The ship swayed, and Cat almost fell, but caught herself with a lunge for the rail. “You have the edge of experience?”
“This spyglass of mine’s older than most pilots on the river.” He touched the symbols stamped into the bronze. “A relic of my vital days. Locals sail the harbor more often. If there’s a new wreck I don’t know about, if the sandbanks have shifted, if you put in port chains or kraken mines, we’re in trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Can you swim?”
“In my own body, yes. If I put the Suit on, I sink.”
“I’ll try not to wreck us, then.”
“You weren’t doing that already?”
Fangs glinted in the moonlight as he grinned.
Despite Cat’s misgivings about the skeleton crew, they seemed at least as competent as the mortal variety. Raz’s sailors were not linked like the Blacksuits were through Justice, but they’d worked together long enough to even out the difference. A hand of bone tossed a coil of rope to the chitinous claw of a mantis-thing, who scrambled up the mast so lightly its needle-tipped feet left no tracks on the wood. The spider-woman called depth, a skeleton whose bones were half-replaced with metal checked the charts, and a raven cawed from the crow’s nest.
“The Dream is moored,” Raz said once they cleared the harbor, “just leeward of the cape. You can see her lanterns from here.” There were no lights on the Bounty’s deck—most of the crew could see by moon and stars as if by daylight—so Cat’s eyes were well-adjusted to the dark. He pointed to three small bright flickers near the ocean’s face, like candle flames or stars. “That’s not good,” he said. “Plan was, run silent until we’re alongside. We’ve snuffed the running lights—which, in case you ever try this on your own—”
“Without our civilian contractor?”
“Running without lights is stupid, and dangerous. Never, ever do it unless you can see at least as well at night as you can during the day, and want to sneak up on someone, and are a pirate.”
“What’s the problem?”
“They’re past the city’s no-fly zone. You see that line there, where the water’s less shiny?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll have scouts in the sky, and any sky watch worth its salt can see in the dark. There goes our element of surprise. We can probably still catch them—but then this goes from a sneak-and-board to high-seas battle against professionals.”
“Isn’t that your area of expertise?”
“Part of lasting long enough to develop that expertise,” he said, “has been deploying it as seldom as possible. I have people who can take out their recon if we make it to the open ocean, but we’re inside the zone. Your Suits can fly, right?”
In theory. In practice, flight involved more collaboration with the Goddess than anyone on the force had managed so far. “We’re not trained for aerial combat. Most officers don’t even know how to make the Suit grow wings.”
“No time to try like the present,” he said.
“I have a better idea.”
She did not exactly pray. She wasn’t talking to a god—or goddess, for that matter. Just sending a message.
Keep telling yourself that.
Her own thought. Probably. Either way, she ignored it.
Waves lapped the Bounty’s sides, and the deck rolled gently beneath them. In the distance, wind whistled over sharp rocks.
“I’m waiting,” Raz said.
He looked up as the whistle approached.
Aev fell from heaven in a granite blur and flared her wings to arrest herself one foot above the deck. She landed with a soft tick of talons on wood, but her weight still set the ship rocking.
“Can I help?” she asked.
Raz swore in a language Cat did not recognize, and removed his cap. “I think you can, at that.”
13
Matt half-hoped their plan, concocted over drinks at lunch—their scheme, to be honest—would end as so many others did, in a third (or fourth) round of beers and someone’s finally remembering they all had shops to open come morning. Public displays of civic fervor were no fit pastimes for small business owners. Leave adventures to kids dumb as they’d once been, a new crop of which the Quarter sprouted every year and ate faster.
But Corbin Rafferty did not calm. The idea stuck in his mind like a fishhook in the lip, and he would not stop wriggling long enough to let others pry it out. He took to the street, and Matt followed.
Determination straightened Corbin’s weaving path. He visited taprooms and tea shops whose owners he knew, and regaled them with his plan. He met customers on sidewalks and outside construction sites and playing ball on public courts, and in each venue he proclaimed: I’ll bring the Stone Men for you all to see. Come to the market tonight at nine. The message took them as far as Hot Town before Matt noticed the Crier following them, a bow-shouldered man in guild orange. He dropped into a convenience store, waited for the Crier to pass, then stepped out behind him.
“You want something.”