5
JUST BEFORE the midnight change of watches, Gwillem emerged from his new quarters into the narrow corridor between the ship’s four smaller cabins. Scowling, clad only in his breechclout and a hastily thrown-on vest, he stepped across to the door of his old compartment. Bits of flannel rag were stuffed into his ears.
He pounded on the door several times. When no answer was forthcoming, he knocked again and hollered, “Treganne, you bitch, I’ll get you for this!”
6
“ARE HER preparations almost complete, then?”
The two men met in the roofless ruins of a stone cottage, south of the city proper, so close to the edge of the eerie jungle that not even drunks and gazers would crawl out to it for shelter. It was near midnight, and a hard rain was falling, warm as spit.
“Got all our junk sold just this afternoon. Been taking on water and ale like crazy. More than enough food already. Once we scrape up everyone that wants to get scraped up tomorrow, I’m sure we’re gone.”
Jaffrim Rodanov nodded, and for the hundredth time cast his gaze around the broken house and its shadows. Anyone close enough to listen through the noise of the rain would have to be close enough to spot, he reckoned.
“Drakasha said…disturbing things when she called the council. What’s she told you about her plans once she’s back at sea?”
“Nothing,” said the other man. “Peculiar. Usually she gives us a good week to get our skulls busted and our purses sucked dry. She’s got a fire under her ass, and it’s a mystery to the rest of us.”
“Of course,” said Rodanov. “She wouldn’t tell you anything until you were on your way. But she’s said nothing about the archon? About Tal Verrar?”
“No. So what do you think she’s—”
“I know exactly what she’s doing. I’m just not entirely convinced it’s wise.” Rodanov sighed. “She might call down a heap of shit on everyone in the Ghostwinds.”
“So now you—”
“Yeah.” Rodanov passed a purse over, giving it a shake so the coins within could be heard. “Just like we discussed. Keep your eyes open. Note what you see. I’ll want to hear about it after.”
“And the other thing?”
“Got it here,” said Rodanov, hefting an oilcloth satchel with a heavy weight inside. “You’re sure you have a place where this cannot be found—”
“My sea chest. Privilege of rank, right? Got a false bottom.”
“Good enough.” Rodanov passed the satchel over.
“And if I have to…use this thing…”
“Again, like we discussed. Three times what I just paid you, waiting for you once it’s done.”
“I want more than that,” said the man. “I want a place aboard the Sovereign.”
“Of course.” Rodanov extended his hand, and the other man met his grip. They shook in the traditional Vadran fashion, clasping each other’s forearms. “You know I can always use a good man.”
“You’re using him right now, hey? Just want to be sure I got a place to call home when all this is over. One way or another.”
Utgar’s grin was the faintest crescent of white against the shadows.
7
NORTH BY east on the Sea of Brass, with the wet southern wind on the starboard quarter, the Poison Orchid dashed across the waves like a racing mare at last given her head. It was the third day of Aurim.
After a day lost laboriously navigating the twisting, rock-choked passage called the Trader’s Gate, they had spent two more dodging reefs and islands, until the last jungle-crowned dome and the last volcanic smoke of the Ghostwinds had been sunk beneath the horizon.
“This is the game,” said Drakasha, addressing the group she’d assembled on the quarterdeck. Delmastro, Treganne, Gwillem, Utgar, Nasreen, Oscarl, and all the skilled mates—carpenters, sailmakers, and so forth. Mumchance listened from his place at the wheel, and Locke listened from the quarterdeck stairs, along with Jean and a half dozen off-watch sailors. If they hadn’t exactly been invited to hear the captain’s little speech, neither had they been dissuaded. There was no point, when news would travel across a ship faster than fire.
“We’re bound for Tal Verrar,” said Drakasha. “We’re going to allow our new friends Ravelle and Valora to conduct a bit of sneaky business ashore.”
“Bounty,” said Mumchance.
“He’s right,” said Gwillem. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but if we haul up in sight of Tal Verrar—”
“If the Poison Orchid drops anchor, aye, I’m worth a lot of money. But if we make some adjustments to my pretty ship here and there, alter the sail plan a bit, swap my stern lanterns for something plainer, and paint a false name in huge damn letters at the stern…”
“What shall we call her, Captain?” asked the carpenter.
“I’m partial to Chimera.”
“That’s cheeky,” said Treganne. “But what’s the gain for the rest of us in this ‘sneaky business,’ Drakasha?”
“Nothing I care to discuss before the deed is done,” said Drakasha. “But the gain for all of us will be substantial. You might say we’re going out with the blessing of the whole council of captains.”
“Then why aren’t they out here lending a hand?” asked Nasreen.
“Because there’s only one captain who’s best at what she does.” Drakasha gave an exaggerated curtsy. “Now, back to duties or to slacking, as you were. Spread the word to everyone.”
Locke was slacking a few minutes later, alone with his thoughts at the larboard rail, when Jean took the spot beside him. The sea and sky alike were bronzing around the setting sun, and the warm ocean air was nonetheless refreshing after the sweaty atmosphere of the Ghostwinds.
“You feel anything strange?” asked Jean.
“What, about the—oh, you mean the poison. No. Can’t say that I feel any better or worse than I have for a while. But, ah, I’m sure I’ll try to get a message to you if I start vomiting up newts or something. Assuming you could hear anyone knocking at that cabin door—”
“Oh, gods. Not you, too. Ezri nearly tipped Gwillem over the taffrail—”
“Well, let’s be honest, people will notice the sort of racket that generally accompanies an attack upon the ship—”
“And now you are about to have a sudden accident—”
“…by Jeremite Redeemers mounted on cavalry steeds. Where do you find the energy?”
“She makes it easy,” said Jean.
“Ah.”
“She’s asked me to stay,” said Jean, looking down at his hands.
“Aboard the ship? Once all of this is over? Assuming there’s anything left of us?”
Jean nodded. “And by me, I’m sure she meant you as well—”
“Oh, of course she did,” said Locke, not entirely curbing his reflexive tone of sarcasm. “What did you say?”
“I asked her…I thought maybe she could come with us.”
“You love her.” Locke nodded to himself before Jean could answer. “You’re not just marking time while we’re out here. You’ve really fallen off the cliff, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jean whispered.
“She’s good,” said Locke. “She’s got wits and fire. She has a real taste for taking things away from people at swordpoint, which is an asset in my book. And at least her you can trust at your back in a fight—”
“I’ve always trusted you—”
“To be at your back in a fight, sure. But her you can trust not to embarrass everyone before it’s over. You two won the day on the Kingfisher, not me. And I saw how she got kicked around—most people would have hugged their hammocks for a few days after that. She’s too damn stubborn to stop moving. You two really are a good match.”
“You make it sound like it’s her or you—”
“Of course it doesn’t have to be. But things will change—”
“Change, yes. And improve. This doesn’t have to mean the end of anything.”
“Take her with us? Three against the world? Start up the whole thing again, rebuild a gang? Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
“Yes, and—”
“I was doing my best impression of a drunken asshole at the time. I know.” Locke put his left hand atop Jean’s right. “You’re right. Things can change, and improve. We’ve seen it happen to other people; maybe it can happen to us for once. Soon as we finish the Sinspire game, we’ll be richer than hell, and no longer welcome in Tal Verrar’s polite society. She could come with us…or you could stay with her….”