“And this time she does?”
“You sound like Reverent Gerus,” Selena said. “Skye is the High Reverent, even if another wears the title in her absence. To speak against her is impious.”
Ilior’s expression softened. “I hate to see you suffer for so long.”
“If Skye is right, then my suffering is drawing to a close. I don’t even dare to dream it.” She sighed. “But this is a terrible delay. The journey back to Lillomet will take another fortnight and the Bazira trail is already as cold as ice.”
“Merchants are often forced by necessity to dock at Uago,” Ilior said. “It might not be hard to find one to take us back to Lillomet. Or, if they are bound for the Eastern Edge, we could take passage to Isle Saliz after all.”
“Perhaps, but most merchant packets that sail this route are fully loaded with more crew than they can handle to man guns or blades against pirates. Finding a cabin will be impossible, a hammock probable, but only when its crewman is at watch. You are skilled enough to pitch in, but I am no sailor. I’ll get in the way.” She grimaced. “Or become a distraction to the men.”
Ilior’s expression darkened. “Your gold should buy a cabin and I won’t move from its door. We won’t need return to Lillomet.”
Selena smiled at her friend. Away from Lillomet, even if abandoned to a little skiff by a mutiny, he seemed invigorated. He’d rather take his chances with pirates than priests, she thought fondly.
“Aye,” she said. “The Two-Faced God may favor us yet.”
Ilior did not reply but rowed, his oars cutting smoothly through the Marauder’s Sea.
Marooned
The tavern was called the Silver Spigot, but Selena thought the Yellow Fog would have been more appropriate. Yellow light from whale oil lamps and candles to suffuse the small confines in a dim yellow haze. She sat at a table stained by yellow beer, pirates leering at her with yellow teeth from every corner. Brassy pots were set in the middle of the room so that the patrons didn’t have to stagger far to release their streams of yellow urine. A drunken man banged on the yellow keys of a rickety piano in one corner. He sang shanties with men hanging on his neck who raised yellow bottles of grog. At the table beside hers, four pirates tossed yellowed ivory dice and either swore or cheered or threatened bloodshed at the results. The Silver Spigot was saturated: sour breath, old sweat, and piss, and the man who sat in front of Selena stank of all three.
The captain of the Sea Scar rubbed his chin with crusty yellowed nails. Rasp-rasp-rasp. She sat fought the urge to slap his grubby hand away from his grubby face and waited for him to agree or to deny her so she could move on. We are running out of time.
Captain Mallen met her eye and Selena didn’t like the lascivious glint. The rum he’d drunk—on her coin—had made him less subtle. His tongue wormed out of his mouth and over his lips.
“I don’t know, lassie,” he said. “I like the color o’ yer gold, but Isle Saliz? It ain’t nothing but jungle over there. Jungle full o’ wild beasts.” He jabbed his finger toward a window. “Bloody Deeps, just out on this boardwalk you can find hawkers selling teeth what come from Saliz. Huge’uns as big as me arm, an’ good n’ sharp at the tip. Cain’t even pronounce the name o’ the beast they was yanked from.” His own teeth—what few he had left to him—were stained with the muddy ichor of chewing tobacco. He grinned. “An’ don’t get me started on the bugs.”
Selena’s hands clenched. “Captain Mallen, let me remind you that you would not need to step foot onto Isle Saliz. I need you to anchor off and provide me a skiff to make landfall. I’ll worry about the beasts and the bugs and whatever else I find there.”
Mallen shook his head and drained the last of his rum as if it were water. His eyes were red and bleary when they raked over her again. “You do paint a pretty picture with yer wee sweet face, don’t you?” He licked his lips again. “The Scar is me pride and joy. If there be great beasts on Isle Saliz, who’s to say what lurks in the deep ‘round it? I won’t risk me brig. Not even for a pot o’ gold from a busty lass like yerself.”
Selena felt a flush color her neck and ears. She rose to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”
“Hold on, hold on.” Mallen grabbed her wrist. “Me time is worth more than a glass or two o’ this grog.”
“Let go,” Selena said in a low voice. The tavern grew quiet as other patrons turned to watch the scene.
Captain Mallen did not let go. He stood and pulled her close to him. The stink of his breath wafted over her and thick spittle sprayed her cheek.
“Why not give old Mallen a kiss, eh? Put those rosy little lips o’ yourn on me cheek and I’ll make sure to put in a good word with the next captain you try to barter with.” He squeezed her wrist harder. “If you put them lips down me belowdecks, I might just change me mind altogether.”
Other patrons barked harsh laughter or cheered lewdly. Selena looked for Ilior and then remembered she’d asked, implored, and then commanded the Vai’Ensai to remain outside the tavern, out of sight to keep from intimidating any prospective sailors.
Thank the god he obeyed. He’d kill the lot of them and then we’d have real trouble.
With a speed that made the drunkards around them blink at what they were seeing, Selena’s hand spun out of Mallen’s grip and took hold of his wrist. She spun again, twisting Mallen’s arm so that it stuck out behind him like a rudder handle. He let out a yelp and then another as she steered him face-first onto the table. She did all this without even lifting her other hand but rested it on her sword. The tavern was absolutely silent now.
“I said, thank you for your time.” Selena gave his arm a final twist, eliciting another yelp and a curse. She left the tavern to mocking cheers and applause.
Ilior was coming in as she went out, his sword drawn. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Although I’m beginning to despair whether—”
The tavern door banged open and Mallen staggered out, his face a grimace of drunken rage. His cutlass shone dully in the light of the oil lamps that lined Port Sylk’s boardwalk.
“Can I help you, friend?” Ilior’s voice rumbled like an avalanche.
Mallen’s red-rimmed gaze craned upwards to regard the Vai’Ensai. He tried to maintain a semblance of dignity as he sheathed his blade, as though he’d decided it wasn’t worth sullying it with Selena’s blood. He spat in the dirt at their feet and staggered away, cursing under his breath.
“He was my best prospect,” Selena sighed.