Broadsides

   McCormick's head lay buried in his hands for Theus knew how long. He knew he should get up - the crew would want to see its captain - but he couldn't bring himself to leave his cabin. All he could think about was her. The touch of her hand. The smell of her hair. For years, he had resigned himself to her death. But now things had changed. She's alive, he heard the dream whisper again. On the Island of the Sunken Eye...

   The hand on his shoulder almost him scream aloud. He shot up from his seat and spun on the intruder, then relaxed when he saw her face. "Cosette," he muttered. "What's our status?"

   "Twenty miles off the coast of Vendel, captain," his first mate replied. "Right where we should be."

   "Good. What did the Society in Kirk have to say?"

   "That we're mad, of course. That this island doesn't exist and that these Syrneth 'switches' of yours have never been found. You have to admit, they have a point. Why are we doing this, Captain? Following some vision like crazed bilge rats?"

   "Because it leads to the greatest Syrneth treasure in history," he replied with a tired smile. "And because she's waiting for us."

   Cosette cocked her head with a mixture of bemusement and frustration. "It's halfway across Théah, too - in the middle of the Mirror. A long way to go on a hunch."

   "Don't worry about whether it's there or not," he snapped. "Just tell me what stands between us and it."

   "A lot of water, for one thing. Plus those switches, which we don't even know how to look for."

   "What about other ships?"

   "There we're in a little better shape. The Castillian Armada has withdrawn to La Boca; either tucked tail or planning something big. Knowing Orduño, I'd say the latter. The Brotherhood has its hands full with the General, who seems to have made Allende his top priority. The Society reports skirmishes between the Hanged Man and the Montaigne in several locations along the Castillian coast. And the Sea Dogs are a problem, as always, but Berek may have his hands full soon."

   "How do you mean?"

   "Rumour has it he stole a piece of loot from the Crimson Rogers."

   "He stole something?! From Reis?!"

   "So six reliable bartenders have it. That Avalon bastard has more lives than a cat; if anybody could steal from Reis, it's him. In any case, he and his crew are probably too busy dodging the Rogers to give us any trouble."

   McCormick thought about it for a moment, and nodded.

   "What of the stories that Gosse's Gentlemen have returned?"

   Cosette snorted. "Even if they're true, he must be ancient by now. Besides, they never hurt anyone - even those they robbed."

   There was a pregnant pause.

   "And the Corsairs?" McCormick asked at last.

   "The Corsairs." Cosette grimaced. "They'd kill us without a second thought. The Vodacce ports are in a panic about his raids, and they say the Forbidden Sea itself owes them fealty."

   "I'm sure. We'll have to find some way to deal with them. I don't intend to end my days chained to an oar in Khereid-Din's hold."

   "If you have any suggestions, I'm listening." Cosette's brow furrowed in concern.

   McCormick smiled. "Trust your captain, my dear. I know more about the Corsairs than you may think. In the meantime, set course. There's something we need to acquire before this expedition of ours can begin."

   Cosette saluted. "Aye, Captain. Shall we post gunners at the cannons?"

   McCormick nodded grimley. "Where we're going, you shouldn't have to ask."