The Grim Company

The Measure of a Man

He cut through the water like an arrow, blinking stinging tears from his eyes. He was closing on Soeman fast. The engineer was only a hundred yards away. The flailing man went under again, and for a moment Cole thought he wasn’t going to surface.

Don’t you dare die on me, he thought angrily, spurring himself on. This is my moment. I’ll never forgive you if you drown.

Of all his many qualities, Cole had always prided himself most on his athleticism. He could run faster and further than any man he knew, and he was as comfortable in water as he was on land. He could feel the eyes of Three-Finger and the rest of the Redemption’s passengers on him now, could well imagine the looks of awe and respect on their faces as they witnessed the deeds of a hero at first hand. It was time the world learned the measure of Davarus Cole.

Soeman’s balding pate poked up above the waves once more, but this time he didn’t resume his laboured swim towards the Redemption. Instead his arms flailed around desperately, and he sank back beneath the water.

Cole grunted with exertion and redoubled his efforts. He reached the spot where the engineer had vanished, took a mighty gulp of air and then swam downwards. He could see the man just below him. He was twitching pathetically. With a mighty snort, Cole grabbed hold of one of Soeman’s arms and reversed direction, kicking frantically for the surface.

His head broke the water and he gasped for breath. He dragged the engineer up and held his mouth open with one hand, beating on his chest with the other as he desperately treaded water. With a strangled retching sound, Soeman puked out water and began coughing uncontrollably. Cole sighed with relief. He’ll live.

‘Hold on tight,’ he said, and with one arm looped around Soeman’s chest to keep him afloat he swam for the carrack ahead of them. Their progress was agonizingly slow compared with the quicksilver pace Cole had set in the opposite direction, but nonetheless the Redemption drew nearer.

‘You saved me,’ Soeman managed to croak once he was sufficiently recovered from his near-drowning.

‘It’s what I do,’ Cole replied. ‘Try to remain still. If you wriggle around you’ll only hinder us.’

He had saved a man’s life. He thought back to the Hook and his failed attempt to rescue the poor old sod who had been chosen by the Black Lottery. His anger at having let the man die still rankled with him, not least because things would have gone so differently back at the Shard hideout. Garrett and the others would learn to respect him soon enough, once he returned with Magebane and a crew of loyal men under his command.

‘Uh,’ Soeman mumbled. His right arm waved vaguely at something in front of him.

‘What is it? I thought I told you to keep still…’ Cole’s words trailed off when he saw what the engineer was pointing at. There was a rowing boat full of Watchmen in the distance. It was closing the gap between them at frightening speed.

‘Kick your damned legs!’ Cole shrieked, pushing down on the water with all the strength he could muster.

The Redemption was within hailing distance. ‘Lower a rope,’ he shouted. Someone must have heard him, as a figure hurried across the deck and threw a line over the side of the ship. Fifty more yards, he thought.

His legs burning with exhaustion, so heavy they felt like they would drag him to the sea floor, Cole grasped the hanging rope and wrapped it around his body. He held Soeman close to him. ‘Pull us up!’ he yelled.

Whoever was above them complied, and they were hauled up the side of the ship and pulled aboard. Cole flopped out onto the deck, listening to the sounds of his heart thumping inside his chest. Eventually he looked up into the scabby face of Three-Finger. My loyal sidekick.

‘You did well there, kid,’ the convict said, giving him a nod. Soeman moaned nearby.

‘The boat,’ Cole panted. ‘There are Watchmen closing on us.’

‘Vessel spotted, five hundred yards to starboard,’ someone cried.

‘We can take them,’ Three-Finger said. He offered a hand. Cole grasped it and grunted as the other man pulled him to his feet. His legs still felt unsteady and his left arm ached as bad as his ribs.

‘The boat’s packed with them,’ the lookout cried again. ‘Ten Watchmen, a handful of sailors, and… that bastard Augmentor.’

‘Who here has a crossbow?’ Three-Finger bellowed. One man raised his hand — the others looked around helplessly.

Cole gasped as another moment of inspiration struck. ‘The artillery,’ he shouted. ‘We can sink them before they reach us.’ He ran over to one of the small cannons mounted on the forecastle. ‘Get me some powder, a small wad of cloth, and a flint and tinder,’ he ordered one of the sailors close to him. The man hurried over to the hold at the stern. He returned with three small canvas bags, nondescript save for the red flames inked near their centres.

The young Shard reached down at his belt, grasping for the hilt of Magebane. With a curse he remembered that he no longer possessed his precious dagger. ‘Pass me your knife,’ he said. He took the blade from the sailor and cut open one of the bags, emptying its contents into the end of the cannon.

Artillery operated by alchemy was a relatively new invention. The components needed to create the explosive powder were rare and costly to obtain. Shadowport had enjoyed access to far greater reserves of the necessary ingredients, and the effectiveness of the City of Shades’ cannons, combined with its considerably more advanced shipbuilding techniques, had effectively won the naval war with Dorminia.

Cole had studied a few of the books in Garrett’s collection and he thought he knew enough to operate one of these weapons. They were cumbersome and potentially dangerous — but in the right hands, they could be deadly.

He grabbed a round iron shot from a crate near the cannon and fed it down the barrel with a wooden pole. ‘Bring the ship around so I can get a clear shot,’ he yelled at Jack, who spun the ship’s wheel with relish. The carrack began to turn. The rowing boat was almost within his sights.

He took the cloth from his assistant, shoved it in the aperture just behind the powder chamber, and lit a spark which took to the small scrap of cloth immediately. He figured he had maybe fifteen seconds. Just enough time.

He thrust his head over the bulwark and pointed a finger in the direction of the furious men rowing towards him. ‘I’m Davarus Cole,’ he shouted down at them. ‘You made a mistake when you signed up for this life of villainy. At least you can go to your deaths knowing you were slain by the best-’

‘You forgot to swab the barrel!’ the sailor beside him hissed. He looked down.

The fuse was halfway burned when the cannon went off. The force caused Cole’s head to strike the bulwark and he came close to pitching over the side. The iron shot splashed harmlessly into the sea a dozen feet to the right of the rowing boat.

He looked around wildly, hoping nobody had witnessed his blunder. Everyone had. His head throbbed.

‘Pass me more cloth,’ he spat into the grinning face of the sailor.

This time everything went as planned. He cleaned the barrel, loaded the shot, lit the fuse and lined up his target. The soldiers were within fifty yards of the carrack when the cannon fired, sending its projectile whistling into the side of the boat. There was an explosion of timber and water and flailing bodies. Screams filled the air.

A loud cheer went up on the Redemption. Cole straightened and then stared out at the carnage. He froze. A moment ago he had faced a dozen men. Men with families, hopes and dreams. Now there was nothing but driftwood and a few corpses bobbing just below the surface of the sea.

His face split into a wide grin. ‘Let that be a lesson to them!’ he yelled, spinning around and pumping a fist in the air at the men celebrating on deck. He swaggered down to join them, savouring each slap on the back and happy smile as his new comrades gave him a hero’s reception. Life had never felt so good.

‘You did well, kid. You did well,’ Three-Finger said.

He puffed out his chest. ‘The name’s Davarus Cole. I told you that already.’ He sauntered over to where Soeman was shivering on the deck and hauled him up. ‘Look at that,’ he said to the engineer, gesturing at the setting sun and the dark water that stretched out across the horizon. ‘This is ours. All of it. We’re free men now.’

Soeman sniffed and then coughed. Despite the blood at the edges of his mouth, he smiled. ‘I can’t believe your plan worked. I admit, I thought it sounded crazy. You’re a hero.’

‘Yes,’ Cole said quietly. ‘I am.’

They stood together in silence for a time, watching the sun bid its final farewell. The last of the light faded. Soeman suddenly twitched and let out a faint gasp.

Cole shook his head. ‘Your chest is getting worse. I thought the saltwater might have done you some good.’

There was no response. He looked at the engineer. Something was sticking out of the back of his head. He reached across and touched it.

A quarrel.

Soeman fell flat on his face. He didn’t move.

There was a rustling sound above him and a dark shadow soared into view. Cole squinted up at the figure. It looked like a man…

Falcus! The Augmentor had survived the capsizing of the boat. His cloak billowed around him, glowing faintly in the night sky. He held a crossbow in one hand — and it was pointing at Cole.

Cole threw himself to the deck, shouting wildly to get the attention of the rest of the crew. One of the men ran over and levelled his crossbow at the soaring figure above them. He pulled the trigger, but the bolt missed. The Augmentor circled them, dipped low and then flew by barely a dozen feet away, taking aim with his weapon. There was a thunk, and the fellow beside Cole dropped to the deck, a quarrel protruding from his chest.

The young Shard turned and ran. He made it to the safety of the crowd that had gathered near the mainmast. Most still had no idea what was happening. ‘Get down!’ he yelled. One of the former prisoners was slow to react and ended up with a bolt quivering in his throat.

He felt at his belt for Magebane. This time he found the knife the sailor had lent to him. Falcus was preparing for another deadly pass. He tensed.

The Augmentor plummeted down out of the sky, arcing directly towards him. He waited until the last instant and threw the knife, aiming for the man’s chest. It missed but snagged his cloak, cutting a large gash in the fabric.

Falcus cursed. Suddenly he was out of control, spinning wildly in the air. He crashed into the mainmast with a sickening thud and slid down it.

Three-Finger was on the fallen man in an instant, his hatchet taking chunks out of the dazed Augmentor. Within seconds it was all over. Three-Finger continued to hack away, dismembering the corpse and then tossing the parts overboard.

Cole got to his feet. They had lost three men, including Soeman. Jack was badly hurt too. He felt a sudden fury at his absolute triumph being sullied by the deaths of several of his crew — especially Soeman whom he had worked so hard to save from drowning. It just didn’t seem fair.

Suddenly the air seemed to throb around him. He halted, staring around in shock, and then almost retched. A foul stench assaulted his nostrils. It smelled like a corpse left out in the sun, and it was overpowering, as if whatever was creating the smell was huge. All over the ship, men were leaning over and heaving onto the deck.

A roaring filled his ears and Cole staggered. The sea began to shimmer, so brightly it made his eyes water and forced him to look away. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening — but sudden, intense pressure stole his words away and cold water forced its way down his throat. He flailed wildly, hopelessly disorientated and surrounded on all sides by crushing water. The deck beneath his feet had disappeared; he was being dragged downwards. Ever downwards.

Darkness swallowed him.

‘He will live.’

The words seemed to float into his ears from a long way away. He tasted bile and salt. His body shivered uncontrollably.

‘Open your eyes.’

He did as he was ordered and stared up into the face of a beautiful woman. Her skin seemed almost supernaturally pale, but perhaps that was a trick of the moon behind her. There was something queer about her eyes. His own eyes felt full of grit, and he rubbed at them with salt-wrinkled hands.

‘Where am I?’ he asked.

‘On The Lady’s Luck,’ the woman replied. ‘The Swell almost claimed you. Your ship was lost, as were most of her men.’

‘The Lady’s Luck?’ Cole noticed there were others near them, a crew of both men and women who glanced at him curiously.

‘The flagship of Thelassa’s fleet. We had orders to sink your carrack and the old cog trailing behind her.’ His rescuer looked down at him without expression. ‘The Swell saved us the bother.’

The Swell. Cole shivered again. He had come within a whisker of being yet another victim of the Lord of the Deep’s undying wrath. ‘What now?’ he asked.

The woman’s strange eyes narrowed on him. ‘War is imminent between our two cities. We sail to Thelassa.’

‘We?’ Cole managed.

‘Yes. You are our prisoner. The White Lady will have a great many questions for you.’