Tress of the Emerald Sea

Fort took the cannonball and balanced it in his palm, his curled fingers against it and the other knuckles holding it steady. He rolled it from one palm to the other, then set it on the counter. He got out a chisel and a hammer, holding them each in his unique way, and gingerly tapped the cannonball in a few specific places. He was then able to hold it down with one palm and twist so the two halves came apart.

Inside, normally one would have found an explosive charge of zephyr spores and the fuse system to burst the cannonball. (We’ll get to the specifics later.) Each ball had a number printed on the outside, the seconds until the secondary detonation—which would launch out a spray of water.

In this case, the charge had been replaced by a wadded cloth, the water in the hollow center filled with lead shot.

“Rigged,” Ann said, “to sink a ship, not capture it. Moon of justice, Salay. You’re right. The cap’n made us deadrunners on purpose!”

I knew something was off about all this, Fort said, holding up his sign. You knew it too, Ann.

“Yeah, but to see it…” Ann said. “How’d you get this without getting caught, Tress?”

“It wasn’t hard,” she said. “Nobody wants to go near the charges.”

“But how did you even find them?” Ann asked, poking at the dissected cannonball.

“I, um, have experience with barrels and hidden compartments.”

Salay gave her a sly glance and a knowing smile.

My question is WHY? Fort wrote. What does the captain gain by this? We were already pirates. Killing people instead of looting them makes no sense.

“Yeah,” Salay said. “That’s the conundrum.”

Tress hesitated, then sighed. She had to tell them. “I overheard the captain speaking to Laggart. She was afraid that unless you were wanted criminals—facing death on any island where you tried to flee—you wouldn’t be loyal enough.”

“Well, she’s right about that,” Ann said. “Until that ship sank, I was thinkin’ about findin’ a way off.”

You “overheard” the captain speaking to Laggart? Fort wrote. How? They never speak their secrets out in the open.

“They weren’t out in the open,” Tress said. “They were in her cabin.” All three looked at her, and she realized her mistake. Moon of mercy. She shouldn’t have come to this meeting with a splitting headache.

“You were able to spy on the cap’n,” Ann said, “in her cabin while she was speaking conspiratorially to her first officer about her secret plans to betray her crew?”

“Er. Yes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Ann plucked them and chowed down. “Awfully good at espionage for a girl from a backwater island, aren’t you?”

“Just lucky,” Tress said, then tried to move on quickly. “Look, I’m worried the captain will try to sink more ships. Swapping the cannonballs helped prevent more deaths today, but I think she wants to murder at least one more crew to get you all on board. I mean, metaphorically on board. With her plan. Since, you know.” She gestured to the ship.

“I agree with the Mask,” Salay said. “Today was too close. We’ve got enough blood on our hands. We need to find a way to deal with Crow permanently.”

That could take time, Fort wrote. First, I think we should find a way to quench her bloodthirst.

“She’s not exactly the quenchable type,” Ann said, “if you haven’t noticed. I think we just need to get her away from where she can do damage.”

What if, Fort wrote, we were to persuade her to sail a different sea? One without so many people on it. That way we’d run into fewer innocents she could hurt.

“True,” Salay said, “but we’d have to get to the Crimson Sea or—worse—the Midnight Sea. But there’s no way we’d persuade the captain to do that. She wants to be where the ships are plentiful.”

“Actually,” Tress said, “I’m pretty sure she’d agree to sail the Crimson Sea.”

“Nah,” Ann said. “The cap’n’s got too healthy a sense of self-preservation. We’d never persuade her…” She trailed off, looking at Tress, and narrowed her eyes. “At least, no normal crewmember could persuade her of such a crazy idea.”

“I think it will be easy,” Tress said, uncomfortable. “Salay, you should suggest it.”

“After what I did earlier?” Salay said. “Captain wants an excuse to hang me right now. If I asked her to sail the Crimson, she’d toss me overboard for sure.”

“Do you really think you can convince her, Tress?” Ann asked.

Now, Tress wanted to tell them about what she’d learned: that Crow planned to sail the Crimson and get herself cured. And…it occurred to her that if the captain got healed, everyone would win. The crew wouldn’t have to be afraid of a spore eater, Crow would live, and maybe they could all stop being pirates somehow.

But if Tress were to explain how she knew what she knew, she was certain the others would be convinced she was a King’s Mask. Overhearing the captain was one thing. But admitting to having somehow stolen her private writings?

So, instead of explaining, Tress nodded. “I’ll do it. I’m certain I can make her agree to sail the Crimson. The rest of you can focus on the long-term plan: a way to take the ship back from her.”

So long as those spores are in her blood, Fort wrote, she’ll be immune to anything we could do to her.

“Um, pretend she won’t have those anymore,” Tress said. “Assume her powers will be negated in the near future. By…um…something completely unrelated to me.”

All three of them took another opportunity to stare at her.

“Right, right,” Salay said, ushering Tress out the door. “We’ll do that. You get her to sail the Crimson. If she agrees to it, I’m confident I can get the Dougs to go along with the idea too. Most of them are as upset at the killings as we are.” Then, in a whispered tone, Salay added, “Just remember our deal. Put in a good word for us with the king. Convince him we didn’t want any of this and tell him we helped you stop her. All right?”

“Salay,” Tress said. “I’m really not—”

“I know,” Salay said. “You can’t admit it. How about this. If you happen to have a chance to speak to the king on our behalf, can you promise me you’ll take it?”

“I suppose,” Tress said.

“Good enough,” Salay said. “And good luck.”





THE LIAR





Tress found the captain on the top deck, leaning against the rail at the bow of the ship as she poured water from her canteen into a nice tin cup and gazed toward the setting sun that seared the horizon. Tress stepped up, and at that moment the seethe stopped. Doug, the night helmsman, called for the furling of the sails, and the ship scraped to a halt. It was a quiet beast, slumbering to the gentle sounds of wind on spore and canvas.

Each time the ship stopped, the world felt suddenly out of step with its own music. There was no motion to compensate for, and the air was too quiet. The gentle grinding of spores was normally so constant that its lack became unnatural. Even the deck grew quiet as the Dougs went below to grab a snack and play cards until the seethe returned.