Daughter of Wolves

by Stephanie Anthony

  Ollie had told him the man he’d at first mistaken as a woman was called Milon, adding that he was surprised Milon hadn’t decked him for the mistake. Tyler hadn’t mentioned the fact that Milon hadn’t looked at him without suspicion since that, meeting Tyler’s apologetic smiles with considered flat lips. The only other two Tyler had memorised the names of were the other girls, Jackie and Cat.

  Younger than the other Ladies on board Siren’s Call, neither of them could have been more than eighteen, Cat a little younger than that, though Jackie looked older perhaps due to her tattoos. She had a huge collection of flowers outlined on the side of her neck, stretching across her shoulder – she tended to wear tops that revealed it. They were certainly very skilfully done; a bouquet of sunflowers, marigolds, daffodils, tulips, lilies and smaller delicate meadow flowers that Tyler couldn’t name. Despite the way she displayed them, and the beauty of the intricate designs, this would not be the first thing you noticed about Jackie, nor indeed the second.

  The first was her electric blue hair, brighter than most Southerners wore it. It was cropped to her collarbone, thick, with a slight wave to it. She’d allowed some patches to fade to the more usual navy, the roots dark against the bright hue. The second thing you’d notice about Jackie was that she had one eye. She kept the empty socket concealed under a plain black patch, and tended to let her hair fall across her brow to cover it further. Tyler hadn’t had the heart to ask how she’d lost it yet.

  Cat was the ships doctor, despite her age. She was from the East at a guess, pale skinned with long silky black hair. They called her Cat because she had nine lives, or so they liked to say – she’d been shot twice, fallen overboard, and once fell from the highest point of the mast and managed to land without breaking anything. Tyler hadn’t actually seen her in action yet, but Ollie assured him she was awesome when it came to poultices and powders – there weren’t many ailments she couldn’t identify, and fewer yet that she couldn’t cure. Even in dire situations she’d very rarely actually have to amputate, instead turning to ancient remedies handed down to her from her ancestors. She wore a long necklace threaded with feathers, bright beads and tiny bones. Tyler had seen her twining the thread about her fingers while she was thinking.

  As for the last of the Ladies, Irena, Tyler hadn’t seen as much of her since coming aboard as he’d have liked. She spent most of her time in her cabin, where Tyler was apparently not permitted to go without good reason. Tyler doubted Jim would accept any of his reasons as ‘good’. He couldn’t help trying to think of some excuse though.

  If Irena was keeping her distance from him, it was not something he planned to reciprocate. He wasn’t normally like this, but it was as if she had infected him with some sort of drug. He couldn’t help thinking about her. She was addictive. He wanted to see more of her.

  Tyler glared at the door before him. Jim had sent him down to haul up some crates from the furthest store room, neglecting to tell him that he’d need to have the key. But a locked door had never stopped him before, and it certainly wasn’t about to now. He’d unfortunately lost his trusty, tried and tested lock-picking kit when he was arrested. It would take some time to build up a collection like that again. Still, he could make do.

  He eased the pin from his mouth, taking it between forefinger and thumb and crouching down to line it up with the lock. Once this one was inserted he pulled out another longer pin from his pockets, folding the end of it with an expert eye into a slight hook.

  They’d taken a couple of days to give him new clothes, and he suspected Jim allowed it more because Tyler was starting to smell rather than out of kindness. They fit him relatively well, a similar garb to the rest of the crew, shirt and trousers, boots to slip on in bad weather. He’d even been allowed to select a set of spares.

  As for what else he’d collected over the days, no one needed to know. He didn’t steal from the crew, just from the ample stores. Nothing that would be missed. He’d even managed to get into the meet room once, only to find it empty, and had accidently come across the captain’s collection of decanters. She had good taste.

  Tyler smiled with satisfaction as he felt that familiar click, and pushed open the door.

  ~

  If Jim was surprised to see Tyler return with the crates in hand, rather than sheepishly requesting a key, he refused to show it. Tyler kept his expression neutral too, just about managing to rein in the urge to give Jim the one finger salute. He ran his tongue over the pin he’d once again secured into place, the metallic tang of it almost comforting.

  Stretching his arms around the back of his neck, his ears pricked to a familiar rattle before his other senses could catch up. The roll of the dice was a sound that had always called to Tyler, a sound he couldn’t help but associate with his earlier days on the street, scraping a living performing side-street gambling with cups and dice, or working the cards. He’d taught himself everything, spending hours in the doorways and alleys that he called home, mind numb by the time he’d give up for the night. He still bore hairline scars on his fingers from the countless papercuts the cards would inflict on him whenever he slipped up.

  Tyler had always found the dice easier to manipulate, though there had been one particular incident when one had shot from his grasp and hit him straight in the eye. He didn’t speak of that. Ever.

  Through practice Tyler learnt not to make mistakes when it came to sleight of hand. It was the profits he made that caught the attention of the thieves. Like calls to like – he knew he was one of them before he even opened the door.

  “Hey, Tyler!”

  “Yeah?”

  “You play?”

  Tyler grinned, “I’m better at dealing.”

  “Feel free, these pricks do nothing but complain.”

  Tyler shrugged, in reality his heart was pounding. He’d felt like this that night too, all eyes on him as he’d wandered into the hall. Nothing but a street rat amongst some of the most powerful thieves in the city. They’d asked him what he did, who taught him, how he worked the crowds. He’d remained mute, too afraid to utter a word, the deep shadows of the room making their faces loom over him, like the masks the street performers wore. Then someone had thrown him the dice.

  It felt like a long time since he’d rolled. He wriggled his fingers, loosening his knuckles, sat himself on the upturned crate, and scooped up the black and white cubes. “Anyone fancy their chances at Thimblerig?”

  “I’m game.”

  “Go for it.”

  Tyler laid out the cups, tossed the dice, and set them down. He playfully tapped each cup in turn. “I’ll do slop duty for the rest of the month. If you can find the dice.”

  “There, I was watching.”

  Tyler lifted the indicated cup, not even bothering to look down. “Unlucky. Next call.” He switched the cups again, unable to contain his grin as he watched everyone’s brows crease in concentration. Just like old times. A crowd was beginning to gather. The cups stopped.

  “In the middle.”

  The cup was raised. “Nope.”

  Pips raised her voice over the hubbub, “It was the left one, don’t shuffle again, lift.”

  Tyler lifted the cup. “You’re not very good at this are you?”

  “You’re cheating.”

  “A bad player blames the dealer.” He lifted the right cup, revealing the dice beneath. “One more chance.” His shuffle was quick, quicker than most could manage. It had taken him years to perfect. Even when the thieves took him in he didn’t stop practicing.

  They used him as a skivvy for a time, a go-between, watchman, whatever gap they had, he filled. When he’d finally grown the balls to climb up the ranks, he’d found that there was a much dirtier taint to the thieves than he’d been led to believe. Corruption spread through liars like wildfire – even Tyler almost found himself consumed by it. On more than one occasion. After a time rumours spread that Tyler could come out of a septic tank smelling of roses.

  Malcolm shouldered
his way to the front, his thumbs resting in his belt.

  “You game Malcolm?”

  He nodded, “There.”

  Tyler lifted the cup, grinning as the assembled crew laughed at the lack of dice. No dice, but Malcolm’s pocket watch. Malcolm went pale, patting his pockets. Tyler laughed, scooping up the watch and tossing it back to the accountant. “A bad habit of mine, apologies.”

  “When did you take that?”

  “A thief never explains his methods.”

  Chapter 5

  Pour a glass

  Later Tyler debated the intelligence of revealing his talents so publicly, not least when Pips gave him a scowl so cold that the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Nobody liked to be proved wrong, or tricked. Most were entertained by his little display, asking him how he did it long after the main crowd had dispersed, and groups once again formed to deal out rounds of rummy or chance. He wouldn’t risk duping them for cash, that would be a step too far. At least on the streets you had somewhere to run from unhappy players. Here there was only overboard, and Tyler didn’t fancy a swim.

  Anya’s expression at least was a lot warmer. He cocked his head, delighting in the blush that crept onto her cheeks as he smiled at her.

  He nodded at the sour faced overseer, “So, what’s her problem?” He was pretty sure she was out of earshot, even so, he spoke quietly.

  “Pips? Nothing, she just has resting bitch face.” Anya smiled. Her face lit up when she smiled, it was an infectious sort of expression.

  Tyler found his lips mirroring hers, “Resting bitch face?”

  She laughed, tearing her gaze from him to watch Pips’ departing figure, “Yeah, you know, she looks really stern but it’s just the way she is. She may look like she’s plotting how to kill you but really she’s just thinking about what I’ll serve up for dinner.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Anya’s eyes found his again, as if they didn’t want to stray too far. “You should, I know her better than most.”

  “You’re both from the Forest Lands?”

  “How did you know I was from there?”

  Surprise suited her too. Tyler tried his best grin, succeeded in a second blush traveling across her freckled cheeks, “I’ve travelled a fair bit. I’m Central as well.”

  “Oh yeah, where abouts?”

  He’d led her to that question really, but it didn’t stop the ice down his spine. This was not good territory to be in, he needed to change the subject. “It was a long time ago.” He tried not to sound uncomfortable, to not let on how his teeth were grating against each other. She gave no indication that she’d noticed a change in his tone.

  “Mysterious indeed. What else aren’t you telling us?”

  An improvement but still too close for comfort. If anyone else had asked him that question he’d have shut it down with a nonchalant shrug, but with Anya, he found words came out. “Nothing important. But in my line of work it is better to keep things to yourself. You make yourself vulnerable otherwise. I learnt my lesson. My own second turned me in. The reward proved too tempting apparently.” He cut himself off, unwilling to reveal more. “What about you – how did you end up a pirate?”

  “The same way most of us girls ended up on this ship – there weren’t many other opportunities offered to us beyond being a seamstress, whore or some sort of maidservant. Irena’s one of the few captains who doesn’t give a damn what’s between your legs as long as you do the job.”

  “This isn’t the easiest life to choose.”

  “No.” She smiled again, “But it has its perks.”

  ~

  Tyler found his excuse to enter the Captain’s quarters the very next evening. He was hanging around in the kitchen after his shift in the crow’s nest, dipping his fingers into the bubbling stew and flirting playfully with Anya while she batted his hands away. While he enjoyed her company, he was down here for more than a good distraction, Anya was a skilled chef who was a wonder to watch. Clearly she loved to cook, a smile never faded from her lips, and her hands were constantly working – chopping, stirring, testing.

  She moved instinctively, adding a pinch of something here, a dash of something there. She’d continue working on dishes that to Tyler tasted fine, and make it into something he couldn’t even describe. Through the steam and the heat she explained her story.

  She’d learnt to cook from her mother, had tried to make that into a career, but had got no further than washing pots in a grimy old inn back home. She’d bring samples to taverns, hotels, anywhere and everywhere that might be looking for a chef, asking them to taste her dishes and judge her based on that rather than her appearance. It didn’t work. She’d argued rather publicly with one of the owners once, earning herself a night in a cell. He’d laughed at that, conveying his own list of jails he’d visited in his time, and the ways he’d escaped. He could tell she was impressed by the way she left her hands hanging in the tub of water, staring at him open mouthed as he recounted the story of his crew poisoning the communal pot. He didn’t know if it was from horror at the thought of food being tainted, or wonder at his ingeniousness. He hoped the latter.

  She scrubbed at her hands religiously multiple times while she was cooking, keeping her nails cut back to what looked painfully short. She pirouetted, knife in hand, to attend to a hunk of salted meat, side-stepping to stir a pot as she passed. It was like watching someone with ten hands, she was everywhere at once. She knocked an onion, instinctively stooping to catch it, but not before Tyler did. She clasped at thin air, smiling thanks at him. He put the onion back on the counter. “Anya you’re obviously rushed off your feet down here. How about I take the Captain her dinner, then you can catch up on your work in here.”

  Anya snorted. “I’m only behind because you’re in here distracting me!”

  Tyler slipped off the table, and stepped towards Anya. “In that case this is an excellent way to get rid of me, isn’t it? Come on, I’ll get the tray ready and take it for you.”

  Anya dithered for a moment, until Tyler flashed her a smile. “Oh alright, go on, get out.”

  Tyler pecked her on the cheek, grabbed a tray and a bowl and ladled out some of the stew. Anya pretended to return to her work, but he could tell she was still watching him as he left the room. Tyler didn’t waste any time, if Jim spotted him he’d probably have the tray taken away from him and lose his perfect excuse to interrupt the Captain’s privacy. He hurried up onto deck and knocked quickly on Irena’s door before pushing his way into the meet room. It was empty. He hadn’t planned on waiting for a reply, but he still found himself disappointed.

  “Just coming Anya, hang on.” His hopes lifted. Irena appeared in her bedroom doorway, in the process of securing a towel around her body, having just stepped out of the bath. She looked up and started as she saw Tyler there in place of Anya. “What the hell are you doing in here?” Her eyes flared, but she continued to the meet table, and didn’t ask Tyler to leave.

  “Anya was busy in the galley, so I offered to take up the tray for her.” He kept his eyes above neck level, with some difficulty. He was very aware of how much of her skin was exposed. Damp curls of her hair were trailing about her shoulders, skin pink and still wet, droplets of water trickling down her collarbone.

  Irena studied Tyler, then slipped past him into a chair. He heard the grate of her spoon on the bowl as he turned for the cabinet at the wall of the meet room. One flick of his pins had the door swinging open. He tended to remember how to work locks once he’d opened them. He turned back to Irena, bottle in hand. She didn’t seem surprised that he’d opened the locked cabinet.

  “Wine?”

  She licked her lips, then looked back down at the bowl before her and continued to eat.

  Tyler poured a glass, and placed it on the table beside the bowl. Irena didn’t look up, but extended her free hand across the table, lifted the glass and drank deeply. The wine caught the sides, staining her lips. She lowered it slightly. “You can
go now, Anya will pick up the bowl in the morning.”

  Tyler didn’t move. He grinned and lifted a second glass from the cabinet, filling it and placing the bottle on the table before settling himself in the seat opposite Irena. “I was actually hoping I could talk to you.”

  Irena paused. A silence followed. He waited for her to shout, to tell him to leave again. She didn’t. “Well come on, I haven’t got all evening, talk.” It was clearly an order, though her tone was something warmer. She didn’t quite meet his eye as she took another sip of her wine.

  “What do you think of me?”

  Irena smiled, then composed herself. “You seem to be fitting into the crew well. I think you could be a good pirate, you’re not there yet, but you have potential.”

  “I didn’t mean if you think I’m a good pirate or not and you know it.”

  “Searching for fuel for your ego then. I would have thought Anya was giving you more than enough.” Tyler was startled, though he didn’t let on. Irena didn’t let him interrupt. “I see more than you know. I don’t have to be visible to know what is going on in my ship.”

  Tyler stood up then and leaned towards Irena, bracing his palm on the table. “You still haven’t answered my question.” Her dark eyes this close were hypnotic, Tyler couldn’t tear his gaze away from them. She seemed as caught up in his.

  There was a knock at the door and Jim strode in.

  “Irena, I’ve – Oh. Tyler. My apologies Captain–”

  “No, it’s fine, Tyler was just leaving.”