The adherent went.
Sebastian turned and Whistle was there with Cur, the young boy’s face a mask of worry. “She’s going to be fine,” Sebastian told him. Whistle’s bald-faced relief irritated him for no reason he could fathom. To Cur he said, “Let me see your hands.”
Cur held up his palms. They were scraped raw.
“Niven just went to the galley.”
Cur shook his head. He pointed at all the broken spars and dangling rigging, and made a questioning sign.
“She’s still seaworthy,” Sebastian said. “It’ll be tricky without the staysails, and slow. We’ll have to furl the spanker just to keep her straight.”
Cur signed again.
“The Isle of Lords,” Sebastian answered. “We can make it, slow and steady. If you won’t let Niven heal your hands, then get to cleaning up the deck. You too, Whistle. We lost some freshwater barrels. See what’s left and pull the extra from the hold to catch more.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get hit by a squall next.”
Sebastian climbed up the ladder to the quarterdeck. Cat and Spit were at the helm. The Black Storm was slowing. The enormous wave Selena had called was subsiding behind them and the ship coasted slowly but the sea was no longer perfectly still and there was a slight breeze to propel them. Svoz lounged at the aft rail, smoking a stinking cigarillo. He followed Sebastian with his beetle-black eyes and a pleased smile on his snout.
“She’s safe,” Sebastian answered Cat’s scrutinizing stare. “She’s sleeping, she’s warm. Or as warm as she can ever get, I suppose.”
Cat narrowed her eyes.
“I fell asleep, godsdammit,” Sebastian snapped. “And if you hope to do the same tonight, you’ll finish your watch without questioning what I do on my own bloody ship.”
Svoz pushed his bulk off the rail. “Temper, temper, Master,” he said, emphasizing the word and adding a hiss to it. “Though if you prefer, I shall begin my indenture to you as I begin all associations with new masters by asking if there is anyone who requires disposal? The flame-haired flesh-tart, perhaps? She’s a mouthy one, isn’t she, Master?” He chuckled.
Sebastian glanced at his crew. Neither had a voice; speaking in front of them was as speaking to ghosts. Even so, he motioned for the sirrak to shut his mouth, and glanced at his wrist compass before surveying the horizon.
“The wheel is yours,” he told Cat. “Maintain this course, but do not drop anchor for the night. If those merkind come back…” He sighed. “Spit, keep an eye out.”
Spit spat. For once, Sebastian didn’t mind. The deck is wet enough.
He went down to the bow and inspected the splintered jut of wood that remained of his bowsprit with a dull ache. He fished around in the inner pocket of his long coat for a cigarillo but it was empty.
“Svoz, to me,” he said in a low voice. The sirrak appeared immediately and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a sort of twisted pleasure at the power he now wielded. “Do you have a smoke?”
Svoz gave him an arch look. “I do, but I sincerely doubt you will enjoy it.”
He produced a lit cigarillo seemingly out of nothing. Sebastian took a drag then convulsed, doubled over, and hacked smoke until his eyes streamed. He expected to see shreds of his own lung tissue mired in pools of muck on the deck, but there was neither.
Svoz chuckled. “Told you so.”
“What the bloody shit is in this?” Sebastian said when he could speak.
“Bloody shit.” Svoz laughed. “I tease!” He furrowed his brow ridges. “Although now that I think on it, you’re not too far off the mark. Not to your taste? They’re aged nicely.”
Sebastian tossed the cigarillo overboard but the stench lingered.
The sirrak lit another of the foul things for himself and took a deep, satisfying drag. “That was quite the excitement, wasn’t it, Master?” he said after a moment. “You were quite frantic when former master fell into the icy waters. Panicked, even.”
Sebastian spat into the water before replying. “You’d be panicked too, if eight hundred gold doubloons fell overboard.”
“Ah yes,” Svoz said. “You humans are quite fond of those little shiny trinkets, are you not?”
“We are,” Sebastian said, “and if something happens to Selena before we find Accora, I stand to lose a bloody fortune.”
Svoz tapped a black nail to his teeth as if he were biting back a smile. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”
Sebastian ignored the sirrak’s knowing tone. “So. A blood oath, is it?”
“It is!” Svoz said. “A life for a life. I saved your precious Paladin and now you owe me the demise of one human flesh bucket in return.”
Sebastian kept his face carefully expressionless. “When will you name this person I’m supposed to kill? Have someone in mind already, do you?”
Svoz snorted. “Now where is the fun in that?”
“Bloody games,” Sebastian muttered. “And what happens if I refuse?”
Svoz seemed genuinely perplexed. “Refuse? You?”
“What happens?”
The sirrak became still. The heat radiating off his hulking red form seemed to become more intense.
“If you don’t do as required, I am free to do as I wish. Have you seen what I wish?” Svoz flicked his black gaze to the sea. “It’s quite entertaining although not, I imagine, from the other side. And when I’ve had my fun, I return to my home. With you.” He laughed coldly. “If you found my smoke not to your taste…” He flicked his gaze back to Sebastian and let a slow blink hood his eyes momentarily. “Your screams will resound in our halls of blood and bone long after you’re gone. One voice in a choir of poor souls who have failed to honor the oath that now binds us.”
The consequences for failing…
Sebastian rubbed his eyes. “Bloody mess.”
“I hope so!” Svoz elbowed Sebastian as if they were old chums. “I know you’re going to be ever so much more fun than my previous master, the godly little bitch you pine for.”
“Shut your mouth, sirrak,” Sebastian snarled. A dull thump began to beat at his brain. The cigarillo, likely. More likely it was these thoughts of Selena, of his last job, of his battered ship, all bashing around like blinded moths in a lamp glass.
“Why don’t you just call her by her name?” he asked Svoz. “Why don’t you call anyone by their names?”
“We are not permitted to use the true names of any human.”
“Why not?”
The sirrak peered at Sebastian. “I had taken you for intelligent, though it would not surprise me in the least to be mistaken. Are you not aware of the power of true names?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Sirrakind are powerful beyond any reckoning your puny brain could devise, but on this plane we are restricted. Not being permitted to utter the true names of the human scum that shuffle over this soggy orb is one way to curb our might. Being bound by blood is another.”