The paper money that had been used in Cel-Romano was almost worthless now. Currency in a place like Pyetra was gold or silver or chits of credit that were traded among the residents, becoming a currency exclusive to the village.
After a glance at Starr, my father filled a glass to the brim with whiskey, took the gold coin, and, grudgingly, put two silver coins on the bar as change.
The man pocketed the coins and took a sip of whiskey.
“You’re not a villager,” Starr said, his blue eyes bright with malice—and suspicion.
“No, I’m not,” the man agreed. He had a slight accent, like nothing I’d heard before.
“First time in Pyetra?” Starr asked.
“It is.”
“Going to be here long?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s your name?”
“Captain Crow.”
Starr’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t see an unfamiliar ship moored at the docks or anchored in the harbor. Where is your ship, and what’s your business here?”
Crow took another sip of whiskey. “What business is it of yours?”
“I look out for the people in this village. Their protector, you might say. So I’ll ask again: Where is your ship, and what’s your business?”
“My ship is nearby. As for my business...” Crow looked Starr right in the eyes, something no other man would do. “I hunt predators.”
Starr’s first mate snorted. “Like sharks?”
Crow continued to stare at Starr. “Something less honorable.”
Everyone in the tavern held their breath. To call Starr dishonorable was courting death, especially for a man alone. He’d be lucky to get back to his ship without being knifed in an alley.
“There’s no fuel for an unregistered ship,” Starr said. “Fuel is strictly rationed since the war.”
“My ship doesn’t require anything but the wind,” Crow replied.
A sailing ship without an engine? Fishing vessels relied on engines, but most had been refitted with sails to help the fuel last. And merchant ships ran before the wind with full sails except when coming into or leaving the harbor and docks. A sailing ship without an engine had to be ancient!
I shivered as a thought erased every other, like the incoming tide erases footprints on a beach.
An ancient ship—or an unnatural one.
“If you’re here for supplies, spend your coin and be out of Pyetra by sundown,” Starr snarled. “And don’t come back.”
Crow took another sip of whiskey, the level in the glass barely changed. He stepped away from the bar, then stopped. “I go where I please.”
“Really? I’ve never heard of you.”
“But I’ve heard of you, Captain Starr.” Crow smiled a tight-lipped smile. “You should be careful about the cargo you carry when you’re in Tethys’s domain. The salt of tears has a different taste than salt water.”
Who was Tethys? I waited for someone to ask the question. No one did.
I glanced at the old grandfathers, saw the way their hands shook.
They knew. And they feared this Tethys more than they feared Starr.
