Gulf of Armathia
The Season of Heat
Fanán the 21; 2421

Navy and merchantmen alike considered Spindrift – flagship of the Lyrian navy – matchless in Oceana's southernmost waters. Her three masts stretched so tall they seemed to brush the clouds, lines and stays and shrouds springing up around them at all angles like the woven brush of a gull's nest. From stem to stern and stay to shroud her decks hummed with activity. Common sailors and officers alike busied themselves with maintenance and repairs, some of which had taken them high enough in the rig that they appeared of a size with the petrels circling overhead.

The waters of the gulf lapped gently at Spindrift's hull, glassy ripples the only movement across stretches of endless blue. It was a small mercy. For one thing, calm in the wake of a battle was a product of the victory they had won. For another, it made rowing the distance across the flotilla far easier than it otherwise would have been.

"Hey, Red!"

Jack paused with a leg up over Spindrift's lee cap rail, surprised to be greeted with such enthusiasm – even if by a Lyrian midshipman.

"Is that what navy men are calling me these days?" he asked. It was a nickname he often heard in the south where his coloration turned heads, but not one that showed much respect for his position.

"Mercenary sailors don't wear their rank," the boy defended, gesturing to the brocade stripe on his own sleeve. "I know you're from Windjammer, though. I saw you during the battle."

Jack swung onto the deck, standing up to his full height. "I'm her First Officer."

"Sir!" The midshipman snapped to attention, heels clicking together, hand coming up in a smart salute.

"At ease, son." Jack fought to hide the smile that threatened at such an enthusiastic display. "Is the Admiral below with the others? I have a few messages for my Captain."

The midshipman straightened further. "Of course, sir. Follow me."

Jack wouldn't have set foot on Spindrift if it weren't for Cap's orders to bring news as soon as they had word of the damage to Windjammer's rig. He had dodged the Admiral's invitation to join the impromptu prize court convened in Spindrift's officer's quarters and was glad of it; he hated listening to privateers squabble over payment due after battle. With Cap so occupied, the task of looking after Windjammer in the aftermath of battle had fallen upon Jack's shoulders. It was an excellent excuse to duck out of the proceedings.

The middie chattered the whole way down, the story of the battle as he saw it coming out in a mad rush. "Pirates, sir—I could scarce believe it—"

"Though not the ones we sought, I think."

The boy paid Jack's words little mind. "Windjammer was just upwind of us when the pirates came around to board. I saw you, sir. I remember it clear as anything – you lined up and made the shot that took down the pirate set to throw the grapple, and—"

Jack folded his arms across his chest, eyes sliding away from the boy's eager countenance to land on the beleaguered pirate vessel, listing to starboard, hove-to where Spindrift and Windjammer had it pinned. He could pick out the spot where the pirate stood just before he fell. He felt no sort of satisfaction or pride from it, and had no desire for a commendation: especially not the commendation of a young officer who'd made an idol out of him as a result.

He hadn't been born to the navy. Taking lives was no small matter for him.

"Was this your first conflict?"

The boy paused at a companionway door, hand hovering above the latch. "We met something else last week," he said, all traces of bluster gone. "Something different."

"Not pirates."

"Something big in the water. It came at our hull. I was sleeping when it happened, nearly threw me out of my hammock."

"A creature?"

The middie gave a solemn nod. "I know they're around more these days, but this was something different. It had our officers spooked. Cookie keeps saying that something's waking up down there, and I—" He broke off, touching two fingers to his brow. "I never want to see anything like that again."

Something heavy lurched in Jack's stomach, stealing his response right out of his mouth. It was a warning – something at the tip of his tongue, at the edge of his memory – a facet of his weak gift of Sight that served to tell him something was happening but neglected to give him any clue as to what it could be.

His hand landed on the boy's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Spindrift is a fine vessel. It'll take a lot more than a creature of the giant-type to best her."

The middie offered him a weak smile in return. "Thank you, sir." He let the door swing open, hopping down the first two steps of the companionway with familiar ease. "The Admiral is just this way."

Jack followed the boy into the officer's mess where the Admiral had set up office. Around him sat the captains of the flotilla commissioned by the Lyrian navy to investigate rumors of strangers in their waters. At the beginning of the assignment they had encountered days on end of nothing for their troubles – slack winds, blistering hot days, empty waters. Morale fell fast after weeks without a sail on the horizon. When the pirate vessel stumbled upon them the Admiral set to it like a bulldog with a bone, yet they all knew that the lone pirate brig had little to do with the whispers of a foreign enemy pressing at their shores.

The whole matter left a sour taste in Jack's mouth. He had no love lost for pirates, but found the Admiral's order to give no quarter hard to swallow. Listening to the aftermath, in which the few mercenary captains serving under Spindrift's command divvied up portions of the prize, held little appeal to him.

His arrival at the table drew the Admiral's attention away from the proceedings, though his rank was mean enough to not warrant direct address.

"This one's yours, Callum – is he not?"

Callum stood, his humble attire a stark contrast to the embroidered blue linen of the Admiral's coat. He and the Admiral both bore both the teak-dark skin of islanders and silvered hair of men into their years, but that was where the resemblance ended. Windjammer's captain still sailed by his hands instead of by his orders, and cut a trimmer figure as a result.

"News, Jack?"

"From Niko," he confirmed.

"Take a handful of minutes to attend to your business," the Admiral offered, "and we can all stretch our legs. Lieutenant, fetch us another carafe from the galley and tell Cookie—"

Jack paid the rest of the Admiral's orders little mind, following Callum to the far end of the officer's mess. Captains and officers milled around them. One Lieutenant pulled out a set of dice and was soon flanked by several of his fellows.

"How's our girl, then?" Callum asked, brow pinched.

"She's fine. We have enough cordage to replace the shrouds we lost, and Niko says the damage to the spreader isn't crippling. He's working on a patch that he thinks will hold for the time being, but says we'll need to replace it once we make port."

Callum rubbed at his bearded chin, considering. "We'll have to put into Anaphe, then. Don't want to be going back out to the isles with damage to our rig when the season turns – not if we can help it."

Another tickle trilled at the back of his mind, words rising on the tip of his tongue as though there was something he had forgotten to do, or something he ought to remember. He let out a quiet sigh. Minor Sight was infuriating at times. "When do you think you'll be through on Spindrift?"

"I reckon I'll be here for a while, still," Callum replied, nodding over at two captains across the room from them who had already begun arguing over the division of the pirate vessel's rum rations. "Take the launch back and get started on plotting that course. I'll have one of the Admiral's men run me back over when we're through. Unless—" the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened with a playful smile. "Unless you want to take my place, that is."

"This one's all yours, Cap."

He beat a hasty retreat at that, pausing for long enough to clasp arms with the sailors he knew before heading back out on deck.

The late afternoon sun had lost some of its strength as it drew near to the horizon, casting the deck in partial shadow that, coupled with a gentle breeze, provided a much-needed respite from the day's heat. Jack pressed his lips together, estimating that the Admiral could spend another hour in conference – no more – before losing daylight. He had no desire to remain hove to at night halfway between Lyre and the mainland, an easy target for the creatures that rose up from the deep under the cover of darkness. Not now. Not with all they had heard and seen throughout the past season. Something was happening in Oceana's waters, and though the pirates they'd encountered weren't it, that didn't mean what they sought wasn't still close enough to come for them.

He crossed the deck back to where he'd tied the launch, speeding past the ranks of common sailors just starting their evening deck wash. Just as he reached the lee cap rail, another call of "Hey, Red!" stopped him where he stood.

The eager midshipman who greeted him earlier was nowhere to be found. In his place stood another officer – a third Lieutenant – with an outstretched arm and an easy smile. "From Windjammer, yeh? I recognize you."

"Just stopping by with a message for my Captain."

"They're still at it down there, are they?"

Jack cracked a smile. The Lieutenant was fine-featured, of age to have made an officer's rank – though Jack couldn't tell whether or not he wore a talisman, so his guess was just that – a guess. "Another hour and they'll tell us they've worked out how to divide the prize fair and square: Windjammer gets the stem, Defiant gets the stern, Huntress gets the rig—"

"And we navy men our pittance from the crown and not a Royal more," the Lieutenant finished, sea-glass-green eyes bright with mirth. Jack took note of them straight away; dark skin and light eyes were an uncommon combination, and one that had always served to turn his head.

"Is that an attempt to put the round on my tab when we next pull into port?"

The Lieutenant's grin widened, eyes dropping to Jack's boots before climbing back up in a slow, deliberate slide. "Are you offering?"

"We're to Anaphe, next. I'm afraid you'll have a long way to go to claim it."

"A shame."

Jack returned the sentiment. "Next time our paths cross, the first one's on me," he said, clasping the Lieutenant's arm in parting before swinging over Spindrift's cap rail and climbing down the side of her hull to his launch.

"May the wind be at your back, Red," the Lieutenant said, casting off his painter.

"And at yours."

With those words Jack began the short row back to Windjammer, eyes trained ahead, avoiding the temptation to cast a glance back over his shoulder.

...

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