How is that possible? Damn creepy bug man.
“You don’t like salt?” she asked.
The head twitched, tilting to one side. Strange, multi-faceted bug eyes staring at her. There was a hiss from beside her. Bandit, the loompa’s fur almost standing at attention, paws tucked under him and teeth bared. Indecisively poised between fight and flight.
“Bandit, stop that!” Violet snapped, his obvious display of aggression sparking a pang of guilt from her.
“He’s confused,” a voice said. Hounds. The woman was damned near as sneaky as the skipper for creeping up on a person. “Loompas eat insects. One big enough to turn the favour ain’t right with the little fellow’s world.”
Violet turned and pointed an accusing finger at Mantid. “Back! Don’t you be eating Bandit. He’s not for eating!”
Mantid pulled back a spiked, almost grasping foreleg. The jointed appendage folded into an almost prayerlike position. To Violet it looked like something just waiting to attack.
“Not for eating,” she repeated, shuffling Bandit back with her foot. The loompa continued to snarl silently at the much bigger Mantid, though from safely entwined between Violet’s legs and tail.
“He’s just shaky from the cargo,” Hounds told her. “Salt dries his kind out something horrid, leaves them all brittle like dead leaves. Bodies ain’t meant to deal with so much of it. Speaking of that, you weren’t here when all this was delivered.”
“No,” Violet said quickly. “Couldn’t get back.”
Hounds nodded. “Saw the commotion, laying low was smart. But you missed your moment of glory, lass.”
Violet hung her head glumly. “Don’t need no glory and don’t care for folks looking.”
“Aye,” Hounds grinned. “As you say, but aside from missing your own triumphant return you’d have seen those that carted it to us. You think Mantid is skittish, you should’ve glimpsed these ones, lass. Salt burns, the lot of them. Salt and ice, take the skin right off your bones.”
“Makes me thirsty too, salt,” Violet admitted. That was all she could think to say.
“Be sure and drink your ration, lass,” Hounds said. “Your skipper said we were taking on extra casks on account of this job. Between the yelling.”
“Not happy about the job,” Violet said quietly.
“Then she’s the only one. Me and mine, lass, we were a long time here. Not so many paying jobs as we can afford to turn down ones that ain’t quite right.”
“Yeah.”
“It was you who found us this run, lass,” Hounds said. “Maybe Vaughn’s just dark on being shown up.”
“Skipper ain’t like that,” Violet said quickly. “She’s just thinking about what’s best for the ship, is all. Always is.”
“What’s best for the ship is that we make some coin,” Hounds said. “I’m not wrong here, lass.”
“No,” Violet said, thinking back to all she’d heard in the captain’s cabin. “I guess not.”
“Keep thinking that way,” Hounds said. “Most folk want to be paid, don’t much care how or what they get paid for, long as there’s coin at the end of it. Better if there’s some at the start too but at the end is what matters. You got a knack for finding paying work then most of us won’t think too much more about it. You’re right with me and mine, lass. Don’t doubt it.”
Violet felt herself grinning. It was nice to be appreciated on the ship for once.
“Your pet’s got some fight in him.” Hounds eyed Bandit. As was often the case, the loompa seemed to realise he was being talked about. He clambered up Violet’s body to perch on her shoulder, one small black hand gripping her hair for balance.
“More than is good for him, I’d say.” Violet rolled her shoulder, trying to dislodge Bandit. For some reason he sat odd on her just now, didn’t feel right. He squawked at her in protest and pulled on her hair. Not going anywhere.
Little rat sold me out to Quill, who sold me out to the skipper. Can’t trust nobody no more.
“Captain says we’re headed to Vice at the end of this run. Be some laytime with a hold full of ice to unpack once we get there,” Hounds said. “Lots of opportunities in Vice.”
“How do you mean?”
Hounds winked at her. “Means you and I should take a walk there when we get the chance. I know some people who know some folk. Could be some coin in it for all of us.”
“Sure, I mean, maybe.” Violet shrugged.
“Time for that later,” Hounds said. “In the bye, we should be setting up the pumps down here and getting our hands on some sawdust for packing. We’ll want this place caulked nice and tight or else you and the plucky pack rat there might freeze your tails off. And that’d be a crying shame.”
“What is a shame is that none of you seem capable of hearing the bells that are ringing right now,” Quill’s voice interrupted. Violet saw him halfway down the stairs leading to the orlop deck where the bulk of the ship’s cables were stored.
“You,” Quill peered into the mostly unlit cargo hold, seemingly untroubled by the dark. For once he wasn’t looking at Violet. “You are needed, or so the captain would have me believe. We are launching the ship.”
Mantid scuttled on multiple legs towards Quill, forelimbs held in that odd prayer position. Quill regarded the other navigator with distaste as he moved to allow him passage.
“Cargo’s secured, Mister Quill,” Hounds told him. “Been making a start on the packing. Have my watch finish attending to that once we’re under way. Less loading time when we arrive that way, and it’s a dog of a job to do once we start filling this space with ice cut.”
“Very good,” Quill nodded approvingly. “I am gratified to see the skipper has hired someone who knows their job. For a change.” He ran his hand over one of the seams in the hull, already loosely packed with straw caulking. “Very thorough. Most likely this also dampens the sound of the ship’s bells. Understandable.”
Violet shook her head. Quill was being nice. Never good.
His eyes moved to Violet. “You should be up in the nest, girl. Keep a lookout for the first bell after we launch and then join me for the remainder of our watch.”
Violet bristled but nodded her compliance. She’d almost forgotten she was going to be standing watch with Quill from now on. Though maybe that was better than being around the skipper for a while. She’d rather not face the woman again so soon.
Maybe I can get the captain to let me go on Hounds’ watch. He might agree—she’s got everyone coming around to her side. Even Quill.
These thoughts kept her occupied until she was almost halfway up the ratlines to the nest. She swallowed hard as the familiar vertigo of being up high threatened to overwhelm her. A lot of sailors were afraid of water, so it went, on account of most couldn’t swim. A lot less were afraid of heights like Violet was, which seemed unfair.
Stupid, got a lot further to fall in the black. Falling and freezing takes longer than drowning, and slower is worse.
She hauled herself into the nest, hanging her arms over the sides but keeping her eyes shut until her stomach settled. When she opened them she was looking up at the sky, a trick she’d learned, and gradually brought them down until she was focused on the docks. Fixating on single points further away helped her keep her mind off the drop to the deck right below her. Made it less real.
Until the ship rolled under her. Breaking free of the water’s suction and lurching skyward, ungainly and powered by the brute force of the Tantamount’s navigators. They would have been assisted by the port’s own navigators as it was extremely draining for a solo navigator to break the claim gravity made on a ship. Once they were a hundred or so feet in the air, Violet felt the shift in momentum as Quill and Mantid took over, the port’s influence dropping away. It felt different than usual, when Quill did it alone. Violet hadn’t been aboard the only time Quill hadn’t launched the ship.
That Guildswoman, Scarlett.
Scarlett and her pet rock. Violet’s thoughts
turned dark. Her eyes scanned the dock below, nausea and vertigo forgotten for the moment. Was the golem still out there somewhere?
No, it’s gone. Gone. Like we’re about to be. Doesn’t matter either way. No sense wasting sweat worrying at it. Don’t you go wasting thought on it.
She could see other ships, mostly free traders and merchantmen. There was a pair of Alliance ships as well, medium-sized frigates. Maybe one of them held the two young sailors she’d drunk with. She smiled as she remembered the way Gravel had fronted Quill. It was a good thought.
The crew were a hive of activity below her. Most were manning their ropes, either up in the rigging or working on those below. Quill was at the helm alongside the captain. Further up the ship, Violet spotted Mantid by the foremast. Quill always did his job from the bridge at the stern of the ship, though it made sense that with two navigators they would be positioned differently.
Also, Quill probably can’t stand the competition.
Violet couldn’t see the skipper anywhere, but there was Hounds, the new mate, running point from the forecastle. She was working one of the signallers, probably talking to the port authorities. There was a second signaller up in the nest with Violet. On most ships there would be a third mounted at the stern. That one had been lost overboard long before Violet joined, which meant they were forever shuffling the survivor from one end to the other.
The landscape below was rapidly dissolving into a patchwork bird’s-eye view. Far away from the reaches of any golem. She imagined the lumbering, rocky behemoth stepping out onto the dock, only to glimpse sight of her and the Tantamount disappearing. Could a golem get angry? She didn’t know much about them, she had to admit, other than she was surprised Onyx was still functioning in any way without Scarlett around. He’d stopped doing much of anything that time Violet had hit Scarlett with a rock. Another good memory.
Her thoughts strayed to the last time she had seen the golem, tumbling away from her, from the ship. Fallen through the weakened timbers of the Tantamount. Too late to save Piper. She relived that memory for a moment, watching the golem fall away into the black with a dark glee she didn’t recognise. Becoming smaller and smaller. It brought the vertigo back in a rush.
Violet rolled into the middle of the nest, one hand grabbing at her mouth to keep the contents of her stomach in. She saw black, black filled with pinpricks of light. Stars. It was the opposite of falling.
They’d crossed into the black. Must have. There, the air shimmering as the envelope formed around the Tantamount, pushing against the black. Soon the mist would form up around them, ether drawn to ether. She should get back up and watch, for stars, for rays, for other ships. But she took a moment, just to settle her stomach, she told herself. A moment to look up at the holes pierced in the black. Falling away from her.
It was like falling.
SHIP UNDERWAY AND cargo stowed. Should have been a good feeling. It wasn’t. The empty bottle in her hand was more how she felt. Empty, unfulfilled. Thirsty. Sober.
That was wrong: she wasn’t sober. The cotton-wadded feeling in her head wasn’t just from the pressure change passing into the black, though her ears did feel blocked and stuffy. Nel watched the last drop of sweet, sugary rum trickle down the edge of the bottle. She did resist the urge to catch it on her tongue. She wasn’t a drunk, just had things she’d rather not think about.
It was quiet in this part of the hold, feet up on a barrel, back against the grog cage, just a sliver of light from the stone she’d brought. Silver and cold. All alone in the bottom of the ship. It felt good to be away from the hustles and commotion of the crew, if only for a few minutes. Privacy was a rare thing on the ship. The quiet was comforting. It also meant she could hear the captain coming long before he arrived.
Nel could often tell who it was from their footsteps. Quill clicked because his feet scraped the deck, Violet always ran everywhere. Jack stomped and Gabbi had a lopsided shuffle. Piper, funnily enough, had been light on his feet, but had sometimes waddled too if Bandit was riding his shoulder.
The captain wore boots. Hard-heeled and steel-capped boots. He was one of the only ones aboard who did so constantly; most of the crew went barefoot to help their footing in the rigging. Horatio preferred his boots and almost never went up into the rigging.
“Captain.” Nel tilted the empty bottle his way, holding it between her fingertips. The glowstone light splintered into rays if she held it just so, casting little diamonds among the shadows.
“I hope that bottle wasn’t full, Nel.” The captain took a stand opposite to her. He swung the door to the cage shut with one boot, the clang reverberating around the hold.
“What if it was?”
“I’d be disappointed.”
Nel shrugged. “Life is full of disappointment.”
“Yes, yes it is.”
“Hate being this close to the High Lanes.” Nel leaned back, looking up. If she squinted right, she could imagine the splashes of light were stars against the black.
“I know.”
“Allied worlds.” Nel shook her head. “Pretty colours and pretty worlds. None of it means a damn.”
“It does to some.”
“How can you say that?”
The captain didn’t answer.
Pretty worlds, pretty sailors all in a row. Lined up and saluting just so. Too many reminders. Didn’t expect to see them here.
Didn’t expect to see him.
And I don’t want to talk about it. Anything but that. Even . . .
“We’re a week’s sail from Misery. You know that?”
“I was born there, Nel,” the captain said with an edge to his voice. “Long before it was called that.”
“Before me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nel. What happened there had nothing to do with you.”
“Didn’t it?”
“Were you the captain of the ship? No, you were just another sailor, a soldier following orders.”
“Another helpless soul.”
“It was a horrible situation. People made difficult decisions.”
“Difficult!” Nel threw the bottle away in a fit of rage. It shattered against the inner hull, the pieces vanishing into the gloom. “Difficult? Heathen made a decision and an entire planet died because of it. And there’s me, saluting, watching it happen.”
“Not everybody died. Some got out. Because of you.”
“My defection,” Nel chuckled bitterly. “Too little, too late. And look at us, five years later and it all happened again. You know what that was like? Watching her smash Rim to pieces like that?”
“Sometimes.”
Nel flinched. Damnit. “Captain, I’m sorry, I . . .”
“Sometimes I remember, Nel,” the captain said. “On days like today, I remember. The me of today envies the man who doesn’t recall. The man who is blissfully ignorant. Who can’t remember. Only that man isn’t happy, he worries. He frets, he agonises about something on the tip of his tongue, hidden in the back of his mind. Something he knows is important and deathly afraid to recall.”
Guilt twisted her up now. The captain was the way he was because of what happened. His . . . ailment . . . the reason Heathen had done what she had, when Nel had served under the woman. Cast across an entire planet, spreading, and no one knew why. Scaring those outside, sitting above, safe in their ships. If the captain hadn’t gone back, he would have been fine, would never have been afflicted.
But it had been his home. And he’d wanted to help.
“I miss my wife,” the captain smiled, a little wistful. “When I remember her. And our children, on the days I think I ever had any.”
“You did. Two daughters. Pretty wee things.”
“Of course they were,” the captain beamed. The proud smile of a father. That was the saddest part. “I remember a man as well. Sandy hair, blue eyes. Very blue eyes. Who was he?”
“Markus.”
“Ah, yes. That one. Good lad, if I recall. Miserable sod. Drank wo
rse than you.”
“Yeah. With a saviour complex.”
“Did he?”
“Got him killed. I think. I don’t remember him making it out.”
“Your family did though. They made it out.”
“Weren’t there, Captain. Still back in the High. Don’t see them. Better that way.”
“As you say, Nel, as you say.” The captain ran his hand up the inside of the hull, following the curved line of the hull’s ribs. “She’s a good ship, the old girl. Proud of her.”
“Aye, Captain,” Nel said. “That she is.”
“Did you always drink so much, Nel?”
“No.” Eyes on the bottle, easier that way. Could hear the disappointment, didn’t need to see it too. Couldn’t close her eyes either. Saw faces if she did.
Piper . . . Thyme . . . Sharpe . . .
Faces she needed to forget.
“Since Misery.”
“You mean Vintage.”
“Close enough, Nel, close enough.”
“The old names are the best.”
“Only if you’re in on the joke.”
The two of them shared a laugh. And it was silent again.
“I’m going to ask you for your key, Nel.”
And now the silence became uncomfortable.
Chapter 7
VIOLET WAS TIRED, wasn’t sure why. Spent enough time in her sling but woke up worse than when she got in. Too tired to be on watch with Quill. He hadn’t done anything yet but he would. Was just waiting. To look at him one would think Quill was preoccupied. Head down, hands splayed over the map table. His tail lolled back and forth along the deck, a few inches above the woodwork, an elegant curve to it. Violet watched that tail. It was the key to it all. The Kelpie couldn’t keep his temperament from affecting the dance of his tail any more than she herself could. Which was why she sat behind him, perched on the railing, tails out to the back end of the ship. It could spin a hurricane in the mist surrounding them and Quill would never see it. Though it wasn’t mist so much as cloud that surrounded them. Thicker, denser, wetter. The whole of the ship was covered in a fine drizzle of spray. She’d long since given up on brushing off her oilskin and was resigned to it. If she could avoid the smell of wet fur following her below decks she’d be happy.
Black & Mist Page 9