Private Tales Run Swift, Run Silent

[Gal]

“No?” That surprised her, truly. Lucia had seemed a swift ship to her during the brief spell she’d spent sailing on it. It couldn’t outrun the Southern Wind, of course, but then few were the vessels that could. Mantessa counted most of them among its fleet – as if pirates needed yet another reason to avoid their merchants beyond the long line of gallows that jutted out of the sea in their harbor.

“Well—” Gal puffed her cheeks and had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “My ship,” al-Kamah’s ship, but details, “isn’t exactly… available.” That is to say, “It may or may not be behind that blockade.”

She flashed a grin, then swung out of the chair, her buzzing energy directed into pacing circles around the small cabin.

“A yawl or a sloop, then,” she said without looking up, eyes focused on the chart. “Or a catboat, if it’s really that fucky to get through those shoals.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran shook his head. "It's not about speed" he explained, "You need something nimbler with a shallow draught. Shallower than this one anyways for the route I'm thinking".

He nodded as she studied the chart, "That's what I was thinking as well. They won't just have shore batteries, there'll be galleys in there too so we need something that slip between them".

He had the grace to wince as she mentioned where her own vessel lay, "There's not a hope they'll be able to fight their way out if the blockade is as strong as they say it. Your ship is tough but she won't last long when rammed below the waterline".

 

[Gal]

Gal mmhmed poignantly, finally looking up. “Hence, Mantessa.”

A little bit of coin here, a knife there, and a shipment got delayed. There’d been a captain on the other side of that blockade greased by filthy Mantessan docatte, but he’d found an unfortunate end at the bottom of a canal, tied to a heavy stone and distinctly blue in the lips.

One ride along the coast later, a bit of laying about the various taverns, and now she was here. Paid to solve a problem she’d created in the first place.

If that ain’t business...

The pirate flicked something black from under a nail, then stabbed her finger at a passage marked in red. “Would they keep galleys here?

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran had the tact not to press for more details. He was fairly certain that he'd not enjoy the answer. Her question about the passage provided a chance to move it swiftly on. He nodded, "They could. I know we have. Some of these sandbars are only a few feet at most under the waterline, people use them as temporary stop overs or to patch up holes".

His finger marked another narrow one, "The points near here are rocky and high enough that they're bound to have watchers if not archers or worse." His laugh was strained, "We can guess and make a rough plan, but a lot will depend on the actual night and what we spot there".

 

[Gal]

Gal wrinkled her nose in distaste and puffed out a frustrated breath. “I mean. I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy, but fuck. Them Kasmetrans really know how to set up a blockade, huh?”

She was talking mostly to herself now, eyes trailing across the chart as if she could see the very sea before her. A careful finger traced the tide lines and the little knots of submerged outcroppings that could tear the belly of a ship apart like the claws of a jaguar could a human gut.

Finally she stopped, rapping her knuckles at a sharp bend in the coastline. An eroded rock jutted out opposite the cliff, making sailing through the channel impossible for all but the smallest of vessels. There were still the ballistae to think of, naturally, and the mages on the galleys.

But then Gal hadn’t gotten this far without some good old fashioned cunning.

“Do you trust me, Ferran?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran snorted. "About as far as I can throw you". She'd left him a mewling mess in his cabin and he was fairly certain she'd palmed some loose coins that had been left on his table. "They don't have to be good at blockading. Any port hard to get into, well it's easy to stop anyone getting out. They've enough sailors and ships to do it".

He was picturing it already. Armoured hoplites clambering aboard while archers and peltasts laid down a hail of shot at the decks. They took a brute force option, fighting at sea like they did on land. "Let's hear it then. I promise not to say no immediately".

 

[Gal]

She arched an imperious brow, utterly unperturbed by his confession. Almost like she’d been expecting the visceral denial. “That a dig at my weight, Elmahir?” Her teeth glinted sharp and quick before she directed her gaze to the chart again.

Her finger moved from the sharp bend to the short stretch of shoals preceding it.

“They can’t moor any of their ships right there, yeah? ‘S too shallow. But they got lookouts, and we’ve got nowhere to maneuver if they spot us.” She nodded to herself, pushing off the table to peer at the sky through the door.

“Yeah,” came her distant voice before she leaned back in. “Like I thought. We’ll have foul weather in two days’ time, give or take. We take a catboat at night, creep past ‘em through here, and then they can’t follow through that strait.”

Only problem was, of course, that an overcast sky was overcast for everyone.

“No lanterns.” She looked up, black eyes serious for once. “Only your knowledge an’ my eyes. Sound like a plan to you, Ferran?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

He held up both hands as if to ward off an attack, "Only my lack of strength donna" he said quickly. He leaned forward to follow her finger, listening as she explained her thoughts.

"A catboat would get over anything too shallow for their galleys" he said, grasping the idea fast. He frowned though as she mentioned the weather, "No lanterns? But it'll be as black as-" he cut himself off before he said something worse "as a dark night" he finished lamely.

"Madre" he murmured, "It's possible but..." if they were caught the results wouldn't be pretty. "You're serious about this?"

 

[Gal]

The list of things that could – and would, in her experience – go wrong was long. Most of those scenarios ended very poorly for one or both of them. A drowning death would be a mercy compared to what awaited them if the Kasmetrans got their paws on them.

But—

“It’s a lot of gold, Ferran. A lot.”

It was all she could do to keep her voice from trembling at the thought. Not only of the gold – though it was truly a ludicrous amount – but of the prestige and sway completing this task could bring her. The Qarantia valued people who got things done. Perhaps after this, Gal could even step up from common pirate to a certified privateer.

“Enough gold to retire on.” Not that either of them would. For her part it would be sank into the living economy of the coast – gambling, alcohol, and whores – and as the wiser of the two, Elmahir would probably invest into better goods, better men, a better ship.

She looked up, a blooming grin on her features. “So. You in or you out?”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Even Gal was giddy at the prospect. Ferran didn't speak because he didn't trust his voice. Enough gold to drown in. He could imagine the heft of it, see the chest in front of him now. Arethil would open up to anyone with enough coin.

He forced the dream away. There was a lot to be done before even considering it a possibility. "It is" he said, taking a slow drink to help steady his nerve. He let out a breath before meeting her gaze. A lopsided grin met hers though he still seemed nervous. "I am".

 

[Gal]

“Alright.” Gal slapped the table with a grin, bouncing her brows at the other captain as if they’d just convinced the Baroness Opraja to join them for a night of debauchery.

Not a bad mental image, that. But—

“I’ll go put out some feelers in the harbor, see who can miss a catboat for a few nights.” Fishermen who had no-one to complain to, most likely. You’d not steal a catboat from Opraja.

Mostly because the Opraja could afford far better than catboats, but the sentiment remained.

“You try and find out where exactly they’ve got those galleys, yeah? Not the kinda time and place where I’d enjoy surprises.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Gal took charge swiftly. She gave them each specific tasks. "Lucia might be able to take us close enough to the reefs to launch the catboat" he offered, "If you need coin to leave as a deposit, let me know">

'Surprises'. One way to put it. If they got caught by a galley, death might be the better option. "I'll do what I can but there's no promises. Pray to Kiva and any other gods you hold dear for luck".

A thought came to him. One he was appalled to realise he'd not considered. "Getting in is only half of it....what about out again?!"

 

[Gal]

She stopped for a moment to blink at him. Then she laughed. “Deposit?” She laughed again. “Yeah, sure, I could use a few docatte.” For the black trionfi game in the old dungeons, more like.

“Don’t tell me you found religion in Mantessa, Ferran,” she grinned like a shark, ear to ear. “The Lord and savior finally knock on your door?”

When he stumbled his way to the exit strategy, her smirk twisted to the side, lopsided like the braces when sailing close-hauled. “Don’t you worry your pretty head with that, darlin’. I’ve got it all figured out.”

She considered patting his shoulder but thought better of it, content to blow him a kiss over the table instead.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

"Hang on". He went rummaging in the chest and counted out several docatte for her. A short laugh at her question. "I don't put much stock in religion. I've seen it used too many times as an excuse. I'll take the favour of any deity that's watching us though". The Nazrani probably worshipped the sun or some shiny rock. Ferran would put his trust in the wind and sea.

He blinked at the endearment, Gal clucking as she told him not to worry. He was used to giving the assurances, not being handed them. "It's a lot to stake it on but it's your neck in it too" he said. Neither of them would look much different after a few days hanging from the yardarm.

 

[Gal]

She disappeared with a wave and a smile, eager to get on with the job. Part of it was the excitement; part of it was the urgency. If she buried her head in work then she couldn’t think of all the dangers this job posed – of all the ways it could go horribly, horribly wrong.

By the time the stillness of afternoon heat set upon the city, Gal had acquired the catboat and supplies necessary for their nighttime jaunt across the shoals. The air shimmered above the white cobblestones as she meandered back to the docks. To all the world she looked an inconspicuous deckhand, dirtied from a morning of hard work. Now she hauled the last of the rope and tar onto the caravel, whistling a sharp, familiar tune as she ducked back into the cabin.

“The catboat’s waiting on us ‘round the first cape out of port. The drag’ll probably make us slower once we tie it to Lucia.” She didn’t return any of the docatte, even though she hadn’t spent a single tolare on the boat.

“We gotta weigh anchor with evening tide if we wanna make it to Baleri in time with the weather.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

No amount of dirt was going to conceal that shapely form. The blunt and direct tone made any daydream disappear. She was all about business now. "Believe it or not, I have sailed before" he said, rising with a wince. He rolled his shoulder to work out a kink before bending over to roll up his charts. Damn woman spoke like he was a new deckhand.

He sniffed the air like he could taste the change. "It won't matter much with Lucia anyhow" he shrugged, "She just has to get us to the edge of the reefs, we're on our own from there". No offer of any money back, the catboat must have been more expensive than he thought.

"Do you have much else to get ready?"

 

[Gal]

“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “I’ll meetcha here at first evening bell. Don’t forget the charcoal, handsome.” Gal grinned and stepped closer to straighten out his collar. “Shame to smear those chiseled features of yours, but… better a sewer rat than a pretty corpse, ne?”

She smacked his ass in goodbye and sauntered out of the cabin with a parting swish of her hair.

---

The clouds crawled in along with the sea, swallowing the line of the horizon as the sky darkened with the promise of rain. Gal sat on the edge of the long pier, legs dangling over the edge as she watched the water lap steadily towards her bare feet.

Every once in a while her eyes darted over to the clocktower of the Palazz’ Duqal, counting down the time to their quiet departure. Lucia swayed gently in her berth, her thick mooring lines creaking but a few inches away. Gal was ready to scramble up the rope as soon as the bell tolled its song.

Her excitement had settled down from a lively pyre to kindling embers, keeping her body warm and her senses peeled.

She could hardly wait.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Lucia cut softly through the water, sails reefed. Deckhands stood by with long poles to fend the sides off any protruding rocks. The treacherous reefs and shoals were the doom of many a mariner. Another sailor stood by the bow, casting out a lead line at a steady rate. Her low voice carried across the deck, measuring the depth of the water below them.

Ferran looked like some sort of ghoul. Daubed with a mix of charcoal and oil, his skin was black as bitch. He'd rubbed it into his neck, face, over over his hands and then some to obscure any bit of paler skin that would show when sleeves moved. The catboat was ready by the side, the cargo loaded.

He took a few slow breaths, holding onto the gunwale for support. Lucia represented safety, familiarity. They were about to go through the shoals dodging Kasmetran patrols and running the risk of nervous sentries feathering them with arrows. "It's nearly time" he said to his companion. The sailor at the bow called out three fathoms.

Anchor was dropped and keen eyes kept watch for the flickers of light on the horizon, from here on out they would be on their own.

 

[Gal]

Her own grip was unforgiving on the polished wood of the gunwale. In the dark, under the dirt and dust, who could tell if her knuckles had gone a few shades paler? The night was as gentle a mistress as it was harsh atimes.

“Huna te ngeru i roto i te uru raau, engari hamama i roto i te ra,” she murmured under her breath, black eyes roving across the starless skies. The light of the moon would not light their way, and Gal was grateful for it.

“Have no fear, Elmahir.” She clasped his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “The sea is with us.”

Her ears perked as the anchor broached the foamy waters. The heady mix of excitement and calm washed through her veins, her skin prickling where the briny air snuck under her clothes. The summer coasts were usually warmer, but the storm lurking just over the horizon had stolen all heat from the air.

Soon as the call went out, Gal vaulted over the railing and rappelled down the rope to their little catboat. It seemed impossibly small and frail next to the Lucia, and the Nazrani had to remind herself her peoples had sailed harsher waters in little more than hollowed tree trunks.

While Ferran followed down the hull, Gal secured herself to the boat with few firm knots. They were in for a long, uncertain ride, and searching for a man (or woman) overboard in the pitch black of the night was not her idea of a good time.

“I’ll call them out as I see them,” she spoke quickly as the man landed beside her. “You steer, I’ll help with the lines when I can.”

The wind wasn’t looking too bad.

Yet.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

The eerie incomprehensible words made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Gal seemed to sense his discomfort and a strong hand landed on his shoulder to give a firm squeeze. Somewhat reassured, he followed her lead into the catboat.

He copied her and secured himself with a line. There wasn't much either of them could do if the other went overboard on a night like this. He'd lost enough crewman to the depths at night. He took his place by the stern, manning the tiller while Gal sat forward to keep an eye out for rocks and reefs.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself visualise the path ahead. Many of the shoals and hazards shifted with the tides but one could chart his course off the immovable barriers, the great reefs and jagged rocks that surrounded the city like fortress walls. Small wonder that the local pilots kept a jealous monopoly on their trade.

Lights could be espied on some of the more distant rises. Ferran instinctively angled the boat two points more to port, trusting to gut instinct and shrewd guesswork. "We're nearing the blockade" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

 

[Gal]

Safely hidden from his view at the prow of their boat, Gal drew one of her knives from her sash. The oil lamps flickered in the inclement weather as the seas rocked the great ships of the blockade.

She rolled up her sleeve to reveal unpainted skin and drew a thin line along the side of her forearm. Her hot blood dripped ink-black into the ink-black sea, the two made equal under the cover of darkness. She watched the water ahead with bated breath, her arm extended over the edge in offering until the foam rose up and licked off her red gift.

And like a whore at a Mantessan brothel, the night slipped off her cloak and revealed to Gal all her beauty. Her black eyes glimmered like two onyx stones, lit by no earthly flame.

“Rocks off starboard bow, five fathoms away,” she hissed out over the splash of the waves as she worked to wrap a fresh band of linen around the cut.

“We should furl the canvas when we round that isle ahead, beat the open stretch with oars,” she added as Elmahir maneuvered them around the treacherous shallows. “They’ll see our sail elsewise when we pass abeam of that carrack yonder.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran's eyes were still adapting to the dark so he was amazed by the sudden clarity the Nazrani seemed to have. He didn't bother trying to squint into the black, he obeyed. Angling the bow a few points to port, he heard the slight waves slap of the hitherto invisible rocks.

"What carrack?" he hissed back, all he could see was black with the occasional torch up high that marked Kasmetran sentries. Nonetheless, he slowed the boat with the rudder, standing to furl the sail as ordered. Now he could make out the faint outline of something there. The Nazrani's prediction had been through.

He made a sign against evil, moving to take oars. "In about eight hundred yards, there should be a salt marsh. We'll port this over it and then have a clear run to the next strait".

 

[Gal]

Few sounds were so pronounced as the howl of the wind in the van of a coming storm. Hairs stood on end all along her arms as she joined Ferran on the oars. Between two pairs of calloused hands the catboat flew swift and quiet across the black, keel cutting the water like a sharp blade.

Each time they sank their blades into the ocean was a gamble, high odds hedged by the gale that whipped at the tight ribbon in her hair with its greedy fingers. The sound of oars on a still night spelled doom with any half-sober sentry posted on the shore.

That’s why they’d picked the cover of the storm.

Its beating wings were poised to descend on Baleri bay, enveloping every Kasmetran ship, captain, and sailor in its inclement embrace. Hopefully long and hard enough for two bastards to slip by.

On the first leg of their uncertain plan, Lady Luck smiled upon them. The prow of their catboat kissed the edge of the marsh with a deep thunk as the muck absorbed the noise. Gal stayed frozen on the bench for what seemed like a lifetime, listening for any indication that they’d been spotted.

No call went out; no torches were lit on the looming cliffs; no arrows came raining like godsfire from the overcast heavens.

The nazrani let out a breath and vaulted herself into the shallows as quietly as she could. Within minutes she and Elmahir had the boat on the dry(ish) land, boots sank down to the ankles into the mud.

And to think the night was yet young.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran thanked whatever gods were listening that the boat struck muck and not rock. He knew the secret ways as well as any native captain but the marshes and sandbars shifted with each storm. Only the reefs and rocks were permanent.

They both stayed frozen in the boat, half expected to be riddled with arrows or have a catapult launch at them. It never came and Gal vaulted over the side into the muck. He braced himself against the cold and did the same, squelching into it.

"Give me a minute" he whispered after they'd gotten the boat up onto somewhat solid land. He massaged burning muscles and braced himself for the next effort. He wished for a light but it'd be a death sentence on a night like tonight.

"Okay" he said, moving to catch the stern of the boat and heft it. Another couple of hundred metres and they'd be back in the water again.

 

[Gal]

Gal led their march through the mud as Ferran brought up the rear, the both of them struggling over the uneven ground with the catboat balanced between them. Her muscles ached something fierce by the time her boots splashed into the shallows again, and they weren’t even halfway into their midnight foray.

But then, the promise of coin and fame had driven lesser men to greater madness.

The two sailors slipped back into the water, the slender catboat just as silent underneath them. It was as if the black had conspired to deliver them unmolested into the safe embrace of the Baleri port.

Gal had paid her dues to the seas always, and her pound of flesh besides. It wasn’t the depths she was worried about – it was the dry land. She scoured the edges of the rocks towering to starboard, but the torches remained still and unaware. If they had heard them at all, they must have thought them fish.

“We’re coming up on the strait ahead,” she said, raising her voice to a harsh whisper to be heard over the rising wind. The air smelled of ozone and tasted like electricity now; it wouldn’t be long until the skies would begin pelting them with rain.

And after that, it was anyone’s game.