“I don’t like the look of that sloop,” said Daker, punctuating the last word with his ever-present sneer.
Callum extended his spyglass and directed it at the little vessel, a little less than two hundred feet to port. Its crew scurried about their duties as the sun reached for the golden edge of the western horizon.
“A fisherman,” said Callum, still scanning the deck of the other vessel, “returning home. Not everyone’s a pirate, Gaius.”
“We’re in the Shackles, Orrin,” answered Daker, still sneering at the smaller ship. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re all pirates, ‘til they prove otherwise.”
They had the poopdeck of the Madam Diabola to themselves, a sleek Chelish warship armed with the latest in cannon technology, each devil-mouthed barrel etched with a magic sigil which promised every shot they fired would fly deadly and true. The Madam was given the honor of watching this insignificant settlement’s harbor while Admiral Lecarnas and the rest of the punitive fleet sailed off to lay siege to Drenchport that very morning. Callum didn’t even know the town’s name, but he also didn’t care.
“I grant you, she’s a bold one,” Callum answered, watching as the sloop slowly moved in their direction. “Must’ve sailed out early morning, before we sealed the harbor. We could just warn her off with a hazard flag.”
Gaius Daker was too bloodthirsty in Callum’s opinion, even if he was his oldest friend from his Fort Gorthoklek days. Too enthusiastic with the sap when leading a press gang, too ready to—
“Fire a bit of iron across her bow with that pretty new swivel gun,” said Daker, eyeing the polished little cannon mounted on the port rail. “And beat to quarters. Lads and ladies need a bit of exercise, to keep ‘em on their toes.”
Madam Diabola was one of three vessels in the fleet outfitted with the new weapons, swivel guns similar to smaller versions of the black iron cannons on the decks below, tended by scurrying halfling prisoners the crew had taken to calling “powder rats.” Gaius Daker wanted to hear the cannon roar. Callum thought such impulse foolish. Would the captain approve of such actions?
“Gaius,” began Callum, but swallowed the rest of his words when he caught Daker’s glare. He knew that look well. Daker was senior midshipman of the watch, and his words were no mere suggestion. That dark look made it an order.
“Beat to quarters!” Callum shouted, turning to the swivel gun.
Sailors across the vessel leapt into action and the sound of martial drums filled the air. Callum couldn’t help but admire the artistry of the little bronze cannon, mounted on the gunwale, its mouth fashioned like a dragon’s maw, fangs bent outward. He checked the breech, pleased to find it properly loaded and ready. Captain Hecata was fond of the lash, and her newly trained gun crews knew this better than most. They tended Madam’s newfangled weapons of war well, out of fear if not pride.
The sloop was much closer now, turning to port so that it showed Madam her broad side. Callum, ready at the gunwale, turned to look at Gaius Daker, who he caught tugging at his officer’s jacket to sharpen the lines of his uniform.
“They’re giving us a fat target, Gaius,” Callum said, a bit of pleading in his voice. “Maybe a signal flag’ll do the trick.”
“A signal flag, Mister Callum?” came the lilting alto of Captain Hecata as she climbed up onto the poopdeck. “Perhaps I should prepare tea for these Shackles scum while you wave silk at them? What have we here, Mister Daker?”
Gaius, eyes alight with bloodlust and just plan lust, grinned at the captain and saluted.
“Suspicious vessel off the port, Captain! I ordered Midshipman Callum to fire a warning shot across her bow!”
Callum grimaced. Just like Gaius to throw him overboard if it made him shine a bit brighter in Hecata’s emerald eyes. Daker offered the captain his spyglass and she took it, rewarding him with one of her unreadable smiles that could as easily portend divine preferment as utter doom. She looked through Daker’s brass device and within a heartbeat repeated the midshipman’s order.
“Mister Callum, fire that shot. And I wouldn’t be cross with you if that shot puts a crimson part in someone’s hair.”
Callum nodded and turned the swivel gun in the direction the sloop’s starboard bow. He angled the shot as low as he dared—Hecata might not care if he took off some poor bastard’s head, but he did. He asked a blessing from Abadar and fired the cannon. The shot ripped a hole low in the sloop’s staysail and a cry of fear washed across the space between the vessels, announcing the sloop crew’s shock.
A woman in a long coat came to the starboard rail of the sloop, waving both arms frantically.
“Ahoy, Chelish warship!” the woman cried, long brown locks freed as she added her hat to her call for mercy. “We’re honest fishermen, bringing a bellyful to our little island! See how low we ride?”
Callum noted the ship was indeed running awfully low in the water.
“You feed pirates then?” shouted Captain Hecata with a contemptuous air, hands on her hips.
“Nay! Settlers, eking out a life in these hard islands! Shelly is a free port, and we give no allegiance to any pirate lord!”
“Our intelligence says otherwise,” said the captain, and Callum saw she wore that same smile she had given to Gaius. Those fishermen had best say their prayers. It was clear now where this encounter was headed.
Callum joined the naval academy in Hinji when it became clear his mercurial father would favor his younger brother when the inheritance was doled out. He had been fed tales of high adventure on the open seas, contending with the elements and wild creatures, bloodthirsty pirates and rebels intent on bringing Cheliax to its knees. Instead, he found himself part of an instrument of intimidation. Well-armed nautical bullies.
“There are a dozen innocent souls on this ship, captain!” the brown-haired mariner in the sloop called out across the water. “We bring back the bounty of the sea to feed hungry bellies. Men, women, and children. No more, no less. I beg you let us pass!”
The woman’s last words were made with hands clasped together, as if offering up a prayer.
“Prepare to be boarded,” sang Captain Hecata, drawing her cutlass and nodding to Midshipman Daker, who wore a giddy grin on his face.
Callum looked back at the sloop, the long-haired fisherwoman, hands still clasped like a supplicant…and then his eyes caught a shimmer, as though he looked at a painting behind glass, tilted to catch the sun’s rays. A warning tingled at the base of his spine. He turned to share his misgivings with the captain, when the unmistakable sound of a cannon report, several in fact, sent him instinctively to the deck, prostrate with his arms cradling his head. The first ball struck the portside railing on the quarterdeck below, obliterating wood and sending deadly splinters in all directions. The second tore through Gaius Daker, reducing him to an ugly spray of red.
In the next moment Callum was helping the captain up from the deck, one side of her smart Chelish uniform painted with Daker’s blood.
“Return fire!” she roared, shaking off Callum’s assistance. “By all the tines in Hell, that’s no bloody fisherman!”
Callum glanced to his left—the sloop was gone. In its place was a black-sailed brigantine, the iron mouths of cannon protruding from open gun ports, its main deck alive with surly-looking sailors brandishing weapons.
Illustration by Pixoloid Studios from Pathfinder Guns & Gears
Pirates! he thought as Madam Diabola’s new guns answered the brigantine’s attack. But it was as if the wind took the iron hurled at their enemy away like fallen leaves. Of its sixteen guns, only a single cannonball connected with their chameleon foe. What sorcery did these brigands have at their disposal? Illusion to disguise a warship? Elemental servants to carry away iron shot?
It was then that Callum caught sight of the brown-haired woman again. He could swear she was smiling at him directly, and as if to confirm it, she gave him a jovial wave and held her hands up to her mouth to trumpet her words across the now-smoky distance.
“Welcome to the Shackles!” she cried.
About The Author
Mike Shel is the author of the Iconoclasts trilogy of fantasy novels and over a dozen Pathfinder RPG titles including The Dragon’s Demand, Isles of the Shackles, Tomb of the Iron Medusa, and Valley of the Brain Collectors. A Michigan native, Mike now lives in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he practices as a psychotherapist. Find more about his fiction and RPG works at mikeshel.com.
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction and including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
