Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

20. Rescuing the Pirate

25th of Uirra

From what I was told, the Captain broke several codes of military conduct last night. First, he showed disdain for the sovereignty of the Altyran Coalition by altering the appearance of a navy warship with intent to deceive the enemy. Second, he sailed under the wrong port-of-call designation. And third, he allowed one of his subordinates to impersonate a high-ranking officer. At a court martial, those three things would have been the misdemeanors added to the capital charge of kidnapping a prisoner from his own government.

This was all according to the Cook, who was in a decidedly good mood this morning, relating this news in a boyishly gleeful whisper while he loaded up a tray with biscuits for me to take up to the map room.

I made my way to the main deck, where I was met with the sight of Raggan parading around in the pre-dawn gloom, dressed like a High Admiral.

Lorren -- who was a seamstress in Sant Yranne – had been up most of the night embroidering the Naval Shield of Valor on the cuffs of the Captain's dress jacket, but she had obviously done much more than that. She hadsized it down to fit Raggan's much shorter frame. It also sported an Admiral's crossed swords, shield, and chains on the left epaulet, which made it officially a crime for Raggan to wear it. Captain Arramy was never going to get back into it, either.

The Stryka lay at anchor a few lengths off the port bow, and several crew men dangled precariously over the waves, perched on repair scaffolds that hung from the aft and fore railings. While I watched, they lit mirrored lanterns and aimed them at the nameplates. Then all of them wielded paint and brushes, and a raunchy sea shanty drifted over the water as they followed orders to deface their own ship.

None of the crew seemed to be bothered by what they were being asked to do. They didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the sight of Raggan walking the main deck by the light of a lantern, wearing an officer's double-pinned high-feathered hat, practicing Admiral Ghandier's exaggerated limp while leaning heavily on a cane. Raggan didn't seem to mind, either. They all went calmly about their duties, following orders that could get them hanged, almost as if this sort of unconventional behavior was standard under Arramy's command.

I continued on, carrying the tray up to the quarterdeck, where Master Pierse politely took it from me and insisted on taking it into the map room himself. Mustn't have silly girls eavesdropping on the Captain again.

Someone had put up a blanket over the door, but as Pierse pushed it aside, I got a glimpse of the Captain standing there by the table, dressed in a Coalition Marine's black and white uniform.

Then, when I was on my way back down the stairs, I saw what looked very much like a group of NaVarre's crew climbing into one of the Stryka's longboats. They were lowered away by our own sailors, though, and there was no mistaking the Commander's rust-red beard on one of the pirates, not even under the soot that blackened his face.

The rowboat hit the water with a careful splash. A few seconds later the top of a short mast appeared, and a dark sail caught the wind, pulling the boat away into the pre-dawn gloom.

~~~

By the time the sun cleared the horizon, everything was ready. Captain Arramy and his marines swung over to the Stryka, leaving only Cook, Pierse, and a complement of sailors behind on the Ang.

Then the Ang held back several miles beyond the scope of the Wychending long glasses, while the Stryka kept going, sailing right into the small manmade harbor bold as you please, the fresh yellow script still drying on her nameplates proclaiming her to be the Arapossa, High Admiral Ghandier's flagship.

According to Cook, the whole plan hinged on the assumption that the Warden of Wychend Prison had never met the High Admiral personally. That was the weakest link. If he had met the Admiral, there was no way Raggan would fool him, and the entire charade would fall apart before it began.

If, however, the Warden hadn't met the High Admiral – which was very likely – then Raggan would hand over the forged extradition papers remanding NaVarre to the Lodesian Maritime Court. Then, when the Edonian Court Royale officers came for NaVarre, the only description the Warden would be able to give of the man who took him would be of a short, stoutly built dark-haired fellow who walked with a limp and spoke with a Lowlander accent – which also happened to describe General Ghandier. The ensuing rat's-nest of bureaucratic paperwork would hopefully keep the High Council busy long enough for Arramy to get us well-lost before they pieced together what had happened.

Assuming that NaVarre was even alive. And that no one recognized the Captain himself. He had been to Wychend many times escorting prisoners, and he was – to quote the Cook – "A most renoiz'ible fellow, e'en in that marine get-up 'e' wearin'."

I listened to Cook ramble on about what could possibly go wrong with 'reskooing that damnible poyrat,' and I had to be glad he wasn't the one I told about Father's binder. The man's tongue was looser than a cooked noodle.

For the rest of the day I stirred a pot of fish stew, peeled several pounds of root vegetables, and generally tried to keep myself occupied with feeding the survivors and the crew.

Anything but sit down. Or hold still. Or sleep. I was determined that sleep would only happen if it was absolutely unavoidable. Sleep was far too dangerous. Sleep was fire and death and being eaten by invisible teeth. No, thank you.

............................................................