“You chose James Allen as your master,” I said, my voice cracking too much.
I was not Rosamund Bailey. I was Hellcat Smith. I could not afford to break.
Captain Grangely lifted his bloodshot eyes to mine, and he was no longer gracefully aging, but had one foot in the grave.
“I serve who pays. A man with a family to feed cannot be discerning,” he said, voice haggard as if he’d been screaming.
“Did Lord Bailey’s new shipping line offer you a place after years of loyalty?” I asked.
Beneath the fog, a knowing discernment gathered like a light in the night. I’d said too much. Cared too much.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I swallowed, steeling my nerves. “An enemy you chose when you decided to lack discernment over money. Your time on the Bane has come to an end, Captain Grangely. Your crew and yourself will live based on the understanding that you are to send a message for me.”
He tilted his head, gray hairs clinging to the sweat pouring down his face and neck. Its salt mixed with the salt of the sea air only to meet the metallic stench of blood made it feel like I was choking.
“I’ve heard of your message. I knew the risk when I set sail,” he said.
I crouched before him, meeting his eyes.
“The message has changed,” I said, voice made of steel. “I am done. I will bleed the seas red just as I have today and make them inhospitable to all trade and shipping. I will burn the Mysterious Deep if Captain Edmonds does not heed the message he will receive in three days' time. As for James Allen. He is done with the shipping industry. He can sell what little he has left, but what he took is no longer his.”
Grangely tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.
“All of London knows of Hellcat Smith’s vendetta against Lord Allen, but I wonder if there is more to this story,” he said.
I stood, sheathing my sword.
“Your curiosity is unnecessary, only your cooperation, Captain Grangely. Do I make myself clear?” I asked.
He nodded, and that was all I needed.
I stepped across the plank linking our ships over bloody waters and knew that the end was near. This was enough.
I’d bled, and now it was time to take what belonged to me.
“Corpse Cove, Val,” I said as I passed her.
“Going home then?” Val teased, her braid hanging over her shoulder.
“Going home,” I echoed, a fluttering in my heart betraying what I’d spent months tampering down.
Hope.
Chapter ten
The Prisoner and The Boy
Bash
More than once, something good has happened from a simple act of sharing bread.
—The Mysterious Deep: A Comprehensive Understanding
The boy was getting thinner by the day.
The rags he wore no longer came anywhere close to his body. Working in the forge required nutrition that he was being starved of. Yet, not once did the boy complain. He worked as if he believed in the cause he was slowly dying for. Though he never smiled, there was a resilience to him that most men lacked.
