Scavenge the Stars

by Tara Sim

  And people. There were about a half dozen she could see, most of them milling about in what looked to be a central common area, filled with benches they had no doubt carved themselves; the wood was old and rotting, likely taken from wrecked ships that had run afoul of the whirlpools or the reef. Lanterns hanging from dried ropes of kelp illuminated the black rock walls and the people who turned to look at her.

  “What—what is this place?” she breathed. She was half-afraid, half-amazed. It was like a hidden castle underwater, and surprisingly beautiful.

  Before Boon could reply, a man approached them. He also looked Kharian, tall yet slight of build, with thick black hair curling around his ears. He wore bracers on his arms and a bandolier across his chest that contained various knives and daggers. Silverfish pinned his age about a decade younger than Boon.

  “This the infamous Silverfish?” he asked. His voice had an almost musical quality to it.

  “The one and only. Let’s get her some grub, and water, too. She’s tired.”

  “She can speak for herself,” Silverfish said. “And she wants to know why she’s here.”

  “There’s time for that later.” Boon waved her questions away. “You need something in your system before you keel over.”

  They led her deeper into the Landless comm. Silverfish drew stares from the others, and she couldn’t help but stare back. The system of caverns was like a honeycomb. They were mostly small and empty, but in one, she spotted something that nearly made her stop in her tracks. Inside lay piles and piles of crates, barrels, chests…

  And the unmistakable glint of gold.

  “The cave’s been around for decades,” Boon said suddenly, making her start. His friend stalked silently beside him, save for the clink and rattle of his bandolier. “I only made it back thanks to Avi here.”

  Avi sniffed. “You still owe me for picking up your sorry ass on that pathetic dinghy.”

  “It was a rowboat, thank you very much.” Boon glanced over his shoulder at her. “When we first stumbled across this place a few years ago, it had been abandoned. We think some ancient Ledese tribe lived down here. We began to fix it up for ourselves.” He spread out his arms, indicating the rocky homes around them. “It’s grown nicely, I think.”

  Silverfish nodded absently, her mind still spinning at the sight of that gold. She caressed the shucker in her pocket.

  Boon and Avi led her to a cavern they were using as a makeshift galley. A large pot stood over a smoldering fire, dirty wooden bowls piled up beside it. Silverfish suddenly felt very alone, missing the times she could sit in the Brackish’s galley and talk with Cicada or watch Roach nibbling his rations, trying to make them last for as long as possible.

  She missed that simple trust between them. Down here, she couldn’t trust anyone—Boon least of all.

  Boon allowed her to take a few more sips from his water skin while Avi ladled whatever was in the pot into a bowl. Her mouth immediately watered as a yawning hunger nearly split her open.

  “Briny stew,” Avi said as he sat next to Boon. “It’ll help get your strength back.”

  Silverfish paused with the bowl halfway to her mouth. “Brinies? But…they’re poisonous.”

  Boon and Avi exchanged amused looks. “Not before they begin to molt,” Boon said.

  “You eat some, then.”

  Boon gestured lazily at Avi, who sighed and got him a bowl as well. Boon lifted it in a mock toast before guzzling its contents, spilling at least a third of it down his chin and onto his shirt. Silverfish wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “See?” he said as he tossed the empty bowl back toward the others. He wiped his chin with a sleeve. “Have at it. Or not—suit yourself.”

  Silverfish took a tentative sip. The brinies were soft and buttery, flooding her mouth with a taste so good it was almost painful. She must have made a sound, because Boon laughed.

  “There’s more where that came from.” Boon leaned back and crossed his arms. “Whatever you want is yours, Silverfish. I’m a man who pays my debts.”

  She swallowed her second bite too fast and coughed. “What does that mean?”

  “Answer her questions, Boon,” Avi grumbled. “My binder’s too tight and I’m getting a headache.”

  Boon rolled his eyes. “What I mean is that you saved my life. Twice.” He spread his hands before him, the left still trembling. “So. Name your price.”

  Silverfish looked from Boon to Avi and back. She had no idea what game these two were playing, or how many of the other Landless were in on it. Boon had to be some shade of dense to think that she would willingly walk into whatever trap he was building for her. Boon was trying to get her to trust him, she could figure out that much, but the question was why?

  She suddenly felt dizzy, her exhaustion dropping like an anchor on her shoulders. As she stared at the bowl of soup before her, aromatic and tasting vaguely of the sea, she knew that she had to get out of there. Quickly.

  “I need to piss,” she blurted.

  “Third cavern on the left’s what we got for a privy,” Avi said with a barely suppressed smirk.

  Silverfish got to her feet, still a bit off-kilter. She hurried down the pathway they had taken. Their “privy” was nothing but an arid cave hollowed out with troughs dug deep into the rock. She hurried quickly past it. She had only a few minutes to find what she was looking for.

  Finally, she spotted the cavern she’d seen earlier and ducked inside, her heart racing and her head throbbing in time with her pulse. Silverfish carefully wended through the crates and barrels, many of them labeled with goods such as spices, dried meats, oil. Stolen from merchant ships, no doubt. But one barrel in particular caught her eye. Its lid was partially open, revealing a yellow mound of gold pieces within.

  It was more wealth than she had ever seen in her life. More than her debt—more than enough to cover the costs of several Water Bugs’ debts, if not all of them. Entranced, Silverfish raised a shaking hand and touched the cool surfaces of the coins, feeling how they slid and tumbled against each other, listening to the satisfying clinking sounds they made. Golden senas. It had been so long since she had seen real money, but she remembered what Rehanese currency looked like.

  A memory broke across her like a wave. Her mother and father had taken her to the public gardens one hazy morning, the fog burning off to reveal a blue sky overhead. The sunlight had filtered down onto the plants around her, splattering the path like golden paint shaken from a brush.

  But something along the path had actually glinted gold in that light—a sena coin. She had bounded toward it and picked it up, showing it to her parents with pride. They had looked at each other, debating whether to let her keep it, until her mother had said that it was hers—but only if she put it away in savings. It had been confiscated by the debt collectors years later.

  Where Boon had been able to get this, she had no idea. But that didn’t matter; all she had to worry about was stuffing her pockets and getting out of here. She grabbed handfuls of the coins and stored them wherever she could: her pockets, her boots, her underthings.

  She was so preoccupied that she didn’t hear the footfalls behind her until it was too late.

  Boon grabbed her wrist and spun her around. She palmed her shucker and aimed to stab him in the chest, but her other wrist was caught in a similar viselike grip.

  “Let go of me,” she growled.

  Boon looked unimpressed. “You really think I wouldn’t notice some of my gold gone missing? You could have just asked for it, ’stead of sneaking around like a thief.”

  “And be indebted to you? No thanks.” She twisted out of his hold, breathing heavily. She’d exerted what little energy she had left, and her hands shook. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Avi leaning against the cavern entrance as he looked on. “Where did you even get all this gold? Are you a pirate?”

  He gave a sudden, loud laugh. “Hardly. I can help you, you know, so that you don’t gotta resort to this. But you’l
l have to let me.”

  Her whole body was shaking now. She could feel the gold weighing down her pockets, but they all knew she didn’t have the means to run.

  “I meant it, you know,” Boon continued. “Whatever you want is yours. But you have to know what you want.”

  What did she want most? She didn’t have to think long about it.

  “I want to kill Captain Zharo,” she rasped. “I want justice for the life he took from me. I want him to feel fear. I want him to suffer.”

  Boon clicked his tongue a few times. “I think you’re setting your sights too low, Silverfish. The captain isn’t the one you need to target.”

  “He ruined my life!”

  “He may’ve made it miserable, but he’s not the one who ruined it. If he’s gone, someone else is just going to take his place. What you need is to aim higher. You want to kill a snake, cut off its head.”

  “You mean the merchant who owns the Brackish?” Silverfish shook her head. “Whoever he is, he’s too powerful.”

  “That’s why you need me. You’re inelegant, impulsive. What you need is a back door.” His head twitched a couple of times as he jerked his thumb at his chest. “And I’m the door.”

  She scoffed. “So what’s this great idea of yours?”

  “The merchant’s name is Mercado. Kamon Mercado. We find his weak spots, exploit ’em, and tear down his whole empire. Take away the things he holds most dear.” Boon grinned, all sharp edges and violent promises. “We make him weak, and then we take him for everything he’s got.”

  “Kamon Mercado,” she repeated slowly, testing the sound of it. “Are you sure?”

  Boon gave that loud bark of a laugh again. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that money-grubbing bastard. The gambling halls, they’d cleared me out, and I was strapped. But then I get an offer: Mercado says if I work for him on one of his ships, and if I rack up enough coin, my debt goes poof.” He wiggled his fingers on either side of his head. “All gone. Bye-bye.

  “But then the ship gets caught by the Port’s Authority. And surprise, surprise, what did they find in our holds? Not the goods that were written in the ledgers, but the real backwater market stuff, all the fun things that’re illegal in Moray. Mercado had me smuggling goods from the Rain Empire that he later sold up to the gentry, and Mercado, bastard that he is, played like he knew nothing about it.” Boon bared his teeth like a sick dog. “Me and the rest of the crew were exiled for life.”

  “That’s when he came to me,” Avi cut in. “I used to be Landless, until I found a loophole that restored my name and allowed me back on the continent. But it required going after the right people, so I know a thing or two about revenge.” He grinned. “Now I make it my mission to help other Landless folks get their status back.”

  Nausea roiled inside her, as if Usaad and Broma were creating treacherous whirlpools in her gut. The idea of going after someone like Mercado was absurd; all she wanted was to bury a knife in Zharo’s chest.

  She studied Boon, the way he leaned most of his weight on the balls of his feet, the soup stains on his shirt, how his eyes gleamed in manic anticipation. He was too invested in this idea of vengeance, so much so that she knew she had found her opening.

  “I’ll help you,” she said, “on one condition.”

  Boon’s eyebrows went up, but he nodded for her to continue.

  “You buy the Brackish and let me kill Captain Zharo. Then, and only then, will I help you take down Mercado.”

  Boon exchanged a look with Avi, who frowned in confusion. “Why’re you so hung up on this man? He’s nothing.”

  She looked down at her feet, dirty and callused and scarred after seven years on the Brackish. “I have nothing to live for,” she whispered, realizing the truth of it as she spoke it aloud, the enormity of her loss.

  Her father, gone. Her mother, gone. Seven years of her life, gone.

  She fought to swallow. “I might as well ruin these men’s lives, after all they’ve done to ruin mine.”

  When she looked back up, both Boon and Avi wore similar expressions of victory. Silverfish tried to school her own.

  “I think this condition of yours should be easily met,” Boon agreed. “I help you take out the captain, you help me take out Mercado. Everybody wins.”

  “Are we going to kill him? Mercado?”

  “I like your enthusiasm, but picture something even worse than murder.” He held his hands together and then pulled them apart, as if unraveling a banner. “Imagine seeking the perfect revenge.”

  “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

  “One, ruin the reputation he worked so hard to obtain. Second, target his family—make them fight among themselves, and turn his children on him. He has a son, an heir, who’s ripe for conning. And third…”

  “We take his money,” Silverfish guessed.

  Boon pointed at her. “Exactly. Then, when he’s admitted to his crimes and he’s lost everything, we go for the kill.” He dropped his hand and took a few steps toward her, eyes glinting with feverish excitement. “What do you say?”

  Revenge. It was a simple word when spoken out loud, but it was so much bigger, like the hidden city under the atoll. It was a word of fire and blood, of a knife’s whisper and the priming of a pistol.

  It was a word that consumed her, filled her entire being until she knew that she could no longer be Silverfish. Silverfish’s will was to survive, to simply make it to the next day, and hopefully the day after that. But that was no longer her will.

  Now it was revenge.

  Captain Zharo. Kamon Mercado. Moray.

  They would all pay.

  Amaya looked up at Boon. “Where do we start?”

  Never corner a man on a losing streak. Desperation is deadlier than a bullet.

  —THE DEVIOUS ART OF DICE AND DEALING

  Surrounded by splendor and the empty comfort of rich, gilded things, Cayo could not stop thinking about Sébastien’s eyes floating like dusty cue balls in a jar on the Slum King’s desk.

  Cayo had rushed to Bas’s apartment as soon as he’d left the Scarlet Arc after speaking to Salvador, knocking for several long minutes on a door plastered with neglected debtor notices. Eventually, the superintendent of the building had come by and told him that Sébastien hadn’t been home in days, giving the landlord no choice but to evict him.

  But Cayo refused to believe that he was dead. He had gone by every place he could think of—the local clinics, the homeless shelter, even the opium dens. Bas was nowhere to be found, and there were no reports of an eyeless corpse being discovered by the city guard.

  He wondered if his entire life’s purpose was to fail everyone around him.

  Although Cayo wanted to keep searching, here he was, again on his father’s orders, peacocking around at another soiree thrown by Countess Yamaa. After the wild success of her first party, the gentry had been talking about it nonstop, practically clamoring for more.

  Like new gamblers itching to come back to the tables because they had beginner’s luck, Cayo thought. But that luck never lasts.

  The partygoers gathered in the lush gardens of the countess’s lavish estate, partially hidden by massive palmetto trees at the end of a winding road beyond the Business Sector. Thin columns supported the huge square-shaped estate, and a balcony ran the entire perimeter of the second story. It wasn’t near the sea, but he could still smell salt as the wind ruffled his hair.

  The gardens were the true spectacle, though. The first level branched away from the main house, sporting a large fountain and protective marble railing that spiraled down into two separate staircases leading to the lower level. Most of the partygoers mingled here, within a masterpiece of perfectly trimmed shrubberies and rows of blooming flowers, from the red and yellow bursts of hellebore and glory lilies to the flirtatious blush of hibiscus. Orchids, cypresses, and palm trees lined the paths the partygoers took, soft lantern lights hanging from their branches. It was the latest stage of dusk, the sky
dark blue and pensive, lingering on the last of the day’s light before succumbing to the dark.

  It should have been peaceful, but Cayo’s mind raced with panic.

  His entire being had been stripped to just three senses: Sébastien’s eyes staring at him from the jar, Romara’s smell on his clothes, and his father’s warning lingering in his ear. Do not fail us.

  Standing before a wide pool in the center of the gardens, Cayo scanned the crowd for the strange young woman he’d met a week ago at the countess’s last party, the one who didn’t mind ruining her gown with snacks—and had unknowingly called him a drunken playboy. He found himself hoping she would be here tonight, longing to get in a fight just to still the restless agitation within him.

  He glared down at the pool, its water lit with floating candle boats that made a few coins at the bottom glint. The candle boats were of Kharian origin, clay molded into lantern shapes painted with swirling designs. A bridge arched over the water, where couples were strolling to take in the romantic scenery.

  It was convenient for them, Cayo thought, to completely dismiss the servant children lighting lanterns around the garden. He watched as one of them, a small girl with wispy brown hair and a sunburn, leaned over the edge of the pool to corral one of the floating lanterns her way. She, like the other children of varying ages, was dressed in the purple livery of Countess Yamaa’s house.

  Purple sails, purple livery…He was beginning to sense a theme.

  Disgusted by the sight of the working children, he turned away. He hadn’t wanted to come, but once again, his father had made him.

  Since you’re so desperate for options, here’s one, Kamon had said. Try to seduce the countess. Securing a marriage contract with her could be invaluable. Or, who knows, maybe you can make use of your unique talents and lift a crystal doorknob while you’re there. She probably won’t even notice if one goes missing.

  Cayo had suppressed a wince at the word marriage. He still hadn’t told his father about Romara. He knew he had to do it soon, but every time the thought crept in, fear locked his muscles and dried his mouth.