With one last bob of his head, he backed out of the room; Jacques followed, closing the door behind him.
Fiona pulled off the sheets and stood, grabbing her backpack. She rummaged around, stepping into fresh underwear and her new black, woolen leggings. She slipped into them before pulling on Lir’s enormous shirt, which hung halfway down her thighs. Yanking a red scarf from her bag, she wrapped it around the shirt’s waist like a thick belt, leaving her with a reasonably presentable tunic.
After slipping into her flats, she wrenched open the door and followed the narrow hallway to the left. She’d thought “galley” was a kind of boat, but clearly it was a part of the ship, too. Whatever it was she needed to find, she hoped it would pop out at her.
Near the very front of the ship, at the end of the hall, she spotted an open door. The rich smell of stewed meat and mangos drifted through the air, along with raucous conversation. When she stepped into the room, silence fell, and all eyes turned to her.
Through a grate in the ceiling, light filtered onto a long, oaken table. Five men drank from pewter cups. Among them, a tall, lanky man let his close-set eyes rest on her thighs. Stubble grew from his gaunt cheeks.
Perfect. She was the only girl on board.
The scent of cooking meat drew her eyes to the cauldron simmering on a brick fire. A man in an orange silk shirt with a bushy beard stirred the stew. “Fiona,” he said, unsmiling. “You’re just in time for the goat stew.” He picked up a handful of spoons. “I am Valac, the Proserpine’s cook.”
“Nice to meet you. It smells amazing.”
“It should.” His voice was gravelly, but friendly. “Learned the spell from a whore in Mount Acidale. Worth the pox I got from her. Best goat stew on the Atlantic. Have a seat.” A handful of spoons clattered onto the table.
She approached the other recruits, trying not to think about the ten eyes on her, and took a seat beside a man in rumpled clothes. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his flame-red hair, and he flashed her a quick smile. She smiled back. At least he’s friendly.
She scanned the rest of the men. They looked like they’d broken out of hospitals for the criminally insane.
Across from her sat a man with long, dark hair and brown skin. He wore a black top hat, and silver rings covered his fingers—most of them embossed with images of skulls.
Next to the necromancer was a hulk of a man, as large and muscular as Lir, with a shaved head and black leather wristbands. He jabbed a thick finger into Ginger’s space. “What did you say your name was?” He had a thick Russian accent.
Necromancer rested his chin in his hand, lifting only his dark eyes. “He didn’t.”
“Settle down, you lot.” Valac began ferrying bowls to the table. “Seeing as some of you will probably die soon, I will even bring the stew to you.” He plunked down two bowls at the other end, and Fiona’s mouth watered despite the talk of death.
Hulk’s nostrils flared, and he pressed his finger further into Ginger’s face. “I think you will be the one to die tonight.”
Fiona slapped the table. There was obviously too much testosterone in the room, and her gnawing hunger made it hard to put up with their crap. “Honestly, guys. How about we start off by not being dicks?” There were only so many things you could care about at once, and with Mom dead, she was fresh out of room for worrying about being polite to a bunch of thugs.
All eyes swiveled to her.
She raised a hand, forcing a smile, though she could feel it came off looking more like a threat. “Hi. My name is Fiona. I come from Boston. I came here because I… well, because it seemed better than Dogtown.” She clenched her teeth. “Now you all try it.”
“Gods below.” Necromancer stared at her. “Must have been pretty bad in Dogtown. Fine. My name is Rohan. Born in Bangladesh, educated in Mount Acidale. I came here because I was kicked out of Beaucroft University for trying to animate a murderer’s corpse after they hanged him.”
Big surprise. Fiona rubbed a tense spot in her forehead. This is going fabulously.
The redhead’s eyes widened, looking around the group. “I’m Godwin. And I was forced out of Maremount for debts I couldn’t pay.” He flashed Fiona a smile that was almost grateful. She could tell she was going to like him.
Valac dropped another two bowls on the table, and the rich, spicy smells wafted to her nostrils, making her mouth water: stewed meat, mangos, garlic, and onions. Her stomach rumbled.
The gaunt pervert raised a hand. “Name’s Berold. I was a guard in Maremount. Quite popular with the ladies.” He rubbed his hands over his thighs, a pointy tongue flicking to the corner of his mouth. “Apparently I seduced the wrong one. Some women change their minds right after. Say no when they meant yes.” He grimaced in an approximation of a smile, revealing long and crooked teeth.
Fiona’s stomach turned. “Seduced” was a euphemism, no doubt.