Superstitions By Dawn Vogel

There are two things sailors won’t abide on ships. The first is women.

I made a deal with the governor when my father took his short walk and a long drop, which allowed me to claim ownership of White Lightning, so long as I promised I wouldn’t use it in the business that had necessitated my father’s demise. My father, Devil take him, was a usurer, and I assured the governor in the most pleasant of tones and with the most delicate batting of my eyelashes that I would never take up the trade that saw my father hung.

He bought it, the sorry sack.

But then I was faced with the problem of crewing my ship. No one wanted to sign on with a woman captain, and I was far too well known amongst the sailors to pretend to be a man. So White Lightning sat in the harbor, taking on rats and seagulls, while I tried to find anyone willing to work for exorbitant amounts.

I fell into the habit of going to a wise woman who called herself Old Silver Hair and claimed she could see the future. I asked her about my prospects for finding a crew, and they were never good. Anyone could have told me that. Nonetheless, as I lamented my predicament to her, she stilled my complaints with a silencing finger and rummaged through a box of shiny things.

Old Silver Hair handed me a tarnished silver collar, a hands-breadth wide, hinged in the back, and with a lock to keep the two halves together. “I haven’t got a key for this, but the person who gave it to me told me it will allow you to control minds.”

“Why haven’t you used it, then?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Who needs to control minds when you’ve already got access to their money? Speaking of, I know you haven’t got much, so I want a share on your ship in exchange for my services and that trinket.”

“You know how to sail?”

“Not a whit. I’m going to stay here, and you’re going to bring me my share when you stop in port. Fair’s fair, if it gets you your crew.”

I nodded, and we shook on it. I took the collar back to my ship and picked the lock. I donned the collar cautiously. I didn’t want to lock it again, but it wouldn’t stay around my neck if I didn’t. I was going to have to find someone to make me a key, I thought.

“We know where the key is!”

No one was there to speak those words aloud. Instead, they were transmitted into my mind, as though said by hundreds of very small voices.

“Who’s there?” I asked, shining my lantern around.

“We are!”

Again, I saw no one. But rats began streaming through the gap beneath my door and sitting in rows, facing me, looking at me expectantly.

“You?” I pointed at the rats.

“Yes!”

“You heard what I thought, and you came here to answer me?”

“Yes!”

“I need a drink.”

I wandered down the streets near the port, counting the few coins still in my purse, and trying to influence the people I passed with my mind. None of them followed my commands, and I didn’t hear even a whisper from any of them.

Slipping into a bar where I knew the bartender well enough to joke with him, I approached the bar and gave him a winning smile. “How’s about some rum on the house, eh?”

His brow furrowed, as he shook his head. “Answer’s always no, Adelle.”

“It was worth a shot.” I passed him my coin, he passed me cheap rum. I sipped it and pondered what good this stupid collar was. And I’d already shook on it with Old Silver Hair. I technically didn’t owe her if I never found any treasure, but this old port wouldn’t hold me for long. I’d sail White Lightning by myself if I had to.

As I considered that possibility, I realized maybe there was another way.

I downed the rest of my rum in a single gulp and hurried back to my ship.

#

The second thing sailors won’t abide on their ships? Rats.

It takes some doing to get sails raised and trimmed when your only crew are rats. But with the help of my fancy collar from Old Silver Hair, the rats have proven themselves quick learners, able to work together, and a literal nightmare when they board another ship.

And they did know where the key was, not that I have much cause to take the collar off these days.

We aren’t White Lightning these days, on account of inverting the colors of our flag and putting two bolts of lightning crosswise under a rat’s skull. Now, we’re the Nameless Horde. Old Silver Hair doesn’t care whether her share comes from respectable trade or piracy, and she’s richer than she’s ever been.

I’m richer than I’ve ever been, too, with the most loyal crew a woman could ever want.

Not to mention, the rats work for cheese.

—

Dawn Vogel’s academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, co-edits Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She is a member of Broad Universe, SFWA, and Codex Writers. Her steampunk series, Brass and Glass, is available from DefCon One Publishing. She lives in Seattle with her husband, author Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats. Visit her at http://historythatneverwas.com.