Nightfall’s solace did not last long. A lean, lanky man shuffled toward him, glancing about as if afraid the other sailors might see him. “I’ve always heard, sir, a great tillerman feels like a part of his ship. Once in tune, he can get the ship to take direction nearly from thought alone.” Green eyes went bright with longing. “Can you help me?”
Though not his strongest point, Nightfall did manage to assist, explaining the need for frequent careenings to keep the ship responsive. “For a sensitive tillerman, a single barnacle or mollusk changes the balance and the speed.” He did not know if he spoke the truth or not, but it did not matter. The statement was essentially irrefutable, it made good legend, and it suited the situation. “A good cleaning, followed by a heavy coat of tar or whitewash, tallow, and sulfur will keep the barnacles from setting and the worms from burrowing. Fewer needs for cleaning, less work, happier shipmates.”
The tillerman listened raptly, nodding at frequent intervals.
After he left, the lookout came, just as furtively as the tillerman, for tips on effective and safe speed-climbing. Next came the first mate; and, after him, the trickle became a torrent as the sailors arrived in quick succession for a bit more advice from a sailor they now considered a master.
The captain appeared twice, both times to oversee his men, to press the slackers, and to inquire on the progress of the Lifthranian ships. Each time, he came and went without so much as a glance in Nightfall’s direction.
When darkness fell, Nightfall climbed silently into his bunk for a characteristically light sleep, awakened fully only by one of the captain’s quarterly reports.
Captain Celdurant finally approached Nightfall after he had completed his morning touch-up, the sea-foam eyes filled with a mixture of utter control and underlying pain. “The men have changed their minds about you.”
Nightfall nodded, making certain his disguise remained thoroughly and appropriately in place. “That’s good.”
“They’ve come to like you and trust your shipboard knowledge.”
Nightfall waited. He knew what was coming.
“Do you still think . . . ?”
Nightfall did not let him finish the question. “Yes.” He met the captain’s gaze and demonstrated that he fully understood the question. “I still think you need to tell your men the truth.”
“Even though they should accept your authority now?” Though a question, it emerged more like a command.
“Even though.” Nightfall held his tone as steady as the captain’s. “Just yesterday, your men hated me. Some mistrusted me. What’s to keep their whims from changing just as quickly a second time?”
The captain dismissed the argument. “It’s natural, even logical, to distrust strangers. You’ve won their admiration. That doesn’t just disappear.”
“It can.” Nightfall had many more reasons for the captain to confide in his crew, not all of which he would voice; but he also understood the man’s reluctance. When it came to this issue, Nightfall only needed to consider the present circumstances. The captain would live with the consequences forever. “When they realize all I did was apply a few tricks I picked up along the way. Once those tricks become part of their own repertoire, they cease to be something worthy of awe. Their respect for me will vanish.”
“Not in a day or two.”
Nightfall shrugged. “You know pirates; anything can spark them. I’m sure you’ve had to assert your dominance more than once. Perhaps daily.”
“Not daily.”
“They may not like or agree with some of the things I ask them to do.”
The captain’s eyes widened, then narrowed with sudden wariness. “What, exactly, are you planning, merchant?”
Nightfall grinned. The captain had just proved his point admirably. “See, sir? I’m merely trying to carry out your own strategy, and I’ve managed to raise your suspicions—and your hackles. I don’t want to have to explain my every word. We don’t have time for that. If I’m going to guide us safely through this mess, I need the men to jump on my orders. If they have a basic understanding of why I’m in control, they’ll respond better.”
Bested by his own caution, the captain grunted. “I’ll be standing right behind you to reinforce your commands. My men—”
Nightfall jumped in. “No, sir. You won’t.”
The captain’s pale eyes crinkled further, to menacing slits. “What!” He balled his hands to fists. “You dare to command me?”
Nightfall could not afford to back down. “Sir, what good is placing me in charge if you’re there for the Lifthranians to find? Why not just hang us all before the runners catch us?”
The captain’s face reddened. “What are you implying?”
Nightfall only shrugged, believing his meaning was clear enough.
The captain would not let it go. “Are you saying I want my men slaughtered? Myself and you included?”
Nightfall feigned surprise. “No, sir,” he said emphatically. “I would never pin motivations onto you, especially ones I know you would despise.” He tried to sound bold but sincere. “You’re the one who told me the Lifthranians can’t find you here at the risk of all of our necks.” He walked over to his sales goods. “Captain, sir, I have the means here to turn you, and even your men, into someone else.” He unwrapped a parcel to reveal an array of powders. “Someone the Lifthranians won’t recognize.” He dropped the flap. “But for it to work, you have to play the part.”
The crimson disappeared from the captain’s cheeks, but he still maintained an expression of raw mistrust. “What part is that?”
“The part,” Nightfall said carefully, weighing each word, “of my . . . girlfriend.”
“What!” the captain roared so loud Nightfall could not help scuttling away. “Your
what
? Have you gone raving mad?”
No, but you have.
Nightfall peeked at the captain around his sheltering arm. “Captain, I’m not planning to actually slice off any parts from you. It would be outrageous and ignoble of royal Lifthranians to ask my woman to disrobe.”
“Your woman?”
“Who would recognize you?”
“Your
woman
?”
“Why not?”
The captain stared at Nightfall as if he were the stupidest fool in the world. “You think you can make this . . .” He made a gesture that encompassed the entirety of his well-muscled body. “. . . look passable as a woman?”
Nightfall straightened. It would not do to appear overly frightened. “I know a few tricks I’m certain will work.”
All of the color drained from the captain’s face, and his eyes returned to their normal configuration. “Is there anything about which you don’t know a few tricks?”
Nightfall dodged the question. He had many shortcomings and a lot of ignorances, but he saw no reason to list his weaknesses. “And I can make your crew look more . . . sailorly. Less . . . piratey.” He added carefully as his words fully settled into the captain’s consciousness. “But I have to have their complete cooperation. And, sir, yours.”
The captain shook his head. “We have a rule against women aboard. The man who sneaks her on walks the plank.”
“Another reason why we have to let your men in on the details.”
“And let them know I hid beneath the guise of a woman?” The captain took a broad, pacing step and flung out his hand. “Fah! They’ll never respect me again.”
“Better to give them a good reason, don’t you think? Rather than have them believe you abandoned them at the bare thought of the hangman’s noose. Or that I sneaked a real woman aboard.” Nightfall pressed his advantage. “Captain, you can’t expect your men to lie convincingly if they don’t understand the particulars or the reason. They need to know that the moment they mention your name, and any connection to you, all of our lives are forfeit.”
“Much as I hate to admit it . . .” The captain’s proud head drooped. “You’re right.”
“I am,” Nightfall said. “But don’t think I take any pleasure in it.”
The captain steeled himself, as if preparing to face a pit of live snakes. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 16
The right words, the right tone, can convince most men that the moon is the sun, a dog is a cat, and a chunk of dry land is the ocean.
—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend
B
Y THE TIME Captain Celdurant stepped onto the main deck to make his announcement, both of the Lifthranian ships had become visible to every eye aboard. Though he arrived with the captain, Nightfall separated himself from the coming revelation, stepping fully midships to wrap an arm around the mainmast and place a foot casually upon a massive cleat. It seemed foolish to think he could escape anything by climbing, but the position made him feel more secure. He watched how the men came to attention as their captain appeared, impressed by the deference he commanded from men more suited to riots and rabble.
“Men,” the captain said, then added more softly, “friends.” He paused just the right length of time before continuing in a tone that seemed to physically drag them all a step closer. “We have a problem.”
“We can handle ’em, Cap’n,” one man called from the riggings. “We’s done in bigger ships than these.”
Nightfall doubted they had ever taken two at a time and with a crew whittled down by loyalty rather than fe rocity.
The captain did not directly address the comment. Doing so would require him to doom his men to battle against a larger, more heavily armed group hell-bent on murder, or to disparage them by casting doubt on their ability to win. “Those are hunter ships, well armed, well manned with warriors; and they’re looking for me. Anyone they associate with me will die on the spot or hang as a pirate.”
The pirates fell silent, gazes fixed on their captain. Nightfall suspected they were mulling over the words and their captain’s tone rather than the issue. They risked dying for piracy every day.
Looking up to the speaker in the riggings, the captain continued, “Now, I’m ready to fight to the death, if that’s what you prefer. But we have other options, slicker ones, and I’m not averse to those either.”
A clamor of here-heres and ayes echoed across the deck.
The breeze swept the captain’s black hair into an inky mane, and sunlight glistened through every silken strand that seemed immune to tangles. “We happen to have a merchant aboard, known for his word and his honesty.” He smiled wickedly. “And I’ve managed to corrupt him into helping us.”
More racket from the pirates. Nightfall pursed his lips into a tolerant grin. “I prefer my neck the way it is: attached and unbroken.”
Only the nearest men heard him amidst the tumult, and those snickered.
A wave of the captain’s hand restored the silence. “My plan requires every one of you to deny me, and you must give your total obedience to Master Balshaz. You will listen to and follow his every order, no matter how mad it might seem, without fail and without question. He will become the sole commander of this expedition, having hired you all in Schiz for mercenary wages. Let the Lifthranians look freely; we have nothing to hide. They will not find me aboard this ship.”
Only a few murmurs broke the hush.
“Anyone unwilling or unable to carry through on this proposal, speak now and openly. Interference that comes later will be considered treachery of the basest sort.”
The captain’s last two sentences seemed pat, commonly spoken. Nightfall read between the lines. The captain was giving each man a chance to opt out of the strategy: now or never. They still risked the possibility a pirate might choose to sell them out, hoping to save his own life and gain some money simultaneously; but doing so meant death for the rest of the crew.
And the traitor had better hope no other man survives the purge, including me.
There was a protracted hush, broken only by tense whispers exchanged between the sailors. The captain waited patiently for those to subside, then announced. “If no one speaks out against the plan, it is considered in effect. I will disappear now.
Captain
Balshaz,” he made a grand gesture in Nightfall’s direction, “the
Seaworthy
is yours.” Though the order seemed cavalier, Nightfall detected a crack in the captain’s voice, a slight bob of his shoulders that might pass for cringing. “Treat her well.”
Caught off-guard by the abruptness of the change of command, Nightfall leaped to attention. He could never match the charisma of the captain, but he knew he needed to project at least an aura of smooth confidence. “You!” he said, jabbing a finger at the nearest pirate.
“Change into something lighter colored, preferably without so many holes.” Without checking to see if the man obeyed, he addressed the pirate nearest the jib. “Take that sail in a bit; you’re spilling wind.” Discovering the captain had stopped to watch him, Nightfall addressed Celdurant next. “You! Get to my cabin and prepare for the transformation of your life.”
The captain gritted his teeth into a rictus. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Nightfall snarled, “No back talk, lubber. You do as I say!”
Several of the men stiffened, glancing over to see their captain’s reaction to treatment he would never have tolerated from any of them.
Nightfall held his position, no trace of humor in his expression or stance. How the captain responded would set the tone for the rest of the journey.
The captain swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” he said in a voice that did not quite reach the level of servility. He scurried belowdecks.
Nightfall whirled to find several of the pirates staring at him. One by one, he sent them off to various tasks; and, one by one, they obeyed him.
The next half a day proved one of the most grueling of Nightfall’s life. At every position, he stood over the pirates, forcing minuscule adjustments of sails and tack, of lines and men, and even of clamps. When he caught a moment, he instructed the men on fast and gross personal changes to transform them from a motley band of pirates to a less motley, less banded crew of mercenary sailors. The more difficult work came when he left them to their posts to visit Captain Celdurant, pacing wildly in his cabin.