“Aye, Captain,” she said. “I’m up for it. Let’s be pirates.”
* * *
The planning took no time at all, because it turned out they had no equipment and almost no weapons save for a few lengths of wood.
What they did have were the plants Kindred had stolen from the Once-City. These she pressed into Scindapse’s hands with brief explanations for what effect they might have on a hearthfire. With a boat as small as the one they were looking to steal, it would be easy enough to leap aboard, toss the plants in the fire, and make use of the panic that would ensue.
“Kindred, can you can bring us up behind one of the last ships in their fleet? Just close enough to climb aboard. We’re sailing over even grass now, so I think we should be able to make it. After that, we take them by surprise.”
The captain spoke to the crew as Kindred piloted the ship as close as she could get to one of the trailing vessels in the armada. It wouldn’t be precise until someone looked out the hatch again, but she thought she could tell roughly where the ships were based on the wakes they were leaving.
“We aren’t likely to be dealing with hardened sailors on every vessel, and our chances are best with one of the cutters trailing at the end. Smaller crew, easier to overwhelm, faster and more maneuverable than others. We’ll be sailing off and away to the Mainland by the time anyone realizes what’s happened.”
“And what about the island?” Cora the Wraith asked. “I have family there. My dad still keeps a house in the Twist District.”
The captain said nothing, which said everything.
“We’ll burn hard to get to the Mainland and rustle up what help we can find there,” the captain said finally. It was thin, and Kindred could see the dissatisfaction on Cora’s face, hers and others’, but there was nothing else to do.
Maybe.
A plan, wild as the wind on a dark night, had begun to move in Kindred’s mind, shaping itself into something impossible and just strange enough to warrant immediate dismissal.
And yet.
“Approaching,” Kindred said, nodding at Captain Caraway and Seraph, gesturing them near. Privacy didn’t exist in a boat like this one, Kindred realized, but the others around them looked away or shuffled fore or aft slightly, giving them some space.
Except Ragged Sarah, who stood by Kindred’s side, as if she already knew.
“Are you sure?” Kindred whispered to Sarah.
“Into the unknown,” Sarah whispered back, as the captain neared.
“Can you keep it steady long enough to climb aboard with us, Kindred?” The captain kept her voice low. “Or do you want to sail behind? We could pull you once we’re away from the armada—I know you couldn’t get many bones, so you can judge whether you have enough to make the Mainland or not. Or . . .”
The words died away as the captain looked, really looked, into Kindred’s face. Seraph, too, was watching her with interest.
“What is it, Kindred? What do you have?”
* * *
Kindred brought the vessel just up behind a clipper, its sails huge and bloated with wind. The hull was enormous, at least from what she could see of it through the hatch and from the captain’s descriptions; it would certainly be the kind of ship to make it to the Mainland.
“Everyone ready?”
One by one, the ship emptied out as Kindred focused on keeping them steady.
And one by one, the people who had been her family for so long said goodbye.
Cora laughed and told Kindred she was crazy, but there were tears in her eyes as she hugged Kindred and Ragged Sarah goodbye.
Long Quixa said only, “I will remember you,” before touching her forehead to Kindred’s and then Sarah’s.
Scindapse still didn’t understand what Kindred was doing and why, but she had given up trying. Instead, she thanked Kindred, gave Ragged Sarah a big hug, and then moved toward the rope ladder, the plants Kindred had given her clutched tightly in her hand, the song Kindred had told her to sing playing over and over on her lips as she practiced.
“You’re going to be great,” Kindred whispered to Scindapse, giving the girl a wink.
The last was Captain Jane Caraway.
“Are you sure you want to take him with you?” she asked, gesturing toward Seraph, who knelt before the hearthfire. “We could tip him over the edge and not a soul in the world would care.”
Kindred shook her head.
“I would.”
“Fair enough. You always did have a soft heart,” the captain said, laying a hand on Kindred’s shoulder. “I hope you keep it that way.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Oh, no. You’re the captain now. Captain of your own vessel,” Captain Caraway said, gesturing around.
Kindred laughed.
“I suppose that’s true. But you’ll always be my captain, Jane,” Kindred said, hugging Captain Jane Caraway, wanting to say so much and knowing so little about how to do it. So, she simply held her captain close one last time.
The captain tightened the cloth around her bad eye.
“And you’re sure about this?” the captain said for the fourth or fifth time as they pulled away from one another. “You know you don’t have to do this, Kindred.”
“I know, Captain,” she said, tears coursing down her cheeks now. This was the end, she knew. A person can only follow two paths for so long, and to cut one away, even to follow yourself—this too was loss, Kindred understood.
“And you, Sarah? You’re sure?”
Sarah nodded, her jaw set, and Kindred felt love, fierce and bright, inside her chest. Sarah shook the captain’s hand.
“Very well. Good luck to each of you.”
She touched her mouth, her forehead, and then offered Kindred her hand.
Kindred did the same.
“Thank you, Captain. Safe seas,” Kindred said.
“Aye. And you too, Captain,” Jane said, and then she, too, was at the ladder, moving among her remaining crew. Up they went, one by one, ready to leap.
Kindred piloted the vessel close behind the pirate ship, held it as steady as she could, until they were all gone, lost to the sounds of Sea and wind. She heard no alarms or shouts of violence, only the soft sounds of Scindapse’s singing, getting quieter and quieter until they were gone.
They had their own battles to fight, Kindred thought, and so too did she.
And for the moment, that was enough.