle an island. She’d already picked out her island, and was seeking out the necessary tools to counter a large-scale haunting.

She also had smaller tasks, such as helping her sister Cabbie to compete in this year’s Skeleton Ball, which would require that she be in Port Peril for the event just shy of two months from now. Ideally she also needed to reconcile with her parents before that, so she needed at least one more impressive exploit under her belt to prove to father that she was capable. Preferably something she could really rub his nose into.

“Alright, Emrys, let’s see what we can do.” She pursed her lips. “If this treasure map pans out, I think I can afford to lend you a few coins?”

She jotted down the numbers, calculating how much she could afford to throw away if Emrys proved to be a bad bet. It was all conjecture, of course, as the ancient golden city might not even be present. Alternatively, it might have been looted already. She liked having the numbers regardless, to serve as a chartered course.

“Alright Emrys.” She said at last, “If this works out, and I can get in contact with you, and you didn’t do anything too ungentlemanly to Nendra, I believe we can come to an arrangement.”

••••••••••

The first volley of bottles arced through the air and fell like hail onto the deck. Each was filled with a small payload that exploded when exposed to oxygen, covering the deck with broken glass. Sandara recognized the basic construction; she’d seen Rowe using similar munition.

Thankfully, it seemed that Rowe’s rockets were as exceptional as she was; if she’d been the one firing upon The Enterprise, at least one person would be ****, if not dead. Jape was the only one hit directly, and even he was back on his feet after one little pulse of positive energy.

“Mister Ivey, kindly bring us around for a broadside.” Sandara shouted over the pounding rain. “Miss Shanty, prepare the gunnery crew.”

Rowe jumped, putting down her spyglass guiltily. She was a clever girl, but tended to forget that she was in a position of authority. To their credit, most of her boys had already started towards the guns when they heard Sandara’s order to Ivey.

Might need a more dedicated gunny. There’s a lot more to that job than knowing how to shoot.

Since everything was in order, Sandara let out a long, low whistle and held up her Jolly Roger. The sound cut through the rain and stirred up the sea spray into a swirling cloud of fog. She couldn’t stop the roaring wind from tearing the fog bank apart, but their pursuers wouldn’t have much luck firing on the Enterprise while it lasted.

“Mister Cogward, get your team to fighting positions!” Sandara cried the moment he returned, “Mister Shortstone, tell Quartermaster Aulamaxa to kindly finish putting on her makeup and join us!”

Syl arrived on deck just behind Cogward. She looked around, tying her flowing black hair back while she took her bearings. Sandara watched her nervously, too busy with adjusting the sails to address the official acting captain.

At least she didn’t start barking orders. The last thing I need is her pulling rank on my ship just because she’s anxious. Sit pretty and get ready to fight.

The fog was almost completely gone, no longer providing meaningful cover. A buzz in the air was the only warning that Sandara got before a small squad of goblins arrived on the poop deck next to her.

One, a tall fellow with a black wig in a wolf tail, laughed and pointed a blunderbuss directly at Sandara’s gut. He pulled the trigger, and every nerve in her body shrieked as a dozen pellets slammed into her armored coat. They couldn’t pierce the enchanted jacket, but that was only the difference between a knife and a hammer. She couldn’t hear the crack of her ribs over the ringing in her ears, but she could certainly feel it.

“No one fights like Gobron, no one bites like Gobron, nobody can see without lights like Gobron!”

Sandara staggered back, readying her holy symbol and calling upon Besmara’s protection. The crew milled around in confusion for a few critical seconds while the small goblin gun line rained musket balls upon them. Whenever they turned their guns on Sandara, they shuddered at a vision of Besmara and directed their fire elsewhere. Ivey, struggling with the wheel, wasn’t so lucky.

Teleporting your boarding team? Ballsy. Six goblins against the whole crew isn’t great odds, mate.

Cog and Syl rushed onto the deck, knives drawn, and engaged the enemy. Sandara focused on Aaron, drawing out the shot and closing his wounds. He was a bit old to be getting shot, especially since he still hadn’t put much meat on his bones.

Cog was damn good with that knife of his, but sparks flew whenever he managed to strike the tall goblin. A glowing barrier, only a few millimeters away from his skin, blocked the strikes as surely as a steel plate. Even a precision shot from Rowe, aimed directly between his legs, simply bounced off.

He’s probably not invulnerable, but how do we hurt him?

“You can’t fight Gobron’s love forever, Crowe!” He crooned, “Come on! Don’t you want your friends to live? Gobron can make that happen!”

“Name still not Crowe!” Rowe yelled, then switched to a flowing chant in goblin that was probably mostly profanity.

Gobron’s face darkened. He dropped his blunderbuss, now spent, and spat into Cog’s face. Cog shifted his weight slightly so it would only land on his shoulder, but when it did it hissed and expanded into a large foamy mass that nearly enveloped his head. Cog, to his credit, hardly shifted his stance as he lunged again.

“Come, Lofloo, we are leaving!” Gobron ordered, then grunted with pain as Cog buried the bone knife in his shoulder.

The goblin war chanter, the one who had been singing about his captain with great gusto, didn’t need to be told twice. One of the two gunners was on the deck, blood pooling around him, and Syl was in the process of disassembling the other despite a ragged cut on her arm and large bite marks on her thigh. All six goblins vanished, leaving behind a fading buzz in the air.

Rowe’s cannoneers fired off a volley to take out the enemy sails, robbing them of their maneuverability. A storm of bottle rockets responded in kind, shredding canvas with bursts of glass and powder. The message was clear. Neither ship would be leaving before this was settled.

••••••••••

“A bit cheeky, isn’t he?” Tessa said, “He already has an outstanding debt, no?”

The Pirate Lord of Quent took a bite of her steak, chewing thoughtfully. She didn’t normally like to talk business over dinner, but the life of Emrys M’Dair was so low on her list of priorities it was basically just gossip.

She was a pretty woman, despite being in her late seventies. A combination of diet, exercise, alchemical treatments, hair dye, and her half-elven heritage kept her looking like a woman less than half her age.

https://postimg.cc/XZ79VMKZ/f6915964

She could have passed for a woman in her twenties if she’d really tried, but she decided to leave that level of vanity for the clergy of Callistria. The blonde woman sitting across from her, who could have been mistaken for her son’s kid sister, was an excellent example.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” High Priestess Dindreanne answered, pursing her lips distastefully. “I wouldn’t have asked if my son didn’t like him.”

“How is the little **** cultist, by the way?” Tessa asked, “Last I heard was about him dropping his mission to go off adventuring.”

“Stubborn as always.” Dindreanne said, her brow creasing with worry, “He is planning on visiting soon, assuming he survives the next few weeks.”

A wry grin spread across Tessa’s face, crinkling her skin at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, so what is it that he wants from you?” She asked wryly. “He barely visited you even when he lived in town.”

“He and the drow want access to our records of Chelish Nobility.” Dindreanne said, “Nothing too sensitive, and he insists it’s merely a matter of personal interest.”

“Ah, he’s family; go ahead and waive the standard fee. I’ll pay for it at my standard rate.” Tessa said, “I’m not giving him money to throw overboard, but if he doesn’t want into the sealed records, what’s the harm?”

“He will continue to take us for granted; that is the harm.” Dindreanne said primly. “I think I’ll give Linu the authority to make the call. I’ve always liked her judgement on these matters.”

Ah. I see she’s going to be all Callistrian about this. Good luck, lad. I can certainly see why you left the faith.