Smoke on the Noire Sea by Matthew X. Gomez

Smoke on the Noire Sea by Matthew X. Gomez

Graciano stood at the railing of his ship, The Kestrel, staring out across the rolling waves of the Noire Sea. No land was in sight and the skies remained clear and cloudless. At least there was a steady breeze. The crew of the ship, a motley collection of men and women, busied themselves with the necessary tasks to keep it running smoothly. 

Iolanda approached Graciano, her bare feet padding softly over the sea-soaked timbers of the deck. Her drakeling, Nadir, coiled around her neck, his obsidian scales scintillating in the afternoon sun. He opened one lazy eye to consider Graciano before nuzzling back into his witch’s shoulder.

Iolanda placed her hand on the corded muscle of Graciano’s arm, tracing the design of a faded tattoo, the name Cerise on the blade of a dagger. She leaned in close, her milky eyes fixed, unseeing, on the horizon.

“You are worried,” she whispered. 

Graciano smiled. “Do I look worried to you?”

Iolanda didn’t respond, but pressed her thin lips together.

“Apologies,” Graciano said. “A poor choice of words. Why do you think I might be worried?”

“It’s been a week since we left port, and yet we have taken no prize. The crew respects you at the moment, but their respect is as fickle as the sea. You are searching for something though, aren’t you? Something more than a fat merchantman laden with goods.”

“Perhaps I am, witch,” Graciano replied, running a hand over the greying stubble of his beard. “I talked to a man when we were last in port. He mentioned The Dauntless had been seen in these parts.”

“And why would you be interested in a war ship sailing the Breven flag? We have no quarrel with that nation, or do you seek to find trouble where there is none?” Nadir raised his head to peer at Graciano. He opened his mouth wide to yawn, but Graciano knew the implied threat of those needle-sharp teeth dripping with milky venom. Graciano did not flinch, but turned to face his witch directly.

“We have quarrel with every civilized nation and they with us, witch,” Graciano reminded Iolanda. “Our mere existence is enough to have them turn against us.”

Iolanda nodded. “A true enough statement, but that still does not mean we have to go and poke the sleeping lion.”

Graciano shrugged and turned back to watch the waves. “My reasons are-”

He was interrupted by a sudden shouting from the crow’s nest. “Ship ahoy! Off the starboard bow!”

Graciano made his way to the forecastle. He brought his spyglass up to his eye and scanned the horizon. He did not see it at first, but then it came into view, a mere indistinct speck at first, but then sharpening into focus. It was still too far to tell if it was the ship he sought, but the size seemed to match what he was looking for.

“Well?” Iolanda asked. 

Graciano frowned as he peered at the ship. “Too soon to tell, but I feel it in my bones that it is The Dauntless,” he said. 

“And you mean to take her,” Iolanda said. Nadir furled his wings and took flight, circling overhead three times before latching on to the rigging overhead. 

“I mean to sink her,” Graciano growled. He put the spyglass away. He approached the railing overlooking the main deck of his ship. “All lieutenants – meeting in the captain’s cabin. Now boys!”

Graciano went to his cabin, decorated with the plundered loot of a dozen ships. He placed his cutlass on the table next to the unfurled chart of the local waters. His three lieutenants stood before him, while Iolanda lounged on his bed, her eyes closed. Alonzo, the shortest and youngest of the three, worried at his lip with his teeth and tugged on his wispy goatee.

“This would be about the ship we sighted then, eh Captain?” he asked. 

Graciano nodded. “It’s my belief that it is The Dauntless. A Breven ship. Figure two hundred men. Three ballista on a side, plus an onager its forecastle.”

“And its cargo, Captain?” Umberto rumbled. His bare torso bore the scars of a whip and a brand marred the flesh of his upper arm. He had been a slave once, until Graciano and his crew had taken the ship he had been captive on. He had chosen to sign on as a member of the crew, claiming he had no friends, no family left alive. 

Graciano’s slate grey eyes met Umberto’s. “Unknown,” he admitted. “Knowing the captain of that particular ship however, it’s fair to say that there will be quite a few personal effects worth a bit to the right parties.”

The final lieutenant, Fulvio, ran a hand over his bald head. He scratched at his patchy beard. “You really want to take on a Breven warship that has a crew that outnumbers us four to one, for some unknowable gain?” he asked with a sneer. “It finally happened,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve finally cracked. No way is it worth the risk.” He peered closer at Graciano. “This isn’t about the prize though, is it? There’s something personal about this.”

Graciano smiled slightly, but it did not touch his eyes. “So what if it is? If it’s the prize you are concerned about, I’ll relinquish my share of the bounty to be divided among the three of you.”

Fulvio shook his head. “An extra share means nothing if we aren’t alive to spend it,” he argued, slamming his fist down on the table. “This isn’t taking some fat merchantman or poorly defended schooner. This is taking on a warship. We might as well sail into Port Silence and slip our heads into the noose, save the governor the trouble!”

“You do not think it can be done,” Graciano said.

Fulvio sighed. “You’ve been a good captain so far, Graciano,” he said. “But this… it stinks of madness. You are welcome to pursue your own destruction, but I refuse to let you drag me or the crew down with us. And for what? A prize that might not even exist? An extra share of nothing is still nothing, Captain.”

Graciano nodded, his smile vanishing. “And the two of you? Where do you stand on this?”

“If you say it can be done, then I am with you, Captain,” Alonzo replied. 

“Umberto?”

“I am with you until the end of the world, Captain, come what may,” Umberto said.

“That leaves you, Fulvio,” Graciano said. “I know you have your own loyalists among the crew. I would much rather have you with me than against me on this.”

Fulvio looked at Alonzo and then Umberto. He slumped his shoulders slightly. “You know I don’t have the votes to oppose you,” he said, his face looking like he had just bit into a lemon. “What do you want to tell the crew?”

“Nothing for the moment. They do not need to know any more than to carry out their duties for now.”

Fulvio frowned. “You know they aren’t all idiots. Some of them will figure it out eventually,” he said. 

“Of course they will, but I would rather avoid any awkwardness and anxiety in the meantime, understand me? I would as soon not give them time to dwell on it. That is for us to do,” Graciano said. “Now get back to your posts.”

The three lieutenants looked at each other then made their exit. Umberto’s face was a passive mask, but there was a fatalistic resignation in his eyes. Alonzo’s eyes darted about, as if seeking some escape, as his teeth worried at his lip. Fulvio’s furrowed brow and narrowed eyes spoke volumes about his own concerns. 

“You did not ask me about my worries,” Iolanda pointed out. She stretched like a cat and rose to her feet. Nadir flew through one of the open windows and landed on her shoulder.

“Do you have any?” Graciano asked.

“Many.”

“But?”

“You have made up your mind already,” Iolanda said, a hint of bitter weariness in her voice. “And I know better than to argue with you when your mind is set on a course of action. I might as well argue with a thunderstorm for all the good it will do me. Better to weather it out and assess the damage after.”

“Do you agree with Fulvio? Do you think I’ve taken leave of my senses?”

Iolanda chuckled. “Oh, I think we are all a bit mad on board this vessel. The sane don’t take to the sea willingly, and we are here because of choices we made. I think you are consumed with grief and rage, and that drives you, but without those twin fires consuming you… I don’t think there would be much left of you. You are a very strange man, Graciano, even for a pirate.”

Graciano snorted. “I don’t think I am all that strange at all.”

Iolanda smiled. “No, I suppose you would not see it that way, but how many other pirates have you met more interested in revenge than gold? I know you grieve for someone, someone you loved very much. Your wife, perhaps? The name tattooed on your arm. It is none of my business-”

“No. It’s not,” Graciano interrupted. “Do you have anything useful to share?”

Iolanda sighed. She stepped closer and placed her hand lightly on Graciano’s chest. “I do. But it is not useful in the way you mean. This is the course you have set your heart on. I will go make my preparations.”

“I have not yet given you your instructions.”

Iolanda nodded. “I do not tell you how to captain the ship, so do not presume to tell me how to be about my craft.”

Graciano stared at her for a long moment. “Very well. I reckon it will be at least a day and a half before we intercept The Dauntless. Is that enough time for you to make your preparations?”

Iolanda nodded. “I will retire to my cabin now. It will be safer for all involved.”

Graciano inclined his head to her, but she was already stepping out of the cabin. He sighed. One day he might become used to her ways… but today was not that day.

& & &

That night, Graciano took his meal alone in his quarters. It was the same as what the rest of the crew ate – beans and biscuit and a bit of salted pork washed down with fortified wine. He finished scraping up the last of the beans with the edge of the hard biscuit when he heard a scrape at the door. He froze for a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

“You might as well come in,” he said as he slipped a long thin knife from his belt into his hand, concealing it under the table.

Alonzo entered the quarters along with Fulvio. Each was accompanied by four men. Graciano did not bother to stand.

“Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know why we’re here, Graciano,” Alonzo said. He drew his cutlass, resting the tip on the table. “You are being relieved of command.”

Graciano picked up his mug and drained it. “A mutiny then. Why not put it to a vote of the crew? Relieve of command as per written in our charter.”

“Between you and Umberto’s faction, we don’t have the votes,” Alonzo said in a quiet rasp. “And Umberto, demons of the sea take him, would follow you to the watery hells if you asked.” The men began to spread out around the desk, surrounding Graciano, who, for his part, simply pushed his plate away from him with one hand. 

“But if I am dead already, then you could put it to the rest of the crew as a fait accompli. Then you three would be able to jockey and position for votes,” Graciano said. “As far as plans go, that is not a terrible one. I am surprised though. Not even going to ask me to reconsider first? See if you can persuade me of the error of my ways?”

Alonzo shook his head. “No. We know how stubborn you are and how persuasive you can be. We know that if we gave you the chance to speak, you could sway the crew despite your madness. Surrender quietly though, and we will make it as painless as-” 

Alonzo stopped speaking. He tried to look down at where Graciano’s knife had sunk to its hilt in his neck. He raised his free hand, fumbling futilely at the hilt, blood blooming around the wound and soaking his shirt. He had not even seen the knife coming.

Alonzo’s men stood, shocked. Fulvio’s men looked to the lieutenant in shock and confusion. 

“Take the mutineers,” Fulvio barked. 

Fulvio’s men quickly advanced on the other four men. Stunned by the turn of events, and with the loss of their leader, the four quickly dropped their weapons. Alonzo’s knees gave out and he tried vainly to tug at the blade lodged in his neck, his eyes going distant and glassy. 

“What do you want to do with them?” Fulvio asked, pointing the short-handled axe he held at the four mutineers who stood, hands clasped behind their heads, all of them looking fearful. 

“Consign them to quarters. When the time comes though, I expect them to be the first over the side during the boarding action. Am I clear?”

The four men nodded rapidly and were escorted out of the chamber by Fulvio’s men.

“And him?” Fulvio asked, pointing to Alonzo’s corpse.

“Word will spread quickly enough of what happened. He’ll receive a proper pirate’s service, same as any of us would.” Graciano stood up and walked around the table. He retrieved his throwing knife, wiping it on an unstained part of Alonzo’s shirt. It wasn’t the first time blood had been spilled in his quarters and he somehow doubted that it would be the last. “You could have pressed the advantage, Fulvio. I’m good, but nine on four?”

Fulvio slumped into the chair across from Graciano. “Honestly? I thought about it. Alonzo, though, he was kind of an idiot, but he had the loyalty of his faction. With him dead, and if I killed you, that would leave Umberto and myself. I don’t know which way Alonzo’s men would break, but I know those loyal to you would be more likely to side with Umberto. The odds would be against me taking control of the ship and Umberto… well, he might take the mutiny personally. I do still think you are mad and that your madness is going to get us all killed though.”

Graciano retrieved a bottle of port. He got out an extra mug and poured for the two of them. His hand bore only a slight tremor. “Have you considered that I might be in full possession of my faculties?”

“Yes, and that thought scares me even more.”

& & &

A day out from The Dauntless, Graciano took the helm, setting a course to intercept. Iolanda stepped out onto the deck, leading a goat by a bit of hemp rope tied around its neck. The other sailors gave her a wide berth as she led it to the ship’s railing before producing a wickedly curved blade. Blood sprayed through the air and into the water as she slit the goat’s neck. She held the struggling animal down as it bled out, ensuring the blood flowed into the sea below, an offering to the demons that inhabited the Noire Sea. Once the animal finished bleeding, she had slit its belly and rooted around in its entrails. What she found there, she kept to herself. The goat was dragged to the ship’s kitchen. At least some of the crew would have a bit of fresh meat that night with their dinner. 

A cold thick fog, unseasonable for the year, rose up from the sea. If the crew listened closely, they could hear whispers in some alien tongue sounding like spiders crawling along the inside of their skulls. If the crew spent too much time staring into the foggy depths, then strange alien shapes and forms could be vaguely discerned. Impossibly thin creatures born of mist and sea spray would appear and fade, with long grasping claws and voids for mouths Nervous glances were exchanged and hushed whispers, though none made it to Graciano. Iolanda carried on as nothing untoward was happening. 

Graciano ordered an extra ration of fortified wine for the crew. 

Halfway through the day, it became impossible to tell the time from the position of the sun, the fog following the ship like a funeral shroud. The crew shuffled slowly across the deck, all sound muffled and with vision obscured so that it was impossible to see further than a few feet in front of you. 

“This is how you asked them to help us?” Graciano asked Iolanda. 

She smiled slightly. “I am not so bold or foolish as to command the demons to help in specific ways,” she remarked. “Rather, I gave them the general sense that I required aid. How they chose to respond, well, that was up to them.”

“And the whispers? The figures in the mist?” Graciano asked, his voice not betraying his apprehension.

“I would not pay them too much mind,” Iolanda replied. She rested her hand gently on his shoulder, felt the dampness that clung to his shirt, though how much of that was from the mist and how much from his own apprehension it was impossible to tell. “Simply our friends from the deep making themselves known.”

“Your friends, maybe,” Graciano grumbled. “The only problem is that The Dauntless is as hidden from us as we are from them.”

Iolanda whispered words into the mist, words that made Graciano’s teeth ache and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. A soft glowing arrow appeared over the ship wheel, pointing slightly off to the port side. 

“Better?” she asked. 

“Shame they can’t give us the distance as well,” Graciano said, but his tone was softer now. He adjusted course, the timbers groaning as the ship shifted in the sea, as the sails fell slack for a moment, then caught full again. A murmur went up from the crew and few cast their eyes to the helm, seeing Graciano’s face now illuminated by the luminescent marker. 

He kept the course slightly off from where the arrow marked, hoping to intercept the opposite ship. He strained his ears, but all he heard was the usual sounds of the ship – the straining ropes, the timbers shifting and creaking – as well as the muted whispers that accompanied the fog. Still, something told him they were close. 

He turned to Umberto as the big man walked by him on his way from the stern to the main deck. “Hand out the weapons and tell the men to prepare for a boarding action,” Graciano said, his voice only loud enough for Umberto and Iolanda to hear.

“Captain?” the big man asked.

“You heard me. We are close now. I want us to be over the side before they know we are there. We cannot afford to engage them at range, and they still outnumber us. Our only advantage is surprise.”

“Aye Captain, I’ll spread the word. What side do we anticipate the boarding to take place?” 

Graciano peered at the glowing arrow. “I’d anticipate boarding on our starboard side,” he replied. “I’d put more of our men towards the forecastle. If I can manage to ram The Dauntless I will.”

Umberto frowned slightly at that, but then schooled his features. “If you think that best, Captain.”

“You disagree?”

“Is it worth the risk? If we get too entangled with The Dauntless…”

“Have a little faith, Umberto,” Graciano said, clapping his hand on the big man’s shoulder. “In me as the captain if nothing else.”

Umberto grinned despite himself. “Aye Captain, I can manage that. And if we all should die on this venture, well, at least we did it as free men.” He walked away, shoulders back and head up as he moved among the crew, telling them to ready their weapons and to steel their souls for what was to come soon. 

& & &

As inevitable as the collision with The Dauntless was, it still managed to catch Graciano by surprise. His crew had only the space between one breath and the next to brace themselves, and then they had plowed straight into the port side of the of their quarry. The iron shod ram fixed to the prow of The Kestrel slammed into the side of The Dauntless. The screams of men could not be heard over the splintering of the wood. Graciano fought with the wheel, trying to bring the starboard of his ship in closer to the The Dauntless. Ropes fitted with grappling hooks arced through the air as nail studded planks were readied. 

Graciano tied off the wheel and grabbed his cutlass. He ran to the railing and braced himself, the gap rapidly closing between the two ships. Alchemical globes arced through the air, exploding with shrapnel and smoke, sowing chaos among the opposing crew. Graciano took a few steps back and leapt across the distance, landing hard on The Dauntless’s poop deck. The deck lurched, and he rolled with it. Out of the mist a figure dressed in Breven’s colors emerged, a saber in hand. The sailor could not have been more than sixteen. Graciano parried out of reflex, his riposte slicing deep into the neck of his opponent. Another sailor emerged from the smoke and mist, a howling cry on his lips and a boarding pike held with a white knuckled grip. Graciano spun, the steel head of the pike missing him by a hair. Graciano completed his spin, closing the distance between himself and his opponent. His heavy saber bit deep into the sailor’s shoulder, nearly severing the arm. Graciano kicked his opponent aside and continued on.

There was a shout from the side, and he saw a gout of fire bloom from a Breven sailor, his eyes wild and his skin tattooed with swirling designs. Graciano froze, seeing his death in those flames. Someone collided with him, knocking him to the deck as the blaze erupted over them. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he felt his face blister from the sheer heat. He struggled to get free, only to realize it was Umberto on top of him. The big pirate rolled off of him, yelling, his clothes on fire. Graciano staggered to his feet. The enemy sorcerer pointed a long-crooked wand in his direction. Graciano knew there was no time to close the distance and no cover to be had. 

A streak of obsidian plunged from the sky, slicing through the grey mist. The sorcerer screamed, the blast of flame engulfing the sails and rigging. The sorcerer’s eyes bulged and he clutched at his neck in vain. He opened his mouth to say something, to utter a spell or a curse, but Nadir’s venom worked quickly, closing off his throat. The sorcerer stumbled and collapsed, his face turning a deep purplish black, his swollen tongue lolling from his mouth as he scrabbled and kicked.

Umberto managed to extinguish the flames on his back, and the two fought their way to the captain’s quarters of The Dauntless. Fulvio joined them, a nasty gash on his forehead reflecting his own troubles. 

“How do we stand, Fulvio?” Graciano asked. 

“We’ve managed to clear the deck. Many of the opposing crew have barricaded themselves in their quarters.”

“And the enemy captain?” Graciano asked. “Any account of him?”

Fulvio shook his head. “Best we can figure he’s inside here,” he said, pointing to the shut door of the captain’s quarters.” Probably has a few men with him as well.”

“What of our losses?”

“I did a quick count. Ten casualties. Four of them may or may not make it through the night and two killed outright. The other four should be able to work in a few days or so.” Fulvio flinched as part of the flaming sail detached and crashed to the deck. “Whatever we are going to do here, we should be quick about it though.”

Graciano nodded. “Send a detail into the hold. See what they can recover. Barricade the crew cabin. We don’t need to get in there, but we don’t need them finding their courage and causing trouble for us in the meantime. Also, set three men to disable the ballista and onager. It doesn’t need to be elegant, just enough to make sure they won’t be used quickly. And get someone to put that damn fire out!”

Graciano approached the door leading to the captain’s quarters. “This is Captain Graciano of The Kestrel,” he shouted, standing to one side of the door. “Is Captain Armel Dufort inside?”

There was some muffled discussion between the people inside. “Yes, Captain Dufort is inside,” a voice shouted back. “Do you wish to negotiate terms?” 

“Negotiate terms?” Graciano laughed. “No. We are not going to negotiate. What I want to do is see the man, face to face. Tell him he has until I do a slow count to one hundred to open this door.”

“Or what?” a new voice asked.

Graciano sighed. “Don’t test me, lads. You know my reputation and you should know it’s no idle talk. Let’s make this easier on everyone and you won’t have to find out how much of a ruthless bastard I am.” Graciano started counting, slowly. 

Umberto went to fetch a boarding ax. 

Graciano only reached a count of fifty when the door was opened. “I would ask that you kindly drop your weapons. We wouldn’t want any unpleasantness, would we?” 

There was a clatter as swords and knives and assorted other weapons hit the floor. Graciano smiled and went in first, saber in hand. Three men stood in the cabin, looking angry and sullen. A fourth man sat behind the captain’s desk, a thin wisp of a man with his hair in disarray and his clothes rumpled. He stood when Graciano entered, his watery blue eyes fixed on Graciano. 

“Captain Graciano, I presume.” The captain’s voice carried a rich timbre at odds with his appearance. 

“You must be Captain Dufort. These are my lieutenants Umberto and Fulvio. No need for you to introduce yours. We won’t be here that long,” Graciano said with a smile. He took a moment to look around the cabin, taking in the fine matching furniture, the chair and desk bolted to the deck. A cabinet with a glass door contained several volumes of books as well as what was probably the captain’s private reserve of liquor. A sword hung on the wall as well, a straight edged broadsword in a style that hadn’t been fashionable in at least two centuries. 

Graciano sheathed his saber, grabbed the hilt of the sword and lifted it with a sense of reverence off its fixtures, his hand closing around the hilt with familiarity born of long practice.

“What are you doing? I would ask that you keep your hands off my belongings,” Dufort exclaimed, pounding his fist down on his table.

Graciano turned and raised an eyebrow at Dufort. “Yours, is it? A family heirloom perhaps? Or did you take it as a prize from an enemy captain?”

“A prize if you must know,” Dufort replied. “I don’t see what-”

Graciano slammed the sword down on the captain’s table, causing everyone in the room to jump. The heavy blade was embedded part way through the varnished wood. 

“I’m sorry,” Graciano said. “Did I interrupt you? Now then you were saying you took it as a prize? From an enemy warship I suppose? Or a pirate?

Dufort swallowed hard. “It was from a settlement. A pirate haven that-” 

Graciano pulled the blade roughly out of the wood. “Do you ever get tired of lying?” he asked. He sat down in one of the chairs opposite Dufort. “Let me make this simpler for you, shall I?

“Three years ago, your ship raided an isolated Valencian estate located about two hundred miles from here. You slaughtered the family that lived there – a woman, her six children, most of the servants. What livestock you didn’t take for provisions, you slaughtered and left to rot. You set the main house ablaze and ruined most of the outbuildings.” Graciano smiled. “Before your men set the house on fire, I’m guessing that you searched it for valuables? Took anything of interest? Like this sword for instance.” Graciano pointed the sword straight at Dufort’s heart. 

Dufort furrowed his brow. “Yes… maybe. I think I recall the settlement you speak of. We were informed that it was a smuggler’s haven.”

“Truly? And did you find any evidence of smuggling?” Graciano rested the blade across his lap and leaned forward, his eyes a grey storm. 

Dufort gave an awkward shrug. “Maybe? Who knows the provenance of such things? We definitely were able to resupply there. So what if there were a few casualties? And truly, to be accused of crimes by a self-avowed pirate! The hypocrisy of it all.”

Graciano gave a shrug himself. “Ahh, but your actions predate my turning pirate by several months. My ship was not always a pirate vessel, and I was a simple merchant captain. And then I returned home from a voyage. I discovered my family slain. My home razed to the ground. The few survivors were barely hanging on to life in the interior. Unfortunately for you, several of them confirmed who was responsible for the attack. It took me a while to put together a crew, longer still to track you down, but here we are.”

Graciano stood up, the sword hanging loosely from his hand. “Captain Dufort, pick your weapon and meet me on the main deck. If you win, well, I’ll be dead, but my crew will let you and your crew live. Lose? I think we both know what happens then.”

Both Graciano’s and Dufort’s lieutenants looked like they wanted to protest, but Graciano strode to the door and exited the cabin. The mist had lifted, whatever bargain Iolanda had struck with the demons of the deep now expired.

“Captain, this isn’t what I agreed to when I signed up with you,” Fulvio said, catching up with Graciano on the deck.

“Fulvio, right now you should be thankful that I did not dump your corpse into the water along with Alonzo’s. You will abide by this. If I win, let the crew of The Dauntless go. Their ship may be damaged, but it is seaworthy enough. Leave them enough provisions to make it to the next port.”

Fulvio gaped at Graciano before closing his mouth and nodding. 

Dufort exited the cabin. He had shed his heavy captain’s coat. He held a saber in one hand, the edge gleaming from the sun overhead. 

Graciano took a guard position, the blade extended straight over his head. Dufort took a more relaxed stance, turning his body in profile to Graciano, the blade extended in a hanging guard, point aimed at Graciano’s torso. 

Dufort struck first, lunging at Graciano. Graciano tried to deflect but Dufort rolled his wrist, changing the angle of attack. His saber slashed through Graciano’s sleeve, drawing a thin line of blood. Graciano grimaced and reset. Dufort attacked again, his saber a blur of silver as he attacked. Graciano grimaced and retreated, parrying out of instinct. Sweat beaded on his brow and threatened to roll down into his eyes. Another red line appeared, this time on his other arm. Both sleeves were now stained with his blood. He could feel the strength slowly leeching from his body.

“Not much of a fencer are you?” Dufort asked with a small cocky smile.

Graciano took a two-handed grip on his sword. “You’re right, I’m not.” He shifted his stance so that the blade was now behind him.

Dufort frowned, then attacked again, the saber flicking out, whiplike, at Graciano. Graciano swept his heavier blade up. Too late, Dufort realized his mistake as Graciano’s blade smashed into the guard of his saber. Graciano’s heavier blade shattered the guard and Dufort’s hand. Dufort stumbled back, clutching his hand to his chest, falling backwards, his cocky grin replaced by fear and shock.

“W-wait, wait, we can-”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut short and Graciano’s blade cleaved into his chest. Graciano breathed heavily, the pain starting to register as he stared down at the corpse of the man he had sworn to kill. 

“Captain?” Umberto asked after a moment. 

“How much oil is on board?” Graciano finally responded. 

“What do you mean?”

“How much oil is on board The Dauntless? Have we gotten everything else we need?” He walked over to where one of Dufort’s lieutenants stood and drove his sword into his stomach, twisting the blade hard. The other two Breven officers tried to run, but were quickly cut down by Graciano’s men. 

“We took what we needed and then some, Captain,” Umberto said carefully, his eyes darting between Graciano and the corpses, as if realizing for the first time just how dangerous his captain was. 

“Good. How soon before The Kestrel is freed?”

“Two hours?” Umbert replied. 

“I want to be underway in one.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Graciano made his way back to his ship. He felt lightheaded and empty, his family sword impossibly heavy in his hand but he refused to relinquish it. He caught sight of Iolanda standing near the railing. She held the Breven sorcerer’s crooked wand in her hands. She snapped it in two and cast the fragments into the ocean below. She turned her head in his direction and even though he knew she could not see him, he raised his hand. 

An hour later and Graciano sat in his cabin, his wounds bandaged, his recovered sword on his lap. The Kestrel was under way once more. Iolanda entered his quarters without asking. Nadir was curled around her neck, his eyes closed and his breathing regular.

“Is that it?” Iolanda asked quietly. Graciano could never remember ever hearing her sound so uncertain. “You have your revenge. But what next? You set sail for a Valencian port and beg for a pardon? Go back to being a humble merchant?”

Graciano looked at Iolanda in surprise. “What? No.” He laughed and drained his mug. “I sail with a witch of the Deeps, an escaped slave, plus the rest of you. Where would that leave you? I have committed unforgivable offenses against the crown, offenses they would sooner see me hang for than grant me a pardon.”

“What then?” she asked. “I thought the whole reason for you to turn pirate was so you could gain revenge.”

Graciano nodded. “True, but somewhere along the way I became a pirate, did I not? And as you pointed out, the crew is anxious to take a prize. Today was about revenge, to be sure. But tomorrow? We are once again in the business of piracy.”

Graciano stood up and walked, with some difficulty, out of his cabin. He went up to the poop deck and stared at the horizon where the smoke from The Dauntless could still be seen.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Matthew X. Gomez 2025

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