I lifted an eyebrow. “You knew this Iris singer?”
“She was Barreto’s love before she left for Cathair many years ago.”
“Has she always liked to sing?”
A soft smile slipped onto his lips. “Ever since we were young. She would go to the small coves on the island every day and practice. The fishermen would anchor their ships close by to listen to her singing. They said it brought them more fish than the best bait.”
“Did you attend her early concerts, too?” I asked him.
He grinned. “Naturally. It gave me practice at sneaking around.” I lifted an eyebrow, and he laughed. “Iris didn’t like people listening to her practice. She couldn’t stop the fishermen, but when she caught Barreto or me, she’d give us both a tongue thrashing.”
“Has it been a while since you two talked?”
“About five years,” he mused as we continued on our way. “She had a concert at a port near where I’d anchored, and I went ashore to listen to her. We spoke a short while after the concert and parted ways again.” He cast a curious look at me. “Did you want to attend the concert? I’m sure I could get us tickets.”
“If we have time,” I mused as I looked over his bandanna. “I mean, won’t Fidel and the others be worried?”
He grinned. “I’ll send them a deckle and tell them they can drink the rest of the rum in the hold. That’ll keep them for a few days.”
“A deckle. . .” I murmured before my eyes lit up. “One of those paper birds?”
“The same. There’s a deckle office in all the ports and most of the smaller villages, though there aren’t many with as high a quality as Marty’s family.”
My face drooped. “We should have brought Pen.”
His eyes twinkled. “Who says we haven’t?”
I blinked at him. “What do you-”
My question was answered when Marc raised his arm. A yellowed piece of paper slipped out of his sleeve and landed with a soft song on my sleeve. My eyes lit up as I recognized the elegant, if worn, figure of Pen. The bird let out another caw and flapped his wings.
I smiled and stroked his chest. “You’ve been hiding him all this time?”
“He’s naturally shy, and he didn’t like the way you carried yourself onto the Wraithcourier’s boat,” Marc told me as he studied the beast with dancing eyes. “So I let him fly into my sleeve to keep himself dry until we had a use for him.”
“Will you send Marc’s message to the ship?” I asked the bird. The paper avian bobbed its head.
“Let me write it,” Marc mused as he turned us onto a less busy side street. “And you can be off. Meet us back at the house when you’re through.”
“How will you write your letter on him?” I wondered.
“We can borrow some ink a the deckle shop,” he suggested as we wound our way through the winding streets. “There won’t be any risk in that.”
A muffled voice came from my coat. “There’s a risk wherever you go with that stupid bandanna.”
“We’ll have to test out your theory,” Marc teased.
“Don’t risk our necks!” Ramaro shot back.
“Not on an empty stomach,” the captain mused as he studied our surroundings. “There’s an office around here, and the pub isn’t far, either.”
I was glad to hear that, as my stomach felt as hollow as a barrel of rum after an all-night kegger. We traveled another few blocks, experiencing the creeping nightlife of the city. Elegant carriages rolled past, leaving laughter and the crack of the whip in their wake. A few streets featured gas lamps that burst to life as the sun set on the horizon, casting their soft, flickering glow over primitive raised stone sidewalks. Children chased one another in a last fit of play before their mothers called them in for supper.
A group of one of these scamps noticed our coming. They wore the mask of the chimney sweep class, and their dirty but well-patched attire also denoted their occupation. One of their number, a lad of about fifteen, noticed us and perked up.
“Seastorm!”
The other boys’ heads shot up, and smiles spread across their lips. More chants of Seastorm rose from their number as they scurried over each other in their eagerness to reach us. I plastered myself close against Marc as they crowded around us, squeezing us in a tight embrace of eager glee.
