Wake of the Bloody Angel

Chapter Nine

The lookout, a gangly girl named Estella who stood on the foremast crosstree, called, “Sail ho! Right ahead.”

It was the first change in routine since we left port, and I expected a major reaction. What I got was a collective, ship- wide shrug. The crew did not rush; they sauntered into action. Half the men continued to lounge around the deck, while the other half waited to see if this was anything more than a passing vessel minding its own business.

You couldn’t miss one change, though. Suhonen emerged from the hold, clad only in knee-length pants and a sword belt holding a cutlass. Around his thick neck stretched a tattooed line of dancing human skeletons. Men scrambled to get out of his way as he went to the rail and stood casually, as if waiting for a carriage. But his eyes never left the horizon directly ahead, where the mysterious ship now appeared as an unmistakable silhouette.

Clift yelled to a man halfway up the mainmast shrouds. “Greaves, you old seagull, what do you see from your perch up there?”

Greaves, the sailing master, was a solid man in every sense: thickly muscled, unflappable, and with a manner that ensured he never had to give an order twice. He kept a short unlit pipe perpetually clamped between his teeth. “It appears t’be a Langlade merchant vessel,” he said. “But she’s flying the flags in the right order.”

Murmurs traveled through the crew around me. More men stopped what they were doing and came to the rails to watch. Clift said, “Verify that with the lookout.”

“Verify!” Greaves called up.

“Confirmin’ the mate’s statement!” Estella called down. Jane and I joined Clift at the port bow. The ship ahead flew several flags and banners, so I wasn’t sure which ones conveyed the information they all recognized.

“This is damned peculiar,” Clift said, wiping sweat from his chin. “A Langlade merchant ship.”

“Maybe she was taken before the pirates could refurbish her,” Jane said. To me she added, “Pirates don’t build their own ships, they just take existing ones and modify them. Usually they pick something with a little more muscle, though. A Langlade merchant ship is just a raft with ambition.”

“Why would a Langlade merchant ship be flying the pirate- hunter safety signals, then?” I asked. “For that matter, what exactly are the pirate-hunter safety signals?”

“It’s a way to let other pirate hunters know a ship has already been taken,” Clift said. “There’s a code in the way the flags are flown, which masts they’re attached to, which ones are higher or lower. Otherwise, we might start fighting before either side recognized the other.”

“Could it be a trick to lure us in close?” I asked. I felt tingles of excitement at the thought of a break in the monotony, even if that break might mean bloodshed.

“Maybe,” Clift said thoughtfully. “If someone bought the code, which gets changed every six months, and used it correctly. It’s not a simple thing. Still, that doesn’t explain why a ship like that would be sailing under such a banner.” He looked back at the quartermaster and called, “Call the watch below, Mr. Seaton. The men can use the practice.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” he said, then repeated the order in a roar that rippled the canvas.

Turns out “call the watch below” meant, essentially, what we were already doing: watching as the new ship grew closer. Jane’s description of it was accurate. It had a single mast, a low waterline, and a deck that was flush from bow to stern. The big, crude tiller seemed wholly inadequate to open ocean travel. In the middle of the deck, just forward of the lone mast, stood a pyramid of wooden crates held in place by a net and ropes.

There seemed to be about half a dozen men aboard her, no more frantic than our own. At last Greaves bellowed, “That’s Fernelli, first mate on the Randagore. They’re for real.”

“The Randagore is another pirate hunter,” Jane explained to me.

“So everything makes sense now?”

“Fuck no. Not a lick.”

The man Greaves had indicated waved from the other ship’s deck. “Hello, Red Cow! Do I smell rum from your ship?”

“You smell it from your own foul breath!” Clift yelled back good- naturedly. “But come aboard anyway!”

The ships pulled abreast, and a boat lowered from the other ship. A few minutes later, Fernelli, bald and with a bushy beard decorated with ribbons and little bells, leaped aboard the Red Cow. His two oarsmen followed with much less flair.

He gave Clift a hearty kiss on each cheek, then froze when he saw Jane. “By the giant stingrays of Bola Bola, it’s Jane Argo!” he cried. He wrapped her in a hug and spun her around as if she weighed nothing. Jane laughed with delight and, when he put her down, kissed him on the mouth.

“Fernelli, I’m glad to see you saw the light and joined the right side,” she said.

“The light had nothing to do with it. I got tired of lice in my beard and no gold in my pocket. At my age, regular wages plus bonuses sounds mighty good.” To Clift, he added, “What are you doing in the Randagore ’s part of the ocean? She’s only a day behind us. Did they redraw the patrol districts again?”

“We’re chartered,” Clift said.

Fernelli’s eyebrows rose. “A private charter? You got permission for that?”

“Of course not. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Clift said with a grin. “We’re looking for Black Edward Tew’s old quartermaster.”

“Marteen?”

“Aye. He’s back on the account.”

“So I’ve heard.” He looked at Jane. “You back hopping waves as well?”

She shook her head and nodded at me. “I’m hired muscle. He’s the gold.”

Fernelli gave me a once-over. “And why would a land- bound gentleman such as yourself be wanting to find Wendell Marteen?”

“I just want to talk to him,” I said.

“About Black Edward’s lost treasure?”

“Just about Black Edward.”

“Right,” he said with a knowing wink. “Find the man, find the money. I never put no stock in the tales of his sinking, either. Always assumed he changed his name and retired, like old Captain Lowther. They hung him when he was eighty- five, did you know that? After forty years as a law-abiding citizen. All because of a few massacres when he was a young man. I guess Marteen didn’t want to sit around waiting for the hangman to catch up to him.”

“I’ll ask him when I see him,” I said noncommittally.

“Well, you should also ask him if he knows anything about these damned ghost ships, because no one else does.”

“Ghost ships?” Clift repeated.

Fernelli jerked his thumb at the ship he’d just left. “Found this one five days ago. Still under full sail, just like you saw her now. A few odds and ends gone, but most everything still there. Certainly all the cargo crates are still full. No sign of anyone aboard her, or where they might’ve gone. And you can save your lips the effort, we’ve looked into every possibility, and there’s nothing. It’s like they just vanished right off the ship in the middle of whatever they were doing.”

I looked at Jane. “Does that happen a lot?”

“No. I mean, sometimes, sure, but usually if you look hard enough, there’s an explanation.”

“You said ‘ships,’ ” I pointed out to Fernelli. “Plural.”

Fernelli scowled. “What’s that word mean?”

“More than one,” Jane said.

“Oh, aye, this is the fourth one I know of. The Vile Howl found one; the Sea Dagger found two. Might be more. They’re all locked up in Blefuscola, which is where we’re heading with this beauty. It’s not a prize if it ain’t officially tallied, now, is it?”

Clift noticed that the crew were all looking at us, hanging on Fernelli’s every word. Their growing apprehension at this talk of “ghost ships” was palpable. I recalled Rody Hawk’s comment about their superstitious nature and wondered if Hawk had gained such a fearsome reputation in part because he’d learned to exploit this gullibility. He lost a lot of his mystique with that realization.

“Gentlemen,” Clift said, “I think we should adjourn to my cabin and discuss this in private.” More loudly he added, “Because we wouldn’t any gossip to get started before we knew any of the facts, would we? That would make us a bunch of cowardly harbor hogs, and we sure ain’t that, are we, lads?”

The crew’s halfhearted murmurs of assent were not reassuring.

“Not sure I’d trust Fernelli’s word on this,” a new voice boomed.

Suhonen strode through the crew, which moved aside quickly. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, and he looked down on the little bald man with contempt. Suddenly we could hear the creaking of the yardarms above us.

Fernelli wasn’t intimidated. “Aye, if it ain’t the walking sword arm. Still wearing short pants, I see.”

“And you’re still blaming everyone else for your own misdeeds. Ghosts now, is it?”

“I’ve told the plain truth, you festering tar stain. And anything I did before was wiped clean by my pardon. Ain’t that right, Captain Clift?”

“That’s the law,” Clift agreed neutrally.

“And what about you, you overgrown canvas crab?” Fernelli stepped right up to Suhonen as if he might strike him. “You were the parson’s daughter, I assume? So sweet, bees looked for pollen in your arse?”

“What I did, I did looking right at them,” Suhonen said. “No man had to fear turning his back on me.”

Finally Clift stepped in. “Stand down, sailors. We have a common enemy out hiding in the wave troughs, not striding the decks beside us. Come on, Fernelli.” He gestured toward the hatch. Fernelli and Suhonen kept their gazes locked for a moment longer; then the smaller man walked past Clift and took the steps down into the darkness, his back straight and shoulders back. As we followed, Clift said, “They’re cousins. Sometimes it’s a small ocean.”

We followed Clift down the steps into the hold. As we did, Dorsal the cabin boy jumped aside to let us pass. I winked at him and he grinned shyly back at me, hands clasped behind him in a childish approximation of military at-ease. The others paid him no mind.

Below the deck, everyone was on their feet, and while they didn’t salute the way a naval crew would, there was a sense of respect in their casual nods toward Clift. With ex-pirates, I suppose you take what you get. We went through the crew space into the captain’s dayroom, where he closed the door. With his open cabin to port, there was a nice cross breeze through the portholes. RHIP was all a matter of what you compared it to.

In the cabin we sat on the benches on either side of the short table. Clift retrieved a jug and a handful of heavy wooden tankards, the kind that wouldn’t slide at the slightest swell or shatter if they hit the floor. He poured us each a large portion, then put the jug back in its padded cloth box.

He raised his tankard. “To justice on the high seas,” he said, the official motto of the Anti-Freebootery Guild. We touched our drinks together and repeated the phrase. Clift said, “All right, Fernelli, tell me more about these abandoned ships.”

“I only know firsthand about the one over there,” he said. “We found her adrift off Swedborg Reef, near the great trench where the ocean is fathomless.”

“Who is she?” Jane asked.

“The Mellow Wine, a cargo ship out of Langlade.”

“What’s her cargo?” I asked.

Fernelli looked at Clift, who nodded that it was okay to answer me. Fernelli said, “Bolts of cloth, mostly. Some personal items being shipped. Nothing easily sold.”

“You said some things were missing,” I said.

Fernelli looked at me with unmasked suspicion. “I’m sorry, but I’m still not clear on exactly who you are. Are you a captain?”

“The name’s Eddie LaCrosse,” I said. “I’m a private sword on a case.”

Fernelli looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown feathers. Apparently even ex-pirates looked down on sword jockeys. “What the devil could Wendell Marteen know that anyone could want?”

I smiled. “I’ll ask him when I see him.”

“You don’t seriously think he knows anything about Black Edward’s treasure, do you?” Fernelli looked at Jane. “And this guy’s with you?”

“No, I’m with him. You can talk to him just like you would me, Fernelli. But be more honest.” She winked at me. “He can tell when you’re lying. Eventually.”

Fernelli didn’t seem to like that idea too well, but he accepted it. “All right. The only thing for certain that was missing was the ship’s medicine chest. For all we know, the crew took it with them when they left. And if this had been a lone fluke, we’d have simply taken ourselves as lucky to have the clean salvage. But as I said, there’s been three others that we know of.”

“All missing the same thing?” Jane asked.

“Don’t know.”

“And there’s no sign of who did it?” I said.

“Oh, there’s a sign. A double X carved into the door of the captain’s cabin. But no one knows what it means.”

“When you say ‘no one,’ ” I said, “exactly who do you mean?”

He looked at me now with undisguised contempt. “I mean, me and everyone I know.”

Clift and Jane exchanged a look. Clift said, “I suppose we’ll keep an eye out ourselves, then. See if we can’t get as lucky as you.”

“Not sure if it’s lucky or not. Damn well creepy, that’s for sure. Be more’n happy to get this wreck back to port and my boots back onto an honest ship with no shadows, that I tell you.”

As we watched Fernelli row back to the Mellow Wine, I said, “What happens if we do run across one of those ghost ships?” “We do the same thing the Randagore did,” Clift said. “I’ll assign some men to sail her to port and claim the salvage prize. Although I’d hope that, with two trained investigators aboard, we might get closer to the bottom of things.”

“Only if you pay us,” Jane said. “Right, Eddie?” “Twenty-five gold pieces a day,” I agreed. “Plus expenses.” “Each,” Jane added.

Clift laughed. I looked at the Mellow Wine bobbing ungracefully in the waves and was secretly glad her mystery wasn’t mine to solve. The one I had was complex enough.

And of course, even a blind man could’ve seen where this was leading.