watch, for free? And it wasn’t just the mistress telling her girls to do for us; they were willing, by Sa. Anything we wanted…’ Sorcor’s voice trailed off in amazement at their good fortune.
Kennit repressed a sigh. He’d only heard the tale a score of times before. ‘All that disease, for free,’ he said quietly, but Sorcor took his words for a jest and grinned at his captain fondly. Kennit turned his head and spat over the side. When he turned back to Sorcor, he managed to smile back at him. ‘Caution the men to remember that few prophets are treated well in their home towns.’
Sorcor’s brows knitted in puzzlement.
Kennit did not sigh. ‘I mean that although others, elsewhere, may regard our freeing of slaves and fitting them out as pirates with a share in our territory as an act of philanthropy, some here will see us as creators of competition. And they will judge it their duty to curb our ambitions.’
‘You mean they’re going to be jealous, and they’ll rub our faces in the dirt if they get the chance.’
Kennit considered a moment. ‘Exactly.’
A slow smile crawled across Sorcor’s scarred visage. ‘But, Cap’n, that’s exactly what the men are looking forward to. Them trying to put us in our places.’
‘Ah.’
‘And, Cap’n?’
‘Yes, Sorcor.’
‘The men sort of took a vote, sir. And them what didn’t agree was persuaded to change their minds. Every man will be taking a draw this time, sir, and letting you sell off the cargo whole.’ Sorcor vigorously scratched the side of his face. ‘I suggested they might want to let Divvytown know they all believe in their captain. Now, mind, they weren’t all willing to say they’d do it this way every time. But this time, well, it’s your toss.’
‘Sorcor!’ exclaimed Kennit, and his smile widened fractionally. ‘That was well done.’
‘Thankee, sir. I thought it might please you.’
The two men stood for a few moments longer, watching the shore draw nearer. The rattling rain of the day before had forced the last browning leaves from the deciduous trees, not that there were many of them. Dark large-leafed evergreens were the dominant trees on the hills above and around Divvytown. Closer to the water, medusa vine and creeper-root had taken over the edgelands, with a towering cedar defying its own sodden roots to flourish here and there. In the freshness after the rain, Divvytown looked almost inviting. Woodsmoke rose from chimneys, adding its scent to that of the iodine of the seaweed and the briny water. Home. Kennit tried the word out in his mind. No. It didn’t fit. Port. Yes.
Sorcor hastened away, shouting at some deckhand who wasn’t moving quite swiftly enough to please him. Sorcor was notoriously hard to please when they were bringing the ship into port. It was never enough for him that the ship was docked well; she must be sailed in smartly, as if putting on a display for every lounger who might be watching from the beach. As, this time, they were.
Kennit made a mental tally of their captures since they had last tied up here. Seven ships under their belts, four of them slavers. They’d made five pursuits of liveships, with nothing even approaching success in that area. He was almost resigned to giving up that part of his plan. Perhaps he could achieve the same ends simply by capturing enough slave-ships. He and Sorcor had worked a bit of arithmetic the other night over a mug or two of rum. All of it was speculative, but the results were always pleasant. No matter how well or how poorly the four ships succeeded in piracy, half of the take would come back to the Marietta. In each capture, Kennit had awarded the captaincy of the taken vessel to one of his seasoned men. That, too, had been inspired, for now those that remained on board the Marietta actively vied for his attention, hoping to distinguish themselves sufficiently to earn ships of their own. The only drawback was that it might eventually deplete their own crew of proven men. He put that worry out of his mind. By then he would have a flotilla, no, a fleet of pirate ships under his command. And they would be bound to him, not just by debt but by gratitude. He and Sorcor had carefully spaced their sub-vessels throughout the Inside, spending much time in discussing where these new citizens would be most welcome, not to mention where the pickings were thickest for an inexperienced ship. He was satisfied they had done well. Even those freed slaves who had not chosen to follow him into a life of piracy must think of him with gratitude and speak well of him. He trusted that when the time came for them to speak their loyalties, they would recall how he had rescued them. He nodded sagely to himself. King of the Pirate Isles. It could be done.
The three plunder ships they had taken had not been noteworthy. One had not even been especially seaworthy, so when the fires got out of control, they had let it sink. They had salvaged most of the easily negotiable cargo by then anyway. The other two ships and the crews had been ransomed through Kennit’s usual brokers. He shook his head to himself at that. Was he getting too confident of himself? He should move around more, use other people. Otherwise it would only be a matter of time before several merchants banded together to have an attempt at revenge on him. The last ship’s captain had been a surly bastard, kicking and attempting to strike out long after he had been securely bound. He’d cursed Kennit and warned him that there were rewards for his capture now, not only in Jamaillia but even in Bingtown. Kennit had thanked him and let him make the rest of his trip to Chalced sitting in his own bilge-water, chained like a slave. He’d been courteous enough when Kennit finally had him hauled on deck. Kennit decided he had always underrated the effects that dark and wet and chains could have on a man’s spirit. Well, one was never too old to learn.
They came into Divvytown in good order, and his men disembarked like visiting royalty, purses already a jingle with coins. Kennit and Sorcor followed them shortly, leaving a handful of chosen men aboard who would be well rewarded for postponing their own pleasures. As he and Sorcor strolled up the docks, ignoring the blatant offerings of the pimps, whores and drug-mongers, he reflected that no matter who inspected them, at least one of them would be seen as having good taste. Sorcor, as always, was dressed in a wide array of fine clothes in colours that bedazzled the eye. The silk scarf that belted his waist had come from the plump, pale shoulders of a noblewoman they had ransomed. The jewelled dagger stuck in it had come from her son, a brave boy who had not known when to surrender. He’d had the yellow silk shirt tailored in Chalced. Given the bulkiness of the man’s muscled shoulders and thick chest, the wide expanse of fluttering fabric reminded Kennit of a ship under sail. In contrast, he had chosen sober colours for himself, trusting the fabric and tailoring to draw the eye. Few in Divvytown would appreciate the rarity of the lace that spilled so extravagantly from cuff and collar, but even in their ignorance they would have to admire it. His high black boots shone while the blue breeches, waistcoat and jacket accentuated both his muscle and his leanness. That the man who had tailored these clothes had been a freed slave who charged him nothing at all for the privilege of serving him only enhanced Kennit’s satisfaction with his appearance.
Sincure Faldin had bought cargoes from Kennit before, but never before had he so obviously fawned on him as he did now. As he had suspected, the rumours of the freed slaves and the newly-flagged Raven ships that now sailed for Kennit had reached Divvytown weeks ago. The man who welcomed them at Faldin’s door showed them, not to his office but to his parlour. This small, stuffily warm room saw little use, Kennit surmised from the stiffness of the fabric on the cushioned chairs. They sat for a few moments, Sorcor uneasily drumming his fingers on his thighs before a smiling woman entered with a tray of wine and tiny sweet biscuits. If Kennit was not mistaken, the woman who brought the wine was Faldin’s own wife. She curtseyed to them silently and then quickly retired from the room. When Faldin himself appeared but moments later, the strength of his scent and the smoothness of his hair attested to recent personal grooming. Like many native to Durja, he favoured brilliant colours and extravagant embroidery. The expanse of fabric round his girth
