“Eyes,” Kaspar repeated.
“Aye, sir. Eyes, everybody has them. Not all eyes are the same.”
Kaspar shook his head. “You talk a lot of nonsense, Brandon.”
“I tell it to the marines, sir,” Gravel winked. “Sometimes yours even believes me. Why did you think the fellow was so smitten with you?”
VIOLET DIDN’T SLEEP well anymore. Not since Port Border, maybe even before. Her sleep, when it came, was filled with nightmares, visions of falling, of being cold, lost, and alone. Adrift in the black. She’d wake up, biting back screams, to find that the cold was real now, her breath steaming in front of her. For a moment, she’d think she was adrift in the miasma.
One time, not long after they’d left the periphery of the High Lanes, she had screamed. The only thing louder had been the bollocking Jack had given her afterwards. Gabbi said it was just because she’d scared him. Violet hadn’t believed it then. Still didn’t. Jack didn’t get scared, Skipper didn’t get scared, Quill didn’t get scared. Even the captain, a frail stick-figure of a man, never seemed to get scared. It was just her.
The hardest part had been the way the crew looked at her the day after. Sidelong, out of the corners, behind whispers. She saw it. And what she didn’t see she could imagine. No place for a scared little girl on the Tantamount, you had to be hard like the skipper.
A hard woman, that one.
All the women on the Tantamount were hard. Gabbi had Jack licked good and proper and gave back whatever she got from Quill. Hounds was tough—the woman had got fire scarred and then painted over it. And then there had been Scarlett. The Guildswoman. Mysterious, that Guild. No one would tell Violet anything about it. Just some group everyone was afraid of.
But Scarlett had been tough, hard, went up against the skipper even. Probably would have killed her if Violet hadn’t hit her with a brick. From behind. Knocked her out.
That wasn’t brave. And then she’d done it again, pulling the rug out from under Onyx, sending the golem drifting out into the black to be swallowed up by the miasma.
Falling like she dreamed of every night. Onyx should still be out there, falling, forever. Onyx and Scarlett, the two of them frozen, covered in ice. And Piper, Cyrus, the rest of the crew that hadn’t survived the battle. All of them. Falling.
It should have been her, Violet knew.
She heard the clack of claws on woodwork, muttered cursing. A shuffle as Quill settled into his hammock. It wasn’t long before a rasping snore added to the choir of slumbering souls. Sleep came easy for Quill.
Violet curled up into a ball in her hammock, wrapped up in tails, trying to get warm. It was futile, but she had to try. Something rubbed at her head, a lump inside the rolled-up shirt she used for a pillow. Round, hard, she dug into the wadded clothes with her good hand. Fingers closed around glass, smooth to the touch.
Violet pulled out the captain’s water globe. An area the size of her thumb was cracked, a dense spider’s web, like fractured ice. She must have had it on her during the caulking. The surface of the sphere still felt smooth to the touch, or else her fingers were too coarse and callused to tell the difference.
The mist inside was no longer still. It boiled, crashing against the curved glass, trying to escape. Violet held the sphere close to her face, watching the tiny ship twist, thrown about by the storm inside. Like the Tantamount must have in the unexpected corridor. There were even miniature bolts, the same that would dance around Quill when he drove the ship, arcing between the model and the cloud. Some unseen interaction from the mist and the ether. One arced out from the storm, same as lightning striking the earth, only it reached out in an incandescent fork to strike the glass. There was no sensation of heat but Violet pulled her head back sharply and dropped the sphere onto her lap. It lay there, until she hesitantly picked it up again.
The crack was gone, melted away by the lightning. And the mist had settled again. She waited but it did not return. Turning the sphere over in both hands, she could make out where the crack had been, a slightly smokier, fogged section of the glass. A closer look in the bad lighting showed several other such patches. Was that meant to happen?
Clever little toy.
Violet watched and waited, studying the globe with heavy-lidded eyes. But the show was over. Only the snoring of the crew to keep her entertained.
She dreamed of drifting golems and falling stars. And Kelpies. A whole ship full of Kelpies.
TOO DAMNED COLD.
That was all Nel could think, turning restlessly in her hammock. The worst part was her feet. They stuck out the end of the blankets and wouldn’t stay warm no matter what she did. She was contemplating pulling on her boots and seeing if that helped.
It wouldn’t—she never could sleep with boots on. At least not in a hammock. Legs wouldn’t sit right. Head hurt, legs were too long. She wasn’t right.
“Hells,” Nel muttered, quiet though no one would hear her. She swung her legs over, wincing at the cold touch of the floorboards under her feet. The wood seemed to soak up the chill even though her room was next to the galley, the warmest part of the ship. At least she wasn’t down in the crew deck. Gods only knew what it was like trying to sleep swinging above an ice locker.
She pulled on her boot. Stamping her feet to try and get the blood flowing back through them. Her jacket was too cold to pull on. She considered taking the blanket too but her pride balked at it.
Stupid pride.
The deck was mostly deserted, and why wouldn’t it be? Any sane member of the crew would be rolled in blankets by now, nursing whatever spirits they’d managed to secret away.
“Evening, Skipper.”
Nel turned to face the caller, Denzel, top of the bridge, standing his watch with Hounds. Both were bundled up in blankets and nursing steaming drinking vessels.
Stupid, stupid pride.
“You’re a harder one than me, Vaughn.” Hounds twisted the knife as Nel climbed the steps.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Nel said, “thought I’d make my rounds.”
“Not much to see,” Hounds said. “Never is on this dog’s watch. Coffee?” She held out an empty mug.
“Thanks.” Nel sat and held the mug while Hounds poured. It was hot, precious warmth in her hands. That was all she cared about.
“Lass did well today,” Hounds said, eyeing Nel cautiously. Nel felt a warm flush go through her that didn’t come from the hot beverage she was holding. She’d gone off at Hounds after Violet’s scare. Captain had pulled her in.
Rightly so, one had to admit.
“She did,” Nel allowed. It was enough, and Hounds let the subject drop.
“Care for a game, Skipper?” Denzel held up a wooden cup. From the rattling inside Nel deduced it held dice. “Helps keep your mind off the cold.”
“What are we playing for?” Nel noticed the scraps of paper and tokens scattered between the two.
“Sips, favours, and watches, Vaughn,” Hounds told her. “You can bid your grandmother’s secret biscuit recipe if you care but it better live up to any boasting.”
“Rather play for coin,” Nel grumbled. “Need some to buy me some fleece-lined boots when we make port.”
“Stand in line, Skipper.” Hounds raised her vessel. “I’m buying me the boots, the pants, might even take the whole sheep in case you sign us on another run like this.”
“The pay would have to be exceptional.” Nel took a drink and shuddered. “Hells, woman, who brewed this and how much did you fleece them for?”
“Try some of this,” Hounds offered, producing a flask and tipping a dollop into Nel’s coffee.
“Smells nutty,” Nel said, inhaling the steam. “Like almonds.”
“Should do because it is. Go ahead.”
“That is better,” Nel said approvingly. “Hells, I didn’t think anything could make sludge like this taste good.”
“First taste is free, from here on you live off your winnings,” Hounds warned. She shook the dice cup, upen
ding it onto the deck. She looked over at Denzel. “What are you bidding, sailor?”
Denzel made a face. “Got nought but the clothes on my back, woman.”
“Won’t have you freezing on my watch, Denzel. Don’t want to have to carry your workload too. What about your next grog ration? What do you think, three wets or a sip?”
“Bite your tongue. I’ll owe you out of my pay when we finish this run.”
“Have it your way, sailor. How about you, Vaughn. Care to put in?”
“Bad form beating your superior officer, Hounds,” Nel told her.
“Says the woman drinking my liquor. How about you stand the last hour of my watch?”
“Done.” Nel took a long draught from her cup. It tasted better again.
“What if I win?” Denzel asked.
“Sailor, you’re so deep in the hole you’d need another watch just to win your way out.” Hounds pulled the cup away. “Two pair,” she announced happily. “With a roll still to come.”
“Don’t get overconfident, woman,” Nel cautioned. “We haven’t even . . .” She turned at the sound of someone coming up the stairs. For a moment, a part of her worried it might be the captain, but it was Violet. Girl looked like a shuffling Draugr, pasty faced and hand bandaged up tight.
Shouldn’t be up but I’m not the one to say it.
“Evening, lass,” Hounds called. “You look right tired.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Violet complained. “Crew snores.”
“Which crew?”
“All of them.”
“Get this down you, lass,” Hounds offered the girl a drink. “How you’re not freezing your tail off is beyond me.”
“Fleece-lined tail,” Nel commented.
“Fleece-lined tail,” Hounds repeated, chuckling. “Lucky for some.”
“Not lucky,” Violet muttered, pulling a face. The girl swayed on her feet, holding her drink awkwardly in her good hand. “Where’s Quill? Supposed to be on watch with him.”
“Not for a few bells yet, lass,” Hounds told her, causing Violet’s face to drop in dismay. “Quite a few, fellow barely walked off. And don’t be so cruel as to tease me with thinking my watch is over already.”
“Hells.”
“Violet,” Nel chided.
“Lost cause there, Vaughn,” Hounds said, soft enough so that Violet might not hear. The girl did look to be out of it. The girl wasn’t even wearing boots but didn’t seem to suffer for it.
Fur-lined skin, Nel shook her head. Even after all of yesterday.
“Where’s your navigator?” Nel looked around, realising either Quill or Mantid should indeed be here. Finally had two navigators aboard and neither to be found. And gods save her from the gloating if Quill should chance on the rumour that his newfound rival was slacking.
“Made himself a bit of a nest up top.” Hounds pointed to the top of the mast. “Didn’t find any crows so he just moved in. Something about not having a working hammock of his own.”
“Wasn’t that your job, Violet?” Nel said, then winced at a knowing look from Hounds.
Violet hung her head, almost dropping her nose in her coffee. “Sorry, Skipper.”
“You can still climb, right, Vi?”
“Course.” Violet had the sense to look affronted.
Affronted . . . almost woke her up too.
“Go check on the poor thing,” Nel told her. “Take him some coffee. Does Mantid like coffee, Hounds?”
“Like?” Hounds considered it. “Won’t say, least he never has. Drinks it though. Polite. So you take him some, he’ll drink it.”
“You heard her, lass,” Nel said to Violet. “Coffee, top of the mast, off you go.”
“Aye, Skipper.” Violet sounded as tired as she looked, slugging the rest of her own brew back with a shudder. Hounds refilled it to halfway for her and Violet dutifully set of towards the main mast.
“Any reason we didn’t send her back to bed?” Hounds asked.
“Wouldn’t have listened,” Nel said. “Be stroking her fur the wrong way to suggest it.”
Hounds leaned over. “Double or nothing the coffee doesn’t make it.”
Nel squinted at Violet, shuffling on an almost icy deck. The girl made it to the ratlines and stopped there, resting her head on the cords before starting her climb. One handed, coffee cradled to her chest.
“How much did you give her?” Nel asked, feeling a touch of concern at Violet’s unsteady ascent. “She looks drunk.”
“Nothing,” Hounds said, holding up her own mug. “Unless . . .”
“Unless?”
“I gave her mine by mistake.”
“Hells, woman.” Nel climbed to her feet, wincing at cold-numbed joints. “Better go catch her before she breaks her neck.”
“GET OUT OF it, Bandit.” Violet waved her hand at the creature stalking her on the ratlines. The loompa bit down on the edge of her hand, the one wrapped in bandages. His eyes were wide, deranged. The sharp teeth didn’t break the wrap, let alone her skin, but Bandit refused to let go, hanging onto the ropes by a hand and a foot and leaning precariously out to keep his jaw clamped down. Staring up at her with those mad eyes. Growling.
“Hells.”
Violet made her fiercest face at the loompa. His was fiercer. More feral. More teeth. She bared hers back at him; he bit down harder.
“I need that hand,” she said. “That’s my climbing hand. Let go.”
More growling.
“Fine, you hang on then, see what happens.” She lifted her climbing hand, loompa and all, for the next handhold. Bandit squawked at her in protest as she pulled beyond his reach. He fell, tumbling headfirst through the gap in the ratline netting. He grabbed on, with one foot, hanging upside, protesting loudly.
“You look ridiculous,” Violet said as she climbed, coffee cradled to her chest, taking extra care where she placed her feet as the ratlines shifted under her weight.
The mast seemed to be swaying more than usual but it didn’t give Violet the sense of nausea it had in the past. Maybe it was the sleep fog hanging over her. She should try getting by on less sleep like some of the crew did. She’d see them stumbling around in an almost dreamlike state, going about their duties like automatons.
Like Draugr.
Maybe the crew of the Tantamount could be replaced by Draugr entirely. She wouldn’t cry any tears. Not after . . .
A wedge-shaped head darted over the rim of the crow’s nest, tilting so multi-faceted eyes could stare down at her. Violet looked up, not even startled, blinking slowly.
“Hey, Mantid, brought you some coffee.”
She held out the coffee she’d carried up from the deck. It was still mostly there. A good thing.
Mantid reached down with both forelimbs, pinching the cup between the two spiky appendages and raising it to his mouth. Mandibles worked furiously as the beverage was tipped back.
“Thirsty, right,” Violet said, swaying on the ropes.
Should climb into the nest. But it’s his nest. Might be rude.
Violet climbed another few rungs higher, high enough to be able to sling her arm over the edge of the nest and hold on. She rested her head on that arm.
Why so sleepy?
“How do you sleep?” she asked Mantid. “I never see you sleep. Do you do it when I’m not watching because I haven’t made you a hammock yet? Is that why I’m so tired?”
Mantid tilted his wedge head on its side, watching her curiously. He held out the empty mug.
“I don’t have any more coffee. That was it, no more coffee. No more coffee for you.”
Her eyes were heavy. Would anyone notice if she just closed them? The nest was comfortable, even just halfway into it. No wonder Mantid stayed up here.
The clattering sound of something metal striking wood roused her, then the bristling fur of Bandit perched on the rim of the nest, growling at her. The skittering sound was Mantid backing away from the loompa, one forelimb raised and making defensive stabbing motions.
Bandit advanced on both of them, snarling.
“Damnit, rodent, I will drop you out into the black if you . . .” Violet stopped, stunned at her own outburst, staring at her hand outstretched; fingers tense and curled.
And something beyond. Starlight reflecting off metal, running silent as a ray. Violet stood up, the others forgotten, needing a better look. Her foot slipped, missing the run in the line, finding only empty air beneath. She grabbed for the nest and missed, saw a blur from Mantid, a spiked limb lashing out at her, a shriek from Bandit. And then the nest tilted away and all she saw was the black and stars. Falling.
“VIOLET.”
Falling.
“Violet.”
Black. Stars. Falling. Pain.
Violet opened her eyes, seeing the skipper above her. It felt like she was holding her. Her face hurt. She reached up to feel the stinging sensation, realised her arm was burning as well. There was a shallow gash along her forearm, like she’d run through a thorn bush.
Not having much luck with that one.
“What happened? Why was . . . did you hit me, Skipper?” she asked reproachfully.
“Woke you up,” the skipper shrugged. “You almost fell off the top of the mast. Mantid caught you.”
Violet held up her arm. That explained the blood work.
“Twice in as many days, Vi,” the skipper grimaced. “Hells, I never should have let you above deck. You’re in no state for it.”
“I fell?” Violet said, focusing on that one fact. Seemed she was always falling now. Asleep or awake, always falling.
“You did.” The skipper examined her critically. “Haven’t seen you take a tumble off the ropes in a long time. You get dizzy up there again? Thought you were past it.”
“I . . . know, I . . .” Violet winced; her arm really did hurt. Blood was dripping onto the deck.
“Have Jack take a look at that,” the skipper said. “Guess we know you can’t hold your liquor though, not on an empty stomach. Sorry, Vi, should have been paying more attention to you.”
People were starting to gather behind the skipper. Captain included. Violet sat up straighter; her head didn’t swim so much now.
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