Where the Blood Calls 4: A Price to Pay

Medical Log. April 10, 1818. Portlethen Bay, Scotland. There’s always a price, just sometimes it’s a little too high.

Author’s Note: Where the Blood Calls is a serialized fiction story in Upon Our Seas, In Our Skies, which is a fantastic collaborative corner of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles by the ever talented Leanne Shawler! It’s a world of change and industrialization where magic has been set loose on the world of the 1800s. Here, in this corner, we’ll follow the escapades of one Dr. Rebekah Verity Thorne with her work and adventures about the new, hospital Aetheric Dirigible, the HMS Dawn Javelin.

New installments or chapters will materialize every other Wednesday as long as the story allows!

Missed a chapter? You can find the full list here.

Previously. A surprise broadside against the Scottish shore, turned sand to smoking ruin, and nearly cost the Doctor Rebekah Thorne and the HMS Javelin her captain. But Fate had other plans.

Working fast, Dr. Thorne and Corporal Maddock helped carry the wounded to the supposed safety of the fishing shack. There, Rebekah went to work—saving lives and denying death a fresh and gruesome harvest. But the danger wasn’t past, not at all. Rebekah gives a name to their tormentor; one Captain Caleb Rourke. A thief and a scoundrel of the first order. Worse? The man she had been engaged to be married before he tried to rob her family blind. Rebekah warned the landing party that she suspected Rourke was up to his old, horrific tricks. Invent a disaster to harvest and resell the bodies as resurrectionists…

Medical Log. April 10, 1818. Portlethen Bay, Scotland. There’s always a price, just sometimes it’s a little too high.

For the first time in his miserable life, Caleb Rourke didn’t let me down. I could already feel that pirate coming.

But his ego—and love of his own skin—meant he wasn’t in any hurry. Especially with riflemen aboard the Javelin eager to shoot the hot air out of him. Still, they’d have to spot the confounded man first. After all, Caleb was bravest when leading from the back.

“Soon. He’ll be here soon,” I told the others.

Maddock glanced toward the way out, then back at me. “How do you know? Is he hurt?”

I shook my head. “Maybe, but I doubt it. I just… know.” Maddock’s frown deepened. I sighed. “It’s because of Caleb’s Gift.”

Captain Vane blew out a hot sigh, wincing as he touched the bandage over the burn on the side of his face. “Gifted or not, how long until Rourke and his cutthroats arrive? We’re in a bad spot and need solutions.”

Lieutenant Angwin peeked out the door of the shed. One look and his face turned sour.

“The Javelin and the air pirate are still at it. Looks like the pirates have fired off pitch-smoke. Given the cut of their hull, I’d give them twenty minutes at full sail to go from cloud-side down to the water.”

“Pitch-smoke?” Maddock murmured. “Isn’t that the hollow shot that spills out a pitch-based fog on what it hits?”

I glanced around, studying my patients for anyone showing fresh signs of poison or worse. “Yes. The same. Nasty, oily stuff. It won’t even have to hit the Javelin to blind them. That sticky fog will cling to her like a bad relative.”

“So, they mean to board the Javelin,” Maddock said, face somber.

“That, or raid the town, Corporal.” The captain ran a hand through sweaty, soot-stained dark hair. “This Rourke is a proper devil. Drops beasts so we wouldn’t risk anchoring the Javelin nearby. Makes us split our forces between land and air.” I watched the muscles of his jaw knot. “Doctor? You know this Rourke. Where will the bloody bastard strike next?”

I sighed, tugging at my waistcoat, then gave it a baleful glare. It was as much blood and dirt as it was proper Royal Navy blue—sort of like us. I glanced at the others. If ever there was a time for honesty and a helping of hot grit, it was then.

“Here. We’re vulnerable.” I waved a hand at the shack and everyone in it. “We’ve what? Three? Five able-bodied souls who can put up a fight?” My mouth in a tight line, I shook my head. “Caleb’s a scavenger and a thief. He goes for a victim’s soft spots so he won’t risk his own hide. If he gets us, I’d say he’ll blackmail the Javelin into giving up. Then the real horror begins.”

Lieutenant Angwin’s features went stiff with indignant rage. “Surrender? No Royal Navy ship would—”

I cut off his tirade. There wasn’t time. “… they might to save their captain.”

We all looked at Captain Vane, then at each other. A silence of the damned settled inside the small shack, rattled only by the sporadic cannon fire from the dirigibles overhead. Dust rained down from the ceiling, hazing the air. Then the world went strangely quiet. It felt like death waited nearby.

Captain Vane frowned, glaring upward. “Those pirates have to be coming about. Doctor? We can’t wait for you to figure out what those pirates have poisoned the leapers with. We need to move the wounded to that meeting hall.”

I glanced around. The captain was on his feet, but running? I wouldn’t put two farthings on it. Same for the others.

“Aye, Captain,” I replied with a nod, reaching for my satchel. “It’ll be slow going. We’ll need cover from the Llamhigyn y Dŵr and the pirates. I’ll need a hand with a couple here as well.”

Vane glanced around the shack, meeting hopeful, stern, and even a few worried looks. The last rumble from the cannons faded like distant thunder. He scowled.

“Angwin!” he growled. “You, and anyone else able-bodied, are with me. We’ll keep watch for the water leapers. A few careful shots will keep them at bay. Maddock?”

“Captain?” he replied, snapping to attention.

“Glue yourself to the doctor. Do what she needs and help keep these people alive.”

“Aye, Captain,” he replied, touching the brim of his hat.

“After that?” The captain breathed out a pained sigh. “I’ll be wanting ideas on how we can get the pirates out of this village before they burn it all down.”

With that, Maddock and I got to work.

The chaos from the battle had been a blessing in disguise; the noise and explosions hitting the ruined shore had driven the Llamhigyn y Dŵr farther away. They were still out among the waves near our dinghy, so a real threat. It just wasn’t one for the moment. Maddock helped me collect the worst of the burned and bitten, limping them out the door then north to the village’s meeting hall.

It wasn’t five yards, like the fisherman said, but more like twenty. The Common Hall was anything but common—it was the remains of an aged keep. One of the many tower houses scattered along Scotland’s coastline. Pitted gray stones formed a drafty square building with a pair of thick, dark wooden doors leading inside. Sadly, its defensive wall—what my family back in Ireland called a bábhún—was long gone. But still tall and strong against history, I suspected it defended against coastal raiders from another age. Now the old place needed to do that once more.

“How are they doing?” I asked Maddock as I helped the old fisherman, the last of our charges, onto a makeshift, narrow cot in the grand hall. Dim sunlight fought past clouds and pitch-fog to streak lines through the narrow windows high up along the walls.

Maddock raced out the front of the tower house. He stayed gone long enough that I worried and headed after him. I met him as he stepped inside, pushing one of the massive wooden doors closed. To my surprise, the man’s coat wiggled as if it had taken a case of nerves.

“Corporal, what in—?”

The Welshman stood at attention, skin a polished bronze, his Gift in full force. Both hands were firmly latched around a lump that resented its current lot in life.

“Doctor,” Maddock said, near-breathless. “Captain Vane has the others rigging bow-traps from fishing poles and line. Angwin’s idea. They’re crude spring-bows rigged to fire knitting needles, then reload once. Bone needles, I think. Handy idea, though I doubt they’ll survive the first reload. The Leftenant’s even rigged a gear-driven net thrower.”

I envisioned a volley of knitting needles at close range and grimaced.

“The Leftenant has a devious streak,” I admitted. “Any sign of the pirates?”

Corporal Maddock nodded, getting his breath back. “Yes, ma’am. They’ve dropped two jolly boats that are already at full sail, gasbags taut. The main ship’s headed back up to bother the Javelin. Looks like they’ll head in fast for water off the pier.” A worried look crossed his face. “Truth be told, the traps might be done before the pirates arrive, but the cutthroats outnumber us more than I want to say.”

A sudden thought struck me. “Maddock, where’s Captain Vane now?”

Maddock started to point out of reflex, but the wiggling lump wasn’t having any of it. A muffled bleat bolstered the complaint. “Out the doors and to the left. He’s left Angwin to secure fishing line in alleys to catch the pirates in the knee or neck.”

I hurried to the door. “Definitely a devious streak in that man—” Maddock’s coat-lump hissed before I heard the distinct sound of something slapping metal. I looked the tall, bronze Welshman up and down. “Maddock, what the devil do you have in your coat? Is that what I think it is?”

A dark metallic flush bloomed in the corporal’s cheeks.

“Yes, ma’am. Last I heard, you had an idea about what set the Llamhigyn y Dŵr off, and might give us a way out.” He shrugged, giving me a lopsided grin that was more endearing than it had a right to be. “So I went and nipped one for you.”

I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or what. “God’s teeth. All right. Take it into a side room off the main hall. Find a way to leash the thing and keep it still. Also, give it something to eat that isn’t one of our patients.”

“Er,” he grunted. “Aye, Doctor.”

He raced off with his charge, while I tore outside hoping to offer Captain Vane or Lieutenant Angwin an idea that might buy us time. It also gave me a chance to check Captain Vane’s burns. The man took to stubborn as if it was a hobby.

Vane was nearby, overseeing the traps. He was tired, haggard, and looked in need of a week’s rest. But he was upright, and that was enough. As for my half-baked plan, he told me to talk it out with Lieutenant Angwin.

I found the lieutenant in front of a narrow gap between a pair of weathered storehouses, wood shedding flakes of green and white paint. He’d just finished setting one of the fishing-pole-turned-bow-traps, aiming the knitting needles down the alley. I ignored the morbid implications as I stopped next to him.

He stood up straight, eyes narrowed and wary. “Doctor?”

“Leftenant,” I replied.

Words caught in my throat before I launched into my explanation. For a moment, I took in the pier and shoreline before looking up at the pirate jolly boats. Their small gasbags were tight, with a single sail strained against the wind as they descended at a sharp angle.

Maddock wasn’t wrong. The angle was too sharp for a safe descent to the water. Caleb had his raiders coming in sharp and fast. He’d lose people, but my gut suspected he didn’t care. This was about overwhelming us with numbers, his Gift, and whatever else his raiders brought to bear. I looked from the pier to our own jolly boat and the water leapers.

A devilish grin tugged at me.

I pointed at the pier, locking eyes with the Royal Marine next to me.

“Leftenant? I know you see the angle Rourke’s raiders are using. If you’re game, I might have an idea to slow those confounded pirates down, buying us more time.”

Angwin glanced sharply at the pier and pirates, then back to me. He folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m listening.”

My grin returned in full force. I brushed loose hair out of my face, putting it back behind my ears, then tugged my waistcoat straight.

“Caleb Rourke is resourceful, devious, and Gifted. He’s a Mesmer. Some say Mesmers use their voice or a glance to muddle what people see and think; or so the stories go. Cloud people’s minds with utter cogswaddle. No one’s sure.” I raised a finger. “But the confounded man is a rank coward who only thinks of his own skin. Other people are there for him to use.”

Angwin’s face darkened, pulling into a deep frown. To his credit, he didn’t interrupt.

“So, we use that against him. I’ll bet you two farthings he’s aboard one of those jolly boats. If you or one of the others aims for him—but don’t hit—I promise you he’ll have his raiders change course. My guess? Right to the water, putting the Llamhigyn y Dŵr between them and us.”

Angwin studied the beasts, the water, and then the pirates. He gave me a skeptical look, but there was a glimmer of devious hope in his tired eyes.

“So you’re betting that the leapers will be as big a problem to the pirates as they are to us?” He nodded sagely. “I like it. Even if the leapers ignore them, they’ll still be a mess to sail through.” The hint of a dark grin touched his features. “You’ve a devious streak in you, doctor. Which one is this Caleb Rourke?”

I gestured to the pair of flying jolly boats.

“He’ll be the one in the back. Tall, with short dark hair that has an auburn streak in the front. Also, probably the best-dressed. Caleb fancied himself as some sort of penny nobleman.”

Lieutenant Angwin snorted.

“I’ll pass the word and see if we can trim his hair shorter with a rifle shot or two. Hopefully, those leapers will harass the bastards like a flock of horrible geese. With the seas as rough as they are today, this’ll buy us a good ten minutes more at best.”

“Good.”

I ran for the keep, leaving the others behind to turn Caleb’s plan into a proper nightmare. After all, I’d need every single minute to study that Llamhigyn y Dŵr Maddock caught to find a way past the leapers and to our jolly boat. Otherwise, Caleb would kill the others and get his hands on me again—which would be a fate worse than death.

This story is part of the Upon Our Seas, In Our Skies collaboration of stories, poetry and art set in the universe of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles. If you’d like to participate, follow this link for details and lore. You will be able to read all of the submissions here.

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Where the Blood Calls of Upon Our Seas, In Our Skies is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In truth, when its not fending off pirates, problems, and perils, it’s rather thoughtful and contemplative. Often, it enjoys a good book by a fireplace with a fresh cup of tea. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. So the blame really lies at his feet.

In fact, it could be said any resemblance to persons living, dead, or washed ashore is coincidental—if not pure flummery. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author are apt to argue like cats fighting over cream. Often.