It made her want to pick a fight.
Alucard’s first mate, Stross, liked to say she had hot blood—Lila was pretty sure he meant it as a compliment—but in truth, a fight was just the easiest way to test your mettle, to see if you’d gotten stronger, or weaker. Sure, she’d been fighting at sea all winter, but land was a different beast. Like horses that were trained on sand, so they’d be faster when they ran on packed earth.
Lila cracked her knuckles and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Looking for trouble, said a voice in her head. You’re gonna look till you find it.
Lila cringed at the ghost of Barron’s words, a memory with edges still too sharp to touch.
She looked around; the Night Spire had docked in a place called Sasenroche, a cluster of wood and stone at the edge of the Arnesian empire. The very edge.
Bells rang out the hour, their sound diffused by cliff and fog. If she squinted, she could make out three other ships, one an Arnesian vessel, the other two foreign: the first (she knew by the flags) was a Veskan trader, carved from what looked like a solid piece of black wood; the second was a Faroan glider, long and skeletal and shaped like a feather. Out at sea, canvas could be stretched over its spindly barbs in dozens of different ways to maneuver the wind.
Lila watched as men shuffled about on the deck of the Veskan ship. Four months on the Spire, and she had never traveled into foreign waters, never seen the people of the neighboring empires up close. She’d heard stories, of course—sailors lived on stories as much as sea air and cheap liquor—of the Faroans’ dark skin, set with jewels; of the towering Veskans and their hair, which shone like burnished metal.
But it was one thing to hear tell, and another to see them with her own eyes.
It was a big world she’d stumbled into, full of rules she didn’t know and races she’d never seen and languages she didn’t speak. Full of magic. Lila had discovered that the hardest part of her charade was pretending that everything was old hat when it was all so new, being forced to feign the kind of nonchalance that only comes from a lifetime of knowing and taking for granted. Lila was a quick study, and she knew how to keep up a front; but behind the mask of disinterest, she took in everything. She was a sponge, soaking up the words and customs, training herself to see something once and be able to pretend she’d seen it a dozen—a hundred—times before.
Alucard’s boots sounded on the wooden dock, and she let her attention slide off the foreign ships. The captain stopped beside her, took a deep breath, and rested his hand on her shoulder. Lila still tensed under the sudden touch, a reflex she doubted would ever fade, but she didn’t pull away.
Alucard was dressed in his usual high style, a silvery blue coat accented with a black sash, his brassy brown hair pinned back with its black clasp beneath an elegant hat. He seemed as fond of hats as she was of knives. The only thing out of place was the satchel slung across his shoulder.
“Do you smell that, Bard?” he asked in Arnesian.
Lila sniffed. “Salt, sweat, and ale?” she ventured.
“Money,” he answered brightly.
Lila looked around, taking in the port town. A winter mist swallowed the tops of the few squat buildings, and what showed through the evening fog was relatively unimpressive. Nothing about the place screamed money. Nothing about it screamed anything, for that matter. Sasenroche was the very definition of unassuming. Which was apparently the idea.
Because officially, Sasenroche didn’t even exist.
It didn’t appear on any land maps—Lila learned early on that there were two kinds of maps, land and sea, and they were as different as one London from another. A land map was an ordinary thing, but a sea map was a special thing, showing not only the open sea but its secrets, its hidden islands and towns, the places to avoid and the places to go, and who to find once you got there. A sea map was never to be taken off its ship. It couldn’t be sold or traded, not without word getting back to a seafarer, and the punishment was steep; it was a small world, and the prize wasn’t worth the risk. If any man of the waters—or any man who wished to keep his head on his shoulders—saw a sea map on land, he was to burn it before it burned him.
Thus Sasenroche was a well-guarded secret on land, and a legend at sea. Marked on the right maps (and known by the right sailors) as simply the Corner, Sasenroche was the only place where the three empires physically touched. Faro, the lands to the south and east, and Vesk, the kingdom to the north, apparently grazed Ames right here in this small, unassuming port town. Which made it a perfect place, Alucard had explained, to find foreign things without crossing foreign waters, and to be rid of anything you couldn’t take home.
“A black market?” Lila had asked, staring down at the Spire’s own sea map on the captain’s desk.