Pirates & Privateers Read online

  She led the way to the spring. She cupped her hand and took a drink, stepping back so Calder could drink as well. Neither of them spoke as they took turns at the spring: she hadn’t realized how dehydrated she’d become, and it took a few turns before she felt sated.

  When Calder finally stepped away from the spring, she filled the water skin. She headed back to the beach and sat down, expecting Calder to follow her. Instead, he waded out into the water, uncoiling the net from around his shoulder. He came back a few minutes later.

  “I’m not sure what fish are here, but it’s a good time of night to catch something.” He sat down on the beach beside her. “Now tell me why you left me in the forest.”

  “My Trait,” she said simply. “I get itchy, back here,” she reached a hand to her back. “All I need to do to find out what’s hidden is follow whatever made me itch.”

  “Huh,” he sounded surprised. “My attention focusses on one thing: it could be a word, a sound, or an action.” He paused and stretched his legs out. “Or a person. And what hidden thing did you uncover?”

  “Margit Ansdottir has a meeting in Strongrock with someone she called a backer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She came ashore,” Dag said. “Wanted to know if . . . Charit—”

  “Charis,” he corrected her.

  “If Charis had found whatever those men were looking for. He showed her a piece of wood and she said she had this meeting. Then . . .” she paused. “Then she looked at Inger, and I don’t know how to explain it, but that was important. That look was important—there’s a hidden meaning, or reason—for Inger to be there, with her. Inger didn’t row the dinghy, and she didn’t say anything, but there must be a reason why she was there.”

  “Inger came with Ansdottir?” Calder asked in a strained voice. “In the same boat as the captain, but didn’t do or say anything?”

  “Yes. I was surprised to see her. Are you all right?”

  “I hope so,” Calder said. “Because I just had that same feeling when you told me Inger was with Ansdottir—my Trait was activated.”

  Dag blew out a breath and tried to stay calm. Calder’s reaction to Inger being with the captain of the pirates scared her more than anything else had.

  “We need to find out who Ansdottir is meeting with,” Calder continued.

  “Yes,” Dag replied, grateful that he wanted what she did despite her leaving him behind. “I was expecting you to resist more or be angry that I left or mad about lying about the sailboat.”

  “None of that matters,” he said, “because both of our Traits are telling us that Inger’s involved.” He looked at her. “And I don’t think either of us thinks that’s a good thing.”

  CALDER GOT UP partly to check the net—he’d secured it as well as he could in the dark, but that didn’t mean it was secure—and partly because he needed to think about what Dagrun had learned.

  Someone was backing the pirates: he had to assume that person was why they were stealing and hording weapons. But what did that have to do with Inger Lund?

  Usually he waited for his Trait to work—waited until Luck gave him a piece of information he needed to get an answer. This time he was worried that he couldn’t wait. But even if he thought he could force Luck, he had no idea how to do it.

  He reached into the water, found the net, and started pulling it in. A few fish flashed in the moonlight, promising that at least they could eat. Suddenly worried, he patted his pockets. Ah, he had the flint and the knife from the tavern, so he could cook. He’d been at sea long enough that he knew how to prepare and eat fish raw, but it wasn’t his preference. And Dagrun might not even try it: they both needed to be rested and fed and ready for anything.

  With the fish cradled in the folded net, he waded back to the beach.

  “We’ll have something for breakfast,” he said to Dagrun, who sat staring out at the water. He dug a hole in the sand close enough for the tide to fill it with water, but not so close that the waves would destroy it. He put the fish into the hole and covered it with the net. He looked over at Dagrun, who was now looking at him.

  “We’ll take the dinghy,” he said. “It will be faster than going through the forest.”

  “What do you think Ansdottir wants with my sister?”

  “I don’t know,” Calder replied. “But they know there’s something special about her.” He sat down in the sand beside her. “And we know she has a Trait.”

  Dagrun looked out at the sea. “Yes. If Ansdottir does have the Unseen Trait, then Inger would be impossible for her to miss. And I think the captain is smart enough to understand what that means.”

  “You think that’s why she has Inger?” Calder asked. “Because she knows she has an opposite Trait?”

  “Yes. Inger is so obvious to me, but I always thought it was because she was my sister.” She paused. “My twin.” She turned to him. “Have you ever crossed paths with someone with the Bad Luck Trait?”

  “Yes. Years ago, I saw a boy on the streets of Pilalia.” He smiled. “He reminded me so much of my own brother. I only saw him for a few minutes, but in that time, he was knocked into and spilled half of the cooking oil he was carrying and was stung by a wasp.” His smile slipped. “Only later did I realize he had Bad Luck. And that I recognized that and equated it with my brother.”

  “I think Ansdottir recognizes that in Inger,” Dagrun said. “She may or may not know what it is, but it’s the opposite of her.”

  “But what does she want with her?” Calder asked. He sighed. That answer was for another day. “I need to get some sleep while I can. I’ll be rowing tomorrow,” he said, “and after, with Luck, I’ll be sailing.” He checked to make sure the fish were secure before looking up at the sky. It was a few hours until dawn. He rose and headed towards the trees. Once the sun came up it would be too hot to sleep without shade.

  Dagrun was still watching the waves when he lay down.

  Chapter 12

  SOMETHING CRAWLED ACROSS his face, and he swiped at it. He heard the sound of surf nearby, and he opened his eyes and rolled over. It was early—the sun had just come up—so he hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours, and he felt like it. Dagrun lay a few feet away from him, her head pillowed on her arm and her knees pulled up to her chest.

  He stretched, wondering at her Trait. She and her sister were identical, and when they were apart, he could almost mistake one for the other. But when they were together he’d swear they looked completely different. He shook his head; maybe that was the nature of Traits.

  After a quick trip deeper into the forest to relieve his bladder, he walked down to collect the fish. Herring, as he suspected, but a few were a decent size. He spent a few minutes gutting and cleaning them before putting the filets back into the water-filled hole.

  He found some rocks that were large enough for what he needed, and he put them in a circle before heading back into the trees for firewood. When he returned, he dropped a few dead branches beside the rocks. He stood up and stared at Dagrun, but she didn’t stir. He shrugged and walked into the gentle surf.

  Climbing back up the rock face was much harder than jumping off of it had been last night, even without his boots on. He grinned: he hadn’t hesitated when Dagrun had jumped; he’d just found her and hadn’t been willing to let her get away again. He still needed to know where the sailboat was, although who knew if it would even still be where she’d seen it.

  The dinghy was still hauled up on the beach. He picked through the remains of the pirate’s fire: this wood was already dry, as long as he could get it back to the other beach that way.

  He followed the path through the forest, pausing just before the clearing where the weapons were kept to make sure no one was there. He’d watched them all leave last night, but double-checking was always a good habit, he’d found.

  He pulled the tarp completely off—he’d need a way to carry whatever he took with him—and hopped up onto one of the crates. He read off the name
s of ships Dagrun had told him: Stormrunner, Windswept, Diamanto, and Merja. And a new name: Bright Breeze. There were four crates with that label. He pried one open: long guns, about fifty of them. He would bet that very few crew members knew they’d been carrying these.

  He sighed. And probably only the ones who had known, except for the captain, were still alive today. He hadn’t been on board long enough to make real friends, and he had made a few enemies, but most of the men—like Cook—had simply been making their way in the world. It wasn’t fair for them to die so pirates could get their hands on a few crates of guns.

  He sorted through the crates and took what he wanted: some long guns, a few pistols, powder and shot for them all, and a couple of wicked-looking Pilalian short swords. Not many people knew how to use them, but they were extremely effective at close quarters. He’d use a bit of the tarp and ropes to fashion a hilt for one or both of them.

  Once he’d chosen his weapons and rolled them into a piece of tarp, he lifted the lids on every single crate and punched holes in each keg of powder except for one. That one, along with a small cask of shot and a few more guns, he took into the woods. He placed a couple of flatter rocks under a bush and put his selected items on top of them before cutting a section from the tarp. Once the small cache was covered, he pulled the branches of the bush in front of everything.

  When the pirates returned and found the weapons disturbed—or ruined if it rained—he didn’t expect them to bother counting the crates to see if anything was missing. And he and Dagrun would have extra weapons if they needed them.

  He hefted the rolled-up tarp over his shoulder and headed back to the beach. He stopped to add the dried wood to his bundle before walking up to the edge of the rock that overlooked the smaller bay.

  Dagrun was standing in the waist-deep water looking up at him.

  “Good,” Calder said before she could react. “Take this.” He lowered the bundle down to her, and she grabbed it, shifting it onto her shoulder. Calder waited until she’d moved out of the way before jumping down. He waded over to her and took the bundle.

  “I thought I’d let you sleep,” he said as he headed towards the small beach. “In case we don’t have another chance for a while.” He dumped the tarp on the sand and rolled it out, displaying what he’d brought.

  “The pirates are really gone?” Dagrun asked. “I was worried they’d come back.”

  “There was no sign of them,” Calder replied, “so I went to the weapons cache and made some adjustments to the way weapons were being stored. I didn’t mean to take so long: I originally went looking for dry firewood so that we can eat.” He grabbed the charred wood and placed it in the centre of the circle of rocks, then dug his flint from his pocket.

  A few minutes later he had the fire lit. Dagrun came and stood beside him.

  “I thought we were using the dinghy,” she said. “Why didn’t you just row everything over here?”

  He looked up and met her eyes. “If they decide to come back today they’ll see that the dinghy is missing before they even land. That gives them the advantage. If they don’t find out we’ve been here until they’ve gone all the way to the weapons cache, we have the advantage.”

  “All right,” she crouched down beside him. “What did you do to the rest of the weapons?”

  “Uncovered them, mostly,” he said. “If it rains they’ll be ruined.”

  “Good. What should I do?”

  “Find us something to eat off?” he said. “Once the stones are hot, cooking the fish on them won’t take long.” He pulled the filets from the water and placed them on the stones while Dagrun headed into the woods.

  She was back with some large fern leaves, which she rinsed in the surf before bringing them over to him. He put half the fish on each fern and handed her one.

  It cooled quickly, and he ate with his fingers, picking through the odd bone he’d missed while cleaning them. It could have used some salt, but they were fresh so the flavour was excellent. All in all, he’d eaten far worse in better circumstances.

  Dagrun tossed the skins from her fish into the fire and they sizzled.

  “We leave at dusk?” Dagrun asked.

  “No arguments?”

  Dagrun shrugged. “Whatever else is going on, so far Inger is safe,” she said. “She might be even safer if Ansdottir does know about her Trait.”

  “If Inger has value to Ansdottir she’ll make sure she’s safe.” He had to admit that he was surprised that Joosep had chosen not to train Inger along with her sister. Any Trait could be put to use, couldn’t it? Except maybe Bad Luck.

  “Besides,” Dagrun continued. “I’m a very poor rower, so I’m on your schedule.”

  “You are,” Calder replied. That’s why she needed him in the first place. She didn’t know how to sail. “And you’ll tell me where the sailboat is.”

  She ignored him and kicked sand on the fire.

  “Dagrun,” he said. “I’m not taking you with me until you tell me where you saw the boat.”

  She looked over at him. “I thought you didn’t try to force things,” she said. “I thought your Trait meant that you’d just learn things when you needed to.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m deliberately stupid,” he said, and she smiled at that. “So Dagrun Lund, you need to tell me where the boat is.”

  “It’s Dag,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Call me Dag. And the sailboat is on the other side of the island. About an hour’s walk north of the Strongrock settlement. Where the children live.”

  “What children?” Calder asked. “I haven’t seen any.”

  “The ones they take from the streets of North Tarklee,” Dagrun . . . Dag, said to him. “That’s why I noticed Ansdottir in the first place. Children were being loaded onto a dinghy and taken to a ship. I followed.”

  “That’s what Jaak meant,” he said, “when he came to my room while you were hiding under the bed. He’s the sailor who used to be a pirate. The one who told me to get out; that it was too late for him because they’d found him starving on the streets when he was young and kept him warm and fed.” He didn’t remind her that Jaak had said he wished he’d died back then instead of being forced to do things he didn’t want to do. Not when this could be Inger’s fate. Although Inger might not realize that she was being coerced.

  “Starving,” Dag said. “That’s what I was told. Children like Jaak, who have been left to fend for themselves in the city, are brought to Strongrock Island. They live in a separate encampment. That’s where I saw a sailboat.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three days, maybe four?”

  AS SOON AS she said it, Dag was shocked that it had only been three or four days. So much had happened that it seemed like she’d been at the children’s beach so much longer ago.

  “It’s possible the boat is no longer there,” Calder said.

  “It’s possible,” Dag agreed, although she thought the pirates had their habits: like the dinghy they kept here. It was a sign that something went on at this beach, and to anyone taking notice it was a sign that the pirates were confident . . . and perhaps, complacent. “What do you think they’re planning?” she asked. “With all the weapons?”

  “They’re getting ready for a fight,” Calder said. “My guess is that they’ll try to control the Frozen Pass. The pass is already treacherous to get through, and keeping it open and neutral is the reason the Fair Seas Treaty Alliance exists.”

  “For trade,” Dag said. “The treaty is to keep the pass open for trade.”

  “Yes. Most of the wealth of the Fair Seas Alliance countries is dependent on it.”

  Dag’s shoulder blades twitched—there was something hidden—something important—in what Calder had just said. “So, all of the richest people in the Three are dependent on the pass being open? What about those who are not so rich?”

  “They depend on it too,” Calder said. “Timber from the Woodlea Forest is shipped thro
ugh the pass to the Sapphire Sea. Ships built by Swyford are used to take everything through the pass. If they can’t get through, neither timber nor ships will be needed.”

  “And people will be out of work,” she said. “But we won’t starve. We may not get fine wine, but we ship plenty of smoked, pickled, and dried fish.”

  “Sure, but the people don’t own that food. They need coin . . .”

  “And for that they need jobs,” Dag finished. She shrugged but the itch between her shoulder blades didn’t subside. “If ships are lost, won’t more be needed? Won’t there be a greater demand for shipbuilding?”

  “Yes.” Calder got up and started pacing. “That’s part of the puzzle. The shipbuilders. That’s always been one of Swyford’s main industries.”

  “On Lavais Island.” She knew quite a lot about whose territory it was. “It’s controlled by Clan Freeholder Timonis. The next Grand Freeholder.” She shrugged. “My assignment was in his household.”

  “The next Grand Freeholder,” Calder repeated. “Except new ships won’t be commissioned until they realize that the others have been lost: until they know that ships are not returning through the Frozen Pass. That could take months.”

  “There’s something there,” Dag said. “But I don’t yet have enough information to know exactly what.” She sighed. “Right now, it’s too hot out here. I’m going to find a shady spot and take a nap. If the bugs will let me.” She stood up and brushed the sand off her trousers and headed up to the edge of the forest. Calder stayed where he was, staring out to sea. He was still standing there when she lay down and turned her face away.

  She puzzled over the secret—at what she felt was hidden—regarding the next Grand Freeholder.

  Joosep had sent her on that assignment. She’d worried that he’d done it only to get her out of the way so that Tarmo Holt could convince—or coerce—Inger into doing something he knew Dag wouldn’t approve of. But what if Joosep had legitimate concerns about the next Grand Freeholder that he hadn’t shared with her? Or he simply needed to know more about the man who would be the next Grand Freeholder?