The captain’s cabin opened, and a figure of knives and wheels emerged. Clawed feet cut into deck wood, and the lenses within its eyes slipped from point to point of focus. Scalpels unfolded from its fingers, and springs turned wheels within the hollow of its chest.
Golem, Cat thought, though she had never seen a golem like this before—a mouthless work of art, moving delicately despite this weight that pressed upon them all. Maybe it was immune, or so strong it did not feel the pressure. It approached Raz and bent over him. Scalpels clicked into place. Its head turned sideways, considering how best to cut. Internal mechanisms ticked through the artificial quiet, as if she held a watch to her ear. The ships’ lanterns glinted off its blades as they slid, so gently, along Raz’s jaw.
Then Aev fell out of the sky on top of it.
Knives blunted and thin metal limbs snapped beneath a ton of high-velocity gargoyle. Gears and springs and shattered glass flew out in all directions. The deck stove in beneath her feet. Lightning danced from broken planks, and the strange weight that bound Cat to the wood vanished. She rose, as did the other Blacksuits; Raz and the crew of Bounty and Dream took longer to recover.
The golem’s skull rolled from its shattered body. Aev looked down at it, quizzical, then crushed it to dust with her heel. A shadow rose screaming from the metal husk, and faded on the wind.
What took you so long? Cat asked.
Aev pointed up with one clawed finger. Cat looked, saw nothing, then heard a whisper of wind. A huge bat-winged creature fell to splash between the two ships. It lay faceup in the water, twitching in its swoon.
“Busy,” Aev said.
They secured the ship in minutes. Dream’s remaining crew surrendered; Blacksuits moved through their ranks, taking names and faces for prosecution. Raz’s crew spidered up the rigging to prepare the Dream for sailing into port.
“Do you feel useful now?” she asked Aev after the worst was done.
“I enjoyed this,” the gargoyle replied. “But what was our purpose here? Helping pirates take a merchant ship?”
“Follow me,” Cat said, and led her down below.
The gargoyle could not use the ladder—too heavy—so she jumped into the hold, splintering more timber when she landed. The ship rocked, and Cat steadied herself on the wall. Belowdecks the Dream smelled foul, animal stink mixed with tar and pine. She worked fore past wine barrels and bales of cloth and crates marked for Iskar and the Schwarzwald. A black wall closed off the forward hold; the wall had a single door without handle or visible lock save for a shimmering Craft circle.
“We’ve suspected Varg of zombie trading for a while, but without proof we had no excuse to search the ship.” They’d taken an amulet from Varg’s coat that afternoon, and she drew it from her belt pouch now. “But she reached out to a dreamglass supplier in Alt Coulumb this time, and dreamglass is illegal in the city, so.” The seven-pointed star on the amulet’s face matched the symbol at the Craft circle’s center; she applied the one to the other, twisted, and the door creaked open. Chill wind fogged her breath. “Here you go.”
Aev entered the cold, dark room. Cat could barely see the hold’s contents over the swell of her wings and back, which was just as well; it wasn’t a good sight. “They’re shipping bodies.”
“Those people are still alive, just suspended.” Frost crisped and blued the bodies’ skin. Looking at them tightened cords in Cat’s chest. She slid past Aev into the hold and touched a sleeping woman’s shoulder. The flesh was softer than if she were frozen. A hundred, perhaps, lay on racks. When Cat drew back her hand, it was chilled beyond her blood’s power to warm.
“Who would let this happen?”
“Let doesn’t have much to do with it,” she said. “They’re indentured, people who’ve mortgaged themselves away, suspended their own wills while the body works to repay their debt. It’s cheaper than raising a corpse, if you believe that. Dead stuff decays, you know. These people live without any choice but to do what their contract holder tells them, until the indenture’s done.”
“Slaves,” Aev said.
“Zombies. Craftwork isn’t supposed to let people become property, but there are ways to treat the one like the other if you’re a sick kind of clever, and no one catches you. Which is why people like Varg deal dreamglass: every price is a negotiation, and nothing skews negotiations like addiction. You hook people, then raise the loan rates until indenture’s their only option. And if they don’t have the resources to hire a good Craftswoman, the indenture deal can be pretty bad.”
“This is allowed?”
“Not in our city,” she said. She didn’t say, but we can only stop it when we find it or but who knows how people make the fortunes they invest with us or but you won’t find one port in the world this business doesn’t pass through. Aev’s claws tightened on the doorjamb, leaving deep grooves in the wood. “Come on. Let’s get up top.”