Faris moved like quicksilver, his muscles loose and responsive, and his smile came easily and often. His tussah hair was threaded with glittering silver and blue, and the charm and wit in his green eyes was unnerving. He was like a prince of faerie who wielded his rapier-sharp wit to great effect to make Destin’s mother laugh, something Destin himself could not do. Faris had bonded with Frances like any orphan looking for a home, and she had begun to treat the pirate like a second son.
Who could blame her? After all she’d been through, his mother deserved a son who wasn’t a constant reminder of the past. A son who didn’t carry the darkness forward. Monsters beget monsters, after all. Maybe Faris had been wounded, but he’d not been damaged beyond repair. Unlike Destin, he still had a pathway back to the light.
Unlike Destin, Evan wasn’t ruthless. At least, he wasn’t ruthless enough.
When Frances took their goods to market, Faris often went with her so he could speak with the captains and bosses down at the docks; he was always angling for a job. It was odd. Though ships came and went, their new boarder had been in port for months now without a contract. Destin could tell the pirate was frustrated, but his own feelings were mixed. His leg was nearly healed, and the barn was repaired, and so there was no reason Faris needed to stay on.
The problem wasn’t jealousy of the affection that grew between his mother and the pirate. The problem was that the feelings Destin had for Faris were something more than brotherly. One minute Destin would be thinking, When is he going to leave? And the next he’d be thinking, What am I going to do if he leaves? Destin had learned from a young age that connections are vulnerabilities. If he ever forgot it, the general had reminded him, over and over again. He’d learned his lesson well—that love was as risky as mercy. Destin had been a soldier since he was ten years old, and this pirate was the most dangerous adversary he’d ever faced.
Destin took steps to protect himself and his mother. As soon as he was able to get around on his injured leg, he searched through the pirate’s meager belongings, finding nothing of value save the broken pendant. No bag of money, no pouch of poison, no correspondence from the general. That could mean nothing more than the fact that the pirate was too smart to keep anything incriminating in the house.
Next, Destin took his investigation to town. At the dock boss’s office, he introduced himself as Denis Rocheford, pretending he was looking for a pilot. A sharp-faced man named Kadar suggested several prospects. When Destin inquired about Lucky Faris, saying he’d heard good things about the young captain, Kadar had informed him that Faris was an ungrateful, greedy, unreliable bastard he should steer clear of.
Destin knew that wasn’t true—whatever Faris was, he wasn’t lazy. But clearly Kadar wasn’t sending any work Faris’s way.
An investigative trip to Deepwater Court proved more fruitful. There Destin learned that the empress in the north was offering a very large reward for the live delivery of a particular sixteen-year-old boy who might be using the name Evan Strangward. The boy was described as a weather mage and sailor with hair like flax, streaks of silver and blue, and sea-green eyes. Well, not those words exactly, but the message was clear. Destin had noticed that Faris always wore a watch cap when he went to town, even in hot weather. Destin noticed everything.
So the pirate had secrets—a past he was holding close. Secrets could be useful—in particular those you know about somebody else.
Why would the empress be offering such a large reward for a pirate without a ship? Then he answered his own question. Because he’s a weather mage—called a “stormcaster” along the Desert Coast. A stormcaster whose skills were improving under Destin’s tutelage. Destin credited practice with the amulet more than any instruction he was able to give. He found himself scheming to somehow acquire an amulet for Faris, even though that might leave a trail that could be followed back to Tarvos.
With some questions answered, Destin continued slipping off to town on his own. He was putting together a plan—a legacy of sorts. He discussed it with his mother, but only the part he knew she’d approve of. She’d signed on immediately. One morning, he invited Faris to go with him into town.
“You want me . . . to go into town . . . with you?” It was no wonder the pirate was surprised. Now that his leg had healed, Destin often spent days away from the cottage, but never invited Faris along.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
They left the horse and wagon at a livery and walked down to the harbor front. Faris went to meet with whomever he always met with, while Destin searched out his contact at the boatyard and made final plans.
When Faris returned from his meeting, it was clear from his expression that there was no good news.
“Nothing?” Destin said.
“Nothing,” Faris said, jaw set, green eyes glittering with anger. “It seems I’m going to have to find another port to sail from.”
Faris had not shared any details so far, and Destin hadn’t asked, but now seemed to be the time. “What’s the problem?” he said.
“I’ve pissed off the dock boss,” Faris said. “Now he won’t give me any work.”
“What did you do?”
“I refused to be cheated. So he’s teaching me a lesson.”
“You cheeky bastard,” Destin said, with a thin smile. “Here, come with me. I have something to show you that might cheer you up.”
Looking mystified, Faris followed Destin to the far end of the harbor. There, in one of the slips, lay a ruin of a ship—an ancient ketch that had seen hard times. It had been there since before Destin and his mother arrived in Tarvos. He’d tracked down the owner, who had owned the slip she occupied since before Kadar came to town. He’d refused to sell his dock space, because then he would have to make a decision about this ship that had belonged to his father and was named after his dead sister Ariya. He couldn’t bring himself to beach and break the old ship, but he might consider selling her for the right price.
Destin knew for a fact that her hull was intact. He’d paid off the watch, who’d allowed him to climb inside and inspect her from bow to stern. He didn’t know much about ships, but he knew quite a bit about construction. Her deck, however, was a disaster. At some point, the ship had caught fire. Though the blaze had been confined above decks, it had charred the masts, the rigging, and the quarterdeck.
“Captain Faris,” Destin said, running his hand along the mooring line with studied nonchalance. “What do you think of this ship?”
Faris stared at it, hands on hips. “That’s not a ship,” he said finally, “that is a cautionary tale.” He looked up at Destin. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m thinking of buying it,” Destin said, his confidence already dwindling. “I’ve not signed papers yet, and no money has changed hands, so if you—”
“What would you do with a ship?”
“I thought—” Destin cleared his throat. “I thought we could work on it together. You built a barn under my supervision. I could build a ship under yours.”
“And then what?” the pirate persisted, staring at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to peer through his skin to the soul inside.
Pirates don’t have plans, Destin thought, exasperated. Soldiers and engineers have plans. “I hoped that once she was seaworthy, you’d sign on as captain and partner.” There. He’d said it. He waited, pretending to watch the frigate birds circling the harbor.
Faris turned away from the ship and faced Destin. “Partner?”
“You provide expertise and labor, and I provide the capital. We split the profits.”
Something had dawned in Faris’s face—hope mingled with a healthy dose of wariness. “But . . . why would you do that for me?”
“It’s strictly business, Pirate,” Destin said, shrugging, not wanting to seem too hot for the deal. “As you keep saying, this is a hard place to make a living by farming. I want to diversify. And who wouldn’t want to partner with a weather mage?”
Faris looked sideways a
t Destin, unable to hide his eagerness. “You’ve inspected her?”
Destin nodded. “I believe the decking is sound, except for a bad patch just behind the mizzen.”
Evan put one foot on the gangway. “Do you mind if I have a look?”
“I would like you to have a look, before I put money down. Just watch where you step so you don’t fall through.”
As he followed Faris down the gangway, Destin thought, Maybe this will actually work.
8
RUTHLESS
Evan knew from the beginning of this partnership that he was being played by someone adept at identifying vulnerabilities and exploiting them. He was definitely being wooed—he just wasn’t sure to what purpose.
Don’t trust him, he thought. You trusted Captain Strangward, and look what happened. The empress is still out there, and she may be hunting for you. You can’t afford to trust anyone.
Yet, he couldn’t say no. What the wetlander offered was impossible to resist. If it was an elaborate trap, the soldier was going to considerable trouble and expense when hitting Evan over the head and delivering him to Deepwater Court would work just as well.
The bottom line was that he wanted to trust Destin Karn. He wanted to believe in this ship of dreams they were building.
As partners, they complemented each other like the two halves of a locket. Though both spoke Common, Destin was baffled by Evan’s use of maritime terms and directions. Evan knew the basics of ships’ carpentry when it came to minor repairs, and he had the barn-building experience behind him, but he was no engineer, and neither had ever built a ship. Fortunately, it was more of a repair job than a scratch build.
Evan made a list of materials and Destin sourced them somehow. Tall, clear pine for masts and spars brought down from the Dragonback Mountains. Iron and wood fittings, lanyards, rope, wire, blocks, and the like from the shipyard at the port. Tools such as prickers, heavers, mallets, and spikes. He ordered sails from the sailmakers, too. Given that it was just the two of them, anything that could be bought ready-made or contracted out, he did. Destin seemed to have a lot of money at his disposal, and he spent it freely.
He was also ingenious at devising ways to reduce the numbers needed to crew the ship. It was sometimes an advantage that he had no crew experience. He wasn’t bound by past practice or maritime custom, and so he asked questions about why things were done a certain way and whether they could be done differently. For example, he devised a system of bilge pumps driven by the motion of the ship through water to free up hands for other tasks.
It didn’t take long for Kadar to notice the activity around the ketch. First, two of his ruffins came, demanding paperwork proving Destin and Evan had permission to trespass aboard the ship. After Destin proved ownership of the vessel, there came two of Kadar’s rent-collectors demanding back payments for the slip space. In response, Destin showed his deed to the dockage. Finally, the big man himself appeared, strolling down the dock to their end. He stood, watching them work, for a few minutes.
“You should be taking this work to the shipyard,” he said finally, pointing toward his own establishment across the harbor. “This space ain’t meant for shipbuilding.”
“We’re not shipbuilding,” Destin said. “Just doing some dockside repairs.”
“You look familiar,” Kadar said, scowling. “Haven’t we met before?”
“We have,” Destin said. “My name’s Rocheford. I came to you asking about a pilot.”
Rocheford? Evan’s head came up, but he realized right away that it wasn’t his partner’s real name.
Recognition flooded into Kadar’s face. “Now I remember. But you never followed up.”
“That’s because I found one,” Destin said, pointing at Evan. During all this, Evan had kept his hands busy, letting Destin handle the heat from the dock boss. Now he waved and smiled, enjoying Kadar’s stunned reaction for a few precious seconds before he went back to woolding the mainmast.
“You hired him?” Kadar roared. “He works for me!”
Destin shrugged. “He said he needed work, and I needed work done, so we came to terms.”
“He’s not a shipwright,” Kadar said. “If he told you he is, he’s lying.”
Destin pointed at the rigging rising behind him. “So far, so good. I’m impressed.”
“Faris is a pilot, and I have a job for him now.”
Destin, raising an eyebrow, looked at Evan.
“I wish I’d known,” Evan said, conjuring up a look of regret. “But now I’m under contract. Mister Rocheford offered steady work, so I took it.”
“That’s fine for now, but what are you going to do when this job is finished?” Kadar tilted his head back, looking at Evan through narrowed eyes. “Don’t come crawling to me then. You need to be available when I offer you a contract.”
“I anticipate this will be a long-term engagement, if not permanent,” Destin said. He made a show of pulling out his pocket watch. “Now. I’m not paying this man to talk. You’ll need to continue your conversation later.”
“Don’t worry,” Kadar snarled. “I will.”
Evan swung down from the rigging, and they watched, side by side, as Kadar stalked away.
“Well, he’s pissed again,” Evan said.
“Do you think so?” Destin said, as if unimpressed.
“His thugs will be back tonight,” Evan said. “We’ll have to sleep on board.”
“For one night, maybe.”
“He’s ruthless.”
“I’m ruthless,” Destin said.
Evan cleared his throat, avoiding Destin’s eyes. “I’d prefer not to use magery,” he said. “It might draw attention we don’t want.” He meant from the empress, though he knew by now that Destin and Frances were on the run as well.
“Never fear,” Destin said. “We’re not just mages. We are engineers.”
In late afternoon, Evan left off working and strolled down to the fish market. After haggling with one of the dragnetters, he came away with an entire basketful of purchases. In the meantime, Destin did his shopping at the city market. Once darkness fell, the two of them met on the pier next to their ship and spent the next hours making ready. Their work finished, they returned to their ship to wait.
Just after the moon had set, a crowd of men gathered at the gate to the pier where the ketch was moored. They were muffled in cloaks and carried axes and clubs. Several were carrying torches, maybe in case something needed to be set on fire. Their leader cut through the lock on the gate and they swarmed through. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps farther when there was a snicking sound and the men in the lead began screaming. With that, the entire section of the dock collapsed into the water.
Evan and Destin were sharing a late supper on the quarterdeck, sitting next to the rail, positioned so that they could look down at the pier.
“They found the dragon traps,” Destin said, sipping his cider. “And the trip wires.”
“Let’s see if that stops them.”
“I think it’s fair to say that the ones that found the dragon traps won’t be coming aboard tonight,” Destin said, his voice cool and matter-of-fact. “They’re already at the bottom of the harbor.”
Evan shifted his weight. He suspected he knew some of the men in the water. Most of Kadar’s enforcers were mean as badgers, though. “Should we . . . do something to help them?”
Destin shook his head, his lips quirking in amusement. “If our positions were reversed, what do you think they would do?” he said. “Let’s see if their colleagues help them out.”
Below, men were still thrashing in the water next to the pier. But some had swum to the dock and were climbing up the pilings. Spitting like cats, they hauled themselves up onto the planking on the shore side of the gap. One man lay groaning on the dock, gushing blood, his left leg gone below the knee.
Evan’s stomach flipped. He’d seen his share of bloodshed while crewing for Strangward, but always at a distance. Now he’d been two y
ears away from it, and it seemed that his thick skin had been sandpapered away.
Destin surveyed the scene, eyes narrowed, as if tallying up the score in a game of nicks and bones. When he looked up and saw Evan’s stricken expression, he grunted. “This is what it takes to survive, Pirate. These are the stakes in the game we’re playing.”
By the time everyone who hadn’t drowned was out of the water, there were only six men milling about, soaked and unhappy, from the swearing that was going on. None of them went back into the water to look for the missing. Nobody seemed particularly eager to continue the mission, either.
Finally, one of them raised his club and shouted, “Come on, boys. Let’s break her up.”
They split up, each man claiming one of the hawsers. The first man gripped the line and began to climb; but, halfway up, he shrieked and let go, flailing, and dropping back onto the dock with a bloodcurdling crunch. Two more ended up back in the water, screaming in pain.
“What’s that called again?” Destin peered through the railing, surveying the chaos below.
“Sea nettle,” Evan said. “It’s a kind of jellyfish. The tentacles deliver a really nasty sting, even days after they are detached. Some of the healers use them, but personally, I’d rather die.”
The dockside raiders had seen enough. Collecting their wounded, they stampeded back up the pier and disappeared into the twisty streets surrounding the harbor.
“Ruthless,” Destin said, raising his glass.
“Ruthless,” Evan said, and drank deeply, his mind in turmoil. He’d been on his own since he was a ten-year, and nobody would describe his life on the harbor front as sheltered. But he felt like a temple novice next to Destin Karn. Evan didn’t know his story—not yet, anyway—but clearly the wetland soldier had lessons to teach him about survival in a brutal world.
Was that what made the soldier so attractive—the sense that nothing was off the table?
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