by Traci Chee
He began running. He had to find help. There were still people on the other piers. Maybe they would be able to do something.
Archer dashed in among them. He opened his mouth.
But the words did not come. They were not in him. He could feel the place where they should have been, like a black hole inside him, but the words themselves were not there.
“Boy, are you all right?”
Their faces loomed huge in front of him. Their hands were reaching.
“What happened to the girl?”
They clustered around him. They all looked the same. His head spun. He didn’t know where he was, how far he had gone. Sefia was breathing shallowly in his arms.
There were too many people. They were too close. Their hands were grabbing at him, reaching for Sefia. Their words became gibberish. They were loud, circling him. He had to get away. He had to go somewhere safe.
Darkness. That was what he needed. Someplace small. A place where they couldn’t get to him, where he would be safe.
Fear and pain were coming, and this time Sefia’s soft dark voice wasn’t there to stop them. The livid marks on her neck had stolen her voice away, and now she lay unconscious in his arms.
So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He hid. He found an empty cargo crate on one of the piers, laid Sefia inside, and crawled in after her, pulling the crate closed behind him. And then there was nothing but black and the sounds of footsteps and voices outside.
His hands were sticky with blood, but he set down the packs and did his best to brush the hair out of her face before propping a pack behind her head like a pillow. Then he sat down against the side of the crate, arms around his knees, listening to her breathing, listening for sounds of pursuit, and waiting for her to wake.
Chapter 18
The First Adventure of Haldon Lac
Petty Officer Haldon Lac was annoyed. It was too early—or rather, if he was being honest with himself, which he was not, he had woken too late. And why not? He was a maturing young man who needed his sleep, and this new early schedule didn’t suit him at all. He hadn’t had time for his usual cup of coffee with cream and three lumps of sugar, so to him the sun through the clouds was too bright, the sea breeze in the air too chilly, and the smell of fish too overpowering for his delicate olfactory senses. He pouted his perfectly formed lips and surveyed the splintered shingles and abandoned nets from which the unsavory fishy smell arose. Lac put his sleeve to his nose and coughed.
“Breathe through your mouth, sir,” said Hobs, his subordinate, who grinned at his discomfort. Hobs was a funny, slant-eyed fellow with a nearly spherical head. Punctual and thorough, he had a good work ethic and absolutely no ambition, which suited Petty Officer Lac, who had plenty of ambition but no work ethic to speak of. They made a good team.
“Shut up, Hobs,” said Fox. She was another matter entirely. Though she was a rank beneath Lac, she was the perfect combination of diligence, talent, and drive. They were all new additions to the city’s naval complement, soon to be sent to sea and to war, but if the rumors were to be believed, she’d already made a name for herself in Epigloss, Epidram’s sister city to the west. Moreover, as Lac had observed frequently since she had been transferred to his unit, she was gorgeous. She was sharp as smoky quartz, with perfect teeth and eyes that cut. She combed an unruly lock of hair back into place behind her ear. “How much farther to the Eastside Market?”
Lac glanced up and down the alley and shrugged. They were supposed to relieve another patrol, but who knew where anything was in this rat’s nest of a sector? Dried brown weeds wilted in the windows of the house nearest him, and barrels of stagnant water and discarded crates filled the alley. The chatter of vendors and the rattle of carts swarmed in the air, though the market was nowhere to be seen.
A pair of slender young men in stained smithy aprons passed, their shirts open at the collars. One ignored Lac’s staring, but the other, who had a slightly crooked gait that made him hop-skip every few steps, met his gaze. Lac smiled. He had faith in his smile. It was a perfect, moon-shaped crescent that had cooled more tempers and earned him more favors than he could count.
The boy laughed and walked away. Oh, he had excellent shoulders. Lac stared after him wistfully.
“I think we’re lost again, Petty Officer,” Hobs said.
“Are we?” He groaned and turned back the way they’d come. “I’m never going to get used to this city.”
“Hopefully we won’t have to,” Fox said. “I want on a ship as quick as possible. That’s where all the action is.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Puffing out his chest a little, Lac leaned on the nearest barrel. It sloshed, spilling foul-smelling liquid over his bright red coat. “Ugh!” Thick brownish-green ooze was seeping into the fabric. Haldon Lac gagged. “I just had this cleaned!”
“Looks bad, sir,” Hobs added helpfully.
Fox stared down her nose at him and sighed. “They warned me about coming to Epidram. But did I listen?”
“Why did you transfer?” Hobs asked. “You never said.”
She hesitated so long that Lac glanced up from the stain on his coat to study her face. She seemed . . . sad. She’d never looked anything but impatient or focused. Her sadness was quiet and brittle, like a fallen leaf.
Before Lac could say anything, the back door of the one of the buildings swung open, and out stepped a man with an overgrown red beard. Lac recognized him immediately. He’d never seen the man himself, but he’d seen the Wanted sketches tacked up on base. According to the rumors, Redbeard and a man called Hatchet were mixed up in some sort of human trafficking outfit, though no witnesses had ever come forward and no one ever seemed to have proof. They had been evading the Oxscinian Navy for years, always slipping in and out of the city before anyone noticed, stirring up trouble in their wake.
Lac grabbed Fox and Hobs and dragged them behind the trash bins. He held a finger to his lips.
Petty Officer Haldon Lac was lazy, and if he was being honest with himself, which he definitely was not, he had been riding for a long time on his good looks and natural charm, but deep down under his flawless skin and perfect bone structure, he did have some real talents—among them, a nose for important situations. And he could tell that this, as innocuous as it seemed, was an important situation.
He turned to Fox, who nodded in agreement.
They slipped out from behind the bins and followed the man with the red beard to the mouth of the alley, where he was joined by another man. Lac, Fox, and Hobs ducked behind a pile of fishing nets to watch and listen.
“Hatchet was right,” the man with the red beard mumbled. “Once I let them see me, they followed me all the way to the Noose.”
“Good,” said the other. “Does Jones know what to do?”
“He’s a greedy one. He’ll try to get a bribe out of them, if he can.”
“But will he do what he’s told?”
“Yeah.” The man with the red beard looked over his shoulder and pulled the collar of his jacket higher around his neck. “Let’s get to the Bucket. I don’t like being followed by that boy . . . or the girl, for that matter.”
Lac’s head swam. It must have been the lack of coffee. What bucket? What boy? He was acutely aware of Fox’s presence next to him, and if he was being honest with himself, which he certainly was not, he secretly hoped that she was paying attention to how well he was handling the situation.
“The Tin Bucket docked at Black Boar Pier two days ago,” Fox whispered. “It ferries back and forth between here and Jahara.”
Haldon Lac realized dazedly that she must have been keeping track of all the ships coming in and out of Epidram. She was just as ambitious as Lac was and probably hoping for a promotion as well.
At the entrance of the alley, the man with the red beard and his companion slipped around the corner and out of sight.
> Haldon Lac stood and smoothed his hair. “Look,” he said as Fox and Hobs got up. He could feel that this was his moment. He, Petty Officer Haldon Lac, was having a moment of greatness, and he wanted everything to be perfect. “We’re going to reconnoiter this situation for ourselves. Black Boar isn’t far off and once we see what Hatchet’s up to, we can send someone back to base with concrete information.” He grimaced at the brown spill on his coat, which was the one stain on his moment of greatness, but it was quickly drying in the morning sun and he couldn’t do anything about it now. At least it no longer smelled.
They left the alley and headed north along the twisting streets, making a few accidental detours and wrong turns that Lac hoped no one else noticed. Had he mentioned that he hated this side of the city?
But Fox was grinning. Her grin was a devious, feral thing, like that of a coyote.
“You wonder how that guy gets his red beard?” Hobs asked suddenly.
“What?”
“His hair’s gray, right? You think he dyes it that color? Or does he dye his beard?” Hobs nodded and pulled at his lower lip.
“Shut up, Hobs,” Fox snapped.
“Maybe he dips it—”
“Shut up, Hobs!”
As they neared the docks, Haldon Lac rehearsed what he would say when they brought in Hatchet and his men. “Just doing my duty, sir!” He’d smile there, to give his superiors the full effect of his charm. “A promotion, ma’am? Well, if you insist! I’ll chase those blue Everican bastards out of our trade routes! King Darion’s going to learn what it means to mess with the Oxscinian Royal Navy!” He was so busy practicing speeches that he forgot to pay attention to where they were going and Hobs had to tell him they had completely bypassed the cart road to the port and were now heading in the wrong direction.
When they finally reached Black Boar Pier, Lac groaned. There were so many people. It would take an age to find Redbeard.
Suddenly, they heard a gunshot. Screams broke from the crowd. Lac jumped. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.
They hadn’t.
People fled past him, elbowing others out of the way.
“Easy now,” said Hobs in that unhurried way of his. “Not to worry. Royal Navy, here. Royal Navy, coming through.”
Nobody paid him any attention.
Another shot rang out.
Fox darted through the press of people, dodging dockworkers and leaping crates. Haldon Lac followed in her wake. If he was being honest with himself, which he absolutely was not, he may have messed this one up. He could feel his moment of greatness slipping through his fingers.
The three of them arrived at the end of the pier in a few minutes and ducked behind some crates for cover. Fox had the better vantage point, but Lac saw a boy about his age scoop up a slight, black-haired girl and go running past them down the dock. He felt faint. The girl was unconscious, and the boy’s hands were covered in blood.
Raising his eyebrows, Hobs pointed after them, but Lac shook his head. Fox flashed a series of hand signals at him as he struggled to remember what they meant. They were numbers, but he didn’t know which ones. Five? Fifteen? Twenty? Her fingers moved so quickly they were like hummingbirds flicking from one meaning to another.
A voice carried over the pier: “I got people all over this kingdom, and if I hear one more word ’bout you capturin’ children, I’ll take my ship, and I’ll hunt you down like an animal. No matter where you go in this big blue world, I’ll find you.”
This was Lac’s moment. It was a shame that he had already missed the initial confrontation, but now his duty was to stop it from continuing. There was no time to send for reinforcements. Lac took a deep breath and stepped out from behind his crate, shooting his pistol once into the air. “That’s enough now,” he announced. “We’ll take it from—”
A bullet struck him in the arm. He felt the pain first, then heard the shot. Where had it come from? He screamed in a particularly unattractive way and fell back.
The pier erupted into violence. Bright cracks of fire burst from pistols and rifles. Steel flashed in the sun. Lac leaned against a barrel, clutching his gun in both hands. His shoulder was bleeding. It hurt.
Fox and Hobs were fighting against a handful of solid, mean-looking men on the pier, but they weren’t fighting alone. They had been joined by some sailors who were whooping and hollering gleefully as they slashed with their swords and fired their guns.
Haldon Lac blinked. He recognized them as you’d recognize a character who’s climbed out of his story and into yours. The giant with the yellow bandanna. The quick one with the dreadlocks. They fought with a wild abandon he’d never seen before, never even imagined, driving Hatchet’s men toward the edge of the pier and into the water. Hatchet himself was retreating as well, clutching a wounded arm, staggering back under their onslaught. He shot a venomous glance into the melee and dove into the stinking dock water. Despite the pain in his shoulder, Haldon Lac felt disappointed. His moment of greatness was escaping into the green foam.
The fighting was already over. He struggled to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder was too much. One of the sailors approached him. Petty Officer Haldon Lac cringed and squinted up at him.
The man leaned down. He had the brightest blue eyes—even prettier than Lac’s, if he was being honest with himself, which he was not. He felt himself hoisted to his feet and dusted off.
“It weren’t your brightest idea, bustin’ in here, guns blazin’,” the man drawled. “But it worked out all right.”
Gesturing with their guns and laughing, the other sailors corralled the remainder of Hatchet’s men. Only three were left, bleeding freely from their wounds. Four were dead. Redbeard, whom Lac had seen less than an hour before, lay on the dock, blood at his ankle and at his chest, staining his scraggly beard a deeper shade of red. His eyes were open, his mouth fixed in a silent snarl.
Fox passed Hobs a length of rope and said, “Make yourself useful.”
Hobs knelt to tie Hatchet’s men’s hands. “Where’s the petty officer?”
Haldon Lac felt himself pushed forward by a steady hand. “Reckon that’s you,” the man said. Lac stumbled forward, dimly aware of his blood and the brown stain on his jacket.
Fox looked past him. “Thank you, Captain Reed,” she said. “You’ve helped us apprehend three associates of the criminal known as Hatchet.”
Captain Reed? Lac blinked again. That’s who this man was? He tried to smile, but no one was looking at him.
Reed chuckled drily. “Just doin’ my duty to the kingdom.”
Just doing his duty. Haldon Lac’s smile wilted.
“I’ll make sure my superiors know it was you who helped us,” Fox continued.
“I’d appreciate that, ma’am.” He tipped his hat toward her and sauntered off, leaving Petty Officer Lac standing dumbfounded on the dock. Laughing and talking, the other sailors followed. Lac recognized the crew of the Current of Faith now: Horse, the enormous carpenter with the bandanna tied around his forehead; Meeks, the dreadlocked, story-loving second mate . . .
Hobs looked up and grinned. “There you are, sir. I thought you’d missed all the action.”
Haldon Lac shook his head.
“Put some pressure on that wound,” Fox said.
Obediently, he pressed his hand to his shoulder and looked at the blood on the dock, the corpses. This was not a moment of greatness at all, he realized. They had gone in without orders, and they didn’t even have Hatchet to show for it. Someone else had swooped in and taken all the glory, which Fox was going to give him—rightfully so, if Lac was being honest with himself. No, this was a chapter in someone else’s story, probably not even a very important one, and he hadn’t lifted a finger to take part in it.
Well, he’d lifted an arm. And look how that had turned out.
“Hatchet got away,” he said.
Fox shrugged. “We have prisoners. We’ll get him next time.” Was she smiling at him? Her leg was wounded, and blood was smeared across her forehead, but yes, she was smiling at him. That wild coyote smile.
Haldon Lac smiled back.
Chapter 19
The New Crate
When Sefia awoke, it was so dark she wasn’t sure if she had opened her eyes at all. She heard footsteps, hoarse voices, the creak of ropes. The warm, close air pressed in around her like a blanket. She coughed and stirred, croaking, “Archer?”
Something cool was pressed into her hands, and her fingers flitted over his as he raised the canteen to her mouth. Water trickled past her lips and down her throat. She sat up and spoke again: “Where are we? Did they get us?”
His hand squeezed hers. They were safe.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As he sat back, he took something from his pocket and began turning it in his fingers. She reached out, and in the darkness found the worry stone resting in his hand.
Outside, waves murmured in the slow breath of the tide. They were near the water, maybe on one of the piers. Their hiding place was small, with hard wooden sides, barely big enough to fit the two of them.
“A crate!” Her fingers brushed the folds of his clothing.
His hand found hers and he held up two crossed fingers in the dark. They were sticky—with blood?—but she knew what they meant.
She was with him. They were together. So he was okay.
She sat back again, but Archer’s hand remained over hers. In the darkness, the pressure of his fingers seemed like the only real thing in the world, and if she let go, all the pieces of her would scatter, spinning wildly into the black. They’d touched before, but it had never felt like this.
She didn’t pull away.
“What’s out there?”
Archer’s shoulder lifted and fell. She took another sip of water. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and cracked. “I should have been more careful. I should have noticed . . . I just couldn’t control my vision . . .” She trailed off. “Hatchet said you were supposed to lead an army.”