“The packages you brought ashore for me?” Evan said. “Where are they?”
Kadar tipped his head toward the warehouse. “They’re just inside the door.”
“Thank you.” Evan turned back toward the warehouse, but Kadar dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, Faris. I’m having a little gathering at the Windfall later on. I hope you’ll join us.”
Kadar owned the Windfall—a combined tavern/clicket-house/company store for sailors. He liked to run a tab for his crews so that he could part them from their pay before they found somewhere else to spend it.
“Lucky Faris” might sound like a name a gambler would use, but Evan had no intention of leaving his earnings on the tables at the Windfall, or getting deep in his cups and deeper in debt and spilling secrets that were better kept close.
Kadar owned everything in Tarvos worth having, but he didn’t own Evan—not yet—and that grieved the dock boss.
“Thank you,” Evan said, “but I need to get home.”
“C’mon,” Kadar said. “Be sociable for once. Don’t you want a night out after so long at sea?”
It’s hardly at sea, Evan thought, when I could jump off the boat and swim to shore anywhere along the way.
Evan shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“First round’s on me.”
And that would be watered-down piss. Or the full package—turtled belch, empty pockets, and a knife in the back.
No. Kadar was making too much money off his sweat right now. Plus, Kadar never did anything without an agenda of his own.
“No, thanks. I’ve got some reading to do.”
Kadar cocked his head. “How old are you, anyway?”
Evan had to think about it. Had it really been two years since he’d left Strangward’s service? That would make him fifteen. “Seventeen,” he said, adding two more years for good measure.
“Seventeen?” Kadar said. “Then you ought to be making the acquaintance of the handsome lads and ladies upstairs. Surely there’s somebody to your liking.” When Evan shook his head, Kadar’s eyes narrowed. “You might as well be a monk. You didn’t catch the wetland religion, did you?”
“No,” Evan said, an edge to his voice now. “I’m not a monk. I’m just careful with my money.” And my heart. The last thing he needed was to get entangled with one of Kadar’s courtesans. He stuck out his hand. “Speaking of money, if you’ll pay off the last of my contract, I’ll be on my way.”
Kadar scowled. He really, really, really hated parting with money. “Suit yourself,” he said, plunking a bag of coin into Evan’s waiting hand. His expression grew even darker when Evan proceeded to count it. And count it again. When Evan looked up and opened his mouth to speak, Kadar said, “You might’ve noticed that it’s less than what you’re used to.”
“It’s not that it’s less than what I’m used to, it’s less than we agreed on,” Evan said, looking the boss in the eye.
“Times are hard,” Kadar said. “The empress in the north is making life miserable for all of us. A man never knows if his cargo’ll get to where it’s going these days.”
Evan wasn’t buying. “So prices of goods are up,” he said. “I travel with a full hold and I get it where it’s going on time. You should be making more money than before. I should be making more money than before.”
“I’ve got more expenses than ever before,” Kadar said. “Everyone’s taking a pay cut.”
“Everyone?” Evan folded his arms.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“If you’re going to change the agreement, you should do it before I sign and not after,” Evan said. He stuck out his hand again. “Now pay me the rest.”
Kadar eyed him for a long moment, as if debating what move to make. Evan knew he was the best pilot sailing out of Tarvos, which was why Kadar routinely put him at the helm of the New Moon. Finally, grudgingly, Kadar paid him the balance. Evan counted it again, then put it away. He was turning to go when the dock boss called after him, “Just so you know, I won’t have any work for you for a while.”
Evan swung back around. “Is that so?” He struggled to control the storm of anger rising inside him. “Why? Are you taking the season off?”
“New Moon’s going to be in dry dock for a while,” Kadar said. “We’re reconfiguring her belowdecks, expanding her hold, making room for more cargo.” He clapped Evan on the back. “Don’t worry, soon as she’s up and running, I’ll call on you.”
The wind came up, setting New Moon’s rigging to flapping, sending a miniature squall line across the water in the harbor. The air thickened, picking up moisture and energy from the sea.
No, Evan thought. The last thing I need is for people to be talking about a sailor who can make weather. He breathed in, then released the air slowly, feeling the tingle in his fingers diminish.
“You know I’m happy to crew on any ship, in any role,” Evan said. “Rupert Fry said he’d be glad to have me back soon as—”
“If Rupert Fry wants to hire you on permanent, then let him,” Kadar said. “I’ve got men who’ve been with me for years that I need to go to first. You’ll get your turn, just not right away.” He waved at Evan’s packages by the door. “Cheer up. You can get all those books read.”
The dockmaster strutted away like the cock of the yard, which was exactly what he was, here in Tarvos.
Evan knew he was being taught a lesson. It didn’t matter to the dock boss if somebody else’s cargo took a little longer to get where it was going—it wasn’t money out of his pocket. So he’d put Evan back to work when his own ship was back in business. But if Evan spent all his time crewing on New Moon, he wouldn’t have the chance to show other ship’s masters what he could do.
He was damned by his own success.
By now, the sun was low in the sky, burning a bloody path from the harbor mouth to the dockside as it sank into the sea. Evan scooped up his books and shoved them into his carry bag.
The traditional path to ownership by a Desert Coast pirate was to take a ship from someone else. But he couldn’t manage that all by himself, and certainly not with New Moon.
One thought kept surfacing, like a bloated corpse. If you want to sail the blue waters, you’ll need a crew you can trust.
Good luck with that.
Shouldering his carry bag, Evan walked away from the waterfront, following a roundabout path to the stable, careful not to be followed.
Djillaba lifted his head and snorted when he heard Evan come in. The stallion was his only other indulgence, beyond books, and this one he kept secret from Kadar and his crew. Celestine might have claimed that Evan had royal blood in his veins, but Djillaba’s bloodlines were older and no doubt finer.
“Hello, there,” he murmured, stroking the horse’s velvety nose. He eyed the bedding in the stall, checked the feed box, and examined Djillaba’s hooves and coat to make sure the stable man had kept up with his grooming. Working methodically, he draped the blanket over the stallion’s back and followed with the lightweight saddle.
Evan didn’t have a ship—not yet—but he could have this, at least.
For a while. But he needed work, and that was going to be hard to find in Tarvos.
4
AN INFESTATION OF FARMERS
When Evan had arrived in Tarvos a year ago, horse rich and money poor, he’d taken to exploring the countryside whenever he was in port. A short ride south of town, he’d come across an abandoned farm. The cottage was in a pretty spot, next to a river fed by snowmelt from the Dragonback Mountains, and close enough to the sea to suit him. After watching it for several days and seeing no sign of activity, he’d simply moved in. It was dilapidated, falling down in places, but it kept the rain off, saved him paying swiving Kadar palace prices for a room in town, and kept him out of sight when he wasn’t crewing somewhere.