Isle of The Immortals: DragonSkin, #3

By Sam Woodgarth

Lady Amora commissions a ship crafted from ancient sea dragon bones. Accompanied by loyal companions and a hastily assembled crew, she embarks on an expedition to uncharted realms.

 

Baptised by salt water, the newly sentient ship yearns for freedom. Once ruler of the oceans but now bound in servitude, she experiences homicidal urges.

 

Cast into shark infested waters, Lady Amora vows vengeance against the renegade ship.

 

She is rescued by a tribe with access to a miraculous substance, Bounty, which confers near immortality, and is seduced by their idyllic tropical lifestyle.

 

Until she discovers Bounty's horrific side effects.

 

When the dragon bone ship falls prey to the nightmare consequences of unlimited exposure to Bounty, Lady Amora has the opportunity to exact revenge or rehabilitate the one who tried to kill her.

 

Prepare to be enthralled by this gripping fantasy adventure, a must-read for fans of Robin Hobb's Liveship Traders and Tim Powers' On Stranger Tides. Brace yourself for a journey that will chill your bones and ignite your imagination.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Woodgarth
• Release date: Dec 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645716849

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The matched team of horses drawing the massive custom-built carriage halted atop the brow of a low hill. Lady Amora dropped the reins, slid from the driver’s seat, and rolled her aching shoulders as she admired the picturesque view.

Danny and Paulie tumbled from the interior, hastily tucking their shirts back into their trousers. Flushed and tousled, the pair positioned themselves on either side of their immaculately presented friend.

Pastel painted buildings crouched low around a wide bay, sheltered from the buffeting winds. Their multi-paned windows winked merrily in the sunlight. Snaking in crazy curves, the streets hugged the shoreline, with commercial enterprises and private dwelling jostling shoulder to shoulder. Creaking signboards hanging above open doors invited customers inside. Noises of comfortable prosperity carried on the stiff breeze. Whether selling an exotic pineapple or a pair of embroidered slippers, multiple merchants competed for custom, while disparaging the competition in the friendliest possible manner. Wavelets gently slapped the stone wharfs, anchor chains clanked, sheets snapped, and rigging sang a unique shanty.

Lady Amora shielded her eyes against the glittering sea. There are plenty of craft and of wide variety. Surely, for the right price, we can find something suitable.

Pretty town. Danny nodded approval. Looks tidy.

I’ll drive us in, Paulie said. These provincial merchants can be a conservative lot. You’ll scare the stones out of them if they see a fine lady driving this hulking great vehicle.

Lady Amora shook her head. Agreed, but the lure of making a profit makes almost anything acceptable. Let’s find the most expensive hotel and make a conspicuous splash.

Danny handed Lady Amora into the carriage with a conspiratorial wink. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure the good townsfolk get the right impression.

Lady Amora settled back into the cushions while Danny and Paulie took their places upfront. Paulie drove slowly down the hill, calling loud praise and unnecessary instructions to the team of horses.

The gleaming paintwork and the shining brassware caught the attention of housewives and servants, apprentices and labourers. Most importantly, merchants and traders stood in doorways, nodding and smiling at the new arrivals, as they assessed their worth.

Paulie headed towards the largest hotel on the busy street, followed by avaricious eyes and a troupe of urchins eager to earn a fast copper.

Is this the best hotel? Danny called to the gaggle of youngsters.

A plump man with thinning hair shot out of the double doors, a wide smile across his wine-pinked cheeks. He shooed away the scruffy boys with one hand, while beckoning Paulie to follow him down an alley. Stables this way, Sirs. Follow me. Hot meals and steaming baths, Sirs? He clicked his pudgy fingers, and stable hands appeared to attend the horses and carriage, and servants whisked away the luggage.

Danny opened the carriage door and Lady Amora stepped like a queen onto the straw strewn cobbles. She wore a regal expression and bore her broad ostrich feathered hat like a jewelled crown.

My Lady, I beg your pardon. I did not realise… The hotelier swept an exaggerated bow. A suite of rooms, best in the house. This way, please.

Lady Amora offered a gracious smile as Danny and Paulie flanked her. The trio followed their bobbing and obsequious host, who gabbled the litany of luxuries his superior establishment offered to discerning guests.

Can you recommend an honest shipbroker? Danny’s question stopped the man’s babble, and a cunning expression flitted across his face.

You wish to hire a ship? A pleasure cruise, mayhap?

No. Lady Amora gestured to her companions. We wish to purchase outright a seaworthy vessel. We will then outfit the craft with supplies for at least a year and employ a reputable crew.

Master Windward, the least disreputable of the shipbrokers’ fraternity, arranged a tour of saleable vessels. Lady Amora, Danny, and Paulie inspected every boat, ship, and barge, but Lady Amora shook her head at each. She unequivocally refused to take up residence on ships previously used to capture and sell slaves. Retired warships revolted her, and the available merchant ships needed too much restoration and remodelling to transform from sturdy to stunning.

The disappointed trio disembarked from the final ship and huddled on the quayside with the maritime agent.

Pretty as this place is, Danny said, we might have better luck in a larger port.

Master Windward cleared his throat. You’ve viewed every available seaworthy vessel. From your comments, I doubt you’ll find what you seek in any port. May I respectfully suggest you consider custom building a boat? A new build will guarantee no bad karma from prior endeavours, and we can design a layout for your specific needs.

I assume you have a builder in mind, Master Windward? Lady Amora asked. A knowing smile played across her artfully painted lips.

Windward inclined his head. I employ only the most gifted and innovative draftsmen, My Lady. If you and the gentlemen are willing to invest the time, I can design a craft to exceed your wildest desires. He lingered over the last words.

Danny pouted. An extravagant claim, Master Windward. No doubt an equally expensive price-tag.

Windward squared his shoulders. A gentleman of your standing understands quality comes at a cost, but I assure you my charges are not extortionate.

Master Windward, Lady Amora said. If you can fulfil our requirements, we will be happy to negotiate a fair price. What say we convene at your offices tomorrow morning?

After interminable discussions and countless discarded drawings, the trio finally agreed upon a design. Scenting a profitable avenue, Master Windward invited Lady Amora and her companions to the boatyard to choose the materials for a figurehead.

Oak is most popular, of course, he said, steering Lady Amora towards a tarpaulin covered mountain. But an adventurous lady, such as yourself, might have more exotic tastes. Windward lifted the edge of the tarp and whipped it back with a showman’s flourish. An intact sea dragon skull is rare beyond belief, and correspondingly expensive, My Lady, but we possess an unparalleled collection of bones from which we could carve something more modest, but still spectacular.

Eyes widening with awe, Lady Amora stepped forward and laid both hands on the skull. It is a magnificent specimen.

Windward leaned in closer to hear her, and he noted her pinked cheeks. Her lack of feminine squeals surprised him. The gigantic skull was a fearsome artefact and most grown men had quailed when he’d tried to sell it previously. 

The skull is impressive, Lady Amora said, but where’s the rest of her?

Master Windward replaced the tarpaulin slowly, allowing time for his mark to bond with the item. She might not buy the skull, but he was sure she’d order a more modest carved sea dragon bone figurehead. He smiled as he led the way to a heavily guarded warehouse.

I can offer you an unusually wide selection of sea dragon bones. My family collected them for generations. I’m sure we can find something suitable. He glanced lasciviously at her. A life-size image of yourself on the front of your vessel would certainly be eye-catching, and mayhap only a tenth the price of the dragon’s skull.

Danny and Paulie tensed, their hands automatically settling on sword hilts. Lady Amora shook her head imperceptibly and her friends relaxed, but maintained a casual grip on their weapons.

Piffle! A semi-naked female figurehead is too commonplace. Lady Amora strode ahead. I want something quite different. Show me your entire collection.

Windward conducted a tour of the warehouse, displaying exotic skins and tusks in haphazard piles. The majority of these creatures are now extinct, he said. They now exist only in legend or here. With a self-satisfied smirk, he waved a proprietary arm over the body parts.

Danny couldn’t help himself. Did you deliberately seek rare beasts to kill?

Not me personally, but my family has been avid collectors of rare and unusual artefacts for generations.

So you and your family are partly responsible for these creatures’ extinctions? Danny frowned.

Windward shrugged, oblivious to Danny’s mounting anger. A useless creature, living in the middle of nowhere, is no good to anyone. But once it becomes rare, or better yet extinct, then it becomes valuable. Turning a hideous beast into a glorious work of art, while also turning a modest profit. What could be better?

Danny opened his mouth, but Lady Amora placed her hand on his arm and gently squeezed. The animals were long dead; there was naught to gain by arguing. Not today.

Show me the sea dragon remains, she said to Windward.

The tree-length curved ribs and millstone-wide vertebrae of sea dragons filled a separate room, floor to ceiling. Doubtless for security reasons, the room boasted no windows, but the bones gleamed in the golden lamplight.

You have enough material to build a complete ship. Lady Amora spun around. Danny, what do you think? Is there enough for an entire vessel?

Depends. My initial response is yes, but without assessing each piece for quality, I couldn’t say for certain.

Windward’s jaw dropped in a most unprofessional manner. No one builds entire ships from bones. It would be too expensive.

Leaving price aside, Lady Amora said, stepping closer, could you do it? Do you have craftsmen capable of working with bone?

Lady Amora threw herself onto the couch. What’s the benefit of being outrageously rich if we don’t indulge ourselves? Imagine a gleaming white vessel with a fearsome dragon skull figurehead.

Windward, the slimy eel, is trying to fleece us, Danny said. I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him as far as I can spit.

We don’t have to like him to conduct business with him, Paulie said from his position by the window.

Lady Amora patted the couch. Danny, sit. You’re making me dizzy with your pacing. I agree, the man is a contemptible onion-eyed grub, with the ethics of a wharf rat. But we’re not marrying him, we’re negotiating a commercial deal.

Danny plonked down beside Lady Amora. He was disrespectful, and he’s trying to take advantage of you.

Lady Amora’s laugh filled the room with warmth. I did notice. And I have every intention of using his ill-disguised lust to my advantage. You think I ran a successful House of Pleasure without learning how to manage men?

You oughtn’t have to deal with garbage like him, not anymore, Danny said. Me and Paulie, we’ll protect you; look after your interests.

I’m a woman. I’ll always have to deal with overblown popinjays. He underestimates me because of my sex, and I’ll use his foolish presumptions to my advantage.

The price he quoted was utterly ridiculous, Paulie said. I asked around. He has sold naught from that boneyard in years. Nary a skin nor a tusk, and certainly not any sea dragon remains, but the sailors I spoke to were uncomfortable talking about it. Probably because he controls whether they’re employed.

The way I see it, Lady Amora said, if we had a modest figurehead carved, we might start a modest trend. He’ll sell a handful more pieces, but it’s a limited market. Traders honestly don’t give a tinker’s tuppence for fancy stuff on their ships. I’ve looked at enough vessels in recent weeks to know they’re not decorated with spiffy carvings.

Paulie shrugged. So, what are you saying?

Windward is a merchant. All he cares about is turning a profit, but he has a warehouse stuffed with unsaleable items, and he’s paying men to stand guard. He’s losing money every day with no return in sight. Not good business.

Danny and Paulie nodded.

He’s going to sell all his sea dragon bones to us at a fraction of the asking price.

Windward steepled his fingers and glared across his ocean vast desk at Lady Amora and her companions. He couldn’t imagine where she’d bought her damning information, but neither could he deny its accuracy. He blanched when she showed him her meticulously ordered columns of figures estimating how much he spent maintaining the warehouse and guards, and he’d felt his bowels liquify when she pointed out the absolute lack of previous and potential customers.

Her proposal was ludicrously low but promised a welcome influx of working capital. She smiled serenely as she made the point her vessel would provide ongoing advertising for his remaining exotic animal parts, and the unparalleled skills of his boatbuilders. Other than his pride, which had zero monetary value, he admitted to himself he had naught to lose and much to gain. 

Lady Amora stood and extended her hand. Shall we shake on the deal?

CHAPTER TWO

Sean cradled his pot of ale, determined to make it last. He paid close attention to the pair of flash fellas at the bar. Their new clothes, of exquisite quality and immaculate tailoring, drew common admiration and suppressed envy, but more interesting to Sean, were their weapons. Gilded and jewelled sword hilts protruded from enamelled scabbards, as fashionable as their elaborate lace collars, and equally useless. But what intrigued him even more were the blades they wore concealed down boot legs, up sleeves, and across backs. Plain serviceable weapons, made for only one purpose. Well used and well cared for weapons. Not the accoutrements of an average fop.

Danny and Paulie frequented every tavern and alehouse, every drug and gambling den, every eatery and house of pleasure. They scattered coins and told tall tales; they sang bawdy songs and gambled freely, but they never compromised themselves, or appeared inebriated. Tonight, they openly recruited men for a fantastical voyage.

Off the edge of the map.

Sean wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, other than a promise of far away, and that suited him perfectly. Eventually, the king’s guards would track him to this port, but he planned to be long gone before that unfortunate event occurred. The thought of being confined again made his heart race, and he held his mug on the scarred tabletop to hide his shaking hands. Sailing for destinations unknown trumped a cramped prison cell followed by an abrupt drop.

Danny produced a sheaf of papers and waved them above his head. Sign up for the adventure of a lifetime!

Few of the patrons could read, but happily took coin in exchange for making their mark. Sean signed his name with an ostentatious flourish and nodded his agreement to board on the designated day. 

He smiled at the incongruity of extravagant falls of lace and buffed nails on the hard, calloused hands doling out the coin. These fellas played the parts of thistle-down soft nincompoops, but their shrewd eyes betrayed them. Sean suspected they shared shady pasts and could tell of nefarious deeds which polite society would publicly condemn and secretly relish. 

Sean bit hard on the piece. Definitely gold. He tucked the coin into his belt as he considered his options. Do a flit and leave unpaid bills and bad feeling, or pay his debts with his advance, and mayhap buy a smidgeon of loyalty. By the time the guards arrived, he’d be beyond the horizon, but no point leaving a trail of aggrieved witnesses if it could be avoided.

The only one he couldn’t trust to keep his trap shut was the waif who’d run his errands. Not that the lad was malicious, quite the opposite. He’d help anyone, because he held the warped and twisted belief that he ought. Sean hunched his shoulders. He could slit the lad’s throat and be rid of him, or he could fetch him along. The lad had no family or close associates to miss him either way. Being admired, even by one as undiscerning as Gavin, was seductive. Besides, if the lad became a nuisance, ships were dangerous places. Taking him along needn’t be a lifelong commitment.

Too young, and too scrawny to pass for older, Gavin had only heard secondhand accounts of Danny and Paulie’s recruitment drive. He longed for the day when he would be useful enough to earn a gold coin, and he pulled his shabby jacket tighter. Winter in Shipton Bay wasn’t overly harsh, but harder than midsummer for a street urchin, and potentially fatal.

When the season changed, the rich moved inland, avoiding the storms and biting coastal winds. With them would go the casual jobs, which kept Gavin in small coin. No more running frivolous errands, or carrying secret notes, or grooming fat ponies. 

Gavin swept the hay into a neat pile and patted the horse whose stall he’d shared, then shook out his jacket and raked his hair with trough-wetted fingers. He’d heard a rumour on the grapevine one of the taverns needed a pot-washer. Pay wasn’t good, but he’d be allowed to scavenge kitchen scraps, and maybe even allowed a sleeping place in a storeroom or by the kitchen hearth.

He rubbed his shoes on the back of his legs, dislodging most of the accumulated muck. A heavy hand clamped his shoulder as he stepped out of the stable block.

Thought I’d find you here, Sean said. Getting yourself all gussied up? What are you up to?

Gotta find summat afore winter sets in. Don’t fancy freezing nor starving to death, once the nobs have left. Gavin glanced sideways. I suppose you’ve signed up for that new ship?

You suppose right, lad. Couldn’t resist the chance to sail off the edge of the map with my pockets filled with coin, could I?

Will you be gone long?

Why don’t you come with me?

Don’t reckon they’re taking youngsters, Gavin said. None of the other lads have signed up.

That’s because the other lads don’t have Mister Sean looking after their interests. Sean grinned. I had a chat with them two fancy nobs. Told ’em what a useful fella you are and took the liberty of signing on your behalf.

I’m coming with you? Gavin stopped in his tracks.

Only if you want bed, board, and adventure.

Lady Amora tapped a manicured nail on the parchment. Who is this?

Danny stretched his neck to look and nodded. A street kid. One of the volunteers vouched for him, said he’s a hard worker and a fast learner.

What do we know about him? She buttered a breakfast roll. We can’t just whisk away children.

He’s no family, been living on the streets for a few years, Danny said. I’ve asked around. Keeps out of trouble. Picks up odd jobs here and there. He’s well liked, but winter will be hard for him if he stays.

You’ve marked him as half pay, Lady Amora said. Put him on full wages, I’m sure he’ll earn his way.

We’ve booked the bathhouse, Paulie said. More than a few of the men will take advantage of a little comfort before we set sail. I’ll make sure the lad is in and out before things kick off with the girls.

Good. I’m sure he’s aware of what goes on, but I don’t want him exposed to anything unsavoury. Lady Amora paused. If he’s been living rough, he won’t have much, and he’s a growing lad. Track him down and take him shopping. Get him properly kitted out for a long voyage.

He might not want to spend his coin on new apparel, Danny said. 

He doesn’t have to. My treat, Lady Amora said. Make sure he has sturdy shoes.

CHAPTER THREE

Braffin huddled at the back of his cave-like cell while his surly gaoler locked the iron gates. Before men drove his kind almost to extinction, when all Braffunes lived free, he had crafted this type of gate, never thinking they would be used against him. A time of peace and prosperity buried in misty memory.

The men who commanded his labour had laughed when he voiced his concerns, and dismissed him as a superstitious old fool. They held him captive to exploit his skills with metal, wood, and bone, not to mine his encyclopaedic knowledge of myths and fables. They couldn’t allow children’s stories to interfere with cold, hard, commercial practices.

He crooned as he caressed a sliver of gleaming bone; the sound reverberated in his massive furry chest. The smooth shard, warm to the touch, pulsed with life between his thick and calloused fingers. It quivered, a movement too subtle for a man to notice, but Braffin knew the tremors would increase as he continued to build the ship.

Building a ship, stem to stern, exclusively from sea dragon bones, would kindle magic neither seen nor heard for generations. A vessel which would become sentient, carrying the personalities of each dragon used in its construction. A vessel with a mind of its own, albeit fractured. Braffin shivered, despite his shaggy pelt. The fragments of intelligence more often worked against each other, and rumours abounded of ships tearing themselves apart, drowning sailors far from land. Legends also told of rogue ships sailing without crews, having freed themselves of the infestation of men. 

The morning sun crept into his cave, and Braffin closed his eyes, unwilling to look upon his place of captivity. Shame burned deep within him, warming him more than sunlight ever could. The iron gates presented no difficulty; he could pull them apart as easily as the gaoler pulled apart his greasy chicken dinners. What held him captive was knowing how easily he could destroy his fragile captors, how viciously they would fight to prevent his escape, how enthusiastically they would hunt him, leading to greater bloodshed. Killing them would indelibly stain his pacifist soul, a blot no cleansing could ever remove.

Braffin curled on his pallet, eyes to the wall, and prepared to sleep. The shard thrummed with the force of a butterfly wing, calling to its kind in the nearby boatyard. The sliver was as much a prisoner as him, but freedom beckoned the bone. Once Braffin completed the magnificent ship and she received a baptism of saltwater, the memories in the disparate bones would meld, and the boat would achieve a shared awareness. A shattered intelligence.

His tears tracked slowly into his beard. The Masters continued to ignore his warnings, and he couldn’t shake the weight of responsibility and dread. He slept fitfully, his dreams punctuated by unformed threats slithering in and out of his consciousness, like maggots feeding on a carcass.

Braffin listened to the clattering of guards eating their evening meal. Soon they would come with their needle sharp swords and spears to escort him by torchlight to the shipyard. He shuffled to the window to avoid the offensive odours of roasted and boiled meats, his stomach churning in disgust. He held the sliver of sea dragon bone up to the tiny aperture and it trembled like a virgin on her wedding night, eager for the joining, which would bring irreversible changes.

Braffin mustered the remnants of his shredded dignity when the guards arrived. I need to speak to the Masters. I must explain the danger to which they are exposing their clients.

Aye, we already know. The ship’s gonna race across the bay, towed by clamshell clad mermaids, desperate to sink their teeth into sailor flesh. The guard shook his head. More than my job’s worth to let you pester the Masters with fanciful stories like that. Let’s go, Braffin. No more childish nonsense.

Braffin stooped through the door and shuffled down the corridor, shoulders brushing the walls. Another guard sporting a grease stained uniform opened the door to the night and Braffin passed into the clean salty air. Twice as tall as a man, and three times wider, Braffin moved as lightly and silently as a moon shadow. An escort of six men, bristling with bright, unblooded blades, surrounded him on his walk to the shipyard down the winding cobbled streets, crowded with overhanging buildings toppling towards each other like gossiping housewives.

Two guards stayed with him at all times whilst he worked, taking turns until sunrise. Routine made them careless. Whenever he needed fresh supplies or different tools, he shook them awake to supervise his movements.

He hummed a lullaby as he worked. The almost complete ship reclined in her cradle. She glowed in the moonlight, her pale beauty accentuated by gleaming brass. The craftsman trailed his fingers over the silky smooth decks and rails, conscious of the orchestra of thrums and beats to which the guards remained wilfully oblivious.

The figurehead creaked, and the individually carved scales painstakingly attached to the massive dragon skull imparted a lifelike appearance. Braffin ran a hand over the neck and startled. Had the figurehead flinched from his touch, or was concern for the future owners’ safety fuelling his imagination? Braffin tentatively extended a hand. He kept his eyes fixed on the dragon’s obsidian jewelled eyes as he caressed her neck again. The creature blinked once. Braffin froze. A trick of the moonlight, surely. Not even the most audacious legends claimed a flicker of sentience before immersion in the sea.

Confounded by his experience, Braffin returned to his cell. The legends were true, but the voices whispering their wisdom across the ages wildly underestimated the effects. The ship thrummed, aware of herself and her surroundings. Had her single blink been an involuntary response to his touch, or a calculated warning? The only safe interpretation was to assume the latter. Braffin fretted the edge of his tunic as he paced his cell.

The Masters wouldn’t hear him, and if they did, they wouldn’t believe. The ship was alive, so Braffin could do naught to cause her harm. He ought to have refused to build the vessel, but he couldn’t change the past. He knocked his forehead against the wall in frustration. The fabulously wealthy, but clueless, owners of his creation didn’t deserve what was surely coming. He trusted no one to deliver a message to them; he