“What?”
Markos looked away, but not before I saw his cheekbones and the tips of his ears redden. “I said, ‘And I thought you were pretty.’ ” He fiddled with his hands. “I … imagined some things that weren’t there.”
If he had said there was snow falling through the roof of the cabin, I wouldn’t have been more shocked. Pretty. After he’d spent the last three days insinuating that nothing on this wherry was good enough for him, including me.
He went on. “I suppose you might wash more, but there is a certain … rural … charm about you. And you’re very …”
I narrowed my eyes. “You should’ve stopped while you were ahead.”
“I was going to say capable.”
That wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I stared at him. “Who ever tried to kiss a girl because she’s capable?”
He shrugged, giving me a lopsided smile. “My world is full of useless people.”
“Oh.” I was certainly a great conversationalist this morning.
“I jumped to conclusions about who you were,” he went on. “Conclusions that might not have been true and were likely hurtful to you. I did hope to manipulate you. I’ve been thinking about what Lord Peregrine said. A person who holds a position of power ought never to use it to take advantage of others.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
I sensed he wasn’t finished.
“I feel so backward here.” He watched the rain pelt the cabin window. “The only thing I know how to be is an Emparch’s son. I know everything I do seems wrong and stupid to you.”
He had a strange look on his face, as if he hoped I would deny it but was already resigned to the fact that I would not.
I almost felt bad now for dumping the bucket of water on him. But I remembered how he’d put his hands on me, and how angry and ashamed it had made me. And then how ashamed I’d felt for being ashamed, because he was the one in the wrong.
“I reckon we’ll make Siscema by noon,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation in a less embarrassing direction. I was sure he could hear the apprehensive patter of my heart. “You can stay in here if you want. I won’t think less of you if you don’t want to go outside in bad weather.”
“Now there’s a lie. Yes, you will.”
I shrugged. “I was only trying to make you feel better.”
“There’s one more thing I wanted to say.” He squared his shoulders. “Having resided on this boat for several days, I can see now that it’s not a piece of junk. It’s very good at … the things it does.”
I glanced sharply at him. He was clever enough to figure out that complimenting Cormorant was a sure way of getting back into my good graces, but I saw no guile behind his tired eyes. I decided to accept his awkward speech for what it seemed to be—a peace offering.
“Thanks for that, at least.” I paused for a moment. “Where do we go from here?”
He looked into his coffee, as if the solutions to the problems that haunted us were at the bottom of the mug. “I think that’s up to you.”
“On the lightship at the Neck,” I said slowly, “they put out different colored lights to warn ships of the weather. One yellow lamp means the day is fair. A red lamp means conditions on the sea are bad.”
“What are we?”
“Two yellow lamps,” I said. “Sail with caution.”
We made Siscema just after noon. The rain had stopped, but clouds hung low over the land, as well as the smoke from hundreds of chimneys. Siscema was bigger than Hespera’s Watch or Gallos. Lying as it did at the place where the River Thrush and the River Kars joined, it was the most important port in the northern riverlands. The city was a cobblestoned maze of alleys and walled gardens. Its docks were a sprawling hodgepodge, with barrels and crates stacked everywhere. Wagons rolled in and out of the riverside warehouses, and the smell of tar and sawdust lingered.
I steered Cormorant into an empty slip at the lumberyard. Surrounded by the familiar port sounds of clanking cranes, screeching gulls, and creaking rigging, we waited for the dock inspector to unload our cargo. There was no sign of Victorianos.
I had other reasons to keep an eye out. I was known to too many people in the city of Siscema. People I would rather not be seen by.
Markos watched a group of sleek black birds duck and glide among the buoys.
“Cormorants,” I said.
“They ride low in the water, like the boat.”
I was pleased he’d noticed. “She does look a bit like a big black cormorant, don’t she?”
Markos had lost some of the shadows under his eyes. He’d emerged on deck with his hair damp and face pink from fresh scrubbing, looking much more like his usual self.
Of course, his usual self was still annoying. But he seemed more relaxed as he sat with his legs dangling off the cabin roof, the collar of Pa’s shirt stirring in the breeze. Perhaps he and I had come to a wary understanding, or his grief had simply broken him down.
“Will you stop looking over your shoulder? You’re making me twitchy,” he said.
“We might be waiting for hours. What if the Black Dogs show up?” I was reluctant to tell him the Black Dogs were only half of what was on my mind.
“We could just forget about the logs,” Markos suggested.
“We’ll go twice as fast without them.” I chewed on my lower lip, biting off a tiny patch of skin. It was a bad habit, but I was so nervous I couldn’t help it. “Why must the dock inspector be so cursed slow?” I gestured at the other wherries. “I wish we could just skip this line and get out of here.”
“Of course! Caroline, I’ve just had a thought.” He jumped down. “Your lip is bleeding.”
“Yes, thank you. That’s not very helpful.” I sucked the offending lip into my mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
“That wasn’t it. The letter of marque! I only wish we’d thought of it an hour ago.”
“You think that’ll do any good?”
“Do you think a Margravina’s ships wait?” He looked down his nose in scorn. “Because an Emparch’s certainly don’t. Where do you keep it?”
I drew it from the upper pocket of my oilskin coat. The ribbon was crushed and the parchment dog-eared, but it was still a letter of marque.
“You there!” There was an authoritative snap to Markos’s voice as he called to the dock inspector. “We’re on the Margravina’s business.”
Unbelievably, the dock inspector stopped what he was doing and came right over. Perhaps the trick was confidence. Markos assumed people would obey him at once, and so they did.
I supposed I was the exception.
The dock inspector had a grizzled beard and skin darker than my mother’s. He wasn’t anyone I knew. Siscema was a large port, with many wherries coming through every day—and seagoing ships too, up Nemertes Water from Iantiporos.
“I have the honor of being Tarquin Meridios. I am a courier with the Akhaian Consulate,” Markos said, offering the squashed scroll to the dock inspector. “I have a letter of marque.”
I watched the man’s brown eyes skim the contents. “This is for the wherry Cormorant.” He lowered the letter.