On Discord Isle (44 page)

“Most of them act like I’m going to explode and gut someone at any moment,” she said. “But I’ve thought a lot about what you said.” She leaned into his arm. “I’m not as kind as you. Don’t have the temperament for it. So I’m still going to take my revenge. I demoted Reaver Jane...but by and large I’ve decided to try something else.”

They watched as the parrot sidled over and started pecking maliciously at Reaver Jane’s fingers.

“I thought you were going to cook and eat that thing,” said Fengel.

“Remembered I can’t cook,” she replied. “And it’s making itself...useful, for now. You see, I’m going to try
subtlety
for my revenge.”

Fengel smiled. He rolled around to put the rail at his back and lifted an arm over her shoulders. Natasha leaned in close.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he replied.

“Conditionally?”

“Of course. There’re always conditions.”

“That there are. Real partners this time?”

“I’m willing, if you are,” he said.

They watched the penitent crew slowly repair their airship. Eventually Fengel shifted and they looked out upon the horizon, wondering what they’d find beyond.

Epilogue

Admiral Wintermourn examined the chart on his desk. It showed a crude depiction of the Atalian Sea, the few landmasses upon it drawn to wildly inaccurate scale. Still, it filled in a blank on the more professional charts he referenced to one side, and that alone made it valuable.

Out on the deck, he could hear the sounds of the crew going about their business. A warship was a machine, and this one was still ticking along, though not as perfectly as he would  have liked.

The
Colossus
had taken quite a bit of damage two days ago. That Voornish machine-dragon had proven ridiculously resilient, and it was only once they’d steamed back to deeper waters that they’d been able to dislodge the thing. Even then, it had wrecked their starboard paddlewheel, staved in the port side deck, destroyed a mast, and killed over forty people. Even with support fire from the
Behemoth
and the
Titan
, they hadn’t even managed to scratch its armored skin.

But so it went. He’d seen the missing
Goliath
under attack, and had acted. While any surviving crew on the island deserved a flogging for being caught up in such a ridiculous affair, they were still Perinese, and an attack upon one of His Majesty’s warships was a slight upon the Kingdom itself, even when committed by the ancient derelict of a highly advanced pre-human race.

Wintermourn shook his head.
I was greedy
. He’d hoped—in vain, as it turned out—to kill two birds with one stone. If the Voornish weapon had been hurriedly enough dispatched, then the
Goliath’s
guns would have had the perfect shot on the
Dawnhawk
foundering nearby.

I’ll have to have a chat with the fleet about that
. Of all the ships ordered to give chase after the sky pirates, only his flagship had been able to consistently catch up. He’d almost thought to have downed it once or twice as well, though that hadn’t been the purpose, entirely.

Range, height, speed. It was all valuable information, the kind that the Kingdom lacked when dealing directly with any of the damnable sky pirates. The standing bounty for capture had gone unclaimed for
decades
. But now he had another piece to solving that puzzle, and the clever gents back at port would get right to work when he returned. With the Salomcani War in its final stages, and the pacification of Breachtown Colony complete, there came the opportunity for new targets to be eliminated.

A knock sounded on his door. “Come,” he said.

The portal swung wide to reveal a rat-faced man in an ill-fitting seaman’s uniform. He came inside and struck a sloppy salute.

“You wanted to see me sir?” said Oscar Pleasant.

“Yes,” replied Wintermourn. “And you will smarten up that salute, or I will have you flogged. The only reason I didn’t have you hanged when we found you was that you are quite valuable. In your own way.”

The ex-pirate paled. “But I still am, right, sir? Valuable? I get a pardon and a berth in the navy?”

“Of course. Now, this map you’ve drawn is atrocious. But it does appear to have some legitimacy. You are certain that it shows the inner passages of the Copper Isles?”

“Yes, sir. I’d stake my life on it.”

Admiral Wintermourn raised his eyes and held the gaze of the other man. “I do believe you are doing so, at that.” He looked back down, retrieved a pencil, and began scratching notations on the map. “That will be all. Oh, and if you would, go down and have the quartermaster bring up Able Seaman Hayes from the bilge. His back should have recovered from the lash by now, and I intend to debrief him.”

Oscar Pleasant left as quietly as he could. The Admiral put him out of mind and focused on the map. It was part of a plan that hinged upon a great many things indeed. But pursuit of that plan was his duty, for King and Kingdom. And Admiral Horatio Wintermourn had never failed in his duty yet. He swore before the Goddess Herself that he never would.

END BOOK TWO

Acknowledgements

I’ve heard it said that writing is a lonely task. In some ways that’s true. In others it is decidedly not. There are people who stand behind and beside me, goading me on and pushing me forward. Thanks go always to my wife, Shawna. I’d like to give a shout out to my first readers Erik Hansen, Willy Traub, Rori Bumgarner, Rachelle Helmkamp, and Tyler Netzel, whose input helped make this novel readable. Jennifer Lerud and the rest of the Screaming Sandcrabs at farlandswritersgroups.com also deserve special mention for their exceptional critiques; you’re a great writing group, guys. Thanks must go again to Susan Defreitas of Indigo Editing for her hard work, along with Ksenia Mamaeva for an exceptional job with the art. Vladimir Verano did excellent work turning that art into a novel cover. And Susan Morman deserves special mention for helping with the character of Omari.

Last (and again, not least!) thanks go out to all my Kickstarter backers spread around the globe. You guys are the best, and I couldn’t have done this without you. I hope you enjoy the novel, and that it is what you were hoping to support.

About the Author

I haunt the Pacific Northwest. Find out more at www.jonathonburgess.com.