3
UTGAR WAS the one waiting at the entry port to offer a hand when Zamira and Ezri went back up the side of the Poison Orchid. It was half past the tenth hour of the evening.
“Welcome back, Captain. How you be?”
“I’ve spent the day arguing with the Shipbreaker and the council of captains,” Zamira muttered. “I require my children and I require a drink. Ezri—”
“Yes?”
“You, Ravelle, Valora. My cabin, immediately.”
Once in her cabin, Zamira threw her coat, sabers, Elderglass vest, and hat haphazardly onto her hammock. She settled onto her favorite chair with a groan and welcomed Paolo and Cosetta onto her lap. She lost herself in the familiar smell of their curly dark hair, and gazed with absolute satisfaction at their little fingers as she caught them in her own rough hands. Cosetta’s, still so tiny and uncertain…Paolo’s, growing longer and more dexterous by the week. Gods, they were growing too fast, too fast.
Their familiar chatter calmed her to the marrow; apparently Paolo had spent the afternoon fighting monsters that lived in her sea chest, while Cosetta now had plans to grow up to be king of the Seven Marrows. Zamira briefly considered explaining the difference between a king and a queen, and deemed it not worth the effort; contradicting Cos would only lead to days of circular argument.
“Be king! Seven marers!” the little girl said, and Zamira nodded solemnly.
“Remember your poor family when you come into your kingdom, darling.”
The door opened, and Ezri appeared with Kosta and Valora…or should that be de Ferra? Damn these layered aliases.
“Lock the door,” said Zamira. “Paolo, fetch Mommy four glasses. Ezri, can you do the business on one of those bottles of Lashani Blue? They’re right behind you.”
Paolo, overawed at his responsibility, set four small tumblers out on the lacquered table atop the sea chests. Kosta and de Ferra found seats on floor cushions, and Ezri made quick work of the waxed cork sealing the bottle. The smell of fresh lemons filled the cabin, and Ezri filled each tumbler to the brim with wine the color of the ocean depths.
“Alas, I’m bereft of toasts,” said Zamira. “Sometimes one merely needs a drink. Have at it.” Holding Cos with her left arm, Zamira downed her wine in one go, relishing the mingled tastes of spice and citrus, feeling the prickles of icy heat slide down her throat.
“Want,” said Cosetta.
“This is a Mommy drink, Cos, and you wouldn’t like its taste.”
“Want!”
“I said—oh, very well. Can’t fear the fire if you don’t scald your fingertips.” She poured the merest dash of the blue wine into her tumbler and handed it carefully to Cos. The girl took it up with an expression of the utmost solemnity, tipped it back into her mouth, and then dropped it on the tabletop with a clatter.
“Like piss,” she hollered, shaking her head.
“There are some drawbacks,” said Zamira as she caught the tumbler before it went over the edge, “to raising children among sailors. But then I myself am no doubt making the largest contribution to her vocabulary.”
“Piiiisssss,” yelled Cosetta, giggling and immensely pleased with herself. Zamira shushed her.
“I have a toast,” said Kosta, smirking and raising his glass. “To clear perception. I have just now, after all these weeks, realized who the real captain of this vessel is.”
De Ferra chuckled and clinked tumblers with him. Ezri, however, left her wine untouched on the table before her and stared down at her hands. Zamira resolved to make this quick; Ezri clearly needed to be alone with Jerome.
“It’s like this, Ravelle,” said Zamira. “I didn’t know I’d be arguing for your plan until I found myself doing so.”
“So you’re taking us—”
“Back to Tal Verrar. Yes.” She poured herself another tumbler of wine and took a more conservative sip. “I’ve convinced the council not to panic if stories come down from the north concerning the mischief we’re about to work.”
“Thank you, Captain. I—”
“Don’t thank me with words, Ravelle.” Zamira sipped her wine again and set the tumbler down. “Thank me by keeping your side of the bargain. Find a way to kill Maxilan Stragos.”
“Yes.”
“Let me make something else clear.” Zamira carefully turned Cosetta in her arms so that the little girl was looking out across the table, straight at Kosta. “Everyone aboard this ship will be risking their life to give you your chance at this scheme. Every single person.”
“I…I understand.”
“If time passes, and we can’t find a solution for what Stragos has done to you…well, your access to him can’t last forever. I’ll do everything in my power to help you before it comes to that. But if there’s no other alternative, if time runs out and the only way you can take him down is to sacrifice yourself—I won’t expect to see you again, do you understand?”
“If it comes to that,” said Kosta, “I’ll drag him to the judgment of the gods with my bare hands. We’ll go together.”
“Gods,” said Cosetta. “Bare hands!”
“Piss!” shouted Kosta, hoisting his tumbler toward Cosetta, who nearly came apart at the joints with the resulting fit of giggles.
“Thank you, Ravelle, for this gift of a daughter who will now be up all night repeating that word…”
“Sorry, Captain. So, when do we leave?”
“Half the crew goes ashore tonight, and the other half tomorrow. We’ll be scraping them up in heaps the day after, those that want to stay with us. Hopefully we can be rid of our swag tomorrow. So…two days. Two and a half, maybe. Then we’ll see how the Orchid flies.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“And that’s all,” Zamira said. “My children are up too late, and I intend to claim the privilege of snoring as loudly as I wish once you’re all out of my cabin.”
Kosta was the first to take the hint, draining his glass and leaping to his feet. De Ferra followed, and was about to leave when Ezri spoke in a quiet voice. “Jerome. May I see you in my cabin? Just for a few minutes?”
“A few minutes?” Jerome grinned. “Tsk, Ezri, when did you become such a pessimist?”
“Now,” she said, wiping the smile from his face. Chagrined, he helped her to her feet.
A moment later, the door to her cabin clicked shut, leaving Zamira alone with her family in one of the quiet interludes that were so damnably rare. For a few brief moments every night, she could imagine that her ship was traveling neither to nor from danger, and she could imagine herself more mother than captain, alone with the ordinary concerns of her children—
“Mommy,” said Paolo without any warning, “I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”
Zamira couldn’t help herself; she stared at him for several seconds, and then cracked up laughing. Ordinary? Gods, how could any child born to this life be anything resembling ordinary?
“Sword,” hollered Cosetta, possible future king of the Seven Marrows. “Sword! Sword!”