The Fox Page 7

  Tau leaned tiredly on the rail, considering Inda’s words— those said and those unsaid. He had no duties outside of pleasing the captain’s favorite—and the captain—but he had no place to sleep other than in the captain’s cabin, either in the bed or on the deck as Walic and Coco chose. The thought of going down below where those two lay in summer-sweaty sleep was repellent; they’d demand his attention soon enough if nothing else was going on.

  He beat impatiently at his hair, already dry, and tangling in his elbows, the rigging, and whatever else it could catch in as it was played with by the wind. He hated wearing it down. It was a nuisance—no. Concentrate. He’d worn it down before and thought nothing of it.

  The hatred was because it was a constant reminder of Coco.

  He drifted along the rail, watching everyone for a chance to slip down below unnoticed.

  The lookout overhead cried, “Sail ho!”

  Out came the glasses, crew at sail and rope, until the lookout shouted down to the deck, “Black leaf fores’l!”

  “That’ll be Eflis o’ the Sable,” someone observed.

  “She’s dipping sail!”

  Comment whisked round the ship: that meant news. Tau sighed, knowing his duty, and ran back to the cabin as the captain bellowed, “Reduce sail.”

  Pirate etiquette, such as it was, mandated that the captain of the smaller ship or fleet came aboard the larger; the Sable had more ships, but her fleet was mostly fast, small schooners. Walic had three capital ships—he signaled the invitation and Sable signaled back an acceptance. Either his captain acknowledged Walic’s superior strength or she had news that she was eager to impart.

  When the tall, fair-haired young captain of the Sable swaggered on deck, Tau was in his place, kneeling beside the pillows in the cabin, fresh coffee in a silver urn. He was shirtless, his brown skin covered only by his golden cloak of hair, because Coco liked him to be so. The stunned, hungry first glance of the visiting captain made it clear that she had originated in lands north of the strait where men as well as women hid their nipples.

  Coco gloated. Sex was not only her skill, but her weapon.

  “What news?” Walic asked.

  Eflis glanced once more at Tau, then turned her attention away. So Coco had managed to find some queen’s lap-dog. And was brandishing him for some typically twisty reason.

  “Ramis One-Eye,” she said. “Took out Chaul of the Widowmaker ’s entire fleet, three to six.”

  Everybody considered that: three ships to six. And those six no mere privateer or haphazard pirates: they were Brotherhood of Blood—victorious in vicious fights.

  The stories about Ramis were strange. Threatening even to pirates. He was called a pirate yet so far no one had talked of raids on harbors or navies or traders—always on other pirates. No one knew to whom he owed allegiance.

  And there were worse rumors.

  Walic drank to hide the thrill of fear that tightened his guts, lowered his cup, and grunted. “You saw it? Or is that the usual bloat of fourthhand news?”

  “I saw the hulks burning on the horizon. A half day more and we woulda been in it,” she replied. “Just off the north end of Chwahirsland.”

  Walic smirked. As did everyone who wanted to be invited into the Brotherhood fleet, he obsessively learned the names and stations of all the Brotherhood command groups. “That breaks up the last of the eastern arm, then.”

  Eflis smiled, her light blue eyes quite aware. “It opens a hole in the fleet, you mean.”

  Walic laughed at the idea that Eflis thought herself competition for him. It was possible she could beat him out, if she managed to pull off a successful raid on a harbor and take the town or defeat a big royal convoy. But she wouldn’t, even if her fleet was larger than his. The only capital ships she showed any interest in were Khanerenth navy—and they traveled in packs too large for her ragtag fleet of small craft to attack successfully.

  “They say the captains were thrust into Nightland, right on the Knife’s deck, before all eyes. Emis Chaul first.”

  Nightland. The child’s euphemism for Norsunder.

  Coco snorted. “Did you see that?”

  “No. But I believe it.” Eflis glanced Tau’s way again as he knelt at the side of Coco’s chair, clad only in cotton trousers, his head bent, his attention on stirring cream and spice into the coffee as Coco ran her fingers through his hair. She hoped Coco would give her a tumble with that beautiful creature, and cast a look Coco’s way to see her smirking as she braided a silver chime into those golden locks. He was there for display, then. A power gesture. Eflis snorted softly.

  “Why?” Walic asked, not showing how much the idea bothered him. Oh, he knew Norsunder existed, and if you wanted to live forever, you eventually sought it out and bargained—from a strong position.

  The stories about those from Norsunder coming after you were rarer, and those stories that always seemed to include soul-eaters. But they were just stories, from centuries ago. It didn’t happen now; it was all talk.

  Coco’s thoughts were sailing down a similar wind, he could see. She tinkled a chime on her palm. “Some baby-tender ‘saw’ it, no doubt. We all heard it often enough when we were little: ‘If you’re bad, Norsunder will take you and eat your soul.’ Except it never actually happens.”

  Eflis had meant to bargain with firsthand information from witnesses. As she sat there drinking their coffee she decided that she could never stomach Walic lording over her, or even worse, that stupid bawdy-house rat.

  So she shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

  Walic laughed, relaxing. Nothing firsthand. There were no real soul-eaters. Death he could deal out and meant to avoid for himself. Some mysterious and inhuman Lord of Norsunder obliterating you from existence and savoring your anguish as your mind disintegrated, now that was terrifying.

  But of course it wasn’t real.

  So he laughed, and prompted Eflis for more gossip— what prizes she’d taken, what harbors she’d visited, and what was said there. Finally he edged up to what he really wanted to know: “Is Boruin now in charge of the entire east, then?”

  Eflis shrugged. “I saw her once, at the Fangs. No signal. We hauled off.”

  Unless Boruin signaled that she wanted to talk, you stayed out of her way.

  “Everyone says she’s now got the entire east, at least while Marshig is out west raiding the land of the flying horses.”

  Coco paused in braiding more of the second mate’s chimes into Tau’s hair. She wanted Eflis looking Tau’s way again, to see what she couldn’t have. “Do those Marlovans really have flying horses?”

  Eflis only glanced once. “Who cares? They don’t fly over water. It’s not Marshig who wants a kingdom, it’s Boruin Death-Hand.”

  Walic’s breath hissed in, long and slow, as he remembered the only time he’d sailed with Boruin, who wasn’t even twenty at the time. A week’s hard fighting—sea, then land, then last the palace. Walic had agreed to ally in hopes of an invitation to join the Brotherhood. But Boruin made it clear all their success meant was she and her allies wouldn’t attack him on the seas. He had to command his own big win.

  She didn’t even cut him in on the palace loot, despite his losses; his last night there all the captains in the fleet were bid to the celebration dinner inside the palace. Walic sank into memory: Boruin standing near the huge fire, one boot on the bloody wreck of the toff she’d toyed with—he was still dying—her shadow dark against the opposite wall, reaching up to the ceiling, as she drank and toasted her future. Her pirates—as crazy as she was—shouting after every promise, Marshig will die! (roar) After I get the Brotherhood treasure map out of him! (roar) Then we take us a kingdom! (roar) It’s a palace for every hand! (roar) Jewels to bathe in! (roar) Bed warmed every night! (roar) And then knife ’em in the morning! (biggest roar)

  Eflis broke into the memory with a wry glance. “As well she’s gonna sail west to take on Marshig when she’s strong enough, eh?”

  Wal
ic chuckled. “She’s crazy, that one.”

  They all laughed and Eflis returned to her ship. Coco and Walic returned to their sleep, leaving Tau to take the dishes to the galley.

  That done, he climbed the half dozen steps to the weather deck. The air was hot and breathless, with that killing glare that too often presaged bad weather. The way the pirates peered toward the northwest confirmed his instinct that a storm was forming beyond the curve of the world.

  The second mate, on duty during the day as the first mate was aboard the prizes, whirled around at the faint, sweet ring of his chimes in Tau’s hair. His temper was evil: it was hot out and he was dead tired. When he saw those little braids framing the bawdy-boy’s face, his fingers reached for the big knife he always wore in his sash.

  Then he dropped his hand. Coco had taken the chimes, so that was that; though he despised the sight of her latest toy, he remembered what happened to her toys when she got tired of them. He laughed, then called for a change of sail: a fractious wind teased at hair and sweaty skin.

  Soon they bucked forward, the bow smacking down through the whitecaps beginning to riffle over the surface. All the sails the ship could carry belled out, everything braced up within a snap of danger.

  Tau descended to the waist, wishing he could find somewhere to sleep. He leaned a hand against a bulkhead, eyes closed, nearly sliding into sleep as he stood there.

  A step within fighting range woke him. A heartbeat later, steely fingers gripped his hair and flung him around.

  Though he was meant to sprawl off balance he sidestepped, one hand in a flat-hand block to redirect another blow into the wood and one foot hooking neatly behind his assailant’s ankle.

  The foot he hooked twisted expertly away, then a forearm slammed Tau back against the bulkhead, catching him below the collarbone.

  He shook back his drifting hair. When he saw Fox’s considering gaze, Tau dropped his hands and waited.

  “Inda taught you to fight with the Odni?” Fox drawled the word “you” with extreme derision.

  Behind him stood the other Marlovan, the one the hands called Rat. He was watching down the companionway.

  “Who says I fight?” Tau retorted, folding his arms.

  Fox stared into Tau’s face. It really was an extraordinarily beautiful face, even when sweaty and marked with exhaustion. Extraordinary because wit refined the handsome features. Gave them character.

  Fox had not planned past taking the bawdy-boy by surprise, to see if he begged, pleaded, threatened, or offered trade. Not that he wanted it. He wanted proof his loyalties were for sale, along with his attentions.

  Tau waited.

  "Huh.” Fox lifted his arm and laughed as he and Rat walked off.

  Chapter Five

  JEJE had not expected the sight of Freeport Harbor to hurt.

  Being in charge for the first time had kept her busy looking out for pirates during the long trip southeast, watching the charts on her first attempt at navigating entirely on her own, scanning for bad weather, and dealing with the ongoing chores of ship-handling.

  They traded watches off and on, two and two, Nugget having to do a mate’s share of the work instead of a new deck rat’s. She seemed to thrive on the responsibility. She even slept on the masthead, tying herself on, most nights being balmy enough for it not to seem a hardship for an adventure-craving twelve-year-old. Both Jeje and Nugget stayed awake far past their watches, Jeje too full of questions, worries, and ugly images to want sleep, until she was so exhausted she couldn’t fight it.

  Any sail on the horizon caused them to spill wind and bowse their sail up tight, making them effectively invisible from a distance; the cost of staying unseen added to the sailing time.

  Relieved when they finally spotted the familiar hump of Freedom Islands on the southeast horizon, Jeje and Nugget fell asleep not long after, leaving the brothers to beat southward against the steady winds, at last entering the harbor on the morning tide.

  The water was smooth, the sky mild with wispy, curved featherings of white as Jeje lifted her glass to scan the harbor. The ache gripped her heart with the strength of regret and grief and worry and remorse. She swept the glass over the familiar octagonal building jutting above the King’s Saunter. It was foolish to hope, but she searched for Inda in the colorful crowd on the boardwalk, scrutinized the ships in harbor, and glared at every figure as if agonizing strength of will could force one of those strangers to be Kodl walking up to the cordage shop to see his sweetheart, or Thog drifting about searching the newcomers for Chwahir outcasts.

  Willing was as useless as wishing: not a glimpse of any of them.

  “Signal! We can moor at the north dock,” the oldest boy said.

  Jeje lowered the glass. “We get a dock mooring?” she asked, amazed at the unheard of privilege.

  Nugget bounced up and down. “That’s because of Woof,” she said confidently. “My brother won’t stick us in the bay.”

  Jeje lifted a shoulder, repressing a comment that Nugget’s brother, who was the harbormaster’s chief assistant, had had no problem with the Vixen being anchored out in the bay before they left. That they’d now rate a mooring because Woof wanted to see his sister returning from her first voyage made as much sense as anything else did these days.

  Nugget waved violently, shrilling false alarm at that distinct pitch recognizable to anyone familiar with the shrieks of young girls: there was Woof himself, moving down the dock more quickly than his customary elegant stride.

  He halted at the edge while the Vixen was moored. Jeje folded her charts under her arm and clambered up onto the deck, followed by Nugget, who leaped up and dashed to her brother, gaining her land legs in half a heartbeat.

  She flung herself onto him, wrapping her gangling legs around him as he hugged her and pressed a kiss into her tangled, salt-grimy hair. “Woofie! There was a pirate attack! ”

  Woof set her down, his grin tightening to a wince. “I know. Word’s coming in from everyone running south.” He patted his sister’s salt-spiky curls and turned to Jeje. “Walic or Boruin? I can’t believe anyone but those two would be strong enough to take your marine defenders.”

  Jeje forced herself not to start with her own questions. “Walic. According to the harbormaster at Tchorchin. You heard? Who? How?”

  Woof sighed, tipping a hand back and forth, then sweeping it down toward the harbor. “Word went out Walic was hunting in the same area your convoy had been last seen, and not long after there was a smoke cloud that carried to the coast when the wind shifted. A couple of privateers in the area saw the smoke and tacked in to investigate.”

  Look for hulks and scavenge, Jeje translated. It was typical of certain types of privateers.

  “Both came in here. Reported your convoy’s being stripped and left to burn, but the fire was doused by rain, leaving the wrecks drifting.”

  “Wrecks?” Jeje whispered. “No survivors?”

  Woof shook his head. “Kodl was spotted among the dead. Fangras of the Blue Star recognized his body. Dun the Carpenter as well, and Scalis. He and his crew Disappeared them. The rest of the convoy had either been taken or sunk, so we have no idea who lived and who died.” He hesitated, then said, “Thank you for getting Nugget away.”

  Jeje opened her mouth to explain that Nugget hadn’t been their first thought. Inda had ordered Jeje away to get aid when Nugget happened to be serving a watch on Vixen.

  No one is going to ask about Uslar. Who was the same age as Nugget, Jeje thought with that painful heart-twist of grief. Clues she’d missed before coalesced into conviction: Woof’s fine clothes, the way he moved, his assumption that his little sister would be first on anyone’s mind. He was a toff.

  That is, he had been born one. He obviously didn’t own any land now and what’s more, he worked as hard as anyone.

  So she said nothing.

  She was not aware of her scowl.

  After another hesitation, Woof shifted his gaze away, then said, “Come upstairs,
will you? Dhalshev wants to talk to you, if you’ve a mind.”

  Jeje waved a hand, again making an effort not to hammer him with questions. Kodl dead! Dun, too. But they didn’t mention Inda or Tau. Everyone knew Tau.

  Her throat hurt and her eyes burned, though she tried fiercely to control her emotions. I will believe they live until I hear something else.

  Woof led her to the eight-sided tower that served as headquarters for the harbormaster. She had never seen Dhalshev before, though everyone knew who he was. He’d been fleet commander of the Khanerenth navy before the civil war. Though Jeje had little interest in—and no sympathy for—the problems of kings, it was impossible to sail the eastern waters and not hear that Dhalshev’s defection had finally brought the old king down and enabled the new one to settle the kingdom.

  Woof walked fast, his lips pressed together as though he, too, was deliberately not asking questions. They trotted up the stairs around and around until they reached the weather-beaten balcony outside the octagon, where a couple of staffers were on duty with field glasses, a flag hand standing by the huge trunk of signal flags waiting for her next order. Nugget ran up to these, greeting them all by name, then crowing proudly, with the heartlessness of the young who only glimpsed danger from a distance, “We were attacked by pirates! They chased us. Even shot a million arrows at us! Fire arrows! But we were much too fast!”

  Woof led Jeje inside and shut the door. The front half of the octagon had enormous windows overlooking the harbor. The back half, tucked against the hillside, was covered with mural-sized charts. Two of them matched the charts under Jeje’s arm; they were just bigger and more detailed, dotted with little colored pins. The third was a huge map of the island with charting and fleet marks along the west coast. The fourth showed the coast of the north continent, which she ignored, turning back to the map of the island.

  Before she could study any of those markers Dhalshev spoke from behind her. “What can you tell me?”

  Jeje turned. The tall gray-haired man looked like a Fleet Commander, somehow, even though she’d never seen one in her life. It wasn’t his size, though he was taller than Kodl had been, or his trim build. It was his attitude of awareness, of command. He reminded her of Inda running war games on their hill up behind the harbor, or standing on the deck of a hire in the middle of a battle, right before Kodl gave up trying to run the defense and Inda took over.