“Ah, delightful. Hi, prisoner. I’m Saul,” he says sticking out his hand. His voice has the same easy cadence as hers, the same accent dragging at his syllables.
“This,” Swift says, deflating just a bit as she lets the words out, “is my dad.”
Oh.
Oh. It’s all very clear now. The secrecy, the salary—everything. I grasp his offered hand, still reeling, and give it the firmest shake I can manage.
“And who the hell is this?” Swift asks abruptly, pointing at the baby.
“Language, girl,” Saul warns, and she rolls her eyes. “This is Pima. She’s your half-sister.”
“Thought I had enough of those already,” Swift grumbles as two small girls scamper from the shadows and attach themselves to her legs. “Yes, hello!” she says, patting each of them on the head and shooting me a panicked glance. “Shouldn’t you be out of the house? Doing kid shit?”
“Swift,” Saul warns.
“Sorry. Kid activities.”
“Xiao saw your ship on the horizon. We wanted to be here when you got back!” the larger one yelps.
“That’s very kind of you, Teresa,” Swift replies, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“Is it true that you have a monster with you? Xiao said he saw a big beast following your ship, but it wasn’t attacking it,” the other girl says, still locked onto Swift’s leg. “Is it true?”
Saul raises his eyebrows.
“Yep, it’s true. Captain decided it wasn’t fair that all the buckets had beasties fighting for them, so she went and got us one of our own. And a trainer to go with it,” Swift says, hitching her cuffed thumb at me.
The girls’ eyes go wide, and the kid at Saul’s side lets out a whispered “Wow!”
Swift grins, and it’s the most honest smile I’ve ever seen her wear. She holds out the bag of cash to her father, who takes it without hesitation. This exchange is practiced—there’s no embarrassment or wavering in her handing over everything she’s earned to her dad, and I can immediately see why it’s happening, just looking at this place. I can’t even tell how three kids, a man, and a baby manage to get by in a living space so small, but I spot the hammocks strapped to the walls, the crib lashed to one of the beams that supports the roof, and the tiny stove tucked in one corner, and I realize that they get by.
It also does a lot to explain why Swift was so comfortable sharing her cramped bunk with me right from the start. When you come from a place like this, having your own room on a ship is a damn luxury.
“So, you’re a Reckoner trainer, huh?” Saul asks as he dumps the bag out on a table in the corner that seems to be cut out of the same material as the walls of the house. “Where from?”
“SRC,” I say, still lost in processing everything around me.
“Interesting. So the Minnow went after an escorted SRCese ship just to get its trainer?” he asks, more to his daughter than me.
“Not … exactly. Cas was a bonus on top of a good haul,” Swift says, her voice struggling to stay conversational. “Our focus was on killing the beast. Seeing if it could be done.”
“And how’d that go?”
Swift pauses, but when she speaks, it’s the word I know she wants to use. “Magnificently,” she says, and there’s so much sick pride in it that I start to feel a little nauseous. Of course the attack on the Nereid was about killing Durga. But more than that, Swift’s essentially confessed that Durga’s illness was arranged. That suffering, that inhumane end to her life—it was all orchestrated under Santa Elena’s command. A fury alights in me, but there’s nothing I can do about it with the kids watching.
Pima chooses that moment to wake. She stirs in her sling and lets out a vicious, piercing cry. Saul’s attention immediately shifts from the money to the squalling baby, and I feel a twinge of sympathy. I got off easy with Bao. He only took a month or so to mature to the point where he didn’t need my supervision. I can’t imagine years in that situation.
Saul bounces her up and down, lifting her from her sling so that he can cradle her closer and croon soft words against her head until she calms. I wish that worked with Reckoner pups. It’s such a pity they aren’t cuddly.
I don’t realize I’m staring until Swift tugs the cuffs, snapping my attention back to her. “So, uh,” she starts.
“I … ”
“This … this is where I come from.” She shrugs. “It’s not much, but y’know. It’s home.”
“It’s nice.”
“Bullshit.”
“Heard that,” Saul warns. “Teresa, Eva, you two get gone. You’ve gotten a chance to greet your big sister, now give her a chance to rest. Be back for dinner, okay?”
The two girls nod and scamper off, banging the corrugated metal door shut behind them. The sound startles a mound of blankets in one of the hammocks that shifts to reveal the wizened face of an elderly woman. She lifts her head, peering suspiciously from her nest. “Oh,” she croaks, her lips twisting. “You’re here.”
“I’m here, Oma,” Swift says, spreading her arms. My wrist goes along for the ride.
“Thought you’d run off for good this time and left us to starve. Like your mother.”
“Mom, let her rest,” Saul mutters from over by the stove as he prepares a bottle for the baby.
Swift smirks. “You know I’d never do that. If you got it in your head that I wasn’t coming home, you’d get up out of that bed and do something useful with yourself.”
Her grandmother sighs exaggeratedly, tugging the blankets tighter around her. I don’t know how she can stand it in the sticky heat that swamps this house, but I guess this particular woman has managed to become part lizard in the face of her hardships. She narrows her eyes at me. “Did your crew become slavers? That thing’s far too skinny to sell on this raft. She looks like she’d snap if you asked her to bend.”
“Santa Elena’s taken a prisoner, and it’s my job to guard her while we’re on shore. Captain wanted her secure, so she cuffed me to her.”
“Doesn’t look like it’d do you much good. She could slip right out of those things.”
“Hush, Oma. Go back to sleep. Dream about that Islander prince who’s going to take you away from this wretched life.”
Swift’s grandmother mutters under her breath. I catch something about horrible girls and mothers, and then she’s burrowed back under her blankets and seemingly out like a light.
“Dad, do you need me to do anything?” Swift asks, moving toward the stack of money on the table. I trail her, nearly tripping over the little boy as he tries to dart between us. “Watch it, Rory!” Swift yelps, taking a gentle swipe at his wild red curls, but he dodges her and slips out the door.
“You go ahead and relax. I’ll take care of everything.” Saul nudges her gently to the side. He’s got Pima slung against his chest again. She nurses greedily from the bottle as he reaches over to the notes from the sack and takes a bundle. “Go see a show or something. Make the most of your shore leave—don’t waste it on little old me.”
“I want to waste it on little old you,” Swift whines, but he gives her another nudge toward the door.
“Show your captive the sights. The SRC’s got nothing on this place, you know?”
“Dinner’s at the usual?”
“As always.”
When his back is turned, Swift sweeps a handful of cash into her pocket and tugs me insistently toward the door. We burst out into the bright sunlight, and for a moment I swear I see a tear in her eye. She stops a moment to take in the view, so I share it with her.
As I take in the Flotilla’s sprawling jumble, I squint against the light and pick out the shapes of people on the farthest docks bringing in the fishing haul for the day. Seagulls glide through the network of bridges beneath us, their beady eyes fixed on the fresh catch coming in. This whole place is like a giant organism, an ecosystem that thrives on sheer willpower and the strength of the people who hold it all together.
“This place is a fucking dump,” Swift groans, leaning against the railing. “And don’t you dare try to tell me different, don’t you give me any of that shoregirl bullshit. I can already see it in your eyes—you want to make us into these noble poor people.”