Honor's Ransom
Chapter 1: The Pirate's Mark
"She's bearing down fast upon us, Captain."
Captain Kanesh Ferador lifted his field glass and cursed. The lookout was right. That frigate had a canny steersman - they'd escaped immediate attention by not making directly for Kanesh's Sapphire Dream, but the ship had cut ahead of his, and was far too close now for it to be coincidence.
"Rig the sails to run before the wind," he ordered. "Bring us around a-weather and keep turning to put some sea between us. Get the gunners to their cannon and the wizard on deck."
"Sir." His first mate, a very competent human woman by name of Elyssa, turned with a swirl of mahogany hair to relay orders.
Even as the Dream turned hard to starboard, swinging past a change of tack to point her bow downwind, Kanesh knew it wouldn't work. The enemy vessel was too fast, her skipper too well-seasoned, to be shaken off so near a prize. An enemy it had to be - and a prize the Dream must seem, wallowing heavy in the water.
"Captain, she's still gaining," the lookout called down. "She's bringing down her ensign."
That clinched it. The ship was steering straight toward the Dream now, and no sooner had the flag of Verstad been brought to deck than a black flag ran up the forward mast. Across the narrowing gap, Kanesh could make out the white silhouette of a clawed hand, fingers spread for a raking attack, and he could see, now, the carved figure of a sleek otter lady as the figurehead.
He swallowed, lowering the field glass. Those images remained burned into his mind's eye. "It's the Lover's Fancy," he breathed. "It's Red Sebastien."
Beside him, his master-at-arms, Irian, drew a line up his sternum with one finger, then crossed it from right shoulder to left. "Saints preserve us," the lion breathed.
On one hand, Kanesh was inclined to agree. Bloodtooth's Bane, they called the man - and what manner of pirate could be worse than that unlamented beast?
On the other, wiping Bloodtooth off the charts hadn't exactly been a bad deed, and there were tales...
No. Sebastien Mercier was a pirate, and a brutally effective one. Of that there could be no doubt. The tales about him conflicted on some matters, but not about that point.
"Hard to starboard," he instructed. "We'll not give him the advantage of shooting straight downwind."
Battle was joined. The Sapphire Dream was the larger vessel, and its narrower but longer guns had some advantage of range and numbers, but fewer in number though the pirate's guns were, they could inflict more punishment once in range. Not least because they were breech loaders, firing far faster than the Dream's muzzle-loading guns, whose gunners had to pull them back, swab them, ram powder and shot down the barrel, and push them into place again before firing another round. The wizard was locked in a stalemate with the pirate's, making no headway, barely able, if the sweat running down his brow was an indication, to counter the enemy's magical attacks.
The Dream's real advantage lay in their different goals. The pirates wanted plunder, and were keeping their shots above the waterline, chains and pellets tearing into the sails or peppering the gun decks. The Dream simply wanted the pirates sunk, and her gunners had no compunctions about sending their solid shot at the enemy ship's waterline.
This did not go unnoticed. Some time into the fight, with the Dream's sails, masts, and rigging badly enough damaged that she had no hope of running while the Lover's Fancy still floated and several of her crew sporting bandages, the lookout whistled, calling down that the pirate was lowering her flag.
For a moment, Kanesh felt a surge of elation. But as he surveyed the frigate through his field glass, that turned to a sinking dread. They'd done some damage, yes, but nothing major. Nothing a canny pirate like Red Sebastien would be surrendering over.
The next flag he ran up wouldn't be white.
It would be red.
Red for blood.
The Sapphire Dream's hull had only sustained minor damage so far, but she would not long survive a concerted effort to sink her. And with a red flag up, none of her crew would be allowed to live.
Every one of these brave men and women would feed the sharks.
Men and women whom Kanesh Ferador had promised to protect.
The only chance they had was in those very tales of Red Sebastien that he'd discounted earlier.
"Cease fire!" he yelled. One more gun bellowed once, then all were silent. "Furl what sails we have left," the panther sighed. "And bring down the flag."
He went into his cabin. For a moment he paused over the basin, shaking under a wave of illness. But he knew that this was his only choice. He had to act on it quickly.
From his chest, he brought the thing he'd hoped never to use - a bundle of folded cloth, it seemed. He took it onto the deck, and with his own trembling hands he tied it to the lines and hauled it aloft, a lonely white rectangle fluttering in the breeze as the Sapphire Dream hove to a stop.
The pirate's flag had paused halfway down. Now, as the frigate swung in toward the beaten merchantman, that black ensign ascended to the peak of her foremast once again. Two of her guns fired - not the boom of a full powder charge, but a jarring crack nonetheless. Two lines whistled over the rails, one crossing over the bows, the other low enough that a grapnel skittered over the poop deck and tumbled to a halt. Both lines pulled taut, hooks catching, and the vessels drew closer and closer together.
It seemed almost humorous, in a way, when the pirate's crew slung bollards over the rail. They'd run the Sapphire Dream down, come to plunder her cargo, and made an implicit threat to send every last one of Kanesh's crew to the bottom along with the wreckage of the ship - and now they showed the courtesy of keeping the hulls from rubbing together? Well, no doubt Mercier didn't want to cause unnecessary further damage to his vessel or his prize...
A number of sword-bearing men and women hopped along planks laid over the rails. Most wore leather armour and carried cutlasses, but one among them stood out; tall, slender, his studded leathers dyed a deep read, carrying the larger, smoothly-curved blade of a desert scimitar, a brace of pistols and a half-dozen knives across his chest. He moved with wary confidence, that ferret, and all the pirates deferred to him, kept an eye out for him, even as they spread over the deck.
"Sebastien Mercier," Kanesh murmured, admitting, at least to himself, that he was impressed. He'd thought Red Sebastien might be just another sea tyrant, lashing his men into doing his dirty work for him, yet here he was, leading the assault. Standing there among his crew, armed with them and wearing an identical red bandanna, he almost looked like a respectable officer.
Of Kanesh's people, only his officers were armed, and they, like he, had already laid their sheathed swords on the deck. They stood in a line now, a ragged row of men and women standing between their attackers and their own crew, resolute that whatever fate awaited them all, they would meet it first.
Mercier looked them over, gestured, and spoke a terse command; one of the numerous otters in his retinue darted forward to gather up the swords, while the ferret himself stood face-to-face with Kanesh, studying the panther.
For a pirate, Mercier had a surprisingly cool, penetrating gaze. He didn't look like a murderous lunatic, nor some wastrel who had turned to crime after he couldn't make it in civilised society. No, he looked like a very sane, very intelligent, and very driven man.
That, in all likelihood, was what made him so very dangerous.
"So." The pirate's voice, too, was deceptively soft and urbane, yet its sudden presence made Kanesh startle all the same. "My reputation precedes me. Who, then, are you?"
Kanesh jerked his chin up. He'd lost the battle, he'd lose his cargo and his ship and possibly his life, but damn it all, he would not lose his pride. "I am Kanesh Ferador," he declared, "Captain of the Sapphire Dream."
The corners of the ferret's mouth twitched up in the slightest of smiles. "Are you, now? How many of your crew are below decks, Ferador?"
What point would there be to lying? The pirate would just find out anyway. "My master-at-arms took a splinter of a spar in the leg. He and the physician are in the infirmary. No others."
"Hmm." Mercier turned to face a lightly-built leopard that had just come over the rail. "Tseraji, can you tell if anyone is below?"
The feline took a breath, concentrating, then nodded. "Two, captain, both close together, probably in the same room. I think one of them may be sick or hurt - not grievously, though."
"Mm." He turned back to the panther, gesturing to the woman on Kanesh's right. "And this is...?"
Lyss took a breath, but paused. Mercier turned his gaze to her, brow cocked, and she went on, "Elyssa Darkrin. First Mate."
Mercier glanced back to Kanesh as though for confirmation, but before the panther could so much as nod, the pirate was giving orders to his crew. Four he sent with Lyss to fetch those from the infirmary, cautioning them to be insistent, but as gentle as the man's injuries demanded. Others went down to the hold to take stock. More kept watch on the prisoners on deck. The wizard, Tseraji, a confident-looking male otter Kanesh took to be first mate, and a tigress who fairly radiated violence fell in with their Captain, who said, "Your quarters - I gather that is where you keep your strongbox, 'Captain' Ferador?"
Again, what was there to gain by hiding things? Mercier could haul the ship back to whatever gods-cursed harbour he called home and have it torn apart down to the keel. He could even set them all adrift and strip it down right at sea. But his orders for handling Irian gave Kanesh a feeling that the stranger tales of Red Sebastien, Pirate Prince of the Broken Isles, might actually be true.
If his crew had a hope in the form of him keeping Mercier happy, then he would do it. He didn't know why the pirate seemed to have such derision for the notion of the strongbox being in Kanesh's quarters, but it was in fact the case.
"Yes. That door, there," Kanesh made himself say, nodding aft.
"Hmf." A quick command in the fluid language of the otters - Kanesh translated it as, "Let's get this show running" - and the little parade started moving, bearing Kanesh with it. "You don't trust your own purser with the ship's fortune," the ferret went on. "Typical."
"I trust all my officers," Kanesh shot back, bristling. He instantly knew it was a bad idea, but by that time the words had already left his mouth.
The tigress drew a fist back, snarling, but deflated as Mercier lifted a gloved hand. "Steady on, Shauri. Do continue, Ferador."
"I trust all my officers," the panther repeated, though he made sure to moderate his tone. Something about the pirate's keen interest affirmed the feeling that this was no ordinary bandit. "And through them I trust my crew. The bosun keeps charge of the cargo, my first mate Lyss of any small valuables. But I pay my sailors personally, and if that pay has to be short, I'm the one to tell them as I hand over what I can. I simply don't employ a purser."
Mercier gave him a searching look and did not reply.
The wizard said something under his breath - something about a barrier. Kanesh swallowed. This Tseraji really was quite good at what he did. Mercier had left nothing to chance.
Well, if he was to be beaten, at least he was beaten by one of the best.
The magical ward on his cabin was a simple one, intended more to discourage entry than to prevent it outright. The lock would open if, and only if, Kanesh's hand was on the latch; that was all the magic did. It would not have kept someone from forcing the door, and once the door was open - as Mercier gestured for him to do, as he did in numb compliance - it didn't keep anyone from walking over the threshold.
Kanesh's stateroom was the largest aboard, of course, but aside from the carvings that had adorned the construction when he took command and ownership of the Sapphire Dream, it was furnished as plainly as any - even more so than a few of his officers. And yet, looking around at the simple appointments, Mercier looked somehow... impressed.
The wizard spoke up again, gesturing toward a section of wall. Mercier queried him, listened to the reply, then spoke a command. The otter moved forward, examining the wall. It took him a few seconds to find the hidden panel that concealed Kanesh's private storage, and about half a minute to locate the catch and pull the panel open.
The wizard moved in next, running his fingers over the metal-bound chest nestled in that cavity, concentrating; then he nodded, speaking to his captain as he lifted the box out of its niche and brought it to the small table.
Kanesh swallowed. The key hanging around his neck felt like a brand against his chest, but the pirate didn't even ask him about it, instead producing a set of picks and probes as fine as any locksmith's. He selected a few of them and rattled around the lock, leaning back slightly and tilting his hands out to the sides with a soft "Ah" as something clicked inside.
One hand holding a probe in place, the other reached for a narrow pair of pliers, gripping something, wiggling - and tugging free the small needle there, which would have pricked him had he simply tried to pick the lock in the normal fashion
"Tricky," the ferret murmured, a smile flickering over his conical muzzle. "Red recluse, Ferador?"
The finest poison in the trap maker's arsenal... But no. "Banded viper," he sighed.
"Mm. Not quite as sure, but nearly so, and certainly easier to acquire... Ah!" The lock clicked. Mercier twisted the wrench, set his pick down, and lifted the lid a fraction, then flipped it open entirely.
For a few seconds, the only sound not plainly that of a ship at sea was the soft jingle of metal under Mercier's fingers. Kanesh thought the ferret would surely be incensed to find so small a prize as the scattering of coins there.
He was wrong.
As Mercier let the last few pieces of silver slip through his fingers, he gave Kanesh an odd look. If not for the situation, the panther might have thought it to be respect.
"Huh." Mercier nudged the box away from him an inch or so. "The key to this? I believe I've demonstrated the futility in withholding it."
No lie, that. Kanesh started to lift his hand, but paused. He did not want to make these people jumpy - and reaching into his shirt might do just that. "It's around my neck." When Mercier gestured for him to carry on, he hooked a finger under the steel chain and lifted it free, along with the fine brass key.
Letting go of that chain, and with it the last vestiges of his captaincy, was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Having the ferret's penetrating gaze on him all the while made it no easier.
Mercier held that gaze a moment, then turned, testing the key in the strongbox. Once satisfied, he turned to his officers.
"Bosun," he said to the otter, the one Kanesh had thought was his first mate, "put together a prize crew. Shauri, you'll be commanding them, so you will have a chance to make changes. For now, I want you with me as I address Ferador's crew."
"Sir." The pirate officers saluted in unison, and the whole gathering proceeded back out on deck, Kanesh in tow.
The pirate marines were a professional lot, however mismatched. They kept a safe distance from Kanesh's crew, weapons in hand, though no longer held poised to strike. The officers were watched by, presumably, Mercier's own, the red band around each one's left arm, just below the shoulder, setting them apart - as did the pistols with which they were armed.
The tigress - her armband, Kanesh now saw, had a narrow yellow stripe in the middle - nudged the panther's shoulder with the barrel of her pistol. With resignation collecting in a hard lump in his stomach, Kanesh stepped up in front of his officers and turned to await his fate.
The pirate captain had a quick conversation with a few of his crew, one of whom, an otter with golden-brown fur instead of the usual cocoa, was holding a copper ingot from the Dream's hold. Of Irian there was, as yet, no sign. Then Mercier stepped to the front of the crowd.
"Sailors," he announced, "this ship and its cargo now belong to me - Sebastien Mercier.
"This is, in fact, not bad news for the crew. Those who come peacefully will not be harmed. You will be brought to Eronstad, the contents of the ship's coffers to be distributed among you. The officers..." He trailed off, mulling something over.
"The officers appear to have been a decent lot, and so shall be given the same offer. As your captain was an honest one and did not have a great store of riches stashed away, this will not make you wealthy, but it will see you reasonably paid.
"If the market for copper is good at Eronstad, each of you shall be turned loose with no less than twenty silver links, upon the - " The ferret's attention turned to one side, where Lyss, Irian, the physician - Geras, an otter man - and their pirate escorts were stepping on deck.
Suddenly there was a pistol in the ferret's hand - pointed down, but the tension in Mercier's fist suggested that was a feat accomplished only with difficulty. "You!" he snarled, his cool composure suddenly crumbling. There was little doubt as to whom he was addressing - the normally-resolute Irian, who had shown that glimpse of fear just before the battle, now was quivering in terror under that dark gaze.
Mercier whirled, a steely raptor gaze sweeping over the crew. "Take with you a lesson," he called out. "You who only act against me to defend yourselves - for you I bear no ill will. But heed well the fate of those who set out with intent to cross Red Sebastien!" He gestured with his revolver. "Lash him to the foremast!"
Kanesh bit his lip, trying to ignore the rising taste of bile. Things were moving much too fast. He wanted to cry out, to make some sort of plea with Mercier, but the pirate was a powder-keg now. Anything Kanesh might have offered to try to dampen the spark, the ferret had already taken.
The pirates deftly bound Irian to the mast. An exceptional contortionist might have been able to break free - not that they'd have got far, with all those swords and not few enough pistols at the ready - but Irian was plainly too cowed to even try. This, however, did not mollify the pirate captain.
"Irian al-Arishad," Mercier purred, loading fresh rounds into his revolver with a series of malevolent clicks. "You have dogged my steps for years - far too long. I thought perhaps you'd trodden on someone else's toes and been done in - but now, it seems, the fates have been kind, and handed me a chance to take vengeance."
Irian al-Arishad...
Suddenly, Kanesh understood.
Suddenly the whole episode made sense.
Irian was not an uncommon name among lions. Kanesh's young master-at-arms had withheld his family name, but this, too, was not all that rare. Some lions were stripped of their rights to the name if they fell out of favour; on the other hand, Irian had suggested at the time that he had done fell things in the family name, and in leaving the name behind, he, like others, had tried to do the same with his sins.
It was only as he'd grown to be a man, Irian had said, that he'd seen how horrible the things were that had been done in his name. And now Kanesh believed he knew what those had been.
Mercier loaded the sixth and final bullet, swinging the cylinder back into place with a snap. "Twenty-two of my crew and associates have fallen into your hands," he snarled. "Each one died a gruesome death by your command. Some were still alive when the sharks got to them." He raised his pistol, taking aim at Irian's head. "No more. I regret that I can't give you what you gave them, but I won't make of myself a monster for your sake."
Kanesh swallowed. There was no more time to worry about his own fate. Duty drove him to intervene - there would not be time to do so later. "C-Captain Mercier," he choked out. "Please, before you do this, I beg of you a minute of your time." He had to make the man see...
The pistol lowered, but not by much. "Do you forget yourself, Kanesh Ferador? All you have of value, I have taken. You have nothing with which to negotiate."
"I know," Kanesh croaked. "That is why I beg for this small indulgence." If his pride was all he had left, he would offer it - on his hands and knees if need be.
This turned out to not be the case. Mercier gave him a long, searching glance, then turned back to the lion at the mast, gesturing with his revolver. "Your choice of captains has earned you a small reprieve," he announced. "Don't expect much of it. Tseraji, give me some privacy with Ferador. Shauri - be watchful."
As the ferret stepped close, his wizard chanted and gestured - and the world was lost in a grey haze. Not wind nor wave nor sea bird's call intruded on that ten-foot bubble; only the creak of planks underfoot revealed that there was more to the world than the two captains.
"My patience on this matter is very limited," Mercier warned. "Do you know what that lion has done?"
"I knew he'd done something terrible," Kanesh replied. "The details I didn't know until you spoke his family name. But - "
"'Captain' Ferador," Mercier cut in, "your master-at-arms slaughtered nearly two dozen of my crew and acquaintances. Good, loyal men and women - some of whom had done nothing more than rig sails for me, or do business with me, or simply speak with me in a tavern and not call the guards - he ordered whipped bloody, their guts sliced open, then tossed overboard for the sharks!" He pointed with his pistol at the now-unseen mast and roared, "Now you have the temerity to defend him? I thought you a man of honour, all too rare among merchants - and you waste it on that butcher?"
"Captain, please see," Kanesh urged - not even 'Captain Mercier', now; he would abandon the title for himself, abase himself by that as much as he did by now falling to his knees. "He's young now; he was a boy when those things happened, his fool head stuffed full of notions of grand justice for those who followed a life of crime - until he was expected to take up the lash and sword himself. Then he vanished in the night - and he came to me, a broken youth trying to leave his family and his past behind. It took a year for him to prove himself worthy of being an officer, and he has never shown a heavier hand than was needed. Never, not once in the time I've known him, has he done anything I could call 'brutal'."
Kanesh swallowed. "Irian al-Arishad is no more, Captain. If it's vengeance you want, know that his past still torments him, still haunts his dreams to this day. If that's not enough - " He choked. At the end of it all, he was afraid - deathly afraid of this man.
But he had sworn an oath.
"If that's not enough," he croaked, "take me in his stead. Please."
"Your life is in my hands already," Mercier pointed out. His anger still simmered, but not quite as hot; now he seemed somewhat intrigued, even as he went on, "You are not a nemesis of mine that I have been unable to hunt down. I have no reason to want you dead, nor would your offer save me effort if I did."
"But I can offer you my service," Kanesh pointed out. Mercier didn't seem the type to keep slaves, and he must know full well that the lash couldn't command loyalty anyway. "Just let him go, I beg you - give Irian a chance, and I will be your willing servant. Your cabin boy, even - "
"Ferador," the pirate interrupted, "I am not an untidy man. I have no great need for someone to clean up after me. If I take on a cabin boy - " His leather-gloved hand suddenly seized Kanesh's chin, tilting it up, and his dark eyes had a very different sort of appraisal in them, a sort that made the feline feel almost... naked. "Hmm. You're pleasing enough to the eye to have value for that. But any cabin boy I take on, Ferador, had best be willing to warm my bed."
Faced with the sudden hunger in those eyes, Kanesh was certain this was no jest. He swallowed. His dignity would have been a small price to pay for Irian's life, but to go so far - to let this strange, dangerous man bed him - penetrate him -
"Hmf." Mercier let him go, turning, striding through the mist. As it dissolved, as the sea and the ships and all the people on them came back into view, Kanesh just stared after him, still on his knees, watching as the ferret glowered at Irian - but did not immediately raise his pistol.
He was considering it.
There was a chance.
If Kanesh could just sway him a little more...
Would it be so bad, really? Some men submitted to other men for a living and they did not seem poorly off. And Mercier was well-groomed, in fine shape. He was not ugly and foul, nor unduly bloodthirsty or violent...
Would it be so bad?
If there was even a chance...
"Hmf," Mercier uttered again, taking aim.
Time had run out. He had only an instant to decide.
"I'll do it," he called out.
Mercier's gun stayed trained, but his gaze shifted slightly. "Ferador...?"
"What you just said," Kanesh confirmed. "I'll do it, Captain. Just give the man a chance. Please."
Indecision flickered over the pirate captain's features. Irian was mouthing prayers and pleas. The ferret's hand tensed, metal rattling as the hammer pulled back. All around, those with hats - pirate and merchant alike - pulled them off and held them over hearts.
Ferador swallowed hard, head sinking. He'd done all he could, tried everything. Now, in spite of his oath, he couldn't bear to watch.
He shuddered, biting his lip, as the crack of the pistol split the air. No - !
But in the following silence, he still heard Irian's frantic breath.
He looked up. Mercier's gun was smoking, but it was pointed skyward. At the last moment, he had lifted his arm.
Now the pirate turned away, looking over the rail as he lowered his hand. He swung out the cylinder and pushed the extractor rod, one spent casing popping out of its chamber, tinkling on the deck.
"You are a very fortunate man," he said, loading another round. "Fortunate that your captain is the first honourable merchant I've come across in all my time on these waters. The first to deal honestly with his people; the first to offer his life for theirs, not the other way around. His honour has bought you a chance - one chance - to prove yourself better than you were. Prove him right, and you will go free."
With a flick of the pirate's wrist, the cylinder snapped back into place. Mercier levelled the gun at Irian once more. "Cross me again and both your lives are forfeit." He gestured with the barrel, toward his own vessel. "Put him in the brig. I want him out of my sight for the rest of the journey. Take Ferador aboard the Fancy as well, and secure him in my cabin. He and I have business to discuss."
Holstering his pistol, Mercier turned his attention to the otter that was hopping back over the rail, the bosun. "Kelsin," he said, and went on so quickly in the otter tongue that Kanesh could barely make out, "The crew, are they ready?"
"Aye, Captain." The otter saluted, fist over heart. "The ship, she is not badly damaged. They will make good time."
"Our repairs, how are they going?"
"We'll need a port for what isn't already almost done," said the bosun. "Nothing that'll slow us down much for now." As he spoke, an assortment of pirates - presumably his prize crew, all armed - began filing over the rail.
Then one pirate on each side of Ferador gripped his shoulders, and he knew his time with the Sapphire Dream was at an end.
He hoped his men and women thought he had done well by them. The gods knew he had tried - even to the last. All he could do now was pray that Sebastien Mercier was a man of his word.
Both of the crew that brought him over to the Lover's Fancy were otters - one male, one female. Neither wore an officer's armband, but they carried themselves with as much pride as might a naval marine. And why not? They were Red Sebastien's crew; where they saw fit, they owned the ocean itself.
For all that pride, though, they didn't actually take him into the captain's quarters - just up to the hatch which presumably led to them. Only when a slender leopard arrived - the wizard, Tseraji - did the whole gathering proceed through the hatch. Kanesh was impressed, but not, at this point, surprised, by what lay on the other side.
"Welcome aboard the Lover's Fancy," Tseraji purred. "As I understand from the Captain, this will be your home for the foreseeable future. Don't get too comfortable 'til he says where he wants you." He peered at Kanesh's expression with a crooked smile. "For you, at least, it won't be a step down."
That it would not, but nor would it be a huge step up in conditions. Mercier seemed to have collected a few trophies in his time, but by and large lived simply. From what Kanesh could tell, Mercier's extravagance was mostly put into practical things. The wizard-lights, for instance, were far safer aboard ship than any oil lamp. To be sure, Mercier's trademark red coat hung off to one side - but even without being a tailor, Kanesh knew that it was possible to look well-dressed without spending a fortune.
"Now, then." The wizard held up a leather band, trimmed with silver wire in an ornate pattern. "For at least a while, the Captain will require some assurance of your good behaviour. This device will be keyed to him when he arrives. Should you have in mind a course of action that you know would bring him harm, it will prevent your mind from commanding your body. Relent, and all will be well; persist, and it might stop your heart."
Kanesh swallowed. This was no hedge magic they were dealing with. "What if it's meant to help?"
"If, for instance, he were caught on a spike and needed to be cut free? It reads intent; it does not divine the future. If you mean to help, it will, generally speaking, permit you. The Captain may place some further restrictions upon it - I've little doubt that he would rather suffer an illness than be turned over to the 'safety' of a prison, even if the guards would bring a physician. But in itself, so long as you act for the Captain's better interest, the collar will not stop you."
Kanesh relaxed somewhat. It wasn't the typical restraint he'd heard of for slaves, at least, nor something so simple that it would keep him from taking an action that traded short-term pain for long-term gain. "Is it used to punish?" he asked. "To give pain?"
"As to the first, the Captain can will it into activity," said the leopard, "if he so chooses. As for pain... not directly, but it is not a comfortable sensation either." A pause. "The Captain wished me to impress upon you that you will be bonded as a servant - not a slave. He is not the cruel taskmaster who once used this ship."
So the tales were true, and this was indeed Bloodtooth's old ship. Kanesh felt a shudder creep up his spine.
"You needn't worry about ghosts or hauntings," said a soft voice by his ear. "I had this section rebuilt."
Kanesh jumped. He hadn't even noticed the ferret coming in behind him, yet there he was.
"You've explained matters, Tseraji?"
"The basics, Sir. The fine details await your word."
"The basics should do. Now. Kanesh Ferador." Mercier's dark eyes held the panther's own. "If you are committed to this course - if, in exchange for clemency toward Irian al-Arishad, you agree to serve my convenience and pleasure for two years, half the time he troubled me, or until I choose to release you - if you agree to hold your very life hostage to his good behaviour - then you will take that collar and clasp it around your neck, to be removed after that period of service or when I deem you trustworthy, whichever comes first."
Kanesh swallowed. He hadn't even expected a definite end to the ordeal, yet to hear it stretching out two full years - two years of his body belonging to another man...
But he could have been worse off. He could have wound up in some other pirate's hands - like another Bloodtooth. Mercier hadn't even specified escape as something that would trigger the collar. Even as a conquered foe, Kanesh was being shown some trust.
He could do this.
He had to.
He forced his trembling fingers to grip the leather, to lift it from Tseraji's palms. Around his own neck he wrapped it. The clasp was simple, a pair of interlocking metal hooks - but as he linked them together, metal and leather shifted under his fingers, the loose collar tightening, the clasp flowing together into a seamless bond.
And just like that, he was marked.
Owned.
The cold reality of it was suddenly sickening.
"Steady on," the ferret murmured, seizing his hand and putting it against a beam. "Anton, good. You have - ? So you do. Rig that hammock over there. Charsi, Ansil, Tseraji, thank you, you are free to go."
A dusky-skinned young human man tied another hammock in place, then he, too, slipped out, leaving Kanesh alone with the Captain. The panther forced himself to breathe, gripping the wood under his hand. He'd been sailing since he was a boy, had ridden his share of sea storms, but now this gentle swell threatened to send him tumbling to the deck.
"Steady on," Mercier repeated. "You'll do neither of us any good in this state. Rest up; I'll ensure you have a chance to see off your crew at port."
Was that mercy? Kindness? Whatever it was, it was an opportunity to discharge his duty to his people, and no officer-and-gentleman could fail to recognise that. But he couldn't quite bring himself to thank the man who'd put him in this situation. "Y-yes, S-Sir," he managed to force out.
"Hmm. Well, I have business for now. Blankets are there if you need. Get some rest." And with that, the ferret was gone, and Kanesh Ferador was alone.
Alone in a stranger's quarters.
Someone's to whom he'd sold his body.
A pirate's.
A man's.
Kanesh shivered. He wasn't so sure he'd be able to sleep, but he had nothing to do but try. And he wasn't cold, but he didn't care to be exposed to Mercier's eyes any more nor sooner than he had to. He turned to look where the pirate had gestured - and froze.
There were, in fact, two light blankets there. One must have been from the pirates' own stores: a bundle of plain grey wool.
The other, woven in a pattern of vivid dark colours, had been a leaving-home gift from Kanesh's mother. He hadn't given it much thought earlier, but seeing it there made him realise how much he'd have missed it.
He clutched the colourful blanket tight, squeezing his eyes shut. He'd thought little of his family in the past few years, save to send messages assuring him that he was well. Now, for the first time since he was twelve, he longed for his mother's embrace.
He blinked moisture out of his eyes and sighed. Such thoughts would only make the next two years harder to bear. He had to be resolute.
He draped the patterned blanket over the hammock and, with one last look to be sure the room was still empty, stripped down. His boots he laced together and hung from the foot of the hammock; coat, shirt, and trousers he folded and set beneath it, leaving a simple linen loincloth.
That, for now, would stay in place.
He settled himself in the hammock, the blanket wrapped around him, and closed his eyes. What sort of man had he wound up serving? Not a typical pirate, that much was certain. No monster. For all he was a notorious scofflaw, he actually seemed, in his own twisted way, to be decent and honourable.
And now this. A kindness unasked-for. A bed of his own - the Captain's was little different, just in a somewhat nicer place. A token of his past saved for him.
Who was Sebastien Mercier? Why was he doing this? What, in the end, did he want?
Sometime in the midst of pondering these things, Kanesh's body claimed its due for the earlier excitement, and he drifted off to sleep.
It was cool when he woke, after a restless and fitful sleep. He could hear someone moving about nearby - perhaps that was what had woken him. It didn't take long to remember who that someone would likely be, and that thought jolted him fully awake.
Night had fallen; the only light of note came from the blue-white wizard-lights. Those were plenty enough, though, to see the slender figure leaning over the desk, poring, it seemed, over a chart.
Mercier's armour had made him look bigger than he was. Out of it, wearing a simple white shirt, pearl-grey trousers and that red bandanna, he was thin as a rail. Or, the thought came unbidden, a whip.
Yes, this was still a dangerous man. He would doubtless be so even without the knife at his ankle or the scimitar still at his hip. But dangerous or no, Kanesh had pledged to serve him. He couldn't put off doing so forever.
When he moved to unwrap his blanket, he froze.
Another had been laid over him as he slept, the plain one he'd left earlier or another like it. It did not alarm him, really, but it added another layer of perplexity. He knew who was most likely to have been here to cover him, and as he pushed both blankets aside and felt cold air, he was glad for it, but if the man had such compassion, why was he a pirate at all?
His boots were where he'd left them, but the rest of his clothes had been replaced. The black trousers, white shirt, and - he took note of but did not don - the grey cloak were near enough his size to be no trouble, though their unfamiliar cut felt strange on him. Once dressed, he turned toward the man still leaning on the desk.
He swallowed. He had promised he would do this, and so he would. He could start simply, see if that would be enough, but he did have to start.
He ambled over the deck, trying to imitate how he fancied a fine courtesan might act. He was healthy and well-grown, and some called him attractive; those were things he could show pride in. Yet those very things were what he had to offer - so offer them he tried to do, without being blatant and crass. When one of the ferret's ears flicked in his direction, he took that for acknowledgement and murmured, "A chilly night, Captain. Is there anything I might do to keep the place warmer?"
"I'm afraid we'll be doing without," the ferret sighed. "One of your gunners hit the compartment where the wizards store the materials of their trade, and shattered many stones and crystals. Heat-stones will be in short supply for some time, and I am saving them for the crew quarters and infirmary where they can do the most good. Fuel we keep for genuine emergencies."
Well, that was a decent enough reason. And the could was nothing that could not be insulated against. Still... Steeling himself, he laid a hand on the ferret's forearm. "Maybe another sort of warmth, then?"
Mercier glanced down at the panther's fingers. "Does it burn you to touch me?" he asked.
"What? No," Kanesh blurted. Perhaps, on some level, he'd almost expected it to, considering the quiet power this person wielded. But... no, it was just a man's arm, and felt like a surprisingly normal one at that.
"Your body tells another story," replied Mercier.
Before Kanesh could ask what he meant, the pirate turned to face him, and he flinched from the intensity in those dark eyes. "I am willing to do many things that others would condemn me for, Kanesh Ferador," he breathed. "But one thing I will not stoop to is forcing myself on the unwilling. You are attempting to honour an agreement which you entered of your own free will, for the sake of another. I respect those things. But how much pleasure do you think I would gain from someone forced into my bed to pay a debt?"
The ferret's voice was soft, almost casual, but it took no special talent, to sense the steel under the velvet. Kanesh swallowed. "I take your point. But still - "
"You have two years to get used to the notion," Mercier pointed out, "or not. I'll never force you to do more than you're ready for. If you should think you are, but find when you try that it is not so, that you cannot continue, then I will stop, and not hold it ill against you. I stated two years on the assumption that I would never bed you, Ferador. Prove me wrong and I may release you sooner. But if not - well, it isn't as though I'm unused to the pleasures of my own hand."
Unexpected images darted through the panther's mind of the ferret lying sprawled across his hammock, fondling himself, body arched in tension and pleasure, black-furred fingers streaked with white. It was... not an unpleasant image, really. It made the pirate seem a little more real, not so much larger than life; but even without that, there was some beauty to the thought.
He swallowed. Of all times to get curious... well, it could be worse. It could have happened after he served his two years.
"Is there something else I might do?" he asked. He needed to keep busy somehow...
"Draw me a bath," the ferret instructed, gesturing toward a side room of the suite. "Once that's done and I'm tending to it, learn where I keep things. There are a few simple rules I will have you follow regarding my possessions."
"Yes, sir?" Thinking of his days as a bosun's mate, in his middle teens, it wasn't all that difficult to fall into that respectful address.
"First, anything hidden is not yours to find. If you can't find a place for something, bring it to my attention, and if it goes in such a place, I will put it there myself. Second, for practical reasons, do not handle my pistols or ammunition. Third, for a different sort of reason altogether, do not touch my sword."
The desert-dwelling ferret clans took their weapons very seriously. In that regard, it seemed, Mercier was no different, even if neither his name nor his life matched them, being more a match for their mink cousins. Perhaps he was from a mixed marriage... but it didn't matter. "Yes, sir, I understand. Anything more?"
"Not for now. Off you go." And the pirate leaned over his chart again.
Kanesh felt magic crackle in his fur as he moved to the Captain's bathing cabin. At a guess, the very bulkheads, deck, and deckhead were enchanted to trap heat and moisture, and perhaps to evaporate spilt water. The tub itself was a fairly elaborate construction - for one thing, it rested on gimbals, swaying with the roll of the ship much like a hammock would. One side of it was adorned with a fountain - a lady ferret, veiled in desert fashion, bearing aloft an ewer from which, it seemed, water might flow.
An array of crystals at the base of that fountain revealed its function. Kanesh had seen the like before, though not often. It drew water from nearby - the sea, most likely, in this case - purified it, and imparted some warmth before it spilt out of the fountain. With a bit of experimenting, Kanesh got the water flowing hot, but not painfully so, steam quickly filling the small compartment.
When the tub was sufficiently full, another touch to the crystals stilled the flow. He went to tell the ferret that his bath was ready, only to find the man himself already pushing through the door. Mercier had already shed his shirt and was carrying it with him, and again Kanesh was struck by how lean the pirate was. If he hadn't been a ferret, Kanesh would wonder how he could even lift that scimitar, much less use it well.
But the ferrets were a strong and hardy lot. Generations in the deserts had made them so.
With a murmured acknowledgement for the service, Mercier closed the door between them. It took Kanesh but a moment to find the chest where Mercier kept his charts, roll up the one on the desk, and slip it into its niche. Other than that... there really wasn't much for him to do. The room was as uncluttered as he'd been told earlier; it didn't take more than a minute or two to learn where everything but the more esoteric trophies went, and Mercier probably would want to deal with those himself if they got out of place.
With the door shut, not a sound came from the bathing chamber, yet somehow Kanesh couldn't help but imagine the ferret, his thick fur slicked down to his narrow frame. He had to admit that the man was handsome. More he'd not really thought of, but...
But, as he sprawled across his hammock, it was easy enough to do.
He wondered what the ferret would do with him, if he grew comfortable enough with the notion for Mercier to be satisfied. Would the pirate just have him lie down and... fill him? Or would he have Kanesh take a more active role in pleasing him? The thought of his fingers giving the ferret pleasure wasn't such a bad one, really. Nor even his mouth, when it came down to it.
Or, if Mercier was so reluctant to feel like he was forcing the panther, might he try something more equal? Would he come to Kanesh as not a master, but a lover, stroking and caressing him in turn, fondling his length...
The panther bit his lip, undoing his belt and unlacing his shirt, baring the dark fur of his stomach. It had been quite a while since he'd known intimate company, and for a man of twenty-three summers, desire didn't take long at all to grow strong. The chill air of the cabin was a shock, but far from cooling his sudden ardour, only made it feel that much hotter. His shaft rose to meet his fingers in mere heartbeats, the tip already wet with anticipation. And it did not harm things nearly as much as he'd have expected that the lover he imagined atop him, sliding against him, was another male, a slim and dangerous pirate captain. The man was strong and handsome and decent, and many of those qualities were, he imagined, ideal in a lover.
It didn't matter that the pirate owned him. For such a man as his imagination dreamt of, he could give himself gladly - every inch of himself, every breath - even the breath of such climaxes as the one that raced through him, making his body surge upward, his length jerking in his grip, streamers of sticky white streaking over his dark fur.
He sagged, panting, and looked guiltily at the door to the next room, but it remained closed. His illicit touch had gone unnoticed... for now. Fortunately, he'd seen before where the ferret kept clean rags. One of them, a bit of spit to moisten it, a bit of incense to mask the scent, and he tidied up the signs of his guilty release.
What was it about the man that confounded him so? The notion of actually submitting to Mercier terrified him - yet at the same time, that daydream had been so compellingly arousing. He'd not felt a need like that in over a year...
What in the world was Sebastien Mercier, and what hold did he have on the panther?
"Your turn."
Kanesh whirled. Mercier stood in the now-open doorway between the two rooms, his expression unreadably neutral. Perhaps he misread the panther's expression, for he explained, "If you are to serve me, in whatever manner, I will have you be well-groomed. Tend to that, then try to seek some rest; I am, as you might imagine, a light sleeper, and would not have you causing too much noise near me."
The cat swallowed. Providence, it seemed, had handed him a graceful way out of that awkward moment. "Yes, Sir," he replied, moving toward the bathroom in turn. If the Captain wanted him to enjoy the luxury of a good bath, who was he to complain?