It was a tavernkeeper’s trick to keep her talking, but she couldn’t hold in her news. Her day had been too exciting not to share. “We’re going to run theWolfhunterthis season! Had to get her ready. Hired half a crew.”
“Is that so? Your pa feeling well enough?”
That sobered her a little. She shook her head, swallowing her stew-soaked bread. “I’m going to captain.”
“You?!” Walther burst out, planted both his palms on the bar, leaning forward in astonishment. His loud outburst drew the attention of some of the other customers.
She jutted out her chin, annoyed that even Walther was doubting her. “Why not me? I was raised on the boats just like half the men in this village. I’m stronger than half of them, too.”
“Aye, I’ve seen you handle a cask or two as well as any man,” he conceded, eyes twinkling.
“I’ll sail with yeh!” a grizzled old gent called from other end of the bar, his grin missing several teeth. “If we find yeh can’tcaptain, we can strap yeh to the spar and use yeh as a figurehead. Yeh got the bosoms for it.”
Maggie snorted, coughing on her mouthful of stew, as Walther and the others within hearing howled. When she recovered, she pointed at Walther. “Andthatis why I’m only hiring women.”
“You don’t say.”
“Signed half a crew already. Know any women who could boatswain?” she joked.
He tilted his head, considering. “My niece might. Tilda. Knows her way around a ship. Never been a deck leader, but she runs my uncle’s shipyard with a firm hand. Don’t see why she couldn’t manage your crew.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Yeh sure you don’t need a gent aboard to service all those hardworking lasses?” the old sailor piped in.
Maggie snorted. “We hardworking lasses can service ourselves better than you could.”
Walther and the rest of the tavern howled again. Warmed by their laughter, Maggie scraped up the last of her stew and tapped the bowl on the bar so Walther would refill it.
She dug into the fresh helping with delight, but her seconds were interrupted when a wild-eyed man burst in from the street.
“Fire at the docks!” he shouted before darting out to warn the occupants of the next building.
The tavern was instantly on its feet. Nearly everyone in Brinehelm had a stake in the docks somehow, so it was a crush of people grimly running through the cobbled streets toward the harbor to put out the flames.
Skirts fisted to keep them out of the way, Maggie raced along with the others, picturing her newly bought candles melting into puddles, the hemp ropes charring. Even in the dimming evening light, the smoke was visible above the rooftops, lit by an ominous orange glow. When she reached seafront, her worries provedtrue. The warehouse that housed her freshly purchased supplies was ablaze.
Dockworkers and townspeople were already doing their best to put out the fire, pumping seawater into buckets and throwing them onto hissing flames. Maggie joined the long line of people passing buckets.
There was nothing she could do except dig into the work the same way she’d dig into stirring the laundry tub or hauling her handcart. It was a task for her muscles, not her mind.
She couldn’t think about how she could afford to replace the supplies. She justworked, biceps burning, until the sweat ran down her spine and her hair stuck to her sweaty brow and the evening turned to night.
It seemed all of Brinehelm was there, working together. Men and women. Bakers and barristers and barmen like Walther. Even Kaspar, who nodded at her from where he was directing another bucket line. He didn’t look angry at her. For once, they were united in purpose: to put out the fire. All of them needed it.
Slowly, the bucket brigade gained. Smoke gave way to steam, and the brigade broke up, some staying on the buckets while others went to shovel and rake away the burned portions of the building to separate the embers from the salvageable stores.
Maggie picked up two buckets to douse any small fires she might find on the way to check her supplies. Maybe the chandler would extend her credit. Maybe the salt could be salvaged, however smoky. Maybe…
New shouts broke out, and she jerked her head up to see the cause. She followed the pointing fingers to the harbor, to the dark silhouettes of the ships moored there. To her own ship, which she hardly recognized.
TheWolfhunterwas on fire. Flames licked up the masts and spread across the forecastle, growing with every passing second.
There was nothing she could do to stop it. Something in her died. She sank to the charred ground and watched her dreams burn.
Someone blocked her view, dark and shapeless, until her eyes adjusted. Kaspar. He stood too close, staring down at her rather than at the spectacle in the harbor like everyone else. “I like you like this, Maggie. Quiet. On your knees. Full of regrets.”
Her lips went numb with realization. He couldn’t have theWolfhunter, so he’d made sure no one else could, either. “You did this.” Her voice cracked painfully.
