Despite its wonderful profitability, the Rest was hellish to maintain. With all the ships forever at sea and lashed together with so little individual movement, the hulls had a habit of rotting through. One unfortunate sinking could bring down the surrounding ships, so Drake had ordered a rotation. Every six months, groups of ships were sailed to the nearest shipwrights, where they were given a full inspection and time to undergo any necessary maintenance. Thankfully none of the vessels were flagged as piratical, so they could visit any port in any civilised society, but the costs involved were beyond lavish.
For five years Drake had run and maintained the Rest, and for five years he had raked in the profits. Now he needed the money, and he needed the ships. Those that could cross deep waters would be put to use as legitimate fronts for the booty that pirates delivered to New Sev’relain. Those that couldn’t cross the deep would be gradually outfitted for war. And he had to manage all of it while keeping the Rest operational. It would be no small feat, and he dreaded the task almost as much as he dreaded leaving New Sev’relain and the Pirate Isles in the care of Stillwater, but Hironous had told him to trust the man as his second in command, and Drake knew better than to ignore his brother’s future-tellings.
“Debris in the water.” The shout came from one of the pirates tending to the mizzenmast. The Fortune had taken a couple of knocks in the storm a few days back and was in need of some urgent repairs.
Limping across to the starboard side, Drake peered over the railing and wished, for the hundredth time that day, that his dead crewman hadn’t bitten his damned arm. The wound, the ship’s doctor assured him, wouldn’t fester, but that didn’t stop it hurting like eighteen Hells.
A couple of planks of wood floated past, attached to each other with a length of rope, a dark stain on the otherwise crystal blue waters. Drake peered out across the sea for any other signs of wreckage. There was an ominous feeling coiling its way through his gut, and either something bad had happened or last night’s salt beef was about to give him the shits.
“More up ahead, Captain.”
Drake fished his compass from his pocket and flipped it open. The Rest was dead ahead, and judging by the minute changes as the ship drifted a little here and there, it was close.
“Any bodies?” Drake shouted.
“I’m seeing plenty of gulls, Captain.”
Gulls were a bad omen, and then some. The birds meant carrion, and this close to wreckage, carrion meant bodies. Drake almost ordered more canvas to speed their approach, but the ship was in a bad way and he had a feeling that no matter what they were about to encounter, there was little any of them would be able to do.
It was only a few hours later when Drake caught his first glimpse of Fortune’s Rest, and what he saw didn’t put him in a merry mood. There was a sombre aura surrounding the ship as it sailed ever closer to its home. Even those pirates not on duty had come up on deck to see the cause of the foul atmosphere. For a while now they’d been seeing more and more debris. Planks of wood, barrels, even a whole mast still dragging canvas as it rode the waves. Even worse than the debris had been the bodies, so many Drake had given up counting. Some were just plain dead, and others looked like they’d been mutilated – and recently, judging by the colour of the skin.
Drake no longer cared for watching the debris or the bodies; his entire attention was on what was left of Fortune’s Rest. Only six months had passed since Drake had last been home, and back then it had stretched out wide and long. Over three hundred ships all lashed together and floating as one. Now, as Drake looked out over the start of his empire, he wagered the Rest held just half that, and he itched to find out exactly what had happened and why so many of his ships rested at the bottom of the sea.
Princess had known his captain for a good six years or so. He’d served as second mate while Zothus was Drake’s first, and it had seemed a natural progression to step up once Zothus was given his own ship. The point was, he’d known Drake for a good long while, and though he trusted his captain, there were times when the man scared him. For a start, it was impossible to know where the truth began and ended when it came to Drake Morrass.
Princess had seen enough to know Rin was real, and more than enough to know she was a power best avoided. In Princess’ experience, women had a habit of being capricious, vindictive, and even vicious, and Rin was undoubtedly female. So when Drake went about claiming he’d met the sea goddess and even hinted at fucking her, well, Princess simply wasn’t sure what to believe. Part of him wanted to trust Drake’s stories, wanted to believe that his captain was roguish enough to charm the pants off a goddess. But another part of him wanted to think otherwise, because the less he had to do with Rin, the better. In all the years he’d known Drake, however, Princess had never seen his captain quite so angry.
The captain hadn’t said a word for hours, letting Princess run the ship, set the course, and order the Fortune brought in to dock with what was left of the Rest. Drake stood at the bow, leaning over the side almost as though he was talking to the figurehead – which, now Princess thought about it, depicted the sea goddess he wanted so little to do with. As the crew tied off ropes and secured the Fortune to the Rest, Drake hopped across to the ship they’d docked to and strode away without a word, a host of folk from the Rest trying to keep pace and no doubt make apologies in the hope he wouldn’t have them killed.
Princess watched his captain storm away, then turned to find a fair few members of the crew waiting for orders or, more likely, waiting for permission to go and find somewhere to drink themselves unconscious.
Princess winced at the sudden responsibility and tried to decide what Drake would do in the situation. “Stay ready, lads,” he said. “Nobody leaves the ship ’til the captain figures what has occurred.”
There was a resounding groan from the men, and just then Beck emerged from below decks, looking equal parts beautiful and dangerous. Princess distrusted beautiful women; they tended to be so much more dangerous than the less pretty ones. Not that his experience with either was that extensive.
“Where’s Drake?” Beck said, sparing only a momentary glance at the spectacle of Fortune’s Rest.
Princess pointed out across the ship they were tied to and half smiled, half grimaced at the woman. “He went that way.”
Beck waited for a moment, clearly hopeful Princess would say more, then sighed and leapt across to the ship. Princess considered letting her go; in fact, he put some real thought into it, and hoped she would manage to get herself lost or killed. Unfortunately, Princess was as loyal to his captain as anyone would ever be, and he knew just how disappointed Drake would be if the Arbiter found herself an untimely end. With that thought, and admittedly a desire to be off the ship – even if off the ship meant on another ship – Princess hopped across the gap and set off at a jog after Beck.
He didn’t manage to catch up to her. The Rest had a number of problems when it came to navigation, and especially so for anyone who, like Princess, believed they knew where they were going. The further in towards the centre of the floating pleasure house one ventured, the more connections to other ships each vessel had, and it didn’t take long for a ship to have up to six different avenues of escape. There was also the fact that the configuration of the ships was always shifting.
Princess clearly remembered The Ajax being lashed firmly to Fires in the Sky, but now he found himself standing on the deck of The Ajax and recognising none of the ships it was connected to. He hated to admit it, but not only had he lost track of Beck, he himself was now lost. Luckily he found some consolation to his failure; unless the interior of The Ajax had changed, right below his feet was a tavern that specialised in getting folk very, very drunk.