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

At the third hour of the afternoon the next day, Locke and Jean were hanging from crude rope swings secured to the Poison Orchid’s taffrail. Now that last night’s hasty coat of dark paint had forever blotted out the Chimera, they were laboriously christening the ship with a new moniker, Delight. Their hands and tunics were spattered with thick silver gobs.

They had progressed as far as ‘Delig’, and Paolo and Cosetta were making faces at them through the stern windows of Zamira’s cabin.

‘I think piracy’s a bit like drinking,’ said Jean. ‘You want to stay out all night doing it, you pay the price the next day.’

The Orchid had turned north that morning a comfortable forty or fifty miles west of the city; Drakasha had cleared the area of their Pilchard raid with haste and decided to spend the day at a remove, brushing up her old wooden girl’s new disguise. Or, more accurately, turning that duty over to Locke and Jean.

They finally managed to put the ‘light’ into Delight around the fourth hour of the afternoon. Thirsty and sun-baked, they were hauled up to the quarterdeck by Delmastro, Drakasha and Nasreen. After they’d gulped down proffered mugs of lukewarm pinkwater, Drakasha beckoned for them to follow her down to her cabin.

‘Last night was well done,’ she said. ‘Well done and nicely confusing. I don’t doubt the Archon will be rather vexed.’

‘I’d pay something to be a fly on a tavern wall in Tal Verrar these next few days,’ said Locke.

‘But it’s also given me a thought, on our general strategy.’

‘Which is?’

‘You told me that the captain and crew of the ketch weren’t Verrari - that will curb some of the impact of their story. There’ll be questions about their reliability. Ignorant rumours and mutterings.’

‘Right...’

‘So what we’ve just done will fester,’ said Zamira. ‘It will cause comment, speculation and a great deal of aggravation to Stragos, but it won’t cause a panic, or have the Verrari rioting in the streets for his intercession. In a way, as our first bit of piracy on his behalf, it’s a bit of a botch job.’

‘You wound our professional pride,’ said Jean.

‘And my own! But consider this . . . perhaps what we need is a string of similarly botched jobs.’

‘This sounds like it’s going to have a very entertaining explanation,’ said Locke.

‘Del told me this afternoon that you two are pinning your hopes for a solution on Stragos’s personal alchemist; that you can somehow secure his assistance by making him a private offer.’

‘That’s true enough,’ said Locke. ‘It’s one of the aspects of last night’s visit to the Mon Magisteria that didn’t go very well.’

‘So obviously what we need to do,’ said Drakasha, ‘is give you another chance to make this alchemist’s acquaintance. Another plausible reason to visit the Mon Magisteria, soon. Good little servants, eager to hear their master’s opinion on how their work is progressing.’

‘Ahhh,’ said Locke. ‘And if he’s looking to shout at us, we can be sure he’ll at least let us in for a chat.’

‘Exactly. So. What we need to do ... is something colourful. Something striking, something that is undeniably a sincere example of our best efforts on Stragos’s behalf. But . . . it can’t threaten Tal Verrar directly. Not to the point that Stragos would feel it a useful step in his intended direction.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Jean. ‘Striking. Colourful. Non-threatening. I’m not entirely sure these concepts blend well with the piratical life.’

‘Kosta,’ said Drakasha, ‘you’re staring at me very strangely. Do you have an idea, or did I leave you out in the sun for too long today?’

‘Striking, colourful and not threatening Tal Verrar directly,’ Locke whispered. ‘Gods! Captain Drakasha, you would so honour me if you would consent to one humble suggestion ...’