Down in the stable yard, I emptied the pail, letting the stuff plash into a pile of stale hay and manure. Dipping water from the rain barrel, I rinsed it. Hostlers and stable boys tromped by incuriously, not even seeing me. IhatemylifeIhatemyhomeIhatemy—Goddammit! I took a deep, shuddering breath, as heat prickled behind my eyelids. Damned if I was going to cry. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone of the fortress wall, reorienting myself, and took a couple of breaths.
What next?
You remember the routine, Melitta had said. Well, the slop pail was done. Next, I would need to carry up wood, carry up water, heat water for Melitta’s washing, empty the washbasin, clean it, take down the empty supper tray, bring up the breakfast tray, brush yesterday’s clothes, clean yesterday’s shoes. Then the dusting, then the sweeping, then the scrubbing, then more wood, then more water . . . It took no effort at all to remember the litany. There was an alternative, of course: carry up wood, carry up water, go stark raving mad, charge out of Melitta’s rooms, hide in the pigeon coop or the laundry, get hungry, sneak out to filch food, get caught, get dragged up to my father, endure a doleful lecture, get turned over to Melitta, get thrashed, inspect bruises, sleep fitfully, have double chores tomorrow. That routine was almost as familiar. But not today . . . not today. Saving my strength and waiting for an opportunity wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all I had at the moment.
In my head, an imaginary Darren dropped her jaw in disbelief. I closed my eyes hard, banishing the thought.
Then I headed for the woodpile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Darren, formerly of the House of Torasan (Pirate Queen)
Noon, Day IX
IT WAS TAKING too bloody goddamn long. So long that I began to wonder whether all the gods in creation had decided to get their jollies that month by trying to slow me down. First there was the storm—even with all our sails reefed to the size of pillowcases, it blew us nearly a day off course. Then the wind dropped again, not to a dead calm, but to a miserable little puff of a breeze that barely made the sails flutter. Most of the way back to Bero, we could only move at a torturously slow creep, sometimes progressing only a few yards in an hour. It seemed like the Banshee was pinned in place on the ocean, which was not a comfortable feeling, when we knew white warships could appear on the horizon any second. More than once, I stormed into my cabin, buried my face in the bunk, and screamed in sheer frustration.
Every single minute that ground by, I imagined some different dreadful thing happening to Lynn. One minute she was murdered by an evil vizier; the next, she was married off to a curly-haired prince with a soppy smile and enormous trousers. The next, she was poisoned at a state dinner; the next, someone noticed my slave mark on her shoulder and had it burned off her skin. Every second, she could be hurting, could be breaking, could be dying, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
At long, long last, when my throat was scratched from screaming and my nails had dug eight crescent-shaped scars into my palms, we reached a point just east of the reef. Only a few rocks showed above the surface, saw-toothed like broken fangs. If I squinted, though, I could make out more of them below the water, gleaming golden-green with their slick coating of algae. Beyond the reef were the cliffs of Bero, forested with sentry towers.
If you ever see a captain or noble or soldier looking stone-faced and silent before a battle, you may think that they’re being stoic, too-tough-for-all-that. Take it from me. They’re just keeping their mouths shut because they know that they’ll vomit, or gibber madly, if they don’t.
I myself tend to do both. So I was particularly stone-faced and silent as I watched the horizon. Watching the horizon is another good trick when you’re scared to death; it means that you don’t have to look at anyone, and it helps control the nausea. It also makes it seem like you’re deep in thought, which is a side benefit.
I didn’t see Regon approaching, but I heard him clear his throat. “Report,” I ordered.
“We’re on,” he said. “Anchored by the end of the reef, standing out like a couple of great yellow boils on a great red arse. And in plain view of those towers, by the way. In another few hours, they’ll send half a fleet by to see what’s what.”
And they would know that the ships belonged to the pirate queen as soon as they saw the red sails. Red sails are good for getting people’s attention, not so good when it comes to sneaking into enemy territory unannounced. Fortunately, my just-this-side-of-insane plan took that into account. I wanted us to be noticed.
Still, we couldn’t sit around here twiddling our thumbs for very long. So it was time for the Banshee to be on its way. I took a few deep breaths. “Regon, get the men up on deck.”
Some first mates like to pipe the men to assembly with a stupid little whistle. Regon preferred to bawl the order at the top of his lungs and break a few noses if he really needed to. It worked just as well. Within a minute, fifty-eight pirates were more or less lined up on the deck, in ragged rows. I let my eyes travel over them. Mismatched clothes, scarred leather jerkins, red silk kerchiefs, bare brown feet. Stubble-faced men, smooth-cheeked boys, a woman here and there. I’d known some of them since I was a child, and some had clambered on board a month before, barely knowing where to look to find the crow’s nest.
All the faces in front of me had a kind of fixed, frightening intensity. You’ll know that look if you ever see it. It means that, if you want, you can ask your men to follow you through ice and fire.
But I didn’t want that. They had more important things to do.
Jess was by the mast, hands in the pockets of her landsman’s tunic. When I glanced at her, she gave me an encouraging nod.
“Right,” I said grimly, to everyone and no one. “Right.”
I slid off my good blue coat, the one Lynn always had me wear when I needed to look imposing. I folded it lengthwise and tossed it onto a crate. Then I loosened my belt buckle and slid off the clip that held my cutlass scabbard.
“Teek, Jess, front and centre,” I ordered. “Come on, let’s be having you.”
My grizzled helmsman pushed his way to the front instantly and stood soldier-straight in the front of the ranks. Jess drifted forward more warily, with a question in her eyes.
They had met already, but I did a brief introduction anyway, using the tip of my sheathed blade to point. “Teek, you remember Jess. She’s my old girlfriend and she scares me to death, but she’s very good with people. Jess, Teek. He’s the best sailor I’ve ever known.” I stepped back from them and raised my voice. “I’m leaving these two in charge. If I don’t come back, they’ll handle things.”
“What things?” Jess asked, looking suspicious. “You mean, your fleet? Your ships? The hundreds of people who have sworn loyalty to you, personally?”
“Yup,” I confirmed. “Those things.”
She raised a forefinger. “You never mentioned this part of the plan.”
“Jess, you said it yourself—you and Holly are part of this movement now, no matter what any of us want. And they’re going to need you.”
“Need me for what? I don’t know anything about warfare.”
“You’re a midwife. You’re used to blood and screaming. It’s not as different as you think. Seriously, though . . . they’re going to need you when I’m gone. You’ll be the voice of reason, or the adult supervision, or whatever.”
She huffed. “If you think you’ve been providing adult supervision, then your capacity for self-delusion is truly massive.”
“Captain, think this through,” Teek interrupted. The worry lines in his face were as deep as razor cuts. “You can’t ask us to keep this up without you.”
This discussion was taking too long, I decided. Time for a shortcut. I reached deep, summoned everything that Lynn had ever taught me, and sneered a full-out pirate sneer. It actually made the burly helmsman step back. “I believe I just did. You mangy dogs can save Kila just fine without my help. You can sail as well as me, fight as well as me, lead as
well as me. So don’t you dare try and keep me from where I’m needed. Lynn put herself in my keeping, and she comes first.”
“Captain, people won’t follow us,” Teek said doggedly. “Not the way they follow you.”
“Why not? Because blood is rank, blood is right, blood alone is leadership? Bullshit. It’s all about the story, and I’m not the only one who can become a living myth. All you need is someone who can sneer, swagger, talk a good game, and look pretty on the quarterdeck. Catch, Spinner.”
I tossed Spinner my cutlass, and he caught it by reflex. He looked from the cutlass to me and from me to the cutlass, and his eyes widened. “Oh, you are fucking kidding me.”
“I don’t kid when I’m in a hurry.” I kicked the rope ladder over the side. “You keep my blade for me until I get back. And if I never get back, then enjoy my cabin and get used to barking orders. Three cheers for the pirate king, everyone.”
I waited a second, then raised my voice in the dead quiet. “Well? Cheer, you whoresons, cheer!”
They cheered, startled but loud, which was good enough for a start. They kept cheering while Regon, Latoya, Teek, and I climbed down into the waiting longboat. As Latoya took the oars, Spinner’s head appeared over the rail. His bruises had begun to heal by then, so his skin was a blotchy map of dark blue, yellow, and green. Even with his face pulped that way, he managed to look dangerous in that moment. I think it was the wild desperation in his eyes.
“Darren, you bastard!” he yelled. “I can’t fucking do this!”
“Neither could I,” I yelled back. “Turns out, nobody could tell.”
“But captain . . .”
The rising wind whipped away the rest of his words. I leaned back on the benches, rested my head on my hands, and let the breeze ruffle my hair as Latoya took us through the water.
None of us spoke until the longboat drew level with the Badger. I sighed, looking over my old ship. She still had that list to port—I’d never managed to get rid of that, shift the ballast as I might—and the sails were patched and torn. Compared to the sleek Banshee, she had all the grace and elegance of a tin washtub. Yet it somehow seemed right that I would be riding the Badger into this particular battle. We understood each other, the Badger and I. Neither of us specialized in style, but we got the job done.
“All right, I’ll bite,” Regon announced abruptly, breaking into my thoughts. “Why give Spinner the big job?”
I shrugged. “He listens.”
“That so?” Teek asked. “I thought it was because he’d look sweet in velvet.”
“Well, that too, obviously.”
The Banshee was already underway. We watched her tack west through the darkening water, and I felt a sudden lightness. My flagship, my fleet, the future of Kila, all the things I’d fought for . . . they were all out of my hands now, and I found that I didn’t really care. Spinner couldn’t be exactly the same kind of leader I had been, but with Teek and Corto to keep him alive, and Jess and Holly to keep him honest, he’d figure out a way to live a legend of his own. I would leave him to it.
The four of us climbed up to the Badger’s deck. Even the planks felt familiar underfoot.
For the next two hours, there was no conversation, no idle words that might distract Teek. He steered superbly, of course, guiding the Badger between the murderous rocks like a shuttle through warp and weft. There was one bad moment when a strong gust hit us unexpectedly, almost spinning us into a boulder, but we managed to quant off of it, just in time. It was almost an anticlimax when we slipped into calm water on the far side of the reef.
There was no wasted time when it was over, no long goodbyes. Teek clasped all of our hands one by one. Then he clambered down into the Badger’s longboat. We’d rigged an improvised sail, but Teek couldn’t spare a minute if he was going to get back to the Banshee before the white warships arrived. I didn’t even watch him as he started to tack his way east through the rocks.
Regon tapped my shoulder. “Ready to be a hero?”
I sighed. “No. Well, I mean, yes . . . but really, no. Because there’s a good solid chance that we’re about to die horrible deaths, and it’s hard to be ready for a thing like that.”
Regon shook his head. “If we survive this, you’re going to work on your pep talks.”
“And you’re going to learn to wash regularly. Enough chit chat. Workies.”
CHAPTER NINE
Lynn
Evening, Day IX
“THAT’S IT, I guess,” I finished.
All the time I was talking, Ariadne had been perched beside me on the hearthstone, listening with total, furrow-browed attention. Not that I had been talking all that long. It was strange, and worrying, that the entire story of my life with Darren could be told in half an hour. Fifteen minutes, if you cut out all the spicy bits.
Ariadne didn’t comment, not right away, so I got up and put another log in the fireplace. The easiest way to measure time in the tower was to track the number of logs that had crumbled to embers. We had about an hour before Melitta returned from dinner.
As I settled back down, Ariadne spoke at last. “Darren’s going to come for you.”
“Why so sure?”
Her voice climbed with princessly outrage. “Because if she doesn’t I’m going to find her and I’m going to beat her silly head in, that’s why so sure.”
“That’s very sweet,” I said, poking the new log until its crumbling bark began to smoulder. “Now will you keep it down?”
She waved that off. “We’re ten floors up from anyone who might be listening.”
“You don’t know that. Keep quiet.”
“You’re just on edge. I promise you, no one’s going to hear. Will you please eat some more?”
I glanced at the greasy bundle she had brought and swallowed carefully. “No, really, I’ve had enough.”
“She doesn’t let you eat anywhere close to enough, she never has. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to get up here again, so no arguments. Have the pigeon pie. If you can get through that, it’ll keep you going for a week.”
I picked off a small bit of meat and pastry and went through the motions of chewing, hoping that would satisfy her. As always, Ariadne had only the best intentions, but she had never been really hungry herself, so she never could remember that rich food doesn’t sit well on the stomach after days of dry bread and broth. There were uncomfortable gurgles going on down there already, the first stabs of cramps. I just hoped that I could keep myself from throwing up until Ariadne went away. She didn’t need another thing to worry about.
While I dissected the pie, trying to make it look like I’d eaten more than I actually had, Ariadne played with the lacy sleeves of her gown. It was lilac that night.
After several minutes, she asked, “Melitta hasn’t done anything . . . big . . . yet, has she?”
I crumbled some flakes of lard pastry between my fingers. “No. She’s barely said two words to me, as a matter of fact. I’ve been doing my work and that’s about it. Maybe Iason told her to back off?”
“Maybe,” Ariadne agreed. “Or she might be waiting for you to slip.”
“Or that,” I admitted. The smell of the pie was making my stomach clench, so I stood up, casually, as if I just needed to stretch my legs, and paced around the room. “If that’s her game, then she’ll get what she’s after. I’ve played the trotting lapdog for the past six days. I can’t keep it up much longer.”
Ariadne snapped straight. “You have to, Gwyn—I mean Lynn. No, listen. If I know anything about my mother, she’s set to deliver something brutal the second you step out of line.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“So please, please, please, I’m begging you, just keep your head down until I can figure out a way to get you out of here. It may take a while, but I promise that I’ll think of something—does your arm still hurt in the damp?”
I had been rubbing my right forearm without thinking about it. Now I took my hand away. “
It’s nothing.”
“Like hell it’s nothing. That arm still hurts when the weather turns, doesn’t it?”
Both of my arms were aching, but as usual the right one was worse. The pain in my left arm felt like tiny red threads criss-crossing the muscles; in my right, the pain was fat red ropes that throbbed. I shrugged.
“Doesn’t it?”
A shrug or glare was usually enough to stop Darren from asking questions. I’d almost forgotten how pushy my sister could be. “Yes, it hurts; yes, there’s a storm coming; no, it’s nothing new; no, there’s nothing you can do about it and will you stop shouting?”
Ariadne slapped her hand against the hearthstone, almost triumphantly. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”
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