Garek had been in dozens of fights over the years, he and Halas both. Had it been just those three boys attacking, he would have won with little trouble, and slept in his own bed that night. By morning he would not have even felt his injuries. But the best boys had friends, friends who were late to the party, but friends nonetheless. Three more came around the side of the cabin. They grabbed Garek and held him steady. He struggled, managing one last good hit on a newcomer, but one, one of the first who had appeared that night, struck him just under the collarbone, driving his breath away.
They had him. The red-hair boy grabbed Garek’s own hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. A fourth and fifth stood watch in the aisles that led from the back of the ship, around the cabins, to the front. A sixth, the biggest, approached from the left aisle, cracking his knuckles. Garek moaned. At least he wished he could see their faces; it was too dark.
“What is this about?” he asked after mustering up the courage and regaining his breath. He felt a strong need to urinate. His breath came rapidly. His throat was dry. His toes curled against the soles of his boots.
“I think you know,” said the boy. His voice was high, so much so that Garek didn’t quite believe it was real. I must be imagining things, he thought. These are children! And then he started to giggle. This was all just so absurd.
“Shut up!” said the high-pitched voice. Garek complied. At six to one odds, he did not wish to anger these boys further. “Don’t call out. If you cry out, we’ll toss you over the side.”
So Garek didn’t cry out, he didn’t yell, even when the first fist connected solidly with his gut. He stifled it, grunted and cried instead, trying to curl up into a ball. The second hit was harder and higher on his chest. The three boys held him in place as the heaviest hit him again and again, sometimes in the chest or gut, sometimes in the face or crotch. Pain replaced blood in his body as the latter substance splattered over the deck and the clothes of the boys closest to him in a hot spray. His nose ran blood and snot down his face. He could taste the foul mixture, and gagged.
This was it. These boys did plan to kill him, right here. They planned to hit him until he was dead. He wished he could see his friends. A dozen faces flashed through his mind. Martin, Olan, Tay, Rhic. Even Cailin, though she and he had never been close. More than that, he wanted to see Halas and Des. He wanted to apologize for bringing them out here, on this awful trip that was going to end in his death. His death at the hands of a bunch of sissy kitchen boys who had managed to overwhelm him with little fight.
The one name that never crossed his mind was that of his father.
What if it wasn’t just him? What if these kids went after Halas and Des next? Surely they would, they were out for blood, rabid with the taste. The hitter probably couldn’t even see for all of Garek’s blood that had been spilt, but he still continued pummeling. Garek coughed and choked. Blood poured into his mouth. A sharper pain blazed as a tooth exploded.
It would end in the deaths of all three young men if he did nothing. Let them kill him here; he was in such pain that he didn’t see much point in surviving. He’d never not feel pain again, he knew that much. It pervaded his very sense of being, and he knew it would always be a part of him, a second, terrible skin.
So Garek screamed. He opened his mouth and let out a great roar that awakened the whole ship. The scream brought every crewman to his side, weapons in hand.
At least, he tried to. Garek was so badly hurt that all that came out was a weak yelp. He heard the boys laughing. One released his arm he laughed so hard.
“That all you got?” said the hitter with the girl’s voice. Garek wanted to snarl, but he wasn’t sure he had any teeth left. “Nobody but us’s gonna hear that, you rat scum. You’ll be paying the punishment for trying!”
But the girly boy was wrong; help did come, in the form of one man. One man the size of two, and ample help on his own. The mysterious man, the ship’s guest. He’d heard the cry and came running from his cabin, veins standing at attention on his neck and bare chest. He saw the attack and clenched his fists.
Garek dropped into a puddle of something that he tried to roll away from but failed. His vomit was added to the spill shortly after. Blinded by the mess, he could only hear the ensuing fight. It sounded like the boys were really in for it.
Halas couldn’t sleep, and when Garek stumbled into their berth later that night, his face a mural of cuts and bruises, he jolted to his feet.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded.
“Some of Absolon’s boys,” Garek said. “They jumped me, beat me pretty bad.”
Something took hold of Halas. He’d been angry plenty of times before, but never like this. What he was feeling wasn’t anger, but something beyond that. It was pure rage. “I’ll kill them!” he snarled, and he meant it. “Where are they?”
“Tormod took care of it,” Garek said. He sank down on to his bunk. “He hit them worse than they hit me, put three or four in the infirmary. The others won’t be goin nowhere for a while, neither.” He smiled.
Halas sat beside him. “Who is Tormod?”
“Our guest. The bigger one.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Little. Tormod gave me something for the pain. Think it’s whiskey.” He grinned. “If you still feel like killin them, they’re just down the hall. Punch or two ought to do it.”
Halas wanted to smile, but could not. He was trembling. Someone had hurt his brother, and they would pay dearly for it. I should have been there with him. How could I have left him alone as I did? He had to say something, had to reassure his brother things would be all right, but it seemed as if things already were. The big man had saved Garek. Halas owed him. “I will give Tormod my thanks in the morning when I deliver breakfast.”
They sat like that for a moment, Halas with his hand on his brother’s arm. He was opening his mouth to ask about the fight when the door to their berth swung open. Brennus strode in, Cloart and another sailor at his side. Halas saw that they were all armed. He glanced at his footlocker. His sword was buried inside, wrapped in its scabbard and an old shirt.
Brennus lifted a single finger to Garek and beckoned for him to approach. Garek looked cautiously at Halas. Halas gave a slight nod. Before Garek could rise, Brennus spoke.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me. Come here.”
Garek slowly stood and crossed the berth. His legs were shaking. Halas wanted to hurt the boys who had done this to him. Garek was a mess. Brennus looked him in the eye, awaiting an explanation. Garek said nothing. Finally, the captain broke the silence.
“Would you care to explain to me what happened tonight? Why three of my chef’s best boys are confined to the infirmary and three others their beds?”
“Have you spoken with Tormod, sir?”
“It doesn’t matter. I would like you to tell me what’s happened.”
“They attacked me while I was cleaning the aft deck. They attacked me and Tormod saved me.”
“I knew that oaf was going to be trouble,” said the sailor at Brennus’ side. Garek took a clumsy step toward him.
“He is not an oaf! Those boys meant to kill me, and they would have had Tormod not been there. Tormod saved my life!”
Brennus raised a hand between Garek and the man. “Calm down, son. Flanagan meant no offense. He won’t speak out of turn again, nor do I expect you will. Is that clear?”
Brennus’ voice had changed that night from its usual friendliness, bringing a chill to the room. Halas felt momentarily frightened by the captain’s sudden threat, but he said nothing. Brennus was in charge here, and nothing Halas said or did could change that.
“What did you say to them?” the captain asked. “Why do you think they attacked you?”
“I was just cleaning, sir, like I said. Someone defecated on the aft deck.”
“Prolly the boys themselves,” Cloart mused. “Listen, Bren, Absolon’s aren’t the brightest folk by a mile. They’re bout as ornery as a
family of angry badgers in heat. Member last year, with Batty?”
Brennus nodded. “Those boys are apt to stir up trouble, I know. I only wanted Garek’s side of the story. What did Tormod do to them?”
“I didn’t see,” Garek said. “I was out of it.”
“You seem to be doing fine now.”
“Tormod gave me something, some sort of drink. I feel much better.”
“I see. Everything seems to be in order here, but Garek, I want you to promise me something. Based on your account and several others, this incident doesn’t appear to be your fault, so I will likely be pursuing judgment on the boys, and not you or Tormod. But I want you to promise me that you won’t seek any sort of retribution. Let me deal with these boys.”
“All right, I promise.”
“Good. Halas, is it?”
“Halas.”
“Halas, I want you to promise the same. Your brother doesn’t seem to be much worse for wear, if what he says is true, and those boys will be dealt with. Do not make things worse. Your word?”
Halas clenched his teeth. He would not lie to the captain, but he wanted to make the best boys suffer. He wanted to beat them as they had beaten Garek, but that could not happen. “You have my word,” he said.
“Good. If I catch any sort of hint that either of you are planning something, or if any harm comes to those boys, you will regret it. I don’t expect they will bother you, and they will be tried. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Garek said.
“I will leave you to it, then. I’m sorry about all of this. Good night.”
“Night, sir,” Halas said.
Brennus and the other man left, but Cloart stayed behind a moment. “Ye sure you’re all right?” he asked.
Garek smiled. “I’m just as I was this morning.”
“Yer face says otherwise.”
Garek reached up to touch his cheek. The bruises seemed to have faded slightly even since the captain had arrived, but Garek’s face was still a mess. He winced. “It stings,” Garek said, “but I think it could be worse.”
“Good, I’m glad. Listen, what the captain said, about dealin with Absolon’s boys, he meant it. Don’t go about seekin any sorta revenge, okay? That’ll only make things a might worse, violence begetting more violence and all that.”
“I won’t,” Garek said. “Tormod did more to those bastards than I ever could.”
“Good night, Cloart,” Halas said. He wanted to be alone with his brother, but immediately he regretted sounding so harsh. To soften the blow, he added, “I’m glad you’re here.” It was paltry, but he did mean it.
Cloart looked touched at the remark. “Eh, night,” he said, and left the berth. Halas rose and checked the hallway outside. It was empty. He closed the door and turned back to Garek.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Really. Whatever Tormod has in that flask of his does wonders. Will you still take him breakfast in the morning?”
“I will.”
“I’d like to go with you.”
There were messes to clean up before breakfast. Halas and Garek were scrubbing heartily at the deck when Tormod’s cabin opened, and he and the boy walked out toward the rail. Halas got a good look at him then. The boy was maybe fifteen or sixteen years, with dark hair and sharp features. He looked familiar, but Halas could not place him. Garek did not have the same problem. Unbeknownst to Halas, he had pondered over the boy’s face ever since they departed from the docks. And now, finally, he came to a conclusion. “That’s Prince Aeon,” he whispered, bowing his head.
Prince Aeon was the son of King Melick and Queen Anaua. The two royal leaders were separated, each struggling for a piece of the city. There were rumors that poor Aeon, named for The Great One, was in danger.
Apparently those rumors were true, Halas thought. He wanted to rush over and swear service to the young boy. Garek noticed, and put a hand on his brother’s. Halas shook his head to clear it. Was it really that easy to be seduced? It was as if just being in the presence of royalty sent shivers of fealty through his blood. He went back to cleaning, deciding it best to ignore the boy completely. “Look at them,” Garek said.
“I don’t want to.”
“No, not them. The crew. Look at the crew.”
Halas did. The crew looked at Prince Aeon and his—what, his bodyguard?— with disdain. They passed near a man called Gustava. Gus was responsible for the late night card games in the cargo hold. Halas had only heard of these games in passing. As Aeon and the big man passed, Gus spit. They pretended not to notice. “Least we’re not alone,” Halas said. Garek snorted.
“Guess they hate everybody then. He’s coming!”
Halas looked up. There was the big man, standing over them. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” whispered Halas. Garek said nothing.
“My son and I would be honored if you would sup with us tonight. Would you join us in our quarters?” the big man asked. He sounded hopeful, almost nervous. Halas thought of the first time he had tried to kiss Cailin. He’d been so terrified, terrified that she would reject him, or laugh, or that she would accept him and he would be awful at it. The big man—Tormod—reminded Halas of that moment. Halas would not have taken the man for a timid one. “All three of you?”
“Sure, I suppose. Captain Brennus may not let us, though.”
“Let me deal with Captain Brennus.”
Garek laughed nervously, but Halas hit him to quiet him down. “We’ll come with the food,” he said. He had a hard time taking his eyes off the prince.
“Excellent! Come along now, Ennym.” The boy reluctantly followed him back into the room.
Sub Chapter Five
A storm rocked them that day, tumultuous rain pummeling the ship like a rockslide, powerful gusts of wind blowing the craft side to side, back and forth. Nolan was on the deck. A cable snapped, zipping across the wood, taking the legs out from under a sailor. Nolan dove, grabbing the man by the wrists just before he could slide overboard.
The man thanked him in his own language. Nolan nodded in return. He staggered into his cabin, wiping a waterfall from his face.
“Raazoi? Are you all right?” he asked.
She was sound asleep, but he thought he heard her whispering something.
The storm continued to batter them. More cables snapped. Six men were lost to the river. Li-Sun himself went over the side, disappearing into the frothing waters beneath. As one, the men seemed to feel his death. They fell to their knees and wept, screamed and cursed to the heavens.
Every so often Nolan would go to check on Raazoi, yet still she slept. He worried for her safety, but her regular breathing and slight whispers told him that she was all right.
The weather lasted long into the night, finally clearing up just before dawn. Nolan wiped sweat and water from his brow, looking about. The deck was in shambles; crates and barrels overturned. What little livestock they had left was gone. Another four men were lost; no one had noticed them go in the panic and sorrow. They anchored.
Chapter Six
A New Arrangement
Halas and Garek brought Desmond and a tray of food to Prince Aeon’s room. Halas balanced the tray on his hip as he reached up to knock on the door. Garek and Des stood resolutely behind him. He looked at them, at the tray, the door, and then back at them.
“Why am I the one doing all this?” he asked.
“What?” Des asked.
The big man let them in. The room made Halas miss his own back home. It had two beds, a table, and several chairs. The chairs were packed wall-to-wall around the table. Halas thought Tormod had had them brought in special. A single lantern hung on the far wall. “Please,” the big man said, “have a seat.” They did. Prince Aeon sat on one of the two beds.
“I am Tormod,” said the big man, “and this is my son, Ennym. I’m glad you are well, Garek.” He took a bite of the meat. Poor Desmond was doing his best with the spódhla, but it was still tough and
hard to swallow. Tormod stopped talking, as if he were waiting for something. The three friends looked back and forth between each other. Finally, Desmond knelt. Halas and Garek followed his lead.
“My prince,” Des said. “If there is anything that I may do for you, I shall. You have my service.”
“I thought as much,” said the prince. “Rise, you three. It would not do for us to be seen in this manner.”
Desmond stood, looking embarrassed. Tormod directed them to the chairs. “Well,” he said once they had each taken a seat, “thank you for not exposing us. Aside from the captain and first mate, no one else on this ship knows about my charge. I am his bodyguard, and it is very good to know that you are on our side.”
“Who says we are?” asked Desmond. This time it was Tormod who smiled.
“Aside from the vow you just swore, and my saving your friend and his brother, you mean? The crew hates you almost as much as they hate us. I do sympathize; they were all looking forward to their leave before we commandeered the ship. Poor fellows.” Prince Aeon grunted. “Anyways, the reason I asked you to join us this morning…”
“Tormod wants you here because he’s worried one of these fools will try to hurt me, though I am more than capable of taking care of it myself. I am not a child, Tormod.”
“It’s showing,” the bodyguard said. Garek choked back laughter. “But yes, he is right. It would not hurt to have three extra sets of eyes and ears on our side. In turn, you would stay in the guest’s quarters right next door, instead of with the crew. The captain has also promised to lessen your custodial—cleaning—duties. What say you?”
“We’d be glad to,” said Garek quickly.
“Excellent!”
“I do have one question, though,” Halas said. “Why are you out here? You said you commandeered the ship. Why?”
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