Suns. Moons. Forge fog a faun. Why did I always do this, smack people and smash chances only to end up alone at some ratty tavern or back-o’-the-alley bar? What was it that kept me running, and when would I ever stop?
I lifted the cup I’d snitched, waggled it at the barkeep.
“Another, if you will, Jak,” I said. I didn’t know his name. Everyone was called Jak in places like this. “Tab is on the dworgh. They have a Letter of Marque.”
He rolled his eyes but poured me a second.
This one, I nursed, milking the feel of the tin in my palms. Even gloved, they glowed, and I wondered if I could pay someone to cut them off at the elbows. I could live as a beggar. Or true enough, as a whore. Swabs loved their wooden legs, glass eyes, and hook-hands, and I’d never have to concern myself with magik for the rest of my short, miserable life.
“…moored beyond the docks…enemy…ship of spells…”
I slowed and lifted the rum to my lips, listening like a fly on a port latch.
There were two of them on the stools next to me, a homani and a harpy. The homani was thin and hairy, with three earrings in one ear. The harpy was male, with an elongated crest and a beak longer than Kit’s.
I made myself small and insignificant. Not hard to do, generally, despite my job-precluding pride.
“Ye have a crew?” asked the homani.
The harpy nodded.
“Aye,” he said, his voice scratches on stone. “Twelve of us,strong and fierce.”
“And a ship?”
“Who needs a ship, sir, when we has the sky?” The harpy laughed. “’Sides, we has a soul aboard.”
My stomach pitched. TheTouchstonehad a traitor?
The man grunted, passed the other a black purse. “Half now, half on the doin’.”
“Usuals, aye.”
The harpy pocketed the purse in a satchel at his hip and moved to leave his stool. The homani grabbed his arm.
“If ye can spare the boy, do it,” he said. “We can fetch a pretty sum from the old sot.”
“Even still? It’s been ten year or so.”
“Aye. He’s got a new wife but still no son.”
“We get half, then?”
“You fetch him. I sell him.” He thrust out his arm. “Half.”
The harpy took it, palm to elbow. “Square.”
And that was that. Each man downed his drink and left the tavern.
I sat for a long moment afterward.
It had only been one phrase, one unfocused utterance of the words “ship of spells.” They could easily have said “ship’s bells,” or “ship of hels,” or “ship of fools,” for all I knew. I sipped the rum, feeling it warm my throat as it went down.
Besides, even if they were talking about theTouchstone, I owed her nothing. The bastard, Thanavar, had marooned me on this pitiful spit, all because I was Navy and him privateer. All because I was proud. All because a ship that hadchosenme no longer found me worthy enough to keep.
I cast a quick glance to the window. Smoke and Fahr were gone. I’d have to go out into the markets, brave the crowds, rush the docks.IfI told them.IfI cared.
I threw back the rum.
