(Cover photo by me and the sysop on Flickr)


"Another day, Captain," Thess remarked as she descended from the crow's nest. She winced as the splinter throbbed in her finger; she had completely forgotten about it, and as is the habit of splinters, it had only gotten worse in the hours since dawn.

"Aye," he replied, pulling on the wide brim of his hat. "A scorcher."

"Yessir," she said, glancing at him.

He was wearing that shirt again, the one that he should have thrown away after the Wailing Raid. That strange battle.

They had attacked a ship, as usual. It should have been an easy feat, as the ship did not appear to be well-defended or fully staffed. But as soon as Ephraim stepped on board, the ship's crew had frozen as a high-pitched wail sounded from belowdecks, piercing over the sound of clashing steel and the scrape and slap of ropes and grappling hooks as the other pirates scrambled on board.

"Blood-men!" the other captain had shouted, his sword arm going slack with fear.

Ephraim took a step forward and sliced the man's throat, quickly and cleanly. The captain was too startled to defend himself; he crumpled to the deck.

The wailing continued. Ephraim nodded curtly at his crew, and the pirates advanced on the human crew, who were all scrambling for tight grips on their weapons. Their faces betrayed their terror, but they fought like savages. Thess had never seen men fight like these did, before or since. They fought like they had nothing to lose that was not already lost. Those with access to the armory found a box of grenades and began lobbing them into the thick of battle, without regard for who was in their own crew and who was a pirate. When those were gone, they loaded the deck cannons with deadly shrapnel and began firing those into the fray. The injuries and deaths were horrific on both sides, as scraps of metal blasted through the air, shredding clothing and skin alike, and plunging deep into the flesh.

Others had been careful to stay on the outskirts of the fighting, to avoid the worst of the blasts, but Ephraim did not waver from the plan: press to the storeroom and cut them off from their weapons. Thess was beside him, as always, and they kept each other alive. Her specially made chain-lined jacket blocked most of the life-threatening shrapnel from reaching them, and his cool demeanor kept Thess and the others from panicking. His sword ducked up, down, around — quickly and efficiently, but not rushed. His footing was sure, his eyes focused. He was an easy target for the cannoneers, but they were only able to aim a few shots at him before he captured the storeroom and they had no more ammunition. Then the fight was over in minutes, and the entire human crew was dead. The first and last time they had taken no prisoners.

After the battle, the shirt had been sliced almost to ribbons, saved only by the utter desolation of his heavy outer jacket. He had refused to throw it away, choosing to spend careful hours stitching the holes closed. She could see now, in the light of the day, that the neckline was repaired slightly crooked, and the realization quirked her mouth into a grin.

"What brings your smile?" the Captain asked, noting her changed expression.

Thess contemplated telling him about the shirt, but decided against it. His face was lined with exhaustion and stress. She replied with a retort about the warmth of the sun, and he didn't press the issue. They lapsed into comfortable silence as always, and parted ways as he went to his cabin and she to the galley.

She couldn't fault him for a crooked stitch. Sewing was especially difficult in the rocking boat, but he had persisted in picking up the shirt for mending during the long daylight hours. Thess had seen him working on the excruciatingly detailed work as she went about her daytime duties, and was impressed at his dedication.

"Why do you spend so many hours repairing this shirt, when you could purchase a better one for five suns?" Thess had asked him one sleepless night at the porthole a few weeks ago, just before he had finished mending the shirt.

"It stays the restlessness," he had replied. "You are not the only one who struggles to sleep, Thess."

Thess nodded. A few minutes later, the Captain had added:

"And if I can bring this shirt back from ruin, I can do the same for my crew."

He had been referring to the new crew members they had taken on. Having lost so many in that battle, the Captain had recruited almost ten new blood-men to the ranks. That was more than they usually took on at once, and the transition was difficult. Thess still couldn't venture out on the deck alone yet, after a close encounter with a new crew member. Although the Captain had swiftly and justly eradicated the newcomer, he stated that Thess was not to walk about unaccompanied until the new crew members had come to respect her.

"You always do," Thess had stated simply, truthfully. She had watched many new recruits acclimate to life on the ship in her two years there, and they always settled into the rhythms and polities sooner or later. The number of recruits made this instance more challenging, but she had faith that they, too, would become as indispensable to the crew as the men they had lost.

"I suppose I do," the Captain had said wearily.

Although Thess was not ordinarily prone to physical touch, she had found herself restraining the urge to grip the Captain's arm encouragingly. He had been discouraged, from what Thess surmised. He kept his thoughts hidden, but Thess knew him well enough to catch the small hints: a lower timbre of voice, a single wrinkle in the forehead. Still, she did not break that invisible wall between them; she kept her arm at her side.

"I have faith in you," she said instead.

The look he then gave her was hard to interpret, as if he knew she were telling the truth, but still felt the urge to call her bluff.

"I know," he said. "Sometimes, I think that is all I have: your faith, and a band of blood-men who may slit my throat."

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," Thess said under her breath.

It was still plenty loud enough for the Captain to hear, and the humor did not go unappreciated. Although his expression didn't change, his eyes sparkled with amusement for a moment before he replied.

"Indeed."

"After the first raid, they will become your men; they always do."

"I hope you are right, Thessalee."

But now, it was that first raid — and it did not go as expected. Already, the raid was unplanned. Thess had not even managed a moment to remove the splinter from her finger before they came upon the ship at dusk. The crew was alive, awake, and hungry; dusk was the time when they were most active, most bloodthirsty. Thess always tried to be in her room at dusk, even with the old crew, whom she trusted. But the Captain called the crew to battle armor, so she had no choice but to layer on her clothing as protection against enemy and crew member alike. Undershirts, overshirts, thick woolen sleeves, a chain-lined jacket, and she was ready for battle. The heavy cloth guarded her soft skin against blades and bullets, and cloaked the smell of her warm blood in layers of must and dirt. She buckled on her throwing knives, fighting knives, and daggers where they would be in easy reach at any moment, and then strapped on her sword.

But Thess was unsettled, in a way that she could not identify. And being one to calculate and analyze her surroundings, this vague unsettled feeling was not one she was familiar with. Although she couldn't breathe and pause long enough to decipher what exactly was making her uneasy, she knew something about Ephraim's behavior was setting off a warning in her mind. And a change in the one person who held her life in his hands was more than a little unnerving.

She didn't know when it had begun or why, and she wouldn't realize what was happening until it was too late. It would only be in the most crucial moment that her mind would finally catch up with her and supply the evidence she had desperately needed long before then.