Beneath The Endless Sky

After What Tomorrow Brings

Well done, Mercy.

There were few constants in Vincent's life. The sky was blue and unforgiving. Pirates drank rum. Mass had gravity. And Mercy Larkin could be counted on in a pinch.

Somewhere beneath their ships, well out of not only sight but well beyond any direction most people who lived on one of the great islands would ever think to look, his lieutenant was holding the largest of Volante's spyglass lenses, and focused all the sunlight passing through it into a pin-sized point somewhere on the Olencian warship's hull.

Like using a magnifying glass on a sunny day to light a piece of paper on fire.

Smoke ribboned away from the warship's gun deck, and small tendrils of fire clung to the sails. Black smoke pooled into small spheres, in the strange way things behaved far from the gravity of the great isles, before the wind ripped the smoke bubbles apart.

"Sodden bilge-scum," Captain Oal cursed. "Corporal Bevlatch, get back aboard and sound the alarm! Have someone cut the sail loose and get a bucket brigade to start using our water stores. I'll be right behind you."

The corporal saluted, and ran as well as he could manage in the weak pull, haphazardly running across the deck and back to the gangplank.

Vincent very deliberately stepped backwards, his hands still in the air. "If your water stores are inadequate, captain, best sail your ship directly into the closest dark clouds you can find. And move your powder to the bow end of the lower decks, away from the engine where you usually keep it."

"How do you know where we keep our gunpowder?" Captain Oal asked.

"That's where everyone keeps it. Engine's the only thing on a ship that will reliably stop a cannonball," Vincent said.

"I'll keep your advice in mind," Captain Oal said, and without waiting for the Czaria, followed Corporal Blevatch back towards the ship.

Octavia reached down to the pistol at her waist, drew it, and pointed it at Vincent. "This doesn't change the fact that you're under arrest."

"Czarina, leave it. We need to go," Captain Oal said.

There was a time when having a gun pointed at him would faze Vincent. But like anything, one got used to it after a time. Vincent looked her in the eyes, and frowned. "Czarina, if you wish to make further enquiries about my business or this contract, I'll wait for you at Whiskeyjack's Roost for another week."

Vincent took a step forward, his hands still in the air. "Now, we both know you can't shoot me."

"Why not? You're resisting arrest," Octavia replied, though there was no confidence in her words. The gun in her hands was less held in her grip, and more rested in a hand that only barely held it, like someone's fading strength clinging to a rail.

"To execute someone during a negotiation, in front of your mentor captain and his crew, would ruin your reputation in the Olencian court. And it risks a diplomatic incident with both Volante, and the Wayfarers," Vincent explained, letting his voice fall softer with each step closer that he took to her. By the time he finished, he was close enough that none of the nearby marines or Captain Oal would risk supporting her efforts to have him detained, for fear of aiming at the Czarina.

"Do you have an alternative?" The Czarina asked.

Her gaze faltered, even if her pistol didn't turn away. She hesitated, biting her lip, teetering on the edge of a decision. A gentle push, or even a breeze, could decide which way she tilted. And to Vincent's own surprise, he gave her that push. "Come to the Roost," Vincent offered. "If I'm offering you lies, it won't survive a casual talk with the captains of Clan Whiskeyjack. I'd be ostracized from the Roost, blacklisted in Olencia, and hunted down by my old navy."