A message from Captain Tergus came to Selena at the Wayfarer Inn that morning, written in immaculate, precise script, that one of the captain’s crew would meet her at the east quay. The note said she would know the sailor by “the distinct expression of dismay on his hoary old face when he realizes I wasn’t lying about sharing a skiff with a dragonman and a sirrak.”
The storm had passed on and the docks were bustling. Flocks of screeching gulls wheeled above, while dozens more perched on posts, muttering and preening and staining the wood white with their droppings. The air was heavy with fish scents, as vendors hawked skewers of crabmeat and boiled bowls of lobscouse stew over portable cauldrons.
The vendors fell silent as Selena passed with Ilior flanking her and Svoz bringing up the rear. The sirrak had taken the guise of a sailor that, at a distance, seemed common enough until one saw his colorless eyes, pale skin, and black fingernails, to say nothing of his weapon. He had told her that if he were forced to wear the “weak meat suit of a human” he must be permitted to at least carry a weapon of real menace. And so the sirrak wore a humongous cudgel far too huge for his human size slung over his shoulder.
The crewman Captain Tergus sent was a grizzled old sea dog with a white beard and a well-worn coat and cap. As Julian promised, the man’s eyes widened under bushy brows to see the Vai’Ensai. At Svoz, the crewman made the sign of the full moon over his heart and grunted. He grunted again as he nodded his head at the skiff that was to convey them to the ship, and grunted yet again that Ilior needed to take up an oar. It soon became apparent that grunting was the only sound the old man was capable of making. But for Svoz’s periodic grousing about the sun that had broken through the clouds, the skiff set off in silence.
As they rowed across the bay, Selena saw that many other captains were of the same mind as Captain Tergus: more ships bobbed anchor in the bay than were docked at Port Sylk, each manned by wary crew who gave Selena and her companions dirty stares from their decks, and kept their flintlocks in plain view. Most of the ships they passed were merchant vessels, judging by their standards, though many ship’s captains were more cautious and flew no standard of any kind. Others were proudly pirate vessels, flying flags depicting skulls, cutlasses, dripping blood, and any other manner of intimidating motifs that designated one ship or another as a member of a collective. In the northeast, Selena saw a quartet of ships bearing the insignia of a burning flame, like the one Julian revealed on Mallen’s arm.
At last, the skiff fell into the shadow of Julian’s brig. A rope ladder came down and Selena climbed up. Captain Tergus was there, waiting to help her up. She took his hand—his left, she noticed, as he was favoring his right arm slightly— and he offered a faint smile that was ruined by the bloody gash creeping into his hairline.
“Are you all right?” Selena asked. “Gods, what happened?”
“Press gang tried to recruit me.” He smiled darkly. “They failed.”
“What? When?”
“Last night, after you departed.” He waved aside her concern. “There were only three, each a bigger fool than the last.” He jerked his chin at Svoz in his sailor form. “The sirrak?”
Selena blinked. “Uh, yes. This is Svoz. Svoz, this is Captain Julian Tergus.”
“A pleasure,” Svoz said. His pale eyes studied the captain. His laugh sounded as though it came from the Deeps. “A genuine pleasure.”
“And I don’t believe you were formally introduced to Ilior oth’Makir,” Selena said before Svoz could make things more awkward. “Ilior, Captain Tergus.”
But that introduction was almost worse. Neither Ilior nor Julian offered a hand; the Vai’Ensai nodded coolly at the captain, and a silence fell amongst them that was especially acute since the crewmen on deck and up on the yards made no sound either.
“Shall we?” Julian said finally.
“Your arm looks pained,” Selena said. “I can heal you…”
“I’ve had worse. Do you want to see the ship or not?”
He didn’t wait for a reply but started around the main deck.
It was immediately apparent to Selena that the Black Storm was Julian’s pride and joy. The hull was unmarred, the decks immaculate, the rigging all neatly coiled. She glanced up at the sails furled tight to the yards and the small crow’s nest atop the main mast. A simple ship, she thought, but already I like her. I like her more than her captain.
Julian moved to muster his crew before he took her belowdecks, and Selena pulled Ilior aside.
“What do you think of him?” Selena nodded to where Julian Tergus sauntered to the edge of the main deck, put his fingers to his lips and let loose a piercing whistle. The morning wind whipped at his black long coat and he cut a dark, slender figure in the gray light. The gash on his face gave him a sinister mien.
Ilior’s words ground together like stones. “My opinion of him from last night remains unchanged. I don’t like him.”
“I told you, he was not responsible for my injuries,” Selena said. “He killed Mallen.”
“After he watched you fight off three pirates first. You had Mallen defeated when Tergus sliced his throat open.” Ilior shook his horned head. “I don’t like him.”
Selena sighed. “You said that already.” She watched Julian muster his crew. “He’s young for a captain. Perhaps thirty years? But he looks as though he were born on board.” She was trying to be light but Ilior was immovable as stone.
“Someone attacked him last night,” the Vai’Ensai said. “Perhaps they were men of Mallen’s crew.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Or perhaps it was a press gang as he said. Press gangs are a common sight on many islands. Especially Uago.” She sighed. “But I will admit it’s an inauspicious start to this voyage.”
“You’ve paid him nothing,” the Vai’Ensai reminded her.
“There’s no one else, Ilior. You know that. And I can’t delay this mission another minute. Captain Tergus is the best we can hope for from Isle Uago.”
Ilior nodded once. “I understand. But if the captain is revealed to be a scoundrel or criminal, I’ll tear him apart.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Svoz.”
Ilior grunted. “In matters of your protection, the sirrak and I are in accord.”
Selena smiled fondly at her friend, and then the captain was addressing them.
“This is my crew,” Captain Tergus said, as the six men lined up. They were all dressed in the same salt-and-wind-worn garb, with bare feet and sun-burnt skin; the eldest appeared in his fifties, the youngest hardly more than a boy.
“You’ve met Grunt.” The old salt who had taken them across the bay nodded his head. “The rest are Spit, Cur, Helm, Cook, and Whistle. They don’t say much, but they’re as good a bunch of sailors as you could want.”
“They haven’t proper names?” Ilior asked.
“I suppose they do.”
“You’ve never asked?”