Calanthe Colt

A footstep sounded nearby. She tensed, expecting one of her own expedition team, then relaxed when she saw Captain Tatienne standing over her instead.

“Won’t be long now,” said the older, weather-beaten woman, her angular face and coils of grey braids shadowed under her tricorn hat. “We’ll have your team at a good anchorage soon.”

Chantal stood, and both women went to the gunwale, watching the coast slide past. “Thanks again for a great voyage, captain.”

Tatienne snorted. “Why are you the only one who thanks me? Your boss should be doing that.”

Chantal looked aft-ward at the rest of the team. Marc Lachance, a cruel, dark-haired man in his 40s, was the team leader. He was a ‘treasure hunter’, or rather a thief and grave robber who sold artefacts on the black market, and the others he’d hired for a cut of the profits. Serge and Oriane were the muscle, both large and burly. Nael, a wiry man with too many daggers on his person, was their ‘infiltration expert’. And Chantal herself was the draconic lore expert, the one who could read inscriptions and tell them what was worth taking. Tatienne and her crew had been transporting Marc’s team for a few years now, though they weren’t officially part of the team. That didn’t stop him from ordering them about.

“You think the rumours about this island are true, Chantal?”

She peered up at the craggy peak in the mist. She could see the flapping of great wings in her mind’s eye, the sheer cliffs of the mountain making perfect launch points. “It looks promising.”

Word had reached the shores of Royann that sailors, while sheltering through a storm on this island, had found ruins of a dragon city, one not yet picked over by looters (like themselves). As far as anyone knew, dragons were extinct, and had been for hundreds of years. But the ruins of their cities remained in the most remote places. Artefacts from dragon cities sold well on the black market, so they had rushed here, hoping to arrive before some more responsible team from a university or museum.

In another life, Chantal would have been on one of those university teams. But they’d denied her scholarship, and so she was here. Pillaging artefacts to make enough money to buy off the next debt due for her family. The big debt her parents had thought they’d needed to keep their doomed business afloat, so sure their clients would return. She needed money from selling a good haul if she wanted to keep them off the streets. Even better would be the bounty the Queen of Royann had established for evidence of a living dragon, but Chantal didn’t fancy her odds on that one. If a dragon somehow lingered here, Marc would no doubt swindle her out of her share. 

Tatienne sighed, lost in her own thoughts. “I hope you find a good haul, for all our sakes. Though it’s a shame,” she added in a lower voice. She looked down at the water, hiding her mouth. “There must be a better way of doing things. One that walks the balance between getting us paid and being respectful of the past. What we take…it just disappears into the collections of the rich. Or gets disassembled and turned into jewellery. I know Marc would never change his methods. But…another team might…”

Tatienne was voicing thoughts she had every day. Those thoughts squirmed in her belly like worms, as they always did. These artefacts should be studied so they could learn what happened to the dragons. But among folk like these, could she trust that Tatienne was being honest? Or was she fishing for dissent at Marc’s behest? Marc dealt with perceived treachery with his trusty flintlock pistol. Chantal had learned to be careful with her trust in this profession. She still had the scar on her biceps to remind her, courtesy of the leader of the last team she worked with. “Perhaps. But that’s not a path many of us have the luxury to walk.”

Tatienne guffawed. “Guarding your words, as always. I respect that. But if your situation changes, let me know.” She gave a friendly wink.

Chantal inclined her head, committing to nothing.

“You want to come in for a drink? Something to send you on your way?” Tatienne pointed aft to her own cabin.

“No, that’s all right. I want my wits about me.”

“Sure. Maybe when you get back, loaded with riches?” Tatienne slapped Chantal on her shoulder and went to holler at her sailors in the bullhorn of a voice she reserved for them.

Marc, tailed by Nael and Oriane, approached Chantal. 

“You ready?” Marc leaned against the gunwale and smirked at her. “Or you need to pretty up that hair some more?” He looked her up and down as Oriane snickered. Nael looked at her as if she were a piece of meat.

Chantal glared at Nael and fingered the hilt of her knife. Nael acted as if her choice to wear billowing shirts and culottes was for his benefit, and not a mere practical consideration. She felt dirty whenever she was in his presence. But the bills still needed paying, so she put up with it. And as for her hair, they loved to tease her about her short locks. She’d given up on keeping long hair tidy in the field and wore her dark curly hair short. Oriane wore culottes and a shirt as well, but no one bothered her about it. Maybe because she was older and built like a stone monument. No matter how hard Chantal worked, she was unappreciated. It was a dynamic that lingered from when she’d been weak because of her youth. But she was good at this now. They wouldn’t even know what to pick up if not for her. 

“I’m ready to go as soon as we drop anchor,” she said. She retrieved her pack from where it sat behind a coil of rope.

“Good. Don’t hold us back,” said Marc.

Chantal snorted. It had been a long time since she had been the slowest. He needed to let it go.

“Boss,” interrupted Nael in a tense voice. “Look.” He pointed into a nearby cove.

They all turned to look. A ship was anchored there, its sails furled.

“Damn it!” Marc swore, and spat on the deck, even though one step would have allowed him to spit in the ocean. “Someone beat us to it!”

Chantal shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun. A speck floated in the cove. “A longboat’s returning from the shore.” She squinted. “A single rower aboard. I bet they just arrived.”

Marc rolled his shoulders. “Good, then we can catch whoever had the temerity to beat us here,” he said.

“And do what?” asked Nael with a grin.

“And put them to work for us, of course. We could get a big haul, and not even have to carry it down the mountain. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Oriane let out a raucous laugh, and Nael’s grin sharpened.

“That sounds like a lot of fun, boss,” said Nael, fingering a dagger at his waist. 

The others went to talk to Tatienne about hurrying up the anchoring process, but Chantal rested her hands on the gunwale and looked at the other ship through narrowed eyes. “Who are you?” she breathed.