The small bank near the water that I’d come to before was a bleak campsite. I couldn’t risk the attention a fire could draw, not out here on my own with no one to back me up while I was sleeping.
My back to a boulder, I pulled Dax’s jacket snugly around me, breathing deeply. I could still smell him on it, and I wondered how long smells stayed like that on clothes. I’d needed something warm and it had been right there—that was the only reason I’d taken it.
I rested my head back on the boulder, and my knife stayed in my right hand as I pulled the flask I’d brought in my left and took a swig. I settled in to wait, having no idea when the pirates would come back here.
“What do you think, Bookie? Did I make the right choice?” I asked while I sat there alone, Dax’s jacket doing a fairly good job of warding off the chill of the swamp.
You’ve got to do what you think is right. Bookie had said that to me on more than one occasion. I could almost hear him say the words now.
“And what if I don’t know what that is? Or what if I can’t accomplish it?”
Imaginary Bookie didn’t have an answer for that, but he was as easy to talk to as the real Bookie had been. “You know, I don’t say this a lot, but I’m scared, Bookie, really scared. I haven’t felt this alone in a long time.”
You’ll always have me.
“I wish that had been true.” I took one more swig of the whiskey before I cut myself off, waiting to see if I’d be doling out any death.
* * *
I hadn’t meant to sleep. When I woke, it wasn’t from a dream and the monsters weren’t invisible, fading with the nightmares.
I felt warm air stirring my hair and touching my cheek. The heat from something massive was flowing over me. It was a beast and it wasn’t Dax. I could sense the magic in it, so similar to Dax’s yet distinctly not. That was when I realized that everyone’s magic must have a certain fingerprint of a sort.
Eyelids still closed, I never let go of the knife. I wasn’t sure whether it was better to feign sleep or let this thing know it was in for a fight if it attacked me. The idea of dying passively forced my eyes open.
We were nearly nose to nose, its fur brushing my bare arm where it squatted next to me, and its red eyes stared into mine, so close I could smell fresh blood on its breath from a recent kill. That was actually a plus. Hopefully the thing wasn’t hungry.
He sniffed my hair before he moved downward to my shoulders. A slight rumble grew in its chest and my hand tightened on the knife as I looked for vulnerabilities around its neck. I was a second from attacking when it turned and took off into the trees.
* * *
The second night was almost over when I heard the boat moving through the water. I dug out the gun that I had close by, knowing I’d get longer range than with my knife, and had it aimed at the two-man crew before they got anywhere near me. It was a tough shot, but luckily, hitting my target was my strong suit.
The small boat moved up the bank toward my camp and I watched as the two pirates got out in ankle-deep water. They pulled the dinghy up on shore, and I stayed still with the gun pointed in their direction in case this didn’t go down the way I hoped.
Fifteen feet or so away, the two turned their full attention on me as we took each other’s measure. I vaguely remembered seeing the shorter, stockier one the last time I’d been on Jacob’s pirate ship, so that was a good sign. Not only were they pirates, they were the right crew as well. After all, I didn’t want any old pirate ship, and I had no idea how many pirates there were.
The taller of the two pirates pointed at my gun. “I wouldn’t be pointing that at us, being as you’re on our territory and uninvited.”
I lowered the gun—slightly. “I want to see Jacob.”
“Girlie, why the fuck else do you think we’d be here? You coming with us or not?” he asked as I stood, gun still in my hand. The other pirate pulled out a lumpy cigarette and then lit a match using a nearby rock.
His buddy motioned for one for himself.
“Why can’t you roll your own?”
“I do. I’m out.”
“You say that, but you’re always out.”
I watched as the two bickered, and realized they really didn’t care if I came.
“Where’s the ship?” I asked.
“Around the bend,” the taller one said, and then went back to arguing for a cigarette.
I took a couple steps to the left and past a row of trees, while keeping a healthy distance between us just in case they were faking non-interest.
Just as he said, there was a grand ship in the distance. I squinted and could make out Jacob’s gold skull on the flag that was blowing in the breeze.
“You comin’ or not? I’m not standing here until the sun rises.”
I turned back to the duo and saw they were both smoking now.
I grabbed my stuff. As I got closer to the pirates, visions of their worst transgression played out in my mind: one bloody murder over a card game and the abandonment of some children. It wasn’t great stuff, but these weren’t the people in charge, either. And it wasn’t the worst I’d ever seen. Plus, I had to weigh my options, and when one side of the scale was empty, the pirates were an easy win.
“Yeah. I’m coming.”
I climbed into the dinghy with them, and they started to row us out toward the large pirate ship.
12
The crew appeared to be just starting their day as I climbed aboard and the first rays of morning hit the deck. I caught a couple curious glances, but I didn’t see any surprised looks as I followed the two pirates who’d brought me here, hoping we were heading toward Jacob. They led me to a cabin door below deck and left.
I walked through the open door and found the man I was looking for in a place that was nicer than I’d expected. It looked like Jacob had a thing for oil paintings and intricately carved wood. I walked across a rug that had to have come from the Glory Years, with its tight and perfect pattern, and approached the desk he was sitting at, getting within range.
The first time I’d met this man, my magic had been on the fritz in a bad way. Everyone had been a blank slate. This time I was jacked up and ready to see what nightmares awaited me.
I was sure there was going to be something ugly in his head. Had to be. He was the Pirate King. You didn’t get a position like that, leading this crew, if you were Snow White. Now I just had to hope it wasn’t so bad I wouldn’t be able to stomach working with him, because he was my only choice at the moment.
The second I got close enough, I was blasted by one of the strongest memories I’d gotten in a long while, which usually meant it cut the person deeply. A woman, dead by his hand. She’d been a small thing, maybe slighter than I, and she was lying at his feet, a knife protruding from her chest.
It wasn’t a good sign, and I swallowed hard, wondering if I’d made a smart choice. But the problem was that I’d already made it. There wasn’t any going back now, and I couldn’t see a way forward without him. Jacob, his crew, and his ships were integral to my plan—if I could make it work, anyway.
“You’re looking a little pale,” he said as he watched me approach.
I shrugged, trying to push off the memory. “Rough night, is all.”
“She was my wife, if you’re curious.”
Not surprising that he knew the full extent of what Plaguers could do. He’d known about the Dark Walkers and how I could ID them. Of course he’d heard about the memories.
He crossed his legs and readjusted his seat. “Strange how you didn’t have this reaction the first time I met you.”
“Not always reliable,” I said, even as I knew this wasn’t the type of person you admitted weaknesses to, unless you wanted your soft spots gutted later. But I’d rather have him think the memories weren’t always a hundred percent than that I’d lost a large chunk of my magic for a while, which disclosed a much larger weakness.
His eyebrows rose. “Want to know why I killed her?”
“How do you know what I saw?” I countered.
“Easy. Because it’s the only murder I remember. Do you want to know?”
“No. It makes no difference.” And I’d rather believe it was something he’d had to do, or that she was about to kill him, because even now my fingers tingled, wanting the feel of my knife in them so I could right that wrong.
But I’d made a choice. Only problem was deciding if I could stomach him long enough to try and save the world. Was it worth it? Well, yeah. It was the fucking world I was talking about. I’d work with anyone to do that.
But he certainly wasn’t my first choice. No, that person was probably just discovering I’d taken off from the Rock but I wouldn’t think of him.
Then the image of a warm set of hazel eyes sprang to mind, and I could almost picture him standing beside me saying, You’ve got this.
Thanks, Bookie, I said in my head, because admitting to talking to imaginary dead people wasn’t a great way to start a negotiation.
Jacob made an obvious show of looking behind me before saying, “You’re alone.”
Well hear, hear for Mr. Astute. Although I did have to admit that his three words clarified my situation, like a shovel scraping the raw metal on the bottom of a rusted wagon.
There was only me now. I was alone. My best friend, even though I still talked to him and imagined him beside me, was dead, buried by my own hand after I’d watched him die the most painful of deaths. Fudge and Tiffy, the only people left who felt like family, were miles away from me.
I wouldn’t wake to breakfast tomorrow, or cross the way to the comforting smell of breakfast cooking, or the smell of sugar that always seemed to linger near Fudge as she laid a hand on my shoulder and tried to fatten me up. Tiffy’s too-wise little face wouldn’t be there giving me her sardonic looks, and Tank wouldn’t be ribbing me. There would be no more exploring with Bookie, ever.
And Dax. I couldn’t get my head around that yet. I’d run out on him, or that was how he would see it. I wasn’t sure why thinking of him seemed the worst. Maybe because I knew how angry he’d be. There would be no happy reunion in a few years. The subject of him was better left buried, if I could bury it deep enough.
“Yes. I am alone.”
“He agreed to let you go?”
He was obviously Dax. It was going to be really tough to bury him if people were going to dig him back up.
I weighed my answer. Would a pirate appreciate that I’d thwarted someone like Dax or be concerned about potential fallout from it? We were on a boat, surrounded by water. Jacob wouldn’t be worried about fallout. “No, he didn’t, but he doesn’t own me.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
“For a girl, you don’t lack for balls. That’s for sure.” Jacob leaned back, his white teeth shining against dark skin. Damn, the man had a good smile. He’d also killed his last wife, so that had a way of dimming the attractiveness. I didn’t miss the insult, either. Just because I was a girl I wasn’t supposed to have balls? Besides the obvious anatomical lack, I had more balls than him.
“No, I don’t.”
He used his foot to push out the chair opposite him on the other side of his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat and let me know what made you come here all alone?”
I took the offered chair, sitting at an angle that kept the gun inside Dax’s jacket and the knife at my hip within easy reach, because that’s the way this negotiation was going down.
He reached behind him to a shelf and grabbed a glass, placed it beside his own, and filled them both with what I presumed to be whiskey.
“You do drink?” he asked, after he’d already filled both glasses and placed the decanter down.
“Only on my good days.” But not normally at the crack of dawn.
I took the glass and threw back the contents, knowing every action was being measured. I was going to have to negotiate quickly if he poured again, thinking my two-whiskey limit might need to apply to this situation.
The door to the cabin opened and my hand immediately went to the hilt of my knife, until I saw that it was just one of his pirates with two plates of food piled high with eggs, sausage, and potatoes. There wasn’t any bacon, but the meeting was already going better than I’d expected if you factored the aromas into the equation, and of course I did.
Coffee was poured as I popped a fried potato into my mouth. It was starchy perfection after two days of jerky. I took a sip of the coffee, which was a little less perfect, before I ventured into the sensitive topic that had brought me here. “Have you heard of the recent outbreaks?” For a normal person, asking about the Bloody Death was an alarming subject. For a Plaguer, it was like waving a red flag in front of you. The Bloody Death was the last thing I wanted to remind anyone of, but I had no choice.
He raised both of his eyebrows, as if the question didn’t warrant an answer. Great, another one that liked to make faces.
Damn, I had to stop thinking about Dax.
Jacob went back to spearing a forkful of eggs without the telltale glance at my hand I’d come to expect from people at the mention of that disease. That was what people did anytime the Bloody Death was mentioned. He simply had better self-control than most.
Wasn’t sure what that said about killing his wife. Had he been in control at the time? An act of rage might have been better, if there was a better to that situation. Maybe control was a new character trait he’d been working on? Either way, I needed to make sure I never forgot who I was dealing with.
I reached forward to the whiskey that had also been refilled and threw it back in one motion. This day was going to need the two-whiskey maximum. “You have a relationship with the Skinners. When they wanted a meeting, they reached out to you. Do you still have contact with them?”
“I don’t typically discuss my business with anyone.”
“The Dark Walkers were giving the Skinners a cure.”
Jacob didn’t say anything, but I saw his muscles tense and his lips press together. “So the rumors were true.”
I guessed he didn’t know as much as he thought. I waited for that information to brew just a minute longer as I took another bite of eggs, fueling up in case I had to make a run for it at some point. “I want your help getting it. If we can get it, then maybe we can figure out what it is. Maybe even make more.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and I waited patiently, trying to get as much food in as I could while I waited. If this went south, I didn’t know when I’d be eating again.
He didn’t answer until I was nearly finished and halfway through my coffee.
“How would we do that?” he asked as he topped off my coffee with the pot left behind.
“Back in the Glory Years, there were people called chemists. There must be someone who still knows how to do what they did.”
“It was different then. There were machines. Plus, why do I need it? I’m heading west, away from where the disease is spreading. Could be years before it gets there.” His words might have sounded cautious, but there was interest in his eyes.
“If the Dark Walkers have a cure, then there is a way for us to make it. I know your business is trade and transport. Can you imagine the power you would have if you had the cure? And you know it’s only a matter of time before it hits everywhere. If it’s not this outbreak, it’ll be the next.”
He placed the coffee urn down and weaved his fingers together in front of him. “You seem the type that would want to hand it out for free.”
“I would, but I’m only one person. I don’t have the resources you do. The way I see it, I’d rather have the cure getting to the most amount of people. Imagine the money and power you would reap from it? I ask only one thing: that you don’t price it so high that only a few can afford it.”
“I want to know what else I get,” he said, and then took a bite of toast, as if he wasn’t totally trying to screw me over. “So far, these are all things I could do on my own, perhaps had already co
nsidered.”
“But you’re going to get something for this. Why should I give you anything else?”
“Because as I see it, you don’t have a choice.” He leaned slightly forward as his elbows rested on his desk. “You didn’t think I was a nice man, did you? That I keep this many people in line by giving things away?”
Oh no, I’d never thought that. “What do you want?”
“You, here at my convenience, for one year.” I was eyeing up the distance to the door when he added, “For work purposes only, unless you wanted to sweeten the deal.”
“I’m not much into handing out candy,” I said, trying to forget the images of his dead wife still fresh and floating around my mind. “What type of work?” I didn’t cross my fingers that it was what I’d hoped, because he would see that, but my toes were.
“I want you to vet my crew. I think one year would be sufficient.”
It worked, Bookie. It worked.
I’d known Jacob was nervous about the Dark Walkers, and I couldn’t fault him there. It was all working out. If we were going to use his boats and crew to get the cure out to as many people as possible, the crews would have to be vetted anyway. It was the only way to be sure the cure wouldn’t be tampered with. Still, I didn’t want to jump at the offer. If I gave in too eagerly, who knew what else he’d try and squeeze me for?
I let out the weariest sigh, like I hadn’t slept in a week, before I said, “I’d have to go from boat to boat? When would I have time to do anything else?”
“I would bring as many crews to you as I could.”
I leaned an elbow on my chair arm, pretending to ponder the workload for a few minutes or so, and as if I didn’t seek out those monsters on my own. “I guess it’ll work. Do you need to take a vote or something?”
Jacob started choking on his coffee. “A vote?”
“Aren’t pirate ships typically democracies? I thought I read that somewhere.”
The Dead_Wilds Three Page 8
