Captain Lazare’s foul mood had been assuaged by the easy score, and he took the Steadfast in a southerly direction, avoiding the Austral Fleet that patrolled closer to the Chevachechè Archipelago. I found myself called upon increasingly often to carry out the same little tasks I’d performed aboard the Chaser: calling lights, securing loose beams during repairs, assisting in raising or lowering boats, and lending my hand to whatever mundane tasks I could manage.
Although my chains were never removed, each night I asked Nje to creep out and spy on the ship. Nje was eager to take action, returning before dawn each day to wake me up and whisper its updates in my ear. Little by little, I felt more like the cool and efficient Mazarin Saint-Cloud I’d been back in my old Vigilance days. Before the bombings, I’d been confident and in control, coordinating the Vigilant Order’s business, managing my own company, maintaining my place in high society, and mentoring my niece as my heir and successor. Now I was blowing the dust off those organizational and interpersonal skills. As I built up a more detailed mental map of the ship and its routines, I began creating small bonds with the pirates I saw on a daily basis, tossing out a disdainful word here and an appreciative one there. It didn’t work for everyone, but some of the pirates, especially the Chevachèchens, began adopting Check’s unpolished formality, granting me the same honorific “Grandeu’” that he had used.
It was all taking too long, in Nje’s opinion.
I can kill them as they sleep, Nje volunteered one afternoon. Fix problem very quiet.
“Tempting,” I muttered. Nje shifted, and I hurried to add, “but no.” I’d agreed to be feared, not monstrous.
Later is here now? Maybe my plan is better?
“We’re getting pretty far south. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. We’re a long way from the Empire now, and I don’t speak any of the local languages.”
Maybe the other Saint-Clouds are here.
I stiffened.
“Wait — I thought you didn’t know where they were.”
I do not know. When I were — was — in the water — the ocean — I sometimes feeled pull south? Then long time later I feeled pull up and meet you in ship. Pull south is — was — what is the word? Nje seemed uncharacteristically uncertain, and I didn’t think it was because of its struggle to master the past tense. Maybe my feel pull south is — was — same as was my feel pull up? Pull to Saint-Cloud? Or maybe was not. I do not know. Very maybe-maybe.
“Do you feel a pull now?”
Now I here with you. Now pull is to my Saint-Cloud.
“South…” I contemplated the possibilities with a touch of wonder and fear. Over the course of our conversations, Nje had told me something of my ancestors, who had set themselves up as spiritual royalty, wealthy in natural resources and strong in their ability to call across the Line. The “elders,” as Nje called them — Ambré, Calixte, Mazarin, Severo, and Solange — had passed their names to their first-born over multiple generations, which had probably helped them consolidate their lineage of power. And when they had been driven off their island and out of the archipelago, they had taken their transient-spirits and considerable material wealth with them.
Storm scatter ships, Nje had said. My Saint-Cloud die in water.
“I wonder why Mazarin went north to Cislunar instead of heading back to Chevachèche,” I said aloud. Cislunar was one of the empire’s largest northern ports. Imperial expansionism to the south was still relatively new — it had, in fact, been the trigger for the recent war with Sherenyu-Ruk. My imagination conjured up possibilities that ranged from her accidentally losing her memory in a storm-precipitated accident to falling in love with my great-something grandfather and abandoning her family’s goals to settle down and build a new legacy.
Check returned with water and a plate of bread and slices of mango — “my messmate sent you the fruit, said I should tell you their name’s Pike.”
“Thank you, Mister Check. And please thank Pike for their generosity,” I said as I took the jug and plate. He nodded, but before he could move, I continued. “I wonder — do you happen to know of any settlements further south? Not Imperial colonies and plantations, but older cities or towns?”
“I think there’s some in Cazmorin?” Check screwed up his face in thought. “Mostly nomads, the folks down here, but I hear they’ve got places stay up year-round for trading. Never been inland myself. Past that’s the Razor Reef and the Sher. Don’t know much of anything about them except we don’t bother Sher ships.”
It was possible the rest of my ancestors had immigrated to Sherenyu-Ruk, beyond the Reef. Or perhaps the Sher had simply killed them. I knew from the recent war that the Sher had plenty of seafaring sentinels. Even back then, they probably could have easily wiped out a handful of minor islander nobles suffering from delusions of grandeur.
“Are there any settlements close to the Reef?”
“Doubt it, Grandeu’. They say there’s sea-monsters down there.” Check hesitated. “Can I ask why? So’s I can ask around?”
I considered my answer and the effects it might have on my gradually evolving relationship with the pirate crew.
“I was told my people fled south with all their family treasure. I was wondering if I might still have family in the area.” I dunked the dry bread into the water, then laid a slice of mango on it and ate. The combination wasn’t bad. When I finished chewing, I gave him a sidelong look. “I wouldn’t mind claiming my inheritance.”
“Was they becks, too?”
“Yes, powerful ones.”
Check chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Gotta be careful, with kin like that.”
“True.” I shrugged, letting my chains rattle a little. “I don’t think I’d impress them like this.”
“Maybe not.” Check’s eyes skipped from my face to the door and back. “Well. I’ll ask around, Grandeu’ Saint-Cloud. Sees what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Mister Check. I appreciate all you have done for me.”
Now we wait more time, Nje concluded as the pirate left. Wait, wait, wait.
“I’m getting as tired of this as you are. If Demas is holding a pistol to Cutter’s head, or a knife to his throat, could you move fast enough to stop him from killing Cutter when I attack? I can’t slide a balewall between two people standing that close to each other.”
Nje was quiet a moment.
I can go to Cutter, be armor, it volunteered. That is not–very-much good plan because is not safe for you if I am not here. Is not bad plan because you do not need me now for make not-hand safe and not bleed. You can be ruthless not with me make you safe.
“True….” I looked down at my stump, which Nje continued to cover with a light shield of bale, even though it had healed over. “But we’d only have one chance. As soon as Lazare realizes you can leave me, he’ll know he’s in danger. Maybe we should try to act when Cutter is working away from Demas. There wouldn’t be as much distraction outside a battle, but he’d be safer….”
Safer is important because Cutter is Saint-Cloud crew, Nje muttered. Appeasement pirate is Saint-Cloud crew?
“App — you mean Check? I don’t — Cutter takes priority. But Check is on our side. I know you don’t like it, but allies can be a form of power.”
Yes, yes, Nje said, irritably. I know, stubborn Saint-Cloud. You tell me who is yours, I make allies safe because then we escape.
“Thank you, Nje. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Not live, Nje muttered sourly, and I laughed, reaching up to touch the tendril of bale wrapped around my throat.
“I expect you’re right about that,” I agreed.
The next day I awoke slightly before dawn, disturbed by shouts from above. Soon enough I gleaned from the sound of the crew moving back and forth another ship had been sighted and the Steadfast was in pursuit. Chained as I was in the hold, I could do little but wait and listen as feet pounded and cannon rolled overhead.
Eventually Xavier arrived with his keys.
“Another merchant?” I asked, as he lifted his chin briefly, before kneeling to unlock the chain fastening my ankles to the deck.
“Heavy ship, probably cargo,” he said. “Usual orders.”
“I’m getting tired of waiting for you to do something,” I remarked. He straightened, his eyes narrowing.
“Quarters not fine enough for the grandeu’?” he asked with a touch of mockery. “I thought the crew was taking care of you.”
“I’m still sleeping on the floor in chains.” I let my voice chill, reaching for the ice I’d wielded like a weapon in my old life. “I thought things were going to change.”
He blew out a long breath, and lines of weariness appeared around his eyes and mouth. His gaze, however, didn’t waver.
“Understood, Sentinel. Now come on. Lazare’s waiting.”
The activity on deck had become familiar by now. Many of the crew were busy with rigging and lines, following the captain’s orders to make speed and keep the course, while others checked their weapons or waited by the rail with eager anticipation. Xavier guided me to my usual “station,” locking my chains to the ring pounded in the deck, and I glanced around for Cutter, finding him at his usual station — under Demas’s threatening knife.
We closed on the new ship faster than we had on the Sugar Star; I couldn’t tell how heavily loaded it was, just from watching it sail, but the crewmembers around me commented on its sluggishness with glee. As we drew closer, I discerned and saw the telltale glow of bale shielding parts of the vessel. I swiftly dropped balewalls around the Steadfast’s powder room; the action would alert the other sentinel to my presence, but my goal was to escape, not die in an explosion.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long for the other ship to start changing course, an action that clearly took Lazare by surprise. As he bellowed orders, I began setting up balewalls, which made Xavier stride toward me.
“They got a sentinel?” he demanded.
“I see two balewalls, one low and toward the center —powder room, maybe.”
“But it — fuck!” Xavier spun and ran off, bellowing something about cannon to Lazare. The rest of the crew paused.
“What?” I demanded, turning to the pirate closest to me. “What’s wrong?”
“She doesn’t look armed,” she said, her voice grim. “And if they’re hiding their guns —”
Even as she spoke, the other ship seemed to gain the position it wanted, and I saw motion on its deck as tarps were yanked to reveal a line of cannon.
“Nje, take them!” I shouted, swiftly calling as many balewalls as I could to protect the crew around me. The Steadfasts were shouting and taking cover, their eager arrogance shaken by the sudden turning of the tables. The enemy cannon slammed into place with military precision. My fingers clutched the ship’s rails and I channeled the memory of Captain Tancrede standing fast as thunder filled the air. Iron balls tore over my balewalls and shredded the lines and sails over our heads as Nje twisted alien, glowing armor around my frame. This is my fourth firefight, I told myself firmly, and I am not going to flinch anymore. I am a Saint-Cloud — I am the Saint-Cloud — and I am tired of cowering.
Around me, the pirates straightened. One of them cheered, and the rest raised their voices in loud, relieved cries of jubilation as they realized the falling debris had all been deflected by my balewalls.
“Please remove my chains, Nje,” I murmured. The transient hissed with satisfaction and heavy iron links thudded to the deck around my bale-armored feet.
“Balewalls down and fire!” Lazare bellowed. I dropped the balewalls that had shielded our own cannon, but the Steadfast’s fire was ragged and did little damage to the other vessel.
“They’re going to fire again,” Check murmured. I was almost positive he was supposed to be working one of the guns, not standing next to me and inspecting the other ship through his spyglass. “Can you keep us safe a second time, Grandeu’?”
“Of course,” I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice was as I spoke. “Nje, maintain the balewalls over the powder room and please alert me to any balefire or transient attacks.”
I could have had Nje hold my other calls so I could erect more balewalls over our damaged masts and sails, but I chose to allow the next volley of enemy fire tear into them. Lazare bellowed at me to protect our rigging, but I remained focused on keeping the pirates alive and called a new balewall to protect the other ship.
Why protect enemy? Nje demanded as it kept the Steadfast’s cannon from doing any significant damage. I ignored the question.
“Mister Check? What are they doing?”
“Blow and go,” Check said unhappily. Iron continued whipping over our heads, tearing fabric and splintering wood. Then I heard a roaring crack as something broke and tumbled down into my balewalls. Sailcloth abruptly obscured my vision — one of the sails had been cut down and now hung over the protective balewall like a tent. Pirates shouted, momentarily confused.
“Get that sail out of the way!” Lazare roared. I nodded and made my way through the milling pirates to Steadfast’s bow. Each step felt peculiarly weightless, and I smiled with satisfaction.
Out from beneath the sailcloth “tent,” I could see that the fabric was being held in place by fallen lines and a cracked spar. Not an easy fix, especially while the other ship maintained a slow but regular rate of fire. I turned toward it and understood what Check had meant by “blow and go” as I saw its mostly undamaged sails start to billow again.
They were retreating, leaving us too damaged to pursue. My smile widened with the distance between the two ships.
“Nje, would you please go find Cutter and protect him?”
Yes. Nje sounded eager as it leaped away from me. Its balearmor vanished and the ship’s debris shifted and slid to the deck as balewalls dissipated. Broken spars cracked and groaned as they settled into place, suspended by tangles of rigging.
The Steadfasts fired a few more cannon, but the shots fell short.
“Linedog!” Lazare roared, turning until he saw me. His face was red with anger. “Fire that ship!”
I slowly turned, drawing as much dignity around myself as I could, barefoot and in rags.
“No,” I said. Lazare blinked, seeming to register where I was standing for the first time. Then he bared bared his teeth and spun.
“Demas! Cut that boy’s throat!”
I couldn’t help my flinch at the ear-splitting shriek that filled the air. The rest of the pirate crew fell silent, turning with shock. I followed their gaze to see Demas cradling a broken arm as Cutter staggered back, clad in glowing armor of bony spikes and edges.
Now that I could see it in its entirety, I understood why others found it so disturbing. Nje’s aesthetic was decidedly inhuman.
“You’re safe, Mister Cutter,” I said, raising my voice. The young man’s head turned toward me, though his features were hidden. “Only a broken arm, Nje? I’m surprised by your restraint.”
Nje didn’t answer, or at least not loudly enough for me to hear as Captain Lazare stormed forward, swearing and drawing his sword. I called a burst of balefire between us that made him pull up short.
“No, Captain,” I said, “no more threats. I’ve been too patient already.”
“You can’t fight us all,” Lazare sneered. Behind him, his most devoted crew members moved forward, although Demas remained on his knees, pale and groaning.
“Will I need to?” I looked past them and at the rest of the crew. The majority of the pirates were hanging back, watching with decidedly neutral expressions.
“Let it go, Lazare.” Xavier pushed forward, covered in soot, sweat, and small speckles of blood. “The sentinel’s earned a place among us.”
“Like hell!” Lazare snarled, but around him, over a dozen crew members were nodding.
“The Grandeu’ Saint-Cloud kept us safe,” Check said, affirmatively. “The sentinel goes free. I call for a vote.” The word echoed among other crewmembers.
“A vote has been called,” Xavier stated, formally.
“What is this? Mutiny? Half of you still have burn-marks from this Navy shitstain’s balefire!”
“Crew has the right to vote, Lazare,” Xavier said, firmly. “It’s in the Articles. Is everyone here? Anyone still below?”
A shout went up, and while Lazare fumed, a few more hands scrambled to the deck. As I stood and waited for their crewmates to fill them in, Cutter joined me. His balearmor vanished as Nje resumed its usual position around me.
You should kill Lazare to be safe, it advised.
“I know,” I said.
“Sentinel….” Cutter gave me a sidelong look.
“I know,” I repeated.
“Check here’s called for a vote to make Saint-Cloud the Steadfast’s sentinel, free and clear,” Xavier shouted, as the crew assembled around us.
“And I say you’re all mad if you agree,” Lazare snarled. “You can’t trust Navy becks — they’ll burn you in your hammocks as soon as you turn your back on ‘em! And you heard what Roux said — this one’s a damned Saint-Cloud, evil to the core.”
“I am a Saint-Cloud,” I agreed, raising my voice. “I’m loyal to my allies and, yes, right now I feel quite inclined to burn anyone who wants to keep me in chains. Mister Check, I will not join your crew, although I appreciate the offer. However, if you vote for my freedom, I will keep the Steadfast and its crew safe until we reach the next port.”
“And after you disembark?” Xavier inquired.
“I will leave anyone alone who leaves me alone. My goal will be to get Mister Cutter and myself safely back to the Navy, and nothing else.”
“You’ll report Perdue!” Lazare spat. Nje’s bale tightened around me.
“Your escaped prisoners may have reported it already. Frankly, I’d suggest the Steadfast find another safe haven for a while.”
The pirates murmured among themselves.
“No crew means no shares!” someone shouted. I smiled wryly, remembering that most of the goods in the Steadfast’s hold bore the Cloud Trading Company’s label.
“No shares,” I agreed. I’d worry about the financial loss later.
“Let’s vote!” someone else shouted. Lazare continued to protest, but as pirates started shouting their votes, Xavier kept the tally. One by one, the votes added up, until it was clear that the majority were in my favor.
At which Lazare yanked out his pistol and fired.
I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye as balearmor snapped around me. Something struck my chest and I snapped a burst of balefire back at the captain. I only intended to drive him back, but Nje immediately plucked the call from me and the sickly flame poured across the Line in a torrent. Lazare shrieked as he was engulfed in pale flame, and seconds later his powder flask exploded.
The balefire vanished, leaving behind a charred, mutilated, sizzling corpse. For a moment, everyone was silent, staring at me. I glanced at Cutter, to make sure he was safe. The young officer held a hand over his mouth in horror.
Be fear now, Saint-Cloud, Nje murmured to me.. Make them fear you.
I let out a long, slow breath and straightened. I would have done it differently, but — what was done, was done. For a moment, nobody spoke. The broken ship groaned and creaked around us.
“Self-defense,” Xavier said at last.
“Lazare shot first,” one of the pirates agreed.
“I saw it,” another said.
“What?” One of Lazare’s followers dragged her gaze from the scorched body. “We’re going to let this asshole kill our captain and just — let it go?”
“Blood for blood,” another said, drawing a knife.
“Can’t say he wasn’t warned,” someone muttered, darkly.
“Beck said to leave ‘em alone,” another confirmed.
One by one, the pirates in favor of my freedom stepped back, leaving Lazare’s followers on their own. One of the men looked around, shrugged, and sketched me a quick bow.
“Guess he deserved it,” he said, cheerfully. Lazare’s other cronies reluctantly replaced their weapons, glowering but unwilling to pursue their challenge.
“Did anyone not get to vote?” Xavier asked. Silence. “Then the vote to free the sentinel wins. Saint-Cloud, you’re not crew, so you aren’t protected by the Articles if anyone decides to pick a fight with you over Lazare.”
“I’m not worried,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “I’ve got enough balefire for all of them.”
“Xavier gets my vote as new captain,” one of the pirates said. A chorus of agreement rose around us, and another formal vote quickly confirmed him in his new role. Xavier named another pirate, Pike, his first mate, and then turned to Cutter.
“Boy, I’m setting you free, too. You’re Sentinel Saint-Cloud’s responsibility now. Just like the sentinel said — you leave us alone, we leave you alone. Understood?”
“Yes,” Cutter said. He hesitated a moment, then added, “thank you.”