The Bright and Breaking Sea (A Captain Kit Brightling Novel Book 1)
The Bright and Breaking Sea: Chapter 8

Kit woke before the sun had fully risen, stepped onto the deck as it breached the horizon. The morning blossomed, petals unfurling across the sky in orange and pink smears, casting brilliant light across the otherwise dark sea. Clouds were pale brushstrokes among the color, foretelling good sailing.

She wasn’t alone; the sailors on the night’s last watch were still in position, watching the sea or trimming the sails as the first mate ordered to follow the wind and keep the ship on her course.

Her gaze dropped from the horizon to the dark water that slipped against the ship’s oaken planks. But the sea was calm, the wind fair, and the Diana slipped through the waves as elegantly as a dancer. The wind moves the sea, and the sea moves the ship. The ship moves the sailors so the sailors don’t drip. A children’s ditty she’d learned years ago.

She nodded at the mate, then went below, opening the rear hatch into the hold. She took a lantern from the passageway, and carried it down.

Inside the hold, she hung the lantern on an iron hook, slipped between barrels of coffee and sugar and tea to the hull on the port side. Here, alone in the hold and beneath the waterline, she was literally surrounded by the sea, by its story. She pressed her hand against the hull, reached out for the sea beyond.

She could feel its power against her palm, the pressure of water against copper and wood and iron. And the discord she’d felt yesterday had disappeared. The sea was calm again, the current shifting about as it always did, the core of it energized. For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it, had projected her own feelings about the voyage, the presence of a viscount, onto the sea. But then she remembered Tamlin’s warning, the instability she’d felt, too. Either the magic had resolved its own crisis or, by traveling through the Narrow Sea, they’d sailed beyond it.

She would watch and listen. Because if the magic of the Narrow Sea had been damaged somehow, they’d be sailing back through it soon enough.

Kit gathered her officers in their mess when the watch bells were rung. Because she wasn’t sure if he understood the bells or the watch, she rapped her knuckles on the door of Grant’s cabin.

It opened immediately, Grant all but filling the doorway, broad shoulders down to booted calves. He hadn’t shaved, or perhaps didn’t plan to on a bobbing ship, so dark stubble traced the long line of his jaw. He wore black today, tailcoat and trousers, in sharp and elegant lines that Kit thought should have looked strange stretched across muscle, but instead looked regal.

“Captain,” he said, gaze flat.

“Colonel. We’ll be meeting in the officers’ mess to plan the approach and rescue operation.”

Those eyes flashed with temper. “I will be commanding the land operation.”

She’d been considering an apology for failing to warn him about her magic. But his entirely Beau Monde tone had her rejecting that idea outright. “As my crew will be undertaking that operation, we will share that command.”

“The lives of your crew are not the only lives at stake.”

There was fury in her gaze. “I am well aware of the import of this mission. But this crew embarks on no operation that does not meet my approval.”

“Then we’ll have to hope you’re sensible enough to approve it.”

She’d nearly bared her teeth at him, when there was a polite throat clearing from the corridor beyond. “Captain,” said Jin’s voice.

She turned to replace him in the companionway, perched on the ladder while waiting, Kit assumed, for her and Grant to come to fisticuffs.

“The officers’ mess,” Kit said to Grant. He closed the cabin door behind him with a snap, slid past her through the hallway, anger radiating like heat.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally getting along,” Jin said dryly, hopping down into the corridor.

Kit just growled. “Wind?” she asked, assuming he’d already spoken with Tamlin.

“Unworried,” he said. “The sea?”

“The same,” she said. “It will not fail us today.”

Jin smiled with obvious relief. “Excellent. So it’s only pirates to worry about then.”

“And aristocrats,” Kit added.

Cook’s head popped out from the galley, hair damp from steam and heat. “Could use a good bit of class warfare now and again. It thins the humors.”

“On that note,” Jin said, offering his hand, “shall we away to the mess?”

“Let’s,” Kit said, and let him escort her down the corridor.

The staff assembled, Simon placed documents on the mess table, topped them with a map of the island. It was a wide smudge of green and brown with a natural harbor on the southern end.

“Finistère,” he said. “The largest of the Rondel islands, and home to the famous fortress of the five pirate kings.”

“The Five,” Jin said, “about whom the songs are sung. ‘The Five of passions deep,’” he intoned, “‘who bear the strength of ten men.’”

“It’s a miserable tune,” Simon said. “But they’ve a fortress and island kingdom, so it must be true enough. There are cliffs nearly all the way around the island, with a few rocky harbors and inlets scattered here and there. It’s dangerous—shoals, sandbars, and, so they say, the remains of a thousand ships that failed to make it safely through. They call it the Côte Sauvage.”

“The savage coast,” Kit translated, and Simon nodded.

“Land flattens toward the harbor. The fortress itself is here,” he said, pointing at the crescent’s center curve. “The building fits into rock cliffs behind it. It was abandoned a century ago, and resettled by the Five.” He moved his finger into the harbor in front of the fortress, drew an arc. “The dock is here.”

“How many ships usually dock there?” Kit asked.

“Could be a hundred or a dozen, depending on who’s telling the tale. There’s a trade zone here,” Simon said, pointing to a spot on the eastern shore. “The island doesn’t produce anything, so they allow commerce along this side of the island. It’s the market for the entire archipelago.”

“Do they have treasure?” Phillips asked.

“Good lord, man,” Watson said, rolling her dark eyes. “Of course there’s bloody treasure. It’s a pirate fortress, aye?”

Phillips blushed.

“Watson’s right,” Simon said. He pulled off his spectacles, wiping away a smudge with a handkerchief he pulled from his jacket. “Any treasure there would be offered in homage to the Five—or taken by them. So if there’s gold, it’s in the fortress.”

Phillips grinned, young and more innocent than Kit could ever hope to be. “Perhaps we’ll replace our charge and some treasure.”

“We have a singular mission,” Kit said firmly, and Phillips looked chagrined enough.

“If Dunwood’s identity has been discovered,” Grant said, ignoring the byplay, “he’d also be given to the Five. Would likely be in the fortress.”

“Most likely,” Simon said, replacing his glasses. “Mr. Chandler provided a sketch of the fortress’s interior,” he said, and placed it atop the map. The drawing showed three floors, inside a rectangle of stone with towers at each corner.

“Underground, first level, second level,” Simon said, pointing at each in turn. “The entry is here,” he said, pointing to the position. “I’m told there’s a courtyard inside, stairways leading up and down. Down is the dungeon.”

“Where Dunwood’s likely being held,” Kit said.

“Yes,” Simon agreed. “The entry level houses kitchen, armory, stables. Second floor houses the Five. So how do you get in?”

“That would be for me to determine,” Grant said. He moved closer to the maps, close enough that his body brushed hers.

Kit didn’t enjoy being pushed aside, physically or metaphorically, and had to clench her hands against the urge to push him back and away, and remind herself why they were here—and that her crew was watching.

“Your proposal?” she asked, voice cold. But she refused to step back, to concede her territory. So they stood, side by side and, Kit thought, pretending very hard to ignore the other.

He pointed at the island’s outer curve. “We anchor near here, climb up, and make our way across the island to the fortress.”

“The cliffs are fifty to sixty feet tall, rough stone,” Simon said. “Climbing would be difficult, and if you made it to the top, the island is largely flat with few trees. You’d have to walk across it, and you’d have virtually no cover.”

“It would also look suspicious,” Kit said dryly.

“Well, we can’t simply march in and demand their captive,” Jin said.

With smooth confidence that grated Kit’s nerves, Grant studied the map with quiet contemplation. Then he pointed to the trade zone. “Here. We pretend to be traders.”

“We can’t sail into the free-trade zone,” Jin said. “They’d recognize the ship.”

“The Diana,” Grant agreed. “But there’s a smaller boat on deck, yes?”

“The jolly boat,” Kit said.

Grant nodded. “You could anchor offshore on the other side of the island, and we could use the jolly boat, load it with provisions, pretend to trade them. And if we offered to unload the provisions,” he said, shifting his gaze to Kit, “we could walk into the fortress.”

There was a challenge in his eyes, a dare for her to insult his plan—or come up with a better one. The look thoroughly rankled. As did the fact that she couldn’t think of one, because it wasn’t an entirely awful plan.

“We could take the tea,” she said quietly, and there were groans around her. The queen, perhaps acknowledging the canceled shore leave, had given them crates of her own blend.

“We’d have to wear disguises—perhaps clothes borrowed from the crew—and bluff our way into the fortress. But the Five will not simply allow us to stroll through the fortress to the dungeon and bring Dunwood out again.”

“We’ll have to fight our way through,” Grant said. “Or create a distraction.”

“The Diana’s appearance?” Jin offered. “We sail around the island, flags flying. That would certainly provoke a response.”

Kit made a vague sound, looked at the sketch of the fortress again. It wasn’t terribly detailed, and she didn’t like her crew bearing the risk of limited information. “I’ve got explosives.”

The officers went quiet, looked at Kit.

“Something my sister Jane created,” she explained. “We can use them if necessary, but I’d rather not have to rely on them. We’re attempting to remove Dunwood from danger, not make his situation more dangerous. We have to get into the dungeon,” she said, pointing to the sketch again. “How are the prisoners held?”

“From the size,” Simon said, “I’d presume individual cells. Probably barred or gated.”

“We’ll need a crowbar,” Grant said. “Do you have one on board?”

“We’ll replace something,” Jin said.

“It’s possible, if not likely, Dunwood was injured in the taking, or may have been injured in his captivity. We may need to carry him out.”

“Sailors are strong,” Watson said, and curled an arm to show her biceps.

“Be that as it may,” Kit said, “we should alert March.”

“March?” Grant asked.

“Ship’s physick,” Kit explained. “Not officially; we’re too small to merit our own dedicated physick. But she has skills in the area of healing and herbs.”

“I’ll do that,” Jin said.

“What about exits?” Kit asked.

Simon pointed. “The sketch identifies a tunnel from dungeon to the shoreline. But in that environment, it’s possible the tunnel is flooded at high tide.”

“Or, given the ocean’s power, that it’s collapsed,” Kit said. Silence fell as their joint leaders—Kit and Grant—reviewed the maps.

“It’s possible this plan could work,” Kit said. “It’s also possible it may fail spectacularly.” She looked at Grant. “What’s your secondary plan?”

“We fight our way in,” he said, “and we fight our way out.”

“Soldiers,” Watson muttered. “Always eager for a brawl.”

“I’ve no urge to fight,” Grant said, and the grimness in his voice had everyone looking at him. “Those who’ve seen the costs of war rarely do. But we’re here for Dunwood, not for ourselves.”

Kit was irritated that she didn’t disagree with him.

In silence, she reviewed the plans, considered what he’d said, matched it against her own expertise. “We sail wide and to the north,” she finally said, tracing a finger around the island. “We disembark on the western side, send the jolly boat around to the trade zone with provisions. While we’re inside, the jolly boat should continue around the southern tip of the island, where we’ll rendezvous, get Dunwood aboard, and sail home. Me, Grant, Watson, and Sampson will take the jolly boat.”

“You should stay on the ship,” Grant said to her, “in case you need to retreat quickly.”

He may not have meant it as an insult, but it had the same effect—and had the officers narrowing their eyes at him.

“We do not leave crew behind,” Kit said. “We sail together. Always.”

“Your sense of honor will provide little comfort when Hetta is peeling the skin from our bones,” Jin said, and took a sip of his tea.

“Hetta would never do that,” Kit said with a grin. “She’d give the job to Jane.”

When their meeting was done, Kit went to the galley. She found Louisa sitting atop a chest there, holding a bowl as Cook cracked eggs into it. Cook looked up, nodded.

“Well, well,” Kit said, feigning confusion. “Who is this?”

The girl looked up at her. “It’s Louisa,” she said, brow furrowed.

Kit frowned. “I don’t think so. There was so much filth around Louisa it formed a cloud. You appear to be quite clean.”

Louisa scowled.

“There she is,” Kit said with a wink. “I recognize her now. What are you doing there?”

“I learned how to break an egg with one hand and say ‘hell’ in the old language.”

Kit just sighed, looked up at Cook.

“Tiny Cook is a sailor,” he said without apology. “She must learn a sailor’s ways.”

They’d see about that, Kit thought. But for now, there were other things to discuss.

She crouched so she could meet the girl eye to eye. “Louisa, I need to talk to you about something important.”

“More important than steering the ship?”

“For now, yes.” Kit considered how to say what she needed to say, how to impart enough fear in the child to ensure she understood the gravity of their situation without terrifying her.

“The queen has asked us to help someone who’s in trouble—another sailor who works for the queen.”

“Why is he in trouble?”

“Because he was taken by people who are cruel and greedy. They’re also dangerous. And they don’t want to let the sailor go, so they’ll try to stop us. And they’ll try to hurt us.”

Instead of the fear Kit expected, anger crossed the girl’s face.

“We should kill them with our sabres.”

Brave and bloodthirsty, Kit thought. But there was nothing to be gained by hiding the truth. “We may have to fight,” Kit said. “And they may fight back. But we have to get the sailor home safely—and we have to get you home safely. When I give you the order, I want you to go into the hold—the bottom of the ship—and stay there. Stay hidden.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I know you aren’t. I don’t want you to stay hidden because you’re afraid, but because I’m afraid for you. And if you’re safe, I won’t worry about you, and I can focus on the sailor.”

Louisa didn’t look entirely convinced Kit didn’t mean to take away her newfound freedom.

“I can come out of the hold when it’s done?”

“As soon as it’s done. And if you’d like, you can even go aloft.”

“What’s a loft?”

“Aloft,” Kit enunciated. “Up there, where Tamlin watches.”

Louisa looked absolutely baffled. “Why would anyone want to go all the way up there?”

The eternal question of sailors who didn’t care for the mast. “Some like the view. Some like the quiet.”

“I like biscuits,” Louisa said after a moment’s consideration. Since Kit didn’t disagree, she pulled a small tin from a shelf above the counter, opened it, and took out two pale butter biscuits.

“I do, too,” Kit said, and offered one to Louisa. Under Cook’s mutinous stare, they ate, smiling.

She’d just returned to the deck when the lieutenant at the helm held out the spyglass.

“Captain,” she said. “You need to see this. There’s a warship on the northern horizon, same bearing as us.”

Kit was immediately prepared to reject the idea, but knew her people better. “A warship? Here?”

She looked, and swore aloud.

It was a gun brig, heavy with cannons. Kit counted six on the starboard side, and presumed there was an equal number on the port. Her hull was gleaming black, and no pennants or flags marked her identity. Two square-rigged masts, running with the wind—in the same direction as the Diana.

There would be plenty of boats and ships heading to Finistère. Traders with cargo, pirates looking for sanctuary, boats used by the Five to capture prizes. But this wasn’t a civilian ship. It was too clean, too sharp, too well maintained. And it had gone to much trouble to hide its home country.

She offered Jin the glass so he could see what she did.

“Do you recognize it?” Grant asked. He’d come above deck, too, stood beside her at the gunwale.

“No,” Kit said. “They’ve no flags, no name. But they’re in a hurry. Running at full sail, heading in the same direction as we are, if just ahead of us.”

“Guild?” he asked quietly.

“Very possibly,” Kit said with a nod. “And probably heading toward Finistère to pick up the same cargo we’re after.”

“Dunwood,” Grant said, and Kit nodded.

“They’re very careful,” she observed. “It’s an unremarkable ship. Sturdy and well gunned, but not obviously Frisian or Akranian or anything else.”

Akranes was an island of rock and ice northeast of the Isles, nearer the uninhabited frozen continent than New London. It was a small nation of contrasts—of jagged cliffs and green pastures, of waterfalls and smoking volcanoes. And its queen, Callysta, was one of Gerard’s two daughters.

“They want Dunwood,” Grant finished. “To interrogate, or to eliminate.”

It was a small blessing, at least, that the ship hadn’t given any indication it had seen the Diana.

“Captain?” Jin asked.

Kit considered, watched the horizon. “We’re moving just faster than she is, so maintain course. We will not beat the gun brig at arms, so we will beat her with speed. We will get to Finistère first.”

And we’ll get to Dunwood first, she promised herself.