Tress of the Emerald Sea

He fell silent. At least she now knew why she hadn’t met the ship’s sprouter yet. And now you know why I didn’t tell you to remember his name. Also, no, he’s not the corpse. Well, he’s a corpse. But he’s not the corpse on the ship. There’s another. Try to keep up.

The Doug led Tress to the cannonmaster’s station. Laggart wasn’t there at the moment, and the forecannon was lashed in place with its paraphernalia. The Doug began unloading cannonballs into a bin.

“All right,” he said to Tress. “I’m going to go get a few more cannonballs to refill the stock. See that big barrel there? It’s lined, like that keg you’re holding, with stuff that protects spores from our silver. We need spores alive for shooting cannonballs at other folks.

“The cannonmaster though, he needs those spores in little pouches he can stuff into the cannon easily during a fight. You’ll find empty pouches in the barrel. What you need to do is pour those spores into the pouches—without spilling any—and tie them off. Also, you got to do your pouring inside the larger barrel, because of the lining that protects the spores.”

The Doug shifted uncomfortably on the deck, his hands in his pockets, looking at her.

“Very well,” Tress said.

“No complaints?” he asked.

She shook her head. She’d rather not do the work, as she was terrified of spores. But she also couldn’t let that fear inconvenience the others. After all, she was newest on the ship. It made sense that she should do the dangerous work no one else wanted.

Tress moved over to the barrel and took off the lid. At the bottom were some filled pouches; a bunch of empty ones were in a little net attached to the outside.

“You’re…really not going to complain?” the Doug asked. “I complained when they made me do it.”

“You’re probably smarter than I am,” Tress said. “Any tips?”

“There’s a funnel, some goggles, and a mask. Other than that…try not to worry. This ain’t the most dangerous type of spores. You should be fine.”

Many perils could fit between the sounds in “should be.” But Tress was alive because the crew had resisted tossing her overboard when the captain had demanded. It seemed best to stay in their good graces. So Tress simply nodded and got to work.





THE CARPENTER





The blue spores fascinated Tress. They were the first spores from another moon, another sea, that she’d seen up close. They were beautiful, almost crystalline. The fact that they could likely kill her with ease only made them more captivating. Like an expertly forged sword crafted with love, dedication, and sweat by a smith so that someday you could do the most ugly things possible in the most beautiful of ways.

She sent Huck away with a quiet word, to not put him in danger. Then she whispered a prayer to the moons and thought of Charlie. Getting the crew to trust her was the best way to further her goal of reaching him. Doing the work they didn’t want to do themselves was bound to lead her toward opportunities. Even washing windows had led her to opportunities. The most important one being when she met Charlie in the first place.

All that in mind—and with the mask over her mouth and the goggles over her eyes—she felt only slightly terrified as she lowered the small keg into the larger barrel. There were hooks on the side where she could affix it, and the spigot at the bottom of the keg—like for pouring beer—let the spores drain out at a careful rate. Her hand still shook as she held the funnel and filled up the first pouch with the radiant blue spores.

She tied it and set it carefully on the bottom of the barrel near the other pouches. She fell into a rhythm, filling them, taking care not to spill a single spore. It was tense work, far worse for thinking than cleaning the deck. But Tress—being Tress—couldn’t avoid thoughts entirely.

She wondered exactly what the spores did that made the cannon fire. She wondered if there were other types of spores being carried in the ship’s armory—and who managed them, if the crew’s sprouter was dead.

Also, she wondered why the large barrel had a false bottom.

She recognized it easily. After all, she’d spent several weeks becoming an expert on barrel contraptions and how to hide things in them. On one of the devices she’d prepared for leaving the Rock, they’d installed a secret latch hidden right about…there.

She found it near the barrel’s banding. A little piece of metal she could wiggle. When she moved it, a hole—little larger than a fist—opened in the bottom of the barrel. A few pouches of spores dropped in, and her breath caught. When she reached in to pull them out, her fingers brushed something else.

A cannonball. Hidden in the cavity beneath the barrel’s false bottom. There was room for three or four of them inside.

She quickly pulled the pouches out and reset the device. As she returned to her work, her hands trembled even more. Her mind raced so fast, it would soon need a new set of tires.

She could see it. She knew what had happened.

The cannonmaster was in charge of loading, aiming, and firing the weapon. He’d be given a rack of cannonballs, but who would be watching to see if he grabbed one from this secret compartment instead? Probably no one.

She bet those hidden cannonballs wouldn’t pass Fort’s inspection—they wouldn’t be rigged to incapacitate the target with vines. Laggart, the cannonmaster, had deliberately sunk that other ship.

But why? The entire situation didn’t make sense for a multitude of reasons. It wasn’t just the lack of plunder. Why bother hiding the fact that they were going to sink the ship? Why the subterfuge?

It only made sense if…

“So, zephyr spore duty,” a voice said behind Tress. “I wondered who the Dougs would force to do it, now that Weev is dead.”

Tress turned to see the lanky, sharp-nosed woman with the short hair who had been talking to Fort earlier. Ann, the ship’s carpenter.

Every ship needs a good carpenter. Oh, a sprouter can patch up a hull with a quick burst of spores—but silver erodes even fully hardened roseite over time. Doesn’t take a man long at sea to start contemplating how thin the barrier is between him and certain death. Just a plank. If you ever want to have a good face-to-face with your mortality, you’ll find the opportunity on the deck of a ship at night, staring at the endless darkness beyond you—when you realize the darkness beneath is somehow even more heavy, more vast, and more terrifying.

That’s when you realize that having a good carpenter on board is worth paying them a double share of wages. In fact, it’s quite the steal.

“I don’t mind the duty,” Tress said, making another pouch. “I’d do it again if they asked.” Inwardly, she was uneasy with how Ann walked next to the cannon, trailing her fingers on the metal. She’d been talking to Fort about the cannonballs. What side was she on? How many sides were there? What had Tress gotten herself into?

Sadly, she didn’t know the half of it yet.

“Don’t say things like that, Tress,” Ann said. “Sailors don’t volunteer for duty. It’s downright untraditional.”