Valac dropped two more bowls onto the table—one before Fiona, and one before Rohan.
Fiona grabbed a spoon, eager to eat, but a thin blond she hadn’t noticed leaned forward from the other end. “I’m from Mount Acidale. My name is Ives. Pleasure to meet you all.” There was a delicate beauty in his wide-set eyes and graceful nose. He smiled serenely, but didn’t give any explanation for his presence on the ship.
Fiona ate a spoonful of the stew, rolling the rich curried flavor over her tongue.
Hulk lifted his spoon. “I’m Ostap. I was a dancer in the Loukomorie Court.”
Fiona raised her eyebrows. Dancer was the last thing she would have guessed.
Ostap slapped his spoon down on the table. “I was kicked out of the court for assaulting a Theurgeon.” He lifted his eyes to Godwin’s in a warning. “His face annoyed me. His face and his disgusting red hair.”
Apart from Fiona, everyone was here as some sort of punishment. She frowned, feeling like an idiot for volunteering.
“So.” Ives raised his drink. “Here’s hoping that none of us dies this evening when we walk the plank.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Fiona raised her glass.
Staring at her new shipmates, she tried to assess whose soul Dagon would most likely claim. If he had any sense, he would rid the world of the hulk and the gaunt pervert. But who could say if the gods had any sense?
18
Fiona
By the time the recruits shuffled up to the deck, their bellies full of goat meat and mangos, the sun hovered just over the horizon and she could almost see Gloucester’s shoreline.
Just a hundred feet to the west was a small, rocky island. On the eastern side, there was only a wide expanse of sea—and a long wooden plank that stretched out over the Atlantic. The ship bobbed gently on the waves, its aged wood groaning.
Captain Nod stood at the wheel in a blood-red doublet, golden rings shining on his fingers. He beckoned the recruits. “Everyone line up.”
Apart from Lir, the rest of his Picaroon crew stood behind Nod, flanking the wheel.
Fiona followed the other recruits across the deck and they lined up next to a mast, facing the plank. She stood beside Godwin, who smiled shyly, and the dying sun cast his pale skin in a hot pumpkin hue so that it nearly matched his hair.
Nobody spoke at first, and Fiona eyed the others. Berold, the gaunt pervert, winked at her.
She shuddered. Surely Dagon can’t be any worse than him.
Nod’s heels clacked on the boards as he stepped closer. Stroking his beard, he looked them over. Fiona straightened her back.
From the raised forecastle above them, Lir stared down like some sort of Olympian god, his shirt hanging open to fully reveal the octopus tattooed on his chest. She supposed someone with a god’s power could be forgiven for a bit of grandiosity, but he still seemed like an unnecessary showoff.
The crew, it appeared, was much more meager than she’d expected. In fact, she’d already met the whole group.
The cook, Valac, stood with his arms straight by his sides like a trained soldier.
Jacques clasped his hands behind his back, his dreadlocks draping over relaxed shoulders. He was the one from Dogtown, forced here as a captive. How many of his townsmen had he watched plunge to their deaths? Did any rage linger behind that placid expression?
Marlowe raised his hands over his head, his pale skin shining. “Follow your Captain, and the whole world can be yours!”
Nod began pacing before the recruits, who faced him in a line. With a flicker the sun disappeared behind the island, and the last tinge of pink drained from the sky.
“None of you wants to be here—with the exception of our little bat.” Nod paused, arching an eyebrow at Fiona. “The rest of you bless us with your presence because your loved ones offered you as tribute. Most likely because you raped or killed the wrong person. But I’m not here to judge,” he added, flashing a charming smile. “Be warned that we have our own rules here, and you may forfeit your life if you break them. They are simple.” He held up his thumb. “Do not disobey me.” Another finger. “Do not disobey Lir.” A third finger followed, and he leveled his green gaze at Berold. “And do not meddle with any woman without her consent.”
Meddling? Fiona barely suppressed a scoff. Is that what they call it? Still, the pointed warning only gave her another reason to warm to her new captain.
Lir gripped the quarterdeck’s railing, his shirt still hanging open. She had to admit the guy had amazing muscle tone. “You’re here because we are looking for one new sailor. Whoever impresses us, and survives both encounters with Dagon, will join our crew. The rest of you will be sent back where you came from at the end of the trials. I know none of you wants to return to prison, but we don’t have room for failures on the Proserpine.”