Free Scimitar Sun by Chris A. Jackson Page B

that there was pain behind the admission. “No one ever found a trace of them.”
    “Three years ago…Might you remember the name of the ship?” she asked. This might explain a lot about Count Norris.
    “Of course I remember. She was the Alabaster Rose out of Tsing and bound for Fornice, where I was stationed. She was captained by a man named Derwall, and hauling a cargo of mixed trade goods. Why do you ask?”
    “ Alabaster Rose …” she muttered, trying to remember if she’d ever heard any of Bloodwind’s captains mention that name. She shook her head, unable to recall. “I’m sorry, Count. Three years ago I was in this very place, a prisoner of Captain Bloodwind. I heard the names of many of the ships that his captains took over the years, but I can’t recall if that was one of them.”
    The count’s eyebrows rose, but he held his silence. It was the sort of restraint she expected from a diplomat, and she appreciated it. Camilla cleared her throat. “If you wish, I could try to find out if the Alabaster Rose was one of the ships he took.”
    “What does it matter, really?” he asked, his voice sharp. “The ship was lost with all hands. Whether it was pirates, cannibals, the mer or a sea drake, no one will ever know, and regardless, my family is gone.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss, Count Norris.” She smiled sympathetically and gave his arm a squeeze that she honestly hoped was supportive. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.”
    “It was long ago, my dear. Shall we continue the tour? I daresay there is yet much more to see.”
    “Of course.” She guided him to the door, leaving the lofting shed and the uncharacteristically silent Dura behind.
    ?
    ≈
    “There she is, just as sure as seagulls squawk!” Sam edged to the foredeck of the little catboat and gripped the mast, squinting to the south as they rounded the point of Plume Isle. “A two-master, just like Seoril said. Bring her upwind, Taylan. I want a closer look.”
    “ She wants a closer look,” Taylan said, just loud enough for Dorain, his mate, to hear. He hauled on the sheets and turned the catboat southeast.
    “Aye,” Dorain said. “I feel like a bloody babysitter.”
    “Oh, she ain’t no baby, mate.” His friend nodded forward. The wind pressed Sam’s tattered linen shirt against her torso as she stood, shading her eyes for a better view. “There’s woman under them knickers, sure as fish swim.”
    “Oh, aye, but word is Captain Parek’s plowin’ that ground, and he don’t take kind to poachers.”
    “Still…” Taylan scratched his scraggly beard, clearly wondering if the prize was worth the risk. “She should be careful standin’ up there like that. She could fall over and never be seen nor heard from again.”
    “Aye, on a little boat like this, fallin’ overboard could be a fatal thing.” The two men exchanged a meaningful look, then looked forward to where young Sam waved to the sailors aboard the man-o-war as they cruised past.
    ?
    ≈
    The school was assembled, a mass of mer floating and swimming in all orientations. All eyes were directed toward the center of the writhing mass where the Trident Holder signed for all to see.
    *It is true that there is a warship anchored in our waters. It is also true that it is anchored near the home of Seamage Flaxal’s Heir. She has gone to the place of her birth, and will be gone for many more tides, so we cannot ask her about this warship.* He swam a tight circle, a sign of open irritation. *We know nothing about the landwalkers’ reason for sending a warship into our home.*
    A mer swam forward, arms splayed wide in supplication, a sign that he wanted to address the school.
    *I see you, Eelback,* Broadtail signed, making the gesture of formal recognition and swimming to the side so the other mer could take the center position.
    *The reason that the warship is here is as plain as the scent of blood in the water,* he signed, also swimming in tight