Red Seas Under Red Skies: The Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Book Two (Gentleman Bastards 2)

‘We’re doing well,’ the sailing master said, though Locke could see dark circles like bruises under his eyes. The old man had slept barely four hours a day since they’d reached the sea, unable to trust the wheel to Locke or Jean’s care without supervision. He’d finally cultivated a fairly responsible master’s mate, a man called Bald Mazucca, but even he was lacking in lore and could only be trained a little each day, with Caldris’s attention so divided.

They continued to be blessed by the behaviour of the rest of the crew. The men were still fresh with vigour for any sort of work following their escape from prison. A half-arsed carpenter and a decent sailmaker had been found, and one of Jabril’s friends had been optimistically voted quartermaster, in charge of counting and dividing plunder when it came. The infirm were gaining health with speed, and several had already joined watches. Lastly, the men no longer gathered to stare nervously across the ship’s wake, looking for any hint of pursuit on the sea behind them. They seemed to think that they had evaded Stragos’ retribution ... and of course they could never be told that none would be forthcoming.

‘This is your doing,’ said Locke, patting Caldris on the shoulder. He berated himself for not thinking beforehand of what a strain the voyage would put on the older man. Mazucca would have to be shaped more quickly, and he and Jean would need to pick up whatever slack they could in their inept fashion. ‘Even with a glassy sea and a fine breeze, there’s no way in hell we’d have pulled this off so far without you.’

‘Strong weather coming, though,’ said Caldris. ‘Weather that will test us. Summer’s end, like I said, shit blows up that’s like to knock you halfway ’round the world. Might spend days riding it out with bare poles, throwing up until there ain’t a dry spot in the holds.’ The sailing master sighed, then gave Locke a curious look. ‘Speaking of holds, I heard the damnedest things the past day or two.’

‘Oh?’ Locke tried to sound nonchalant.

‘Ain’t nobody seen a cat, not on any of the decks. Not a one has come up from wherever they are, not for anything, ale or milk or eggs or meat.’ Sudden suspicion clouded his brow. ‘There are cats down there ... right?’

‘Ah,’ said Locke. His sympathy for Caldris from a moment earlier remained like a weight on his heart. For once, he found himself completely unwilling to lie, and he massaged his eyes with his fingers as he spoke. ‘Ah. No, the cats are all safe and sound in their shack in the Sword Marina, right where I left them. Sorry.’

‘You fucking jest,’ said Caldris in a flat, dead voice. ‘Come now. Don’t bloody lie to me about this.’

‘I’m not.’ Locke spread his palms before him and shrugged. ‘I know you told me it was important. I just ... I had a hundred things to do that night. I meant to fetch them, honest.’

‘Important? I told you it was important? I told you it was fucking critical, is what I told you!’ Caldris kept his voice at a whisper, but it was like the sound of water boiling against hot coals. Locke winced. ‘You have imperilled our souls, Master Kosta, our very gods-damned souls. We have no women and no cats and no proper captain, I remind you, and hard weather sits upon our course.’

‘Sorry, honestly.’

‘Honestly, indeed. I was a fool to send a land-sucker to fetch cats. I should have sent cats to fetch me a land-sucker! They wouldn’t have disappointed me.’

‘Now, surely, when we reach Port Prodigal—’

‘When is an audacious assumption, Leocanto, for long before then the crew will cop wise to the fact that our cats are not merely shy, but imaginary. If they decide the cats have died off, they will just assume that we are cursed and abandon the ship when we touch land. If, however, the absence of smelly little bodies leads them to deduce that their fuckin’ captain in fact brought none, they will hang you from a yardarm.’

‘Ouch.’

‘You think I jest? They will mutiny. If we see another sail on that horizon, in any direction, we must give chase. We must bring a fight. You know why? So we can take some of their bloody cats. Before it’s too late.’

Caldris sighed before continuing, and suddenly looked ten years older. ‘If it’s a summer’s-end storm coming up on us,’ said Caldris, ‘it’ll be moving north and west, faster than we can sail. We’ll have to pass through it, for we cannot outrun it by beating up to the east. It’ll catch us still, and it’ll only catch us tired. I’ll do my damnedest, but you’d better pray in your cabin tonight for one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Cats falling from the bloody sky.’