Join Frankie as she arrives in Tranthaea and immediately has her sea-faring skills put to the test in this excerpt from the second book in The Varas Stones trilogy:
The Iron Plague - Volume One, Chapter One: The Wrong Ship

     Where am I?
     “She’s awake,” the man said, his voice rough and raspy, as though too many years breathing salt had grated it raw. “You were told to report if she woke.”
     Aron ducked his head and drew two stripes down his right cheek with his fingers. “Was just on my way to the Cap’n.”
     The man’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you were. But you know as well as I, Cataline don’t reward intentions.”
     “Aye, Cael,” said Aron. The ship’s surgeon turned to Frankie. “She says her name is Frankie Francisca Jimenez.”
     The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s a mouthful.”
     “Frankie.” Frankie supplied. She considered saying more, but decided against it.
     The man nodded. “Sebastian Cael, First Mate of the Ice Lancer.” He gestured toward her uniform. “The ImpFeds changed their look?”
     Aron shook his head. “Don’t think so.” He winced at a harsh look from the first mate. “Maybe. If she hit her head. She’s confused, see? I’m thinkin’…” He paused. “I’m thinkin’ an Arrival.”
     Cael studied her up and down, not bothering to hide his approval. Frankie felt her hands twitch, but she kept herself still, letting her frown declare her displeasure.
     “An Arrival? In uniform? Naval, at that?”
     “It’s happened before,” Aron said.
     “Naval?” Frankie asked.
     The first mate nodded, pointing at her chest. “Blue. Used at sea in most naval unis. Any Terrians we’ve seen come through from back home wearing blue unis… It means navy. Even Brontide uses it. ’Sides, you’ve the sway of a sailor in your movement. No grabbing at the table when we hit a swell, no green in your gills… Naw, you’ve been asea before, and no mistake.” He didn’t wait for her to agree as he turned back to the surgeon. “She have any metal on ‘er?”
     “Small earring, nothing fancy.” He held up Frankie’s stud and she put her hand to her ear to feel an empty spot where the earring had been.
     The surgeon continued, “Put it in the purser’s cupboard. Pockets had a phone too, destroyed by the water. Hooper can take a look to see if it’s got anything worth pryin’ out. Buttons on her uni look shiny, but I waited to take ’em off. Wanted to see if we were replacin’ the top or…” Aron tapped his right thigh and Cael nodded.
“The Cap’n’ll decide.”
     Frankie’s eyes widened. She didn’t know what the tapping meant, but there were only two reasons she could think of that she wouldn’t need a shirt anymore, and she didn’t want to experience either one of them.
     Without a second thought, Frankie rolled onto her back and kicked out. She was rewarded with a satisfying Oof! as her feet connected with Cael’s solar plexus, doubling him over. Using the momentum of the kick, she slid off the table, flipping into a backward somersault and landing lightly on her feet.
     Cael hadn’t recovered enough to stand up straight, but he had enough wind in his lungs to let out a roar as he reached out to grab Frankie, who was lunging past him.
She felt his thick fingers drag along her sleeve, but she pulled past him and raced for the ladder, ignoring Aron’s cries behind her.
     Frankie reached the base of the ladder and scrambled up the rungs. She felt a hand grab at her ankle, but she gripped the narrow handrail and pulled herself up out of reach. Two more steps brought her out of the hold and Frankie burst out onto the deck, gulping down thick, sunset-glowing air as she staggered to a stop, her gaze swivelling to take in the view around her.
     Dozens of sailors stared back at her, frozen in their duties. The tall masts of what looked like an 18th century ship pulled her eyes upward, away from the wide horizon of aquamarine ocean around her. Ahead, the forecastle rose slightly to point to a rising sky of dark clouds that promised a storm on the way. Thick bracing lines draped from the foremast back to the main mast and on to the mizzen mast at the aft of the ship. Above, shrouds provided rope-made climbing paths to the yards and past the sails to the fighting top. A cargo net full of barrels hung above her, secured off the deck by thick, heavy lines that were knotted beneath the railing nearby.
     Sailors dangled from braces and lifts, their eyes fixed on her form below. Some of them had stone blades tucked into sheathes draped over their chests, but most had small, sideways crossbows holstered against their legs, with a bandolier of short crossbow bolts wrapped around their upper thighs.
     Frankie recalled Aron tapping his thigh below and her mind made the connection.
It was a signal.
     They’re going to shoot me.
     As the crew began to murmur around her, Frankie felt another piece of information worm its way through the back of her mind.
     Stone daggers. Wooden crossbow bolts with stone heads. She looked around. Aside from a few braces, rings, and the anchor chain wrapped around the windlass, Frankie couldn’t see any metal on board. Her hands went to her ears, now free of the earring she’d been wearing earlier that day.
     Hardly any metal. Not back in time, then. Something else.
     A grunting sound from behind made her turn. The crew had backed away from her, though more than a few had drawn blades. But Sebastian Cael signalled for them to lower their weapons as he struggled out of the hatch and onto the weather deck. He spat to the side.
     “Not the way to treat your rescuers, that,” he said, moving to stand across the deck from her, the railing at his back and the seemingly endless sea behind him. The crew pushed to get away from him as he stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his right hand resting just above the grip of the mini crossbow on his leg.
     Frankie gulped. She heard the crew behind her stumbling to get out of his line of sight. She took a breath and prayed for courage.
     “It’s a poor rescuer who threatens to kill the person they save just after she wakes up,” she said, hoping that the crew didn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “What kind of code do you live by? What kind of navy are you?”
     There was a short silence, followed by loud laughter. Cael guffawed loudest of all, then cut it short with a wide sneer.
     “Navy? We’re no Brontide brats, sailing for Emperor and glory,” he said. “When you’re a pirate, you’ve no need for any code beyond that of the Lawless, save one: that you’re still standing when the other man’s fallen.” Cael pushed down on his weapon, shoving it further into the holster. Frankie watched as the string was pulled back by the motion and one of the bolts in his bandolier snapped into place. Cael released the pressure, and the weapon was again in its former spot, only now it was cocked and loaded.
     But the movement was clouded by the word ringing through Frankie’s head.
     “You’re pirates!”
     “Too right, we are,” Cael said, his sneer widening. “And if you could say the word with less disdain, we wouldn’t take it amiss.” There was a rumble of agreement from the crew. “For when your veins run with saltwater, there’s only four ways to go about it: fisherman, merchant, pirate, or ImpFed. We’ve no stomach for hauling nets nor paying taxes, and I’d stripe my own back with the tails before I sail ’neath the Emperor’s colours. If you’ve a mind to join the crimson navy, I’d as soon shoot you dead now than leave you to board us tomorrow.” His head turned to the side as he addressed the surgeon, but his eyes never left Frankie’s face. “She had no weapons on her, Aron?”
     The surgeon, whose top half was poking out of the hatch, shook his head. “No, sir.”
     “Then someone give her a sidebow. I’ll not let it be said that Sebastian Cael was afraid to face an armed enemy.”
     “Why are you so sure that I’m your enemy?” Frankie said, the words escaping her mouth before she thought them through. She blinked and tried to get her whirling thoughts to settle. “If this is…” She gulped. “…another world, somehow… Then I don’t have any allegiance yet. And you did save me from drowning. If anything, I owe you.”
     Cael furrowed his brow. “You want me to believe you see yourself as in our debt?”
     Frankie nodded, an idea blossoming. “I can sail. That is, I know the basics. I spent two weeks one summer on a ship kind of like this one, only it had electricity. I think I could learn fast. I could.”
     “You wish to join the crew?” Cael’s hand had moved slightly away from his weapon.
Frankie shook her head. Join a pirate crew? Not likely. “Only until you reach port. Then I have to…” She paused, pushing away a feeling of disbelief. “I have to figure out where I am and what I’m going to do.”
     Cael stood silently for a moment, then began to laugh again, the same loud guffaw as before. “Not crew, then,” he sputtered in between chuckles. “A passenger. As if this were a pleasure cruise.” His gaze darkened suddenly, and he took a single step forward that brought a hush to the crew around them. “These waters aren’t to be sailed lightly, girl. There are more dangerous things in the deep than any stories you’ve heard, and no one gets safe passage for free. You’ll have to earn it.” His gaze travelled up and down her form and Frankie felt her hand go up to cover the open collar around her neck.
     Cael frowned. “Not like that. It’s not the Lawless way. You say you owe us. What have you to offer?”
     Frankie felt the buttons on her uniform.
     Metal.
     “These,” she said. “You said that you wanted them.”
     Cael rolled his eyes. “And we’ll be taking them, have no doubt. We’re pirates, after all.” He paused, waiting, but Frankie didn’t speak. “You’ve nothin’ else to offer? Then…”
Frankie felt something being pushed into her hand and she looked down to see the weapon that Cael had called a sidebow in her grip.
     I can’t shoot him. But I don’t want to die! Think, Frankie! What can you offer?
     “I’ll count as many names as you have, girl,” Sebastian said, drawing her attention back to him. “Then we draw. One.”
     Frankie glanced frantically around. The deck was bare and behind her was a fence of lines that led up to the rigging, beyond which lay only the gentle waves and the promise of an oncoming storm.
     “Two.”
     “I’ll count as many names as you have, girl.” Three. I have until he gets to three.
     Frankie lifted the sidebow and tried to keep her hand from shaking. She’d fired weapons before, at a range, but under strict supervision and never at another person. She glanced up, grabbing one of the lines behind her.
     It’s not a good idea, but it’s the only one I’ve got. She steeled her shoulders and pulled the trigger.
     “Thre–” Sebastian’s last word was cut off by a yelp as the man dove out of the way of the falling net of barrels that Frankie had loosed by shooting through the anchor line. The barrels thundered to the deck, some cracking open and dousing the nearby crew with a stinking, amber liquid. Others bounced and rolled, taking more than a few crew off their feet, Sebastian included.
     Swearing, the big man pushed a barrel away from himself and looked up, his eyes searching for his target.
     “Where in the sheathing blades…? Aha!” Sebastian spotted Frankie above him, gripping the main yard with both arms and legs, desperately trying not to fall from the precarious perch where the lifting rope had deposited her as the barrels fell.
     “Gotcha, you dreg-swilling daughter of a khasto!” Sebastian aimed up at Frankie and pulled the trigger.
     Click.
     Frankie opened her eyes to see Sebastian scowling at her furiously, the weapon in his hand empty. “I think that’s yours,” she said, wobbling as she risked letting go with one hand to point to the end of a feathered stick stuck into a barrel on the deck below her, more of the pale, amber liquid slowly leaking out around the bolt.
     “Aye, that was mine,” Sebastian said as he pushed his sidebow back down into his holster, reloading. “And this one’s yours,” he said as he pulled the weapon back out.
     “Hold!”
     Everyone on deck froze, including Sebastian and Frankie, as a commanding voice bellowed out from the quarterdeck.
     Frankie turned her head, her grip slightly slipping on the yard as she saw a woman with a half-shaven head standing at the forward railing of the quarterdeck, her arms behind her back. The woman was glaring down at the first mate and her unrelenting gaze didn’t ease up until he’d reluctantly lowered his sidebow. She then looked up at Frankie, who suddenly felt as if the woman was dissecting her, one layer at a time, without the need for anything as clumsy as a scalpel.
     “You each fired a shot. I’ll not have more ammunition wasted, not another bolt that could be used against the ImpFeds.”
     “But Cap’n,” Cael said, his voice an even lower growl than normal. “There’s no winner. You can’t have a duel without a winner.”
     “Actually…” Frankie said, an idea coming to her. She shakily rose to her feet, the soles of her shoes slipping on the yard, her hands grasping at the bracing line draped above her head. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t secure, but she was on her feet. “I think I won,” she said.
     There were some chuckles of disbelief from the crew below and a scornful grunt from Sebastian, but the Captain’s mouth curled up a tiny bit.
     “And how do you figure that, girl?” she asked.
     “That you’re still standing when the other man’s fallen,” Frankie quoted. “The only code, that’s what he said.” She looked down to see Sebastian scramble to his feet, but it was too late.
     The Captain let the quirk at the corner of her mouth bloom into a sly grin. “That he did,” she said. “By his own mouth, he declares you the winner.”
     “Cap’n!” Cael made for the steep set of stairs that led to the quarterdeck, but a fierce look from the Captain froze him in his tracks.
     “She won the duel, Sebastian,” she said, her voice brooking no reply. She looked back up at Frankie. “But she’s not shown anything of value, save a fair amount of grit. Her life’s spared, but she’s got no free passage.”
     The smile Frankie wore evaporated. “What do you mean, Captain…?”
     “Arvanitis. Cataline Arvanitis,” the Captain supplied. “And my meaning’s simple. You’ll work for your passage, till I decide your debts’ve been repaid.”
     Frankie felt a sinking feeling. “And when will that be?”
     Cataline shrugged. “Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps never.”
     “So, I’m a slave.” Frankie bit the word off as two crew members clambered up beside her and began to shepherd her back down to the deck through the shrouds.
     “A harsh word when spoken harshly,” Cataline said. She placed her hand on her wide belt and Frankie noticed for the first time the sword that lay ready there. It was made of smooth, polished metal, and had a curved end that hooked out toward any enemy it encountered. “But fear not, girl. You’re beautiful, and as a new Arrival, you’re as yet unspoiled by knowledge of our world. No allegiances, no partialities, no preconceptions. A blank slate. Even if you can’t sail as you claim, you’ll fetch a fine price. A price that will, no doubt, repay your debt to me in full.”
     Frankie’s feet hit the deck and she was immediately surrounded and her hands bound. She looked up at the fierce woman just as the Captain spoke again.
     “Take her below.”