3
ALL THE new initiates and half the ship’s old company were on the Merry Watch, fueled by rack after rack of the fine eastern wines they’d plucked from the Kingfisher. Locke recognized some of the labels and vintages. Stuff that wouldn’t sell in Camorr for less than twenty crowns a bottle was being sucked down like beer, or poured into the hair of celebrating men and women, or simply spilled on deck. The Orchids, men and women alike, were mixing eagerly with the ex-Messengers now. Dice games and wrestling matches and song-circles had erupted spontaneously. Propositions spoken and unspoken were everywhere. Jabril had vanished belowdecks with a crew-woman at least an hour before.
Locke took it all in from the shadows of the starboard side, just below the raised quarterdeck. The starboard stairs weren’t flush with the rail; there was space enough for a lean person to wedge comfortably between the two. “Ravelle” had been greeted warmly and eagerly enough when he’d circulated on deck, but now that he’d found a cozy exile nobody seemed to be missing him. In his hands was a large leather jack full of blue wine that was worth its weight in silver, untouched.
Across the great mass of laughing, drinking sailors, Locke could make out Jean at the ship’s opposite rail. While Locke watched, the shape of a woman, much shorter, approached him from behind and reached out toward him. Locke turned away.
The water slipped past, a black gel topped with curls of faintly phosphorescent foam. The Orchid was setting a good pace through the night. Laden, she yielded less than before to the chop of the sea, and was parting these little waves like they were air.
“When I was a lieutenant apprentice,” said Captain Drakasha, “on my first voyage with an officer’s sword, I lied to my captain about stealing a bottle of wine.”
She spoke softly. Startled, Locke looked around and saw that she was standing directly over him, at the forward quarterdeck rail.
“Not just me,” she continued. “All eight of us in the apprentices’ berth. We ‘borrowed’ it from the captain’s private stores and should have been smart enough to pitch it over the side when we’d finished.”
“In the…navy of Syrune, this was?”
“Her Resplendent Majesty’s Sea Forces of Syrune Eternal.” Drakasha’s smile was a crescent of white against darkness, faint as the foam topping the waves. “The captain could have had us whipped, or reduced in rank, or even chained up for formal trial on land. Instead she had us strike down the royal yard from the mainmast. We had a spare, of course. But she made us scrape the varnish off the one we’d taken down…. This is a spar of oak, you know, ten feet long and thick as a leg. The captain took our swords and said they’d be restored if and only if we ate the royal yard. Tip to tip, every last splinter.”
“Ate it?”
“A foot and a quarter of sturdy oak for each of us,” said Drakasha. “How we did it was our business. It took a month. We tried everything. Shaving it, scraping it, boiling it, pulping it. We had a hundred tricks to make it palatable, and we forced it down, a few spoonfuls or chips a day. Most of us got sick, but we ate the yard.”
“Gods.”
“When it was over, the captain said she’d wanted us to understand that lies between shipmates tear the ship apart, bit by bit, gnawing at it just as we’d gnawed the royal yard down to nothing.”
“Ah.” Locke sighed and at last took a sip of his warm, excellent wine. “I take it this means I’m due for a bit more dissection, then?”
“Come join me at the taffrail.”
Locke rose, knowing it wasn’t a request.
4
“I NEVER knew that dispensing justice could be so tiring,” said Ezri, appearing at Jean’s right elbow as he stood staring out over the Orchid’s larboard rail. One of the moons was just starting to rise in the south, half a silver-white coin peeking above the night horizon, as though lazily considering whether it was worth rising at all.
“You’ve had a long day, Lieutenant.” Jean smiled.
“Jerome,” she said, reaching out to set a hand upon his right forearm, “if you call me ‘lieutenant’ again tonight, I’ll kill you.”
“As you wish, Lieu…La…something-other-than-‘Lieutenant’-that-starts-with-‘Lieu,’ honest…. Besides, you already tried to execute me once this evening. Look how that turned out.”
“Best way possible,” she said, now leaning against the rail beside him. She wasn’t wearing her armor, just a thin tunic and a pair of calf-length breeches without hose or shoes. Her hair was free, waves of dark curls rustling in the breeze. Jean realized that she was putting most of her weight against the rail and trying hard not to show it.
“Uh, you got a little too close to a few blades today,” he said.
“I’ve been closer. But you, now…you’re…you’re a very good fighter, do you know that?”
“It’s been s—”
“Gods, how wretched was that? Of course you’re a good fighter. I meant to say something much wittier, honest.”
“Then consider it said.” Jean scratched his beard and felt a warm, welcome sort of nervousness fluttering in his stomach. “We can both pretend. All of the, um, effortlessly witty nonsense I’ve been practicing on the barrels in the hold for days has taken flight, too.”
“Practicing, hmmm?”
“Yeah, well…. That Jabril, he’s a sophisticated fellow, isn’t he? Need a bit of conversation to catch his attention, won’t I?”
“What?”
“Didn’t you know I only fancied men? Tall men?”
“Oooh, I kicked you to the deck once, Valora, and I’m about to—”
“Ha! In your condition?”
“My condition is the only thing saving your life at the moment.”
“You wouldn’t dare heap abuse on me in front of half the crew—”
“Of course I would.”
“Well, yes. True.”
“Look at this lovely, noisy mess. I don’t think anyone would even notice if I set you on fire. Hell, down in the main-deck hold there’s couples going at it packed tighter than spears in the arms lockers. You want real peace and quiet any time tonight, closest place you might find it is two or three hundred yards off one of the bows.”
“No, thanks. I don’t know how to say ‘stop eating me’ in shark.”
“Well then, you’re stuck here with us. And we’ve been waiting for you lot to get off the scrub watch for long enough.” She grinned up at him. “Tonight everyone gets to know everyone else.”
Jean stared at her, eyes wide, not knowing what to say or do next. Her grin became a frown.
“Jerome, am I…doing something wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You keep sort of moving away. Not just with your body, but with your neck. You keep…”
“Oh, hell.” Jean laughed, reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, and felt himself burst into an uncontrollable twit-grin when she reached up to hold it there. “Ezri, I lost my optics when you…made us swim, the day we came aboard. I’m what they call near-blind. I guess I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been fidgeting to keep you in focus.”
“Oh, gods,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Keeping you in focus is worth the trouble.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” Jean felt the anxious pressure in his stomach migrating upward to fill his chest, and he took a deep breath. “Look, we almost got killed today. Fuck these games. Do you want to have a drink with me?”