"Captain Dawncrest," the goblin called across the gap. "I understand congratulations are in order!"
It was a calm day, the breeze light and without noticeable waves. This close, I had no trouble hearing his raised voice, nor he mine.
"Indeed, and I thank you for your well wishes, Commodore. What can I do for you?"
"What can you do for me?" The little man stroked his chin in a grand parody of thoughtfulness. There was something entirely too smug in his bearing; the chill in my spine intensified. He was extravagantly dressed in a silken coat crossed by a wide, purple sash, with an enormous hat which he doubtless thought made him look taller. Perhaps the threat was just in his typical goblin pretentiousness...and the unnerving glint of sunlight off his jagged, metal teeth. "Well, I don't think that's quite appropriate. After all, it's not my colors you sail under. Everyone knows that Captain Ann Dawncrest answers only to the Blackwater Raiders. Oh, excuse me. Should I address you as the Lady Avanda An'sadarr?"
Don't tell them who you are.
He could only have made a bigger impression by shooting me. I don't know how much of my shock showed on my face, nor how much he could see; the sun was behind me. Barely, I managed not to stagger where I stood. There was no way he could have known me by that name.
I was dimly aware of a faint murmur from the crew below. Lanki gave me a sidelong look, but his expression did not change. Silvergrin...oh, yes. He was smug.
"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," I managed, "so let me be blunt. Silvergrin, what do you want?"
"Now there's the question!" His grin, if anything, broadened. "I want cohesion and integrity within the Blackwater Raiders. You, Avanda, are a danger to that. And I think you know why."
My feeling of unease deepened. I had no idea what he was hinting at; I had no idea how he had learned of my origins. I survived and succeeded by knowing what others didn't and making use of my knowledge; being at the other end of that equation left me terrifyingly vulnerable.
Beside me, Gizmit dropped gracefully to the deck, hanging from the spars by her lifeline. "He's got men with rifles on deck, well back from the rail," she murmured. "And have a look to port, Captain." With that she skittered off, shimmying back up the mast. I glanced aside as she'd indicated, and my unease blossomed into full-blown fear.
While the Death and Taxes held along our starboard, considerably outsizing the Quarrel,the Citadel had positioned herself aft and to port of us. That was not so very odd, except that the Dragonhawk, the fastest ship in Silvergrin's armada, was circling around wide to our port, obviously angling to get in front of us. Armed men on deck, and positioning his fleet to box us in. There was only one explanation: the Commodore intended to attack and seize the Maiden's Quarrel. I couldn't make any other sense of his maneuvers. And yet, it was still unthinkable. He was a Blackwater officer! Everything else on the Great Sea might be utterly chaotic, either hostile or just unpredictable, but we could always count on ships of the fleet to stand by us. The Raiders take care of their own. Had he gone utterly mad?
"Very well, my Lady," the infernal goblin called, "we'll dispense with the pleasantries. I know what you did. You've attempted to cheat the Raiders out of what rightfully belongs to the fleet. There's a word for that, elf: it starts with an M and rhymes with scrutiny."
My rapier was in my hand before I realized I'd drawn it. "You are one careless word from saying something I'll feel the need to take exception to, runt."
"Oh, by all means, take exception." His grin only widened.
I spared a glance to port. The Dragonhawk had pulled ahead of us; she hadn't begun to circle about yet, but that would happen any moment. If I was to act, I had seconds in which to do so. Even the Quarrel was not agile enough to escape if he pinned us between his three ships; they were all taller, and would give his crew a perfect field of fire on us. As if summoned by the thought, I beheld grim-faced sailors with rifles approaching the port rail of the Death and Taxes. I took a deep breath.
"SAILS!" I roared. Distantly there came the crack of gunfire, but Dimmerswitch threw a lever on his console, springs and pulleys whirred into action, and the Quarrel's sails unfurled to their full extent. The ship lurched ahead, her motion smoothing out almost instantly. Dire as the situation was, I felt the thrill I always did at the Quarrel's speed.
But it wasn't enough. Guns cracked again behind us; a bullet hole appeared in the rail beside me. From the forecastle came a responding salvo; Grenka and Raleigh had taken up arms and knelt behind one of the cannons, guns trained on the Death and Taxes. I hoped one of them managed to peg Silvergrin, but doubtless the little weasel had scuttled belowdecks the moment guns came out. Worst of all, the Dragonhawk had too great a lead. Eyeing her heading and the rapidly shrinking distance between us, I could see she was going to get into place before the Quarrel could get out of the trap. Her captain could see it too.
Ramming them was out of the question. She was three times our size; the impact would probably hole the Dragonhawk's hull beyond repair, but it would utterly obliterate the Maiden's Quarrel. I just barely had time to order sails down, put out the sweeps to slow us, and avert a collision; the other ship wasn't changing her heading, her captain doubtless confident that we would stand down. It would be death, of course. Silvergrin clearly intended none of us to survive his ambush. Holding course would only be another way to die... Those of the crew not involved in the rigging were looking at me for orders. They could see the situation as clearly as I. Something tugged at my hat in time with a rifle retort from behind.
Unless...
"Dimmerswitch!" I shouted. "Thrusters!"
Grimaces showed on every face; beside me, Lanki muttered, "Aw, no. Anyt'in' but dat..." The Professor, with a manic grin, lunged for the controls on his engineering console. I drew breath to be heard over the noise.
"All hands! BRACE FOR GNOMISH LUNACY!"
With an ungodly roar, fans of water sprayed from the Quarrel's sides, and the ship careened madly forward. Our sails fell slack as we outpaced the wind itself; below me, Turf snarled in furious concentration, wrestling with the wheel as the ship tried to veer off course from the forces she rode. The speed was tremendous, though. We screamed into the gap, the Dragonhawk closing rapidly, but no longer rapidly enough. Fifty yards, fifteen, three... One of our spars clipped her carved figurehead, sending an agonizing shudder through the Quarrel's rigging. And then we were past them.
The impact caused us to lurch to starboard; Turf bellowed in wordless protest, straining against the wheel. The Quarrel shook, swayed, righted herself, continued on.
"Oi!" yelled Clog. "Keep the ship in the water!"
Behind us, rifles furiously protested our escape. The crew were either hunched and clinging to something or had fallen flat on the deck with the onslaught of speed, already presenting low targets by accident. I could feel the ship shaking in protest. It was for good reason we never used the damn thrusters; the vibrations they caused were enough to rattle the teeth out of our heads, and were even harder on the Quarrel. Glancing behind, I beheld our pursuers scrambling awkwardly into formation even as they fell rapidly behind. I gritted my teeth. We needed speed, and as much distance between us and Silvergrin's fleet as could be managed. But my ship was in pain; I could feel it like my own. She couldn't handle this kind of abuse much longer.
"A few seconds more, my lovely," I whispered. It was soundless in the cacophony.
With a shriek, Gizmit lost her grip on the spar; she'd been clinging to the one which struck the Dragonhawk. It was only lucky she hadn't been catapulted overboard. I sidestepped as her green form whizzed past me, grabbing her lifeline in both hands and snarling at the resulting rope burns, but the goblin's flight was arrested and she dropped to the deck. Looking back, I was amazed at our progress. The three ships were almost to the horizon.
"Shut it off, Professor. SHUT IT OFF!"
The roaring of the thrusters fell to a low whine, then tapered into nothing. In the immediate aftermath, the normal sounds of wind, waves and the ship's own soft voice seemed like the silence of the grave. I didn't give it more than a moment.
"Grenka, Gouge, head below and assess the damage. Do what you need to to keep us afloat, but I want a report ASAP."
"Aye, ma'am!"
"Gizmit, get back aloft and have a look at that spar. I need us at full sails."
"On it, boss lady."
"Turf, hold course until the bastards are out of sight behind us, then veer five degrees north. Get us out of the shipping lanes."
"Aye, Captain. North of the lanes will put us in the southern edge of the Maelstrom's backlash. It's not too bad to sail through, but if the ship is damaged we'll have a hard time of it."
"I'm aware of that, but I'll take the Storm Belt over Silvergrin."
Gouge appeared from below. "It's not as bad as it could be, Captain. We're taking on water in a dozen places, all near the thruster mounts, but the flow is already slowing. We secured everything not waterproof and Grenka's applying caulk. The Quarrel should straighten herself out in a few more minutes."
"Excellent." Before the modifications I'd had Professor Dimmerswitch add, even before the ship had been rebuilt with quel'dorei features, the Maiden's Quarrel had held our most closely guarded advantage: given time, the ship would gradually heal herself from most damage, just like wounded flesh knitting together. We assumed it was due to her night elf heritage. Who knew what a society of druids could do with woodwork? "Anyone not otherwise busy, get to work bailing. Speed is of the essence and we can't afford the weight."
"Not necessary, Captain!" the Professor cried. "Give me five minutes with the air pump we use for the diving suits and I can reverse the flow; it should be able to handle water anyway. We can siphon the water straight out to sea."
"Very good, Professor, proceed."
"We're golden up here, Captain!" Gizmit called. "Threw her about some, but the spar's not cracked and the fastenings seem fine. You've got all the sails you need, never fear."
"Finally some good news," I murmured, acknowledging her with a wave. I fought the urge to sag against the rail. My whole world had been spun into chaos, but I'd lived through that before. Just needed a moment to get my feet under me...
Yowling, the ship's cat emerged from a coil of rope that had been disarrayed during our mad flight. Uther the Ratbringer was a huge, grizzled tabby with a ragged ear and half his tail missing. Bounding onto the rail beside me, he glared and gave me his best hiss.
"Well, you should have stayed below, then," I muttered. "Or better yet, gotten off at the Bay. I've a feeling the ride is only going to get rougher from here." Growling, he jumped down and began washing himself. I hated that cat.
Professor Dimmerswitch emerged from the hatch bearing a hose which was already spewing seawater. He hurled the business end over the side and set about lashing it to the rail with twine taken from one of his innumerable pockets.
"Got it as stable as we can below, Captain," Grenka called, coming up on his heels. Her tusked face was set in a severe expression. "The Quarrel didn't like that one bit, but she's already settling herself. I added caulk for good measure where it seemed necessary; no active leaks anymore. We're light on cargo, so nothing important got damaged."
"Good, well done." I made a mental note to check later and see what was damaged that she considered unimportant. The fatigue was settling on me like a shroud. I'd been having such a good day... And with it came an upsurge in the constant hunger that gnawed at my mind. Light, not right now...I had more than I could deal with already.
"Okay, we're not sinking or under fire," Raleigh said, striding up the ladder to join us on the conn deck. Her face was a mask of fury. "Now, Captain, how's about you explain just what the hell you've gotten us into?"
"How about what I just got us out of?" I snapped. "Or would you rather go back and throw yourself on Silvergrin's mercy?"
"Why is he after us in the first place? Light in heaven, he fired on us! A ship of our own fleet! Damn it, Ann, what did you do!"
"I did nothing! I have no idea what—"
"We all heard 'im talk," Clog chimed in. "Goin' on about summat ye stole. What's that about, Cap'n?"
"I just said I don't know what he was talking about!"
"That's easy for—"
With a deep snort, Turf slammed one immense hoof into the deck. He was careful not to damage the planks, but I swear the ship tilted.
Turf Grimtotem speaks softly, treads carefully and is fond of books. It's easy to become used to his presence and forget that he is eight feet of horned muscle who can pick up a cannon in one hand and throw it.
Still holding to the wheel, he spoke in a growl that rumbled across the deck. "Skeevil Silvergrin is a known liar and cheat. Captain Dawncrest has never been anything but an upstanding member of this crew, and since she took command we've all grown markedly richer and not lost a single hand in battle. You will all remember to whom you owe the benefit of the doubt!"
"Thank you, Turf," I murmured, reaching up to pat his huge arm. He nodded to me in return, and I turned to face the crew. "I well understand everyone's fear and uncertainty; believe me, I feel the same. But turning against each other is not going to help anything. Now, to answer your questions, Silvergrin's accusation was a lie. I have never stolen anything from the Raiders. I can only assume he invented it as a pretext to attack us."
"I get that part," Gouge said. His Tirasian accent, as usual when he was worked up, had thickened markedly. "But what was all that he was calling you? If he just wants an excuse to turn on us, what's it matter if he thinks you're Lady An'sadarr?"
"Lady Avanda," I corrected automatically, then winced. I was tired, completely off-balance and the hunger was growing very distracting. Such a slip was totally out of character for me. It was just my luck, I thought sourly, to be on a ship with the one human who could hear an elven name once and not only remember it, but pronounce it correctly.
"Beg your pardon?" Jane said softly. I sighed.
"Only the head of House is known by rank and surname." I could hear the weariness in my own voice. "All other members are called by rank and given name. My father was the Lord An'sadarr." Light. Four years of hiding my history, and here I was lecturing the crew on Thalassian protocol. When had this day spun so completely out of my control?
"So it is true," Jane said in the same quiet tone.
"That much, yes. How Silvergrin learned of it I can't begin to imagine, but the only reason I can see for him to bring it up would be to put me off-balance."
"So that's true, but the rest isn't?" Raleigh kept her voice neutral enough not to make it an accusation. Still, the last threads of my patience frayed further.
"Have I ever once asked any of you what you're doing at sea, away from your homes and lands?" The crew looked shamefaced and shuffled back, as well they might.
Lanki was a Gurubashi troll; his people were at war with the Steamwheedle Cartel, which made his presence on a Blackwater ship more than odd. Turf and Clog hailed from the Grimtotem tauren and Dark Iron dwarves, respectively, both factions that were universally hostile to outsiders. We had known Gouge and Grenka were sharing a bunk when they came aboard, but it had been several months before it came out they were actually married. That explained their presence, anyway; there was no human nation or orcish clan anywhere that would tolerate them as a pair. People came to the Raiders for a variety of reasons, but often as not, it was to seek a neutral home away from wherever they were from, and the secure knowledge that no one would question their history so long as they did their part.
"She's right," Raleigh said suddenly. "And Turf's right. The rest of us, yours truly included, should be ashamed of ourselves." Grimacing, she nodded to me in apology, to which I nodded in return. Murmurs of agreement sounded from the rest of the crew.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "We've just been attacked by our own fleet. It's natural to be questioning one's loyalties, but I reiterate: right now, the nine of us and this ship are all we have to rely on. I swear to you I have never acted against the interests of this crew or the Raiders, nor am I ever going to. And I have faith that all of you will do the same."
"Thanks, Captain," Grenka replied. "But this leaves us needing to figure out what the hell to do now."
"Yes." Nodding, I began to pace the deck behind Turf. The motion helped me concentrate, and stave off the gnawing sensation in the back of my mind. If I didn't deal with that soon, my composure was going to start suffering... "All right, the first question is why Silvergrin would try to sink us."
"He wasn't tryin' to sink us," Gizmit remarked from her perch above. "He had his crew loading his cannons with grapeshot. He wanted to take the ship." Amid the angry murmur from the crew, I nodded, adding that piece to the puzzle. Grapeshot, small pellets of lead loaded into a cannon in place of a cannonball, produces a spray of metal that will kill anyone caught in it and tear a ship's sails while leaving the ship herself mostly intact. It is a weapon of choice when one intends to take an enemy craft for one's own.
"Mebbe that gives us an option," Clog suggested. "I know it ain't gonna be a favorite idea, but may'aps we put ashore, give him the ship and go on our way."
"Dumbass!" Swinging down on her lifeline, Gizmit slapped the dwarf upside the back of his head, which he appeared not to notice. "It's like you've never run a con in your life. Silvergrin's risking big with this. If we can prove he's a traitor to the fleet before he can prove we are, it's the gallows for him and all of his crew. He can't leave us running around alive. No witnesses."
"More likely only his captains and a few officers," Turf mused. "There's no way he could convince three ships worth of Blackwater sailors to turn on one of the fleet. We must assume he's stacked his command crew with those loyal only to him, though. Or to whatever he can bribe them with."
I nodded. Silvergrin's officers did, indeed, have that reputation.
"Which brings us right back to the central question," Raleigh said. "What does he want? He's taking an awful risk doing this. It will cost him everything if it doesn't work. I mean, the Quarrel has a great record, but that's as much do to Captain Dawncrest's cleverness as anything. What could possibly be on this ship that's worth trying this scheme?"
"I don't know," I said, "but that does tell me what to do next. Silvergrin obviously knows a number of things we don't. The fact that he knows who I am lights the way to where we can get answers. The only person alive who I've told is Captain Eshani."
Lanki abruptly unfolded himself to his full height. "Eshani wouldn't turn on ya dat way."
"Not voluntarily," I agreed. Eshani, a Darkspear troll, had been our previous captain. It was from her that I'd learned everything I knew about sailing. "But people can be compelled, or tricked. It seems obvious that he got to her at some point, in some way. She'll be able to tell us what happened."
"If she be still alive," the witchdoctor growled. "So far, da Commodore seem to be a little trigger-happy wit' him witnesses."
I nodded grimly, aware that my face matched the scowls on the rest of the crew. Eshani had retired a year before to rejoin her clan on the Echo Isles. She was popular among the crew; if Silvergrin had harmed her...
I rubbed at my forehead, trying to collect my thoughts. The hunger was growing more insistent; stress always worsened it. "Right. We're not provisioned for this kind of trip, so we need to stop for supplies. Turf?"
"We're heading north, as you ordered, Captain," he replied. "Pursuers are out of sight behind us. The Dragonhawk at least could have stayed in range this long, so Silvergrin must be trying not to break up his fleet."
"Very good. We can fish if our food runs low, and where we're going there should be opportunity to fill the rain barrels. If worse comes to worst, we can break out the desalinizer." This brought a chorus of groans, which prompted an offended harrumph from the Professor. The invention in question was capable of rendering seawater into a drinkable form. The resulting fluid tasted like copper and mold, but it would stave off dehydration. "Turf, keep us well away from the shipping lanes. We have to assume that Silvergrin laid some groundwork before springing his trap; any other Blackwater ships may regard us as traitors and attack on sight."
"Goblins," Gouge growled. "Tricksome, backstabbing little...ah, no offense, Gizmit."
She tilted her head, bat-like ears flopping. "No offense about what?"
"For now, we head for Ratchet. Not directly to the port itself; it's probably not safe for us. We'll put the Quarrel in at Northwatch Hold. Theramore forces aren't likely to turn on us no matter what rumors Silvergrin has been spreading. We'll trade for supplies there, while a few of us get into Ratchet on foot to find out exactly what the story is. Once we know more and have our stores replenished, we'll make for Durotar and try to find Eshani. The Light send she's still at her village where we left her, and safe."
I panned my gaze across the crew; the uncertainty in their gazes had been replaced by determination. My father always said that the sight of a leader calm and in control could hold people steady through the worst of circumstances. And a good thing, too; I needed to get below before I collapsed and undid all my hard work. "Very well. I'll be in my cabin for a few minutes. Dismissed."
I made it as far as the door before the Professor ambushed me.
"Captain! Shall I assume you'll be one of those going into Ratchet for information?"
I sighed, hand on the latch. I did not have the strength for this...but brushing him off would lead to more problems than it averted. "Of course, Professor. If you'll excuse me..."
"Then you'll be walking into considerable danger! You'll be needing my very latest invention!" Puffed up with pride, he held up in both hands what was obviously some sort of gun, though more than that I could not tell. It had a round, bulky apparatus just above the trigger. "Actually, I didn't invent the idea, but this design is a Dimmerswitch original, based on similar devices I've seen in Ironforge. This is much improved over your caplock pistols! It holds five bullets at a time; you cock the hammer to spin the magazine and load the next shot. Five shots before you have to reload!"
I peered at the weapon, not reaching to take it. "Hm. If you've got a moving part connected to the barrel...that would have to be very tightly assembled to contain the explosive powder properly."
"Well, of course. It is precision engineered to the most exacting specifications."
I stared him down. "Precision engineered at your cramped, ill-lit little workstation down in the hull, where the pitching of the deck forces you to keep all your tools bolted down?"
His eager expression fell slightly. "Ah...yes, well...I mean, that is to say—"
"Get that damn thing away from me."
I shut the door in his spluttering face.
Making it to my cabin, I slammed the door shut and crossed on unsteady legs to my trunk. Flinging it open and tossing aside folded clothes with nothing like my usual neatness, I snatched up what I sought: a large earthenware bottle with a tightly screwed lid. By its weight, still mostly full, thank the Light for small favors. With trembling fingers, I managed to unscrew the cap, and tipped its contents down my throat.
I barely noticed the clean, herbal flavor of the mana potion. Magic blossomed in me, quelling the hunger that had crept up over the last half hour. Finally...
Never having had any aptitude for magic, I had nearly succumbed to the strange illness brought on by its absence before Lanki figured out what was happening, and began to keep me supplied with alchemic mana potions. As far as we knew, it was the result of my being so far from Quel'thalas, where magic was so much a part of the land itself that it governed the weather and accelerated the evolution of wildlife into forms that existed nowhere else. Yet, I'd never heard of elven travelers falling ill so quickly, at least not before the sack of Silvermoon by the Undead Scourge.
I had no answers. It had been year after my escape from Quel'thalas before I knew for a fact I wasn't the last living elf. Even still, I had avoided their company. My new life was all I needed, and the old held nothing but regrets. The potions worked to stave off the sickness. That was all that mattered.
I started violently when large hands took my by the shoulders from behind.
"Easy, dere," Lanki said. "You don' need more jumpin' around on top a' you problems."
"Lanki! What the blazes are you—get out!"
"Sure t'ing, Captain," he said calmly, forcibly turning me to face him. "Soon as I sure you okay."
"I'm fine. You know how stress brings it on. Now I'm ordering you—"
"Yeah, da's great an' all, boss lady, but when it come to ya health, da ship surgeon outrank you an' da Baron himself. Now hol' still. I seen how you was shakin' out dere. You ain't lost ya composure dat bad in years. Still, I say!"
I held myself rigid, keeping the bottle upright as I screwed the cap back in place. Lanki felt my forehead, pried an eyelid open to peer within, and even smelled my breath. Submitting to this with the best grace I could muster, I reminded myself that he knew what he was about, and that his efforts had kept me alive and sane in spite of the odds.
Finally, he nodded, stepping back. "You be fine. But I expect ya to get plenty sleep before we hit port again, understand? And you not gonna give ya food to da crew either, no matter how tight da stores be. Crew don' gotta keep dey strength up da way you do. I brew you up some mo' a' dat, but we gonna have to get herbs in port. I runnin' low."
"Will there be anything else?" I asked stiffly.
"Yeah, one t'ing." With a sudden smile, he reached out to pat me on the shoulder. "We gonna be fine. Remember, you da Captain. You smarter dan Silvergrin, and now you got betta motivation. Don' let da hard times get to ya."
With a final grin, he turned and ambled out, shutting the door gently behind him.
I stood in my cabin a few minutes longer, turning the bottle of potion over in my hands. Presently, I would need to return to the deck. Not that the crew couldn't handle everything just fine, but they needed to see me there. Calm, collected, and in control, reassuring them we'd pull through this. But for a few minutes longer, I stayed shut in my cabin, gathering my strength.
It would be sorely needed.