PROLOGUE
LANDFALL
Galen's eyes snapped open. She could hear the sound of waves breaking on a shore. It had been so long. She sat up, and the midshipman next to her murmured in his sleep. She kicked him and he ran off, heaving up his breeches as he left. She sighed. She couldn't actually remember how long it had been since she had last made landfall. She dressed into her sealskins quickly, and knotted the cormorant feathers into her oiled hair. She strapped on her cutlass as well as her brace of pistols. She regarded herself for a second in the large mirror in her cabin, a little something she had looted from a Portuguese man 'o' war. Her dirty blonde hair had been bleached by the sun and the spray of the sea, though the oil did something to darken it. The black cormorant feather flared from her scalp, and her sealskins were a mottled grey on her dark skin. She looked every bit as fearsome as she wanted. She grinned at her reflection, black sharp teeth glistening in purple gums. The landlubbers would be terrified, as they should be.
She strode from the cabin and looked out across the sea. She could sea the coastline, a strip of brown and green, the white foam crashing softly upon it. It was an alien sight, conjuring up images of when she was a little girl, and her father would take her on his sloop to sea the landfolk. A little grey mist persisted, but the sun was burning that. A town of wood could be faintly seen.
Eventually, they made berth. She leapt from the deck onto a jetty, and immediately felt dizzy. Her body was used to the roll and yaw of wood on water, and the still permanence of the land felt unnatural. She found her balance, but she was awkward, moving with the rolling, swaying gait of all her kind. She looked at the landfolk. They were pale, tall and soft. They were weak. A stammering steward came before her dressed in the woven garments that most wore here, a tricorn hat perched on his head. As he spoke, his pink jowels wobbled.
'Ah, mistress, is it time already? Why it seems only a few summers ago that we were last visited by the-' he said, his English thickly accented.
'Silence your yammering, landborn. I am merely the Tongue of the Fleet. Be careful I have no cause to lick.' She ran her tongue across her filed teeth and grinned. The man shuddered, and she continued. 'The Fleet will be here in two weeks. My crew and I will help Nantikadia make the necessary preparations. Now take me to someone who has authority.' She brushed past him, as he murmured. Her crew followed in her wake, clomping heavily, their sealskins flapping as they swayed.
The town was mostly made of local wood, with paths of hammered mud, but as they ascended into the more well-to-do end of town, and the road was layered with gravel and planks. The sachem's mansion was at the top of the road. The mansion was made of whitewashed wood, and at least an attempt at fanciful architecture had been made. The sachem, a tall, hawk-nosed woman in simple dress was waiting for them.
'Agurrak, seafolk!' she shouted, and raised a hand in greeting. The two women came together and shook hands. 'Last time the Fleet visited Nantikadia, it was your father who acted as Tongue.' the chieftain said. Galen nodded. The sachem's eyes turned to her crew. 'We of Nantikadia open our docks to the coming Fleet, we will render any and all assistance to the seafolk. Our homes are as your homes, Nantikadia is always happy to receive the Fleet!' The crew bellowed approval, and headed down into the town to drink and whore. The sachem turned to Galen and they walked up the mansion together. 'How has the raiding season been?' she asked, her tone idle, but Galen was wise to the tricks of landfolk.
'We have harried the Portuguese as usual, and taken vessels bulging with Mexican gold back to the Fleet. We ranged beyond the Caribbean, to the Guinean Coast. Of course, as Tongue of the Fleet, I have been busy keeping one step ahead of the Fleet.'
'Of course, of course. You command your father's vessel now. Last time he came here, he mentioned that his daughter commanded a ship of her own. What happened to him?'
'He is dead.' Galen intoned, coldly.
'I-I'm so sorry, I had no idea. How did it happen?' the sachem looked genuinely upset.
'It happened in the way any of the seafolk would want. He died with a cutlass in his hand, fighting to take a Portuguese prize. He is with Neptune now.'
'I'm sure.' said the sachem kindly. Galen smiled, toothlessly. Grinning was to scare your foes, not to show joy. The sachem turned away and took a breath. 'We are running low on salted meats, certainly not enough to resupply the Fleet, though if you could tell me where the Fleet will make berth after here, I could take in supplies from elsewhere.'
'The location of the Fleet's moorings are to be known only by seafolk and to the landfolk chosen to receive her. You will trade supplies with the towns of coast, this much I have been told to tell you.'
'Of course, but it would have been remiss of me to ask.' Galen inclined her head as a mark of respect, but also so the sachem wouldn't see her roll her eyes.
'We also need to carry out repairs on the neglected areas of the dock. Outside times when the Fleet moors here, a lot of the dock goes unused, so-' Galen raised a hand.
'My crew will be happy to aid in any repair work. Our work is not glorious, but acting as Tongue is an honourable position.' she paused. 'Have you had any word of the King?'
'The King? He still reigns, if thats what you mean. And if you mean whether he still grants the Fleet his blessing, along with all of us, then yes, he hasn't branded us all pirates, traitors and foreigners. I receive word from New Scotland that he plans to knight the Sea Lord.' Galen's eyes brightened, but she tried to keep her face plain.
'That is good news. Though the seafolk have little need for the titles and trophies of the landfolk, there have been fears that the new King would see us all join Neptune.'
'Apparently, he isn't particularly fond of the seafolk's love for Neptune. He reportedly sees it as a creeping taint of witchcraft.' the sachem chuckled, but Galen sniffed. She looked out the window, at the horizon beyond the dock. Somewhere, beyond that line was the Fleet. A vast flotilla of ships, always sailing, rarely mooring, a veritable city. Thousand upon thousand crewmen working in unison, all hands answering to their captain, all captains answering to the Sea Lord. The seafolk would be born, live, fight, and die before the mast, a nation at sea, the reaving swords of a newborn empire.