The Piratess

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Loud purring in her neck woke Nanja. Again one of the cats had smuggled itself into the cabin. Without opening her eyes, she reached behind her and pushed the animal out of bed.

Clearly the cinnamon-brown spotted tomcat: It was its outraged voice that for a moment drowned out all other noises around the ship. Shortly thereafter something clanked to the ground. Nanja rubbed her face with both hands and swung her legs out of the bunk. The tomcat was sitting on the chart table. Once again. It mewed reproachfully.

Nanja gave it an equally reproachful look and picked up the necklace with the Sol gem it had thrown down. Then she opened the wide cabin window and leaned out. Like a cat she was flehmening for a breeze; the rising sun made her blink. The sea was still smooth, but the splashing against the hull seemed a little louder than in the last days. Perhaps the first timid harbinger of wind.

She tied up the long shirt in which she had slept and wrested some silk ribbons from the cat, as green as her eyes. With the glass of the open window as a mirror in front of her, she weaved the ribbons into her hip-length brown hair. Then she pulled a colorful linen skirt over her head, slipped into boots and put her iron dagger into her belt. She took the cat under her arm before she left the cabin. “Go do your job and take care of the rats.”

So early in the morning many sailors were still below deck. As long as the dead calm lasted, they could start the day at leisure. Working aboard a sailing ship was often enough exhausting.

Kethan, the young boatswain from the Floating Islands, stood near the quarterdeck at the bulwark, his grim gaze directed at the motionless topsail on the main mast. He looked at her when she closed the door behind her. “What does Margoro actually want with these animals?”

Near the main mast, in front of the quarterdeck of the brigantine, their precious cargo had been accommodated: horses, the legendary racing animals from the mainland. From the pastures of the Sabienne in Thannes Lane they had brought a herd of thirteen animals aboard the “Agena”: a male animal – the Sabienne called it stallone – of impressive grace and ten females. Two of them had young ones, who were now also on board, because Nanja hadn’t had the heart to leave the trustful animals to fend for themselves.

Nanja put the tomcat down; it scurried off towards the galley. “Since when does a nobleman think for what he needs something? As long as he’s got it.”

“And we needn’t care as long as he pays us.” Khetan saluted with a grin and went to the hatch in the middle of the deck.

Ron, one of the few mainlanders who sailed with them, stood in the shelter between the animals. In the last harbor she had called at Thannes Lane, he had come on board and took over the care of the horses as if natural. No one knew how to keep them quiet like he did.

He had one of the smaller water vats standing between his feet and seemed careful to ensure that all the horses equally got a few sips of water.

Farwo, another one of the boatswains, leaned against the main mast and followed Ron’s actions with obvious displeasure. Did he count the drops or what? If the horses got sick, Margoro would rightly push down the agreed price. Or even refuse to pay them properly.

When Farwo passed the horses immediately afterwards, the stallone kicked, neighed and hit with its hind hooves against the wooden struts that bordered the shelter. Involuntarily, he withdrew. But the horse wasn’t finished with him yet. With an angry neigh it turned against Farwo and rose, its hooves threatening over the railing.

Ron jumped in, grabbed the stallone’s mane and tried to calm him down. The horse fiercely shook its head as if to get rid of Ron. But then it went down again on its forelegs; thereby it stepped with a hoof into the vat.

The water poured over the straw in the shelter and immediately the horses pushed and shoved to lick up some of the liquid that was seeping away.

Furious to the utmost, Farwo grabbed a grappling hook and hit Ron across the chest. “I’ll deduct the wasted water off your ration.”

Ron writhed in pain and fell on his knees groaning.

“Next time, you better watch out.” Farwo dropped the grappling hook and beckoned two seafarers to help Ron get back on his feet.

That was no way to treat anyone on her ship! Nanja squinted her eyes angrily. She would have liked to confront Farwo immediately and in public, but that was not wise. With her fists clenched, she climbed the starboard stairway to the quarterdeck.

Sitaki was standing on top at the helm – wide-shouldered, wide-legged – just as he’d already been standing there when her father had taken her to the ship for the first time at the age of seven.

With the pipe in the corner of his mouth, he squeezed out his comment. “Why doesn’t he let Ron do his work? You’d think the mainlanders would stick together, but Farwo seems to consider him a rival.”

She growled. “Land dwellers!”

“This Ron might have figured out by now what matters at sea. Yet Farwo’s making it hard on him to settle in.”

Ron just pulled his shirt over his head. The grappling hook had left a bloodshot print below his chest. Well proportioned shoulders, but not excessively wide – he didn’t look as if he were used to hard work. A land dweller after all. “He’s still only fit to tend the horses.”

“What no one else can do. You should have his back when Farwo harasses him.” Sitaki blinked up to the topsail, which was still hanging motionless from the main mast. “It’ll be just as hot and calm as yesterday.”

“Water’s running short.” At this time of the year the crossing of the ocean usually took less than two weeks and they had generously loaded supplies for three. But it still wasn’t enough. They had never experienced a dead calm like this before.

Nanja patted Sitaki on the back. “Blow a little more, old man. I’m going for breakfast.”

Meanwhile Farwo saw his task as a boatswain once again in harassing Peire and Samnang, the ship’s boys. The two of them sat next to one of the landing boats and were splicing rope. Farwo plucked one apart again. “What the f**k? Don’t you realize that a life depends on it?”

He was right, but this way they’d never want to learn how to do it correctly.

Nanja went at the fence to the horses. “Good morning, beautiful ones!” She spoke out loud. In contrast to the dragons of the Islands, horses seemed to be unable to see thoughts. As she had observed at a Sabienne’s market, she held her hand flat over the railing.

The stallone threw its head and snorted. Then it approached curiously and sniffed her fingers. Its mouth was much softer than that of her dragon Tiruman. She laughed amusedly as it buried its mouth in the pocket of her wide-cut skirt immediately afterwards: Voracity – in that all animals resembled each other.

One of the female horses raised its head across the railing. A ray of sunlight fell on its back and although the coat was dark brown, in this early morning light it had a glimmer similar to that of Tiruman’s silver scales.

“Do they actually give you names? And do you listen to them as our dragons do?” Gently Nanja stroked the neck of the cavalla. The horse put its head on her shoulder and she scratched it behind its ears like she did with Tiruman. But the cavalla didn’t purr.

Meanwhile Ron stood next to the hatch to the hold and had hay handed up to him. Unexpectedly he hurled a bale towards the shelter and Nanja was wrapped in a cloud of dust; she coughed and frowned. He really wasn’t mindful enough of what he was doing.

“Forgive me, Captain.”

At least that.

He brought the feed to the horses and spoke quietly to one of the cavalla, who put its petite head on his arm.

Nanja smiled. The white horse and the black-haired man made for a picture akin to a drawing of her mother. “Graceful animals. Almost as beautiful as Tiruman.”

Ron looked up, visibly surprised that she addressed him. “Who’s that?”

“The dragon I raised. A flying dragon.” For a month she hadn’t gone to sea to watch over the dragon’s egg.

“There are no dragons on the mainland.” So he’d never seen one. What would he think of them? They were monstrous compared to his horses.

“They have an armor instead of fur. But the silver scales of the dragons shimmer in the sun just like the coat of the black horses.” Seldom had anything touched her as deeply as the sight of the crumpled creature painstakingly picking its way through the hard shell. The elves had stopped her from helping; it was its job, not hers: “Even for us ocean dwellers, it is an outrageous exception to live with a flying dragon. I am proud of it and love my dragon more than anything else in the world. “

An amused sparkle sneaked into his attentive gaze while Ron listened to her. Shouldn’t he understand her love for Tiruman, since he was pampering those horses so much?

Lert, the ship’s cook, had put a single shriveled apple on her table – not only the water was running out. She cut the apple into thin slices to make the crumbly hardtack more edible with the half dried fruit. The water smelled of decaying wood and tasted brackish. Disgusted, she put the wooden mug aside after a sip.

“Three-master to port,” came a call from the crow’s nest on the foremast.

She put the last bite of apple-hardtack in her mouth and went on deck.

Soon afterwards on the eastern horizon the ship was visible to all: a fluyt, a ship the salt merchants from Sondharrim in the south of Dragon Island liked to use. Thanks to the low draft they were able to travel with them far into the salt marshes of Dhaomond.

The three-master slowly drifted towards them. The two square sails on the main mast were hanging in shreds and the foremast seemed to have been cut at mid-height. The ship had either been in heavy weather or in combat.

“Run up the flag of Kruschar,” Nanja ordered. They had the flags of all on board, with whose letter of marque they sometimes sailed. Farwo raised his eyebrows, but he passed the order on without comment: In a way, they were currently sailing on behalf of Kruschar.

Nanja climbed to Sitaki on the quarterdeck. “Hopefully we can still help them.”

“We’d be late anyway.” Farwo had followed her; he obviously thought he had something to say about what they were doing.

Sitaki looked at him with obvious displeasure. “Sometimes it would be good if we had oars!”

“Rowing? Have you ever seen a free man row?” Farwo twisted his mouth in disgust.

“Humans not, but elves.” Sitaki patted him on the back. “You can learn a lot from them.”

“We’ll get to this ship anyway.” Nanja ordered the boatswain to return to the deck. “Set all sails! Catch every breath of wind!” Even as a corsair, she kept to the law of the sea to help any ship in distress.

“Our destination is in the south.” Farwo didn’t move. “It’s no use to them over there, and we’ll soon be in trouble ourselves.”

“It’s always a worthwhile prize.” Sitaki set the course to the east. “I won’t let any prey in sight drift past me.”

Farwo looked from one to the other, then he went downstairs with an outraged snort.

Sitaki pushed his pipe from the right corner of his mouth to the left. “What a know-it-all.”

“I shouldn’t have signed him up.” But after the battle against the ships of Allcress so many had been injured that they needed additional seamen from the mainland to sail the “Agena”.

Those who had nothing to do stood at the bulwark, curious to see what they would find on the fluyt: They were all hoping for a good prize. Even Ron was for once interested in something different from his horses.

Until late afternoon Sitaki managed to get so close to the damaged fluyt that they could row over. Nothing moved on the deck of the alien ship. Except for a small figure at the helm, it seemed abandoned.

“A child,” Ron shouted in amazement. “How long may it have been waiting for us?” Waiting for the “Agena”? Strange thought.

Nanja shielded her gaze from the sun. A child indeed. “A little girl!” She didn’t even reach the upper edge of the ship’s wheel.

She ordered two boats in the water and went herself over with Farwo, Ron and another dozen men. The guys didn’t know anything about kids.

On the fluyt’s deck they climbed over rigging lying around and had to clear away a shredded sail before they could open the deck hatch. Putrid stench struck them. While the men were descending, Nanja went to the girl on the quarterdeck.

The ship’s wheel was lashed and could only be moved a few fingers wide. The little one rather held on to it than to steer. She brushed her dark hair from her salt-encrusted face and greeted Nanja with a tired smile.

“I’m glad you’re finally coming,” she murmured. “I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Nanja squatted down and put her hands on the girl’s hips. “What’s your name? What happened here?”

“I’m Lastella.” An elven name. Lastella greeted her so calmly because she had already looked into their thoughts.

“What happened?” Nanja repeated. “Why are you alone up here?”

Tears glittered in the eyes of the elven girl; she tried to blink them away. “They’re all below deck.” She spoke more and more softly. “Father died and so did everyone else.” She pulled her head between her shoulders and hastily looked around from the corners of her eyes. “Demons have taken possession of them.” Demons – despite the elves on board; that was disturbing.

Nanja shuddered at the idea of what must have happened below deck. “Did they kill each other?”

“Since then, I’ve been waiting for another ship to come. We’re so far away from home. Nobody knows anything.”

“You think nobody noticed your thoughts?”

Lastella nodded. “It’s too far. Only when your ship came closer did I see the shadow of an answer. “

“We’ll take you home,” Nanja promised.

“Who are you?”

Nanja smiled. “I am the piratess.”

“Then our fathers know each other.”

“But now they’re both dead.”

“Yours too?” Lastella squeezed Nanja’s arm. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Why did you even travel with an alien merchant ship?”

Lastella looked clueless. Of course; she could hardly have an answer to that. Well-behaved in the presence of her father, she had kept herself out of the thoughts of the others.

Farwo came to Nanja on the quarterdeck. “Down there are ten dead men. Most of them have serious injuries that have not been attended to. Only two bodies appear to be externally unscathed.” He stared thoughtfully at Lastella. “Thank Aharon for being alive.”

Lastella drew down the corners of her mouth in despise. She’d rather ascribe to Aharon that her father was dead.

“The rest of the crew must have gone overboard.” That was certain, because even a fluyt you couldn’t sail with only ten men.

“Lastella is speaking of demons.” Again a shiver was running down Nanja’s back. “And the cargo?”

Farwo spread his arms grinning. “Axes, swords, lances. Metal all you want.”

One after the other the seafarers came back on deck and brought up the bodies. Lastella clasped Nanja’s arm with both hands as she looked at them. One of the two unscathed dead was her father. The Prince of the elves had his eyes wide open, as if he had seen something terrible in the last moment of his life. A sound like a suppressed sob came from Lastella.

Nanja bent down and closed his eyelids. While the other bodies were thrown overboard, she had the elf wrapped into a canvas and brought back below deck.

Then she climbed down herself to look at the weapons. “Transfer that stuff. I know who we can make happy with it.” The rebels of Dhaomond, who wanted to get rid of the Saint and his order, paid well.

They waited until the “Agena” was close enough. Then they took the fluyt in tow and three men stayed behind to maneuver it.

When Nanja got back into the boats with the others, Lastella insisted Ron helped her down from the ship and in the boat she clung to him. He didn’t seem to mind. What a strange man who could handle children as well as horses.

“Before we set course again for Kruschar, we bring Lastella home to the Floating Islands.” If they only came out of the dead calm – water was a bigger problem than the time that remained until the autumn festival.

Ron stroked the girl’s hair. “You’re an elf?” Reverent wonder lay in his voice.

“Don’t you know that?” For a moment, Lastella seemed stunned. But even ocean dwellers did not always recognize elves, so how should a land dweller? “I’m Lopero’s daughter, and when I’m grown up I’ll be a princess.”

Nanja laughed amused. “You’re a princess already now.”

Lastella looked down at her dirty clothes and wrinkled her nose.