Cursing and spluttering, he splashed around in the puddle. Spitting wet hair out of his mouth, he glared up at me in silent rage. A slimy green weed dangled from his ear. His fine leather boots were soaked, and Pa’s shirt was plastered to his shoulders.
Good. That ought to cool him off.
CHAPTER
NINE
“Why’re we moving?” Tarquin barged up the cabin steps. “The Black Dogs are still out there!”
It is difficult to live on a small wherry with someone you’re not speaking to. I wrapped my hand around the tiller, steering Cormorant into the middle of the river.
Over my shoulder I addressed Fee. “Tell our passenger we can’t just hide forever. We’re going to have to take a chance if we want to get to Valonikos.”
Fee’s eyes swiveled like globes. “Childish,” she said.
I shrugged. She was right, but I didn’t care. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
He scowled at me from the farthest corner of the cockpit. “I assure you the feeling is mutual.”
He put his boots up on the cockpit bench. Flecks of dried mud fell off, dirtying the seat. He lifted his chin, daring me to make a comment.
I seethed in silence. He’d done it on purpose, because he knew it would annoy me. Tarquin hadn’t taken well to having a bucket of water dumped on his head.
We’d waited a whole day, but the Black Dogs hadn’t come back. I was itching to get under way. Every hour we lay low in those trees was another hour Pa would be stuck in the brig. The River Thrush was the only route to our destination.
We would simply have to risk it.
Consulting a chart, I concluded we should be just above Gallos Bridge. The late afternoon sun rode low in the sky. If nothing went amiss, I thought we could make it to the House of the Shipwright before dark.
The house was a wherrymen’s tavern, set high above the water on rickety stilts. It squatted alone like a long-legged marsh bird, for there were no other buildings from here to Gallos. If the cutter had passed this way, someone there would know.
Soon the trees gave way to flat marshland and I tensed, scanning the horizon for white sails. I saw none. I relaxed, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. As we sailed on, a wooden structure appeared, no bigger than a dot. Three lights popped into existence one by one. Someone at the House of the Shipwright was lighting lanterns.
I glanced at Fee. “I’m going into the tavern to ask around.” I couldn’t bear a second agonizing day of not knowing where Victorianos was.
“I’m coming too,” Tarquin—if that was even his real name—surprised me by saying.
I gritted my teeth. “You can’t. The Black Dogs might be in there.”
He rose to his feet, towering over me. “If I say I wish to go, I’m going. You wouldn’t be trying to order me around if you knew—”
“Knew what?” I demanded, hoping to goad him into giving something away.
He wrestled down emotion until his face was smooth as the river at dawn. “Nothing.” Unclenching his fists, he let his hands fall limp. “Just—my father is a very influential man.”
Handing the tiller off to Fee, I descended into the cabin. Since many wherries employed a frogman, no one would spare a second glance for her. Tarquin was another matter. Everything from his manner to his coloring marked him as Akhaian—and not just Akhaian, but of wealth and breeding. I rummaged through Cormorant’s lockers. Scooping together a heap of old garments, I laid them on the bunk.
“I can’t wear that.” Tarquin flicked the flowered veil sitting atop the pile of clothes. “That’s for an old woman.”
“That’s right.” My lips twitched at the corners. “Because you’re going to be dressed as an old woman.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh yes, you will.” I gestured at the clothes. “You can’t go flaunting that stupid earring in there. That veil will cover your head much better than anything else we’ve got. If you don’t like it, don’t come.” I smirked. “Or come as you are. The Black Dogs will recognize you right away.”
“Oh, so you want me to be killed?”
I shrugged. “It would get you out of my hair.”
He surveyed the frizzy curls trailing down my back. “I don’t see how that could possibly improve things. I assure you, your hair is hopeless with or without me in it.”
My mouth dropped open, but I bit back a sarcastic reply. Making him dress up like an old woman was revenge enough.
He grabbed up the dress, shawl, and veil, and ducked his head to enter the forward cabin. I shrugged on my oilskin coat, stuffing a knit cap over most of my hair. Its color and texture were uncommon enough to be memorable. That was the last thing I wanted.
Fee steered Cormorant into an empty berth. Judging from the boats, the crowd was mostly locals. Long, curved dories shared slips with smaller dinghies. At the end of the dock, a pair of frogmen, croaking back and forth to each other, unloaded a basket of wriggling eels. The only other wherry had a flag flapping at its masthead—a wine cask crowned with three stars, which I immediately recognized as the Bollard sigil. Throwing a wary glance at it, I hopped down to the dock.
“This isn’t a very good disguise.” Tarquin’s voice came from the depths of the flowered veil. “How many old women more than six feet tall are we likely to see wandering around the riverlands?”
“I reckon just as many as eighteen-year-old boys with Akhaian looks.”
He bristled and shot me a rude look. I had to admit he made an uncannily funny old woman, with his skirt swishing around his boots.
Making our way up the dock, we passed a pair of fishermen. They smelled of sweat and the pungent river mud caked onto their thigh-length waders.
Tarquin wrinkled his nose. “Why must everything in Kynthessa be so filthy?”
I gave him a disdainful sideways glance. Doubtless he would find the cities in Kynthessa more to his liking. Most of the wealth was concentrated along the coast, where shipping companies controlled empires of trade. Bollard Company, for instance, had a whole fleet of brigs and barks and wherries. He couldn’t possibly look down his nose at them.
On the other hand, I suspected Tarquin was better off with us. It was well known in these parts that, in addition to goods, the Bollards dealt in information. They could sniff out a secret a mile away.
Tarquin tugged at his shawl.
“Stop fidgeting,” I hissed. We began to climb the stairs to the tavern. Fee padded behind us, trailing wet footprints.
“If we must do another caper,” he said, “next time I want a better disguise.”
“This is not a caper. My grandpa once impersonated a dock inspector and smuggled a whole shipment of whiskey into Iantiporos, right under the Margravina’s nose. That was a caper.”
“Hush.” Fee gave both of us a stern look.
As we reached the top landing, I pulled open the screen door. The barroom was packed with fishermen and sailors, only a few of whom looked up to note our arrival. A barmaid, apron dashed with amber stains, made a circle of the room, lighting candles with a taper. Each table had an oiled checkered tablecloth, like the one in our cabin.