Break the Chains

Chapter Seventeen

After a few irritating wrong turns, Detan stood on the roof of the building to which both the Larkspur and the Happy Birthday Virra! were docked. He eyed the long tongue of a gangplank that reached from the Larkspur’s deck to the stubby pier which extended from the roof. He didn’t have a lot of confidence in that pier. It was a slapdash job of old boards, greyed from the sea winds, supported by equally sorry looking bracing. He liked the look of the gangplank even less. One good kick from either end would send the traverser plummeting to the hard, stone streets below. There wasn’t even a decent awning to break his fall.

“Second thoughts?” Tibs asked.

Detan cleared his throat and snapped his coat lapels forward, stretching his neck right to left to work out the kinks nerves had given him. Finding oneself in the middle of a heist gone wrong was a sure way to get the body out of whack.

“Scarcely looks like the old bird, does it?” he said. He was stalling, sure, but he meant what he’d said nonetheless. If he hadn’t walked off the Larkspur’s deck that morning, he wouldn’t recognize the ship for the one he snatched out from under Thratia’s nose. Detan just couldn’t get his head around the new name painted on its hull – the Mirror. Probably someone thought they were cheeky, but Detan found it pretentious.

“Gonna stand here and admire their handiwork until the monsoons roll in and Pelkaia rots to death in that tower?”

“Psh, you’re always in such a rush, Tibs.”

“Maybe ’cause you always got your heels stuck in the mud, sirra.”

Detan snorted and charged ahead, propelling himself forward on sheer determination that Tibs not see him shrink from the task at hand. The moment his boots hit the gangplank a narrow man with a mighty mop of tousled sand-red hair appeared at the other end, his own brown boot planted firmly on the ship’s end of the gangplank.

“Ho there, young sir. I come bearing news from your valorous captain. Permission to board?”

The mop-headed man plucked a wooden pick from between his lips and squinted down the plank at Detan and Tibs. Behind him, figures Detan couldn’t quite make out popped up, peering at him over the high rail of the Larkspur’s main deck.

“Name’s Jeffin,” the scrawny lad said. “And the thing is, my valorous cap’in tole me not to let your ‘skies-cursed hide’ anywhere on this ship unless she was with you. She with you?”

Tibs chuckled behind him, the traitor.

“Not, ah, not at the present, Jeffin. You see, she sent me ahead to tell you that–”

“Hmm, no.”

“No?”

Jeffin shook his head, slow and ponderous. “No. Not buying what you’re selling, Honding. Cap’n warned me you were shifty as a summer wind, and not to believe a word coming out of your mouth unless she had a knife to your balls making you sing.”

“That’s some, uh, interesting imagery. However–”

“That the Honding?” The girl who’d escorted them through the alleys of Petrastad poked her head over the rail to peer down at him, her small face wrinkled by squinting.

“’Fraid so,” Jeffin said.

“The captain with him?”

“She sent me ahead–” Detan began again.

“Naw,” Jeffin said, “she’s not there.”

“Oh. Did you kill her?”

“No!” Detan barked, genuinely taken aback. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Aren’t you trying to nick her ship?” the girl said. “I mean, that’s what I would do if I were trying to steal someone’s ship.”

“I am not trying to steal the Larkspur.” He allowed himself a grin. “I’ve already done that.”

“Really? Doesn’t look like it from this side of the rail.” The girl smirked. Detan found himself wondering if anyone would notice if he tipped her over the edge.

“Don’t mind lil’ Essi, she’s a practical spirit.” Jeffin reached over and ruffled the girl’s hair. She scowled at him, but said nothing.

“Now,” Jeffin continued, “you go on back into Petrastad and get the cap’n, if you want aboard. Won’t be letting you take a step further otherwise, understand?” He nudged the gangplank with his foot to punctuate his point. Detan’s stomach lurched at the implicit threat. Tibs cleared his throat and retreated back to the roof, leaving Detan alone on the treacherous stretch of wood. He couldn’t blame him. He’d be right beside him if he thought he could retreat and still convince Jeffin to do what he wanted.

“Retrieving your captain at this juncture is, I’m afraid, impossible.”

“At this what now?”

Detan clenched his fists, forced himself to keep on smiling. “At this moment. You see, things went… not quite as planned. She is indisposed, and will be for quite some time.”

Essi’s eyes went so wide they competed with the fat, red moon. “You did kill her!”

“No! I… Pitsdamnit, this is going nowhere. Listen,” he said, taking a step forward, his hands held out imploringly. Jeffin gave the plank a warning nudge. He froze. With one great sigh, he gave up on his plan to weasel them to the Remnant without Pelkaia. Tibs probably would have skinned him alive for trying, anyway.

“Pelly has been arrested.”

“Who?” Essi said.

“How?” Jeffin said.

“The usual way, with threats of violence for non-compliance and bonds for her wrists, but the point is she’s not coming back to this ship of yours unless we go and get her.”

Jeffin’s eyes narrowed. Detan could almost hear the gears of the man’s mind clicking over as he thought. He suppressed a sigh. If only Pelkaia had left Coss in control of the ship, then they might not have to waste so much time circling one another. That man had seemed like he knew what he was doing – no doubt why Pelkaia had chosen him for her first mate.

“How can I be sure you’re not lying?” Jeffin finally asked.

Detan held both his hands out, palms facing the sweet skies, and shrugged. “You can’t. You can sit around and wait for her to appear, which won’t happen, or you can trust me and help me retrieve her. Those are your only options.”

Jeffin chewed his lip, mulling Detan’s words over, then looked down at little Essi. “What do you think?”

“I dunno. But if the captain’s in jail we’d be waiting a real long time to find out about it. Ain’t no one from the watch going to come tell us.”

Jeffin turned back to Detan. “And how do you plan on getting her an’ Coss back, if I do let you aboard?”

Detan beamed up at them, covering his relief with exuberance. If Jeffin was at all interested in his plan, then Detan’d hooked him. Soon he’d back aboard the Larkspur, night air fresh in his lungs, all the sky splayed out before him. It was just too bad he had to use the opportunity to save Pelkaia’s scaly hide.

“I distinctly remember Pelkaia wearing a commodore’s coat when she first welcomed me aboard. Still got it?”

“Yes,” Jeffin said, wary, drawing out the word. “Whyfor?”

“For adventure, my good man!” Detan took Jeffin’s hesitance in hand and strode up the gangplank before he could push it back, arms thrown wide and his face split with the craziest, most delighted grin he could muster. Before Jeffin could mutter a protest, Detan slung an arm around his shoulders and turned him to face the narrow tower that was the watchers’ station-house. Its beacon illuminated the gathering clouds in glorious golden light.

“Tibs and I have set the stage,” Detan said, tugging on his stolen Fleetie coat for emphasis. “Now, all we need is a fearsome, determined commodore to help us reclaim our stolen prisoner from those cursed, over-reaching watchers!” He shook a fist at the watchtower, and Essi clapped, giggling.

“Where you gon’ find a commodore to help you?” Jeffin asked.

“Why, right here.” Detan freed Jeffin’s shoulders and spun the man around, holding him at arm’s length while he looked him over, letting a satisfied smile spread across his features. He was reassured to hear the steady tromp of Tibs’s boots coming up the gangplank behind him.

“Tell me,” Detan asked Jeffin, “have you ever taken part in the theater?”