“You’re a lucky man, Nick,” he greeted Pa, as they clasped hands. “If you’d a been here two hours ago, I reckon that’d be your boat at the bottom of the river. Ayah, along with the rest.”
Pa kept his voice low, out of respect. “What happened?”
“Eleven wherries sunk.” Smoke trailed in a thin curl from the dock inspector’s pipe. His voice was calm enough, but I noticed his hand trembled. “The ship come down from Akhaia. Victorianos.”
“The name don’t strike a bell,” Pa said.
“She were a cutter. Speedy looking, with six four-pounders. They had ’em loaded with fire rockets.”
I glanced up the river, almost expecting to see the ghost of the cutter rounding the bend. There was nothing but the trees’ dark shadows, lengthening across the water. Looking at the charred masts, a pang of loss pierced me. Wherries weren’t just cargo ships. They had personalities. They were homes.
I turned back to the dock inspector. “A cutter like that is wasted on this part of the riverlands,” I said. “She can’t use her speed proper with all these twists and turns, and her keel’s too deep to get into the best hidey-holes. She belongs on the sea. What were they doing up here?”
“Trying to destroy the docks?” Pa asked. “Or one of the warehouses?”
The man shook his head in bewilderment. “Far’s I can tell, neither. They aimed at the wherries first. Three of ’em were loading. The cargo all went up. Then the docks caught, and the fire spread to the first warehouse. We managed to get a bucket line going, but two boys were badly burned fighting the fire.” He gestured at the stack of crates. “This is all that’s left of the cargo.”
The dock inspector looked so solemn, I knew there was more.
“How many killed?” Pa asked softly.
“Only two. The Singers were asleep aboard Jenny.”
“Current carry them.” Pa pulled off his woolen cap, smoothing back red hair streaked with silver.
“Current carry them,” I echoed in a whisper, clenching my hands into fists. The ragged edge of one bitten nail dug into my palm. I couldn’t imagine who would do something like this. The burned skeletons of the wherries poked out of the still water, where several wooden casks and crates bobbed.
We had anchored in a graveyard.
“Hair like weeds,” Fee whispered, swiveling her eyes toward the dark water.
Before I had a chance to ask what she meant, a voice sounded behind us. “Nicandros Oresteia, captain of the wherry Cormorant?”
I wheeled around. An army officer stood on the dock, his knee-length blue coat covered in road dust. He was lit from the back by the last rays of the setting sun, so I couldn’t see his face.
Pa and I exchanged glances. My pulse fluttered nervously.
The man spoke again, his voice carrying across the water. “I’m looking for the captain of the river wherry Cormorant.”
Pa slowly turned. “I’m him.”
“By command of the Margravina of Kynthessa, I’ll need you to come with me now.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. He wore a longsword and two pistols. He had drawn none of the weapons, but he didn’t have to. They were easily visible on his belt, a silent threat.
“Really,” Pa said, equal notes of teasing and disbelief in his voice. “Didn’t think the Margravina knew my name to command me. We ain’t acquainted.”
Slowly I moved my hand, the one the commander couldn’t see, toward my pocket, where my knife was stashed. I’d grown up on tales of Oresteias making mad, reckless escapes from men in uniform. I was ready.
Pa shook his head at me, and I paused, my hand hovering.
“I am Commander Keros,” the stranger said, “of the Margravina’s Third Company. I’m authorized to speak as her voice, as I’m sure you well know. Will you be so obliging as to come along with me to the harbor master’s office?”
Then soldiers marched onto the dock behind him, and I knew he wasn’t asking.
I spoke up. “You don’t really think we had anything to do with this.”
“Of course not, girl.” The commander glanced at me the same way I might look at a minnow or an ant. He directed his words to my father. “I have an offer I wish to discuss with you, Captain. In private.”
“But I’m—” I started.
Pa jerked his head toward town. “Go up to the Spar and Splice, Caro. I’ll meet you there.”
Before I had a chance to protest, they whisked him up the blackened cobbles, pressed between the commander and the soldiers. I wasn’t fooled by his casual saunter. His shoulders were stiff as he burrowed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.
I watched until my father was out of sight. It had happened so fast. My fingers twitched, brushing the outline of my hidden knife. They’d let him keep his pistol, I reminded myself. He couldn’t be in that much danger.
“Well,” I said to Fee, then grimaced. I’d intended to sound confident, but it had come out as almost a shout. “Let’s go.”
Hespera’s Watch had but one tavern, the Spar and Splice. Its roof tiles were singed, but it was otherwise undamaged by the fire. I took the steps two at a time, barging through the door. Fee padded along behind me, her knobby elbows gleaming green in the lamplight.
A floorboard creaked under my battered canvas deck shoe. I glanced down, and realized I stood in a puddle of water. It trailed down the hall, staining the planks and soaking the woven rug.
Light flickered from an open door. I heard hushed voices, both male and female. Curiosity pulling me closer, I peeked into the room. Something long and lumpy was laid out on a bed, shrouded in a wet linen sheet. At first I didn’t realize what I was seeing, until my gaze fixed on the boots sticking out from under the sheet.
I swallowed. I’d only known the Singers to shout hello to. Mrs. Singer had had lovely hair, long and straight. It spilled out from under the sheet now, like a black jumble of eels, drip, drip, dripping.
Hair like weeds. Remembering Fee’s cryptic words, I pictured Mrs. Singer’s hair tangled with the slimy green reeds at the bottom of the river, drifting in the murky current.
A shiver went through me.
Averting my eyes from the bodies, I stumbled down the hall to the barroom. I’d never seen a dead person before. My heart hammered in panic. Stupid. It was stupid to be afraid. Corpses couldn’t hurt anyone.
Fee touched my shoulder. “Strong.”
I nodded, inhaling deeply to steady my nerves.
Tension lay over the crowd in the barroom like a held breath. People huddled and whispered in small groups, occasionally slamming mugs on the bar. I could almost smell the shock and anger above the stale scent of spilled beer. There were many women, and one small boy, who stared with saucer-shaped eyes as his mother held on to his collar. It was not uncommon for wherrymen to sail with their families aboard. Two frogmen sat at a corner table, mottled heads leaning together as they croaked in their own language. On any other night, Fee would have hopped over to join them. Tonight, she only stepped protectively closer to me, her wary gaze darting around the barroom.