Fable

by Adrienne Young

  “When are you going to tell me why you came here?”

  I took a sip of my tea, the sweet bitterness stinging my tongue. “I need some coin.”

  “How much?” He didn’t sound the least bit interested.

  “Eight hundred coppers.”

  That got his attention. He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You want me to give you—”

  “Of course not,” I interrupted. “That would break one of your rules. Nothing is free.” I recited it to him the way I had when I was a child. “I want to make a trade.”

  His curiosity was piqued now. “A trade.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And why do you need eight hundred coppers?”

  “You told me to make my own way. That’s what I’m doing.”

  He nodded, conceding. “And what could you possibly have that I would pay that much coin for?”

  I reached into my jacket before I could change my mind, pulling the sea dragon from my pocket. I set it on the table between us, and even Saint couldn’t hide the shock that cracked through him in that moment. He turned to stone, his eyes widening as they fell on the necklace.

  “Where did you get that?” he croaked.

  I knew it was wrong. That there was something truly depraved about using my mother against him. And it was monstrous to leverage her most prized possession to barter. But the necklace had called me to it as I stood before the mirror in Saint’s post, as if Isolde knew I would need it. For this very moment.

  He picked it up carefully, the abalone sea dragon swinging beneath his fingers.

  “That’s why you went back to the Lark,” I said. “You went back for her necklace.”

  He didn’t answer. He’d had that pendant made for my mother in Bastian by a jeweler who made one-of-a-kind pieces. The abalone was rare, the unmistakable green of the kind that only came from the Unnamed Sea. She never took it off.

  “So?” I looked up at him, tears burning in my eyes.

  He closed his hand around the necklace before he dropped it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He cleared his throat. “Eight hundred coppers is fine.”

  I held my hand out and he took it, shaking on the deal. He didn’t look up as I stood, and the sinking knowledge of what I’d just done settled within me. I knew what mattered to him, and I had used it against him. I had become the reason he needed his rules.

  I turned my back before a single tear could fall.

  “And Fable?”

  I froze, one foot already outside the door.

  The cool, calm set of his mouth returned as he sank back into his chair, looking up at me. “You ever try to shake me down using your mother again, and I’ll forget you ever existed.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  I felt her pull away from me as I walked out of Griff’s tavern, leaving the necklace behind. That feeling of Isolde’s presence had followed me like a ghost in the air since I’d taken it from Saint’s post.

  Paj tied two full coin purses to my hips, knotting the leather around my belt. “Once we start walking, you don’t stop.”

  I nodded, fastening the buckle tighter so the weight didn’t pull it loose.

  “You don’t stop,” he said again, waiting for me to look up at him.

  “I understand.”

  Behind him, Willa stood in the shadow of the alley, watching the street. Saint’s coin master showed up in the middle of the night with the copper, escorted by two men carrying knives in both hands. They’d watched me with narrowed eyes as I signed the parchment in my room at the tavern, but neither of them said a word. If they worked for my father, they knew not to ask questions.

  Hamish urged us to make the deal with the sailmaker first and not risk carrying any copper through the city, but West thought our chances were better at getting him to take the commission if he saw all that coin with his own eyes.

  There’s no persuasion like the shine of copper, he’d said.

  “We’ll get you to the doors and we’ll wait outside.” Auster checked the purses again.

  “You’re not going in with us?” I looked between him and Paj. I didn’t like the idea of being in the sailmaker’s loft with so much coin and only Willa to raise a blade against anyone who tried to take it.

  “Tinny doesn’t like us much.” Paj smirked, leaning into the wall beside Auster.

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t do business with Saltbloods.”

  My eyes widened, looking between the two of them. “You said you’re from Waterside.” My gaze landed on Paj.

  He went a little rigid, perhaps uncomfortable with Auster telling me something about them that was true.

  But Auster didn’t seem bothered. “We were born in Bastian.”

  The gleaming, wealthy city on the shores of the Unnamed Sea was also the place my mother was born. It was rare to meet anyone who’d taken up the life of the Narrows if they’d had one in a place like Bastian. The only people who did were running from something.

  There was more to whatever story had brought them here. And I didn’t miss what Auster was doing by telling me. He was giving me just a little bit of trust to see what I’d do with it.

  “Time to go,” Willa said, looking over her shoulder.

  I closed up my jacket as Auster and Paj took their places at either side of me.

  Willa pulled the dagger from her belt. “Ready?”

  I nodded in answer.

  She stepped out onto the street, and I followed, walking in step with Auster and Paj, who stayed close enough to hide me between them.

  The sailmaker’s loft was one of twelve piers that reached out over the water on the east side of Ceros. The framed glass windows spanned an entire side of the building, overlooking the city. The red brick was covered in thick green moss, the mortar crumbling. I walked with my hands in my pockets, my fingers curling around the heavy purses to keep them from jingling.

  I didn’t miss the way everyone who passed us took a long look at Willa’s scarred face, but she kept her head up, as if she didn’t notice. I hadn’t seen her try to cover the scar once, and I wondered if it was of use to her now, letting the Narrows know that she’d seen her share of its brutality. It wasn’t uncommon for women to crew ships, but they were definitely outnumbered. And the softer you looked, the more likely you were to become prey.

  By now, word about the Marigold and West would have travelled to the other traders. The feud with Zola had turned into something more—a war—and it was obvious to anyone paying attention that the crew was bleeding out. But no one knew anything about the girl from Jeval who’d fleeced Saint for coin to save the ship.

  We reached the steps of the pier, and Auster took a position on the side of the building with a good vantage point, pulling a pipe from his pocket. Paj followed, slipping his hands into his vest. They both watched from the corners of their eyes as Willa pulled the huge iron doors open and we stepped inside the sail loft, where the light from the windows lit the bottom floor.

  A maze of folded canvas in every size and thickness was stacked covering the floor so that only a stairway was visible ahead. Along the wall beside the door, finished orders were packaged and ready for the merchant’s house, wrapped in brown paper with the names of ships scrawled across them.

  A man’s bald head popped up from a curtain of canvas, watching us as we climbed the stairs that led to the second floor. It was one big, open room where the sailcloth was laid out, cut, and constructed by hand. The windows let in the light from every direction, and the billowing white fabric covered every inch of the floor, where apprentices sat nested with their wooden tool boxes. Ropes strung with shining grommets hung from the ceiling above them like chains of silver.

  “Tinny!” Willa called out, and a man appeared from behind a stack of crates on the other side of the loft.

  His eyes widened, his mustache bouncing as he mumbled a curse. “Oh, no you don’t. Not a chance, Willa!”

  The apprentices scrambled to pull the canvas back, clear
ing a path before she could step on the sails as she marched toward Tinny.

  “Not in a million years!” He shook his head, driving the pointed end of a fid into the corner of the sail in his hand. He twisted it, widening the hole, and the light reflected off his ring. The rust-colored carnelian stone was set into a thick silver band stamped with the seal of Ceros, identifying him as a certified merchant by the Sailmakers Guild. Everyone in the loft worked beneath him, putting in their years of apprenticeship in hopes of one day getting their own ring. “There’s not a sailmaker in Ceros who’s going to outfit the Marigold, so there’s no point in even asking.”

  “Zola’s been here?” Willa set a hand on the window beside him, leaning into it.

  “He’s been everywhere.”

  Willa met my eyes behind his back. Hamish and West had been right.

  Tinny took a grommet from his apron and fit it into the hole he’d made. “No one needs a fight with the Luna’s crew, all right? Zola may not be the fleet he once was, but he fights dirty. I’m sorry for what happened to the Marigold.” His eyes lifted, running over Willa’s face. “And I’m sorry about what happened to you and West. I don’t know what you did to catch the eye of a sea demon like Zola, but I don’t need the business bad enough to cross him.”

  Behind us, one of the younger apprentices sat listening as he pulled his needle along the tight stitching, his eyes going to the shape of the purses beneath my jacket.

  “We’ve always done right by you, Tinny,” Willa said. “We’ve always paid fair.”

  “I know that. But like I said…” He sighed. “You’ll have better chances in Sowan. If Zola doesn’t get there first.”

  She glared at him, but he wasn’t budging. “And how do you suggest we get to Sowan with no sails?”

  “Look, I shouldn’t even be seen talking to you.” His eyes lifted to the loft behind us. “People talk.”

  “We have coin. A lot of it.” Willa dropped her voice low. “We’re willing to pay twice what the sails would normally cost.”

  Tinny’s hands stilled for just a moment as he looked up at her.

  “Show him,” she said, meeting my eyes.

  I stepped behind the crates and unbuttoned my jacket, opening it up to reveal the two full purses.

  The set of Tinny’s mouth wavered, the thoughts racing over his face. He shifted on his feet, glancing out the window. He was tempted, but I could see before he even opened his mouth to speak that he wasn’t going to risk his neck, no matter how much coin we gave him. “I’m sorry, Willa.” He turned away from us, working the fid into the next corner.

  “Traitorous bastards,” Willa muttered as she walked back out into the loft. The apprentices gathered up the canvas in her path again, but she didn’t slow, the soles of her boots striking the floor like a heavy heartbeat.

  “Someone in this city has got to want eight hundred coppers,” I said, following her down the stairs to the door.

  “If anyone was going to do it, it would have been Tinny.”

  Paj stood up off the wall as we pushed through the doors. “That was fast.”

  “He won’t do it.” Willa groaned, setting her hands on her hips and looking out to the crowded street.

  Auster pulled a long drag off of his pipe, blowing the smoke through his nostrils. A mischievous smile was playing at his lips.

  Paj studied him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Auster didn’t say a word as he rocked back on his heels.

  “What is it?” I eyed him.

  “We might know someone who will do it,” he said, avoiding Paj’s gaze.

  I looked from Paj, to Auster, and back again. “Who?”

  “We’re not going to Leo.” Paj glared at him.

  “Who’s Leo?” Willa was growing impatient.

  “Someone we know from the old days. He’ll do it,” Auster answered.

  But Paj didn’t look like he was going to give in.

  “No one would ever find out. In a way, it’s safer.” Auster shrugged.

  “How do you know no one would find out?” Willa looked between them.

  “Because this sailmaker isn’t supposed to exist.”

  “Don’t you think you should have mentioned that before we went in there and started rumors about the crew of the Marigold going to Tinny for sails?” Willa’s voice rose.

  Paj sighed. “It’s kind of a last resort.”

  “That sounds about right,” I said, turning on my heel. “Let’s go.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  We sat in the window of the cramped teahouse, waiting.

  North Fyg was the only district of the city where the cobblestones were dry and children didn’t run barefoot in the streets. Many of its residents were Bastian-born, stationed in Ceros to represent their guilds or oversee their employer’s interests outside the Unnamed Sea. They were used to a different way of life than the one we led in the Narrows. The smell of Ceros didn’t exist here, where the sun reflected off stone-faced houses trimmed in bronze ornaments that had turned green with the passing of years.

  I’d never been in North Fyg, because my father refused to step foot anywhere west of Waterside. When he had meetings with city officials or guild masters, he made them come to the heart of the city, where he could negotiate and conduct business on his own turf.

  Every eye on the street had followed us as we made our way to the teahouse, and I wondered when the last time any of them had been down to the docks was. Our kind wasn’t exactly welcomed in North Fyg, but they weren’t going to turn down our copper either. We paid extra for our seat at the window, where we could watch the red door across the street.

  “What the hell is this?” Auster picked up one of the small cakes on the tiered platter, holding it before him. The layers of thin, brittle pastry were covered in a crumbling powder the color of blood.

  A woman stopped beside the table with a rolling silver cart and laid the tea, setting two hand-painted pots on the table. She kept her eyes down, as if we weren’t there, and I realized it wasn’t disapproval that kept her from looking at us. She was afraid. And for a fleeting moment, I found that I liked the feeling.

  I turned the teapot before me, studying the intricate purple flowers and painted gold along the rim. The matching cup alone was worth more than my entire belt of tools.

  “Is he going to show or what?” Willa huffed impatiently, filling her cup with the steaming black tea.

  “He’ll show,” Paj said, his eyes still pinned on the red door.

  “How exactly do two Bastian-born crewmen know an affluent tailor in North Fyg?” Willa watched Auster over her cup.

  “He’s a Saltblood.” He looked to Paj before he answered. “And Paj did him a favor once.”

  “What kind of favor?” I asked.

  “The kind that needs repaying,” Paj cut Auster off before he could speak.

  They’d already said more in front of me than I would have expected them to. I wasn’t going to push it.

  Willa picked up a cake from the platter, taking a bite and talking around a full mouth. “What if he refuses?”

  Auster smirked. “He won’t. He’d do it for one hundred coppers if that’s what we offered.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he hasn’t made a set of sails in years. He’ll jump at the chance.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Then why aren’t we offering him one hundred coppers instead of eight hundred?”

  “We’ll pay him one hundred for the sails. And seven hundred for his silence,” Auster said.

  Willa laughed. “Saltbloods don’t stick together, then, huh?”

  “Here we go.” Paj stood, leaning into the window as a man with a white mustache in a speckled scarf appeared across the street, a bundle of packages in his arms. He fumbled with his pockets until he found a key and unlocked the door, pushing inside.

  I finished my tea as the others stood, and Auster opened the door for me, Paj at my side as we stepped out into the sunlight.
>
  He looked up and down the street before he gave me a nod, and we moved together, crossing in lockstep. But there was no going unnoticed in North Fyg for a ship crew. Our leathered skin, sun-streaked hair, and worn clothes gave us away. A woman leaned out her window in the next building, watching us with a scowl on her face. Everyone else on the street stared as we stopped in front of the tailor’s door.

  Paj lifted the latch, letting it swing open, and we went up the steps. Inside, the walls of the small shop were painted the palest shade of lavender, bolts of fabric in every color lining the shelves.

  “One moment!” a voice called out from the back.

  Paj took a seat in the armchair beside the window, where a threefold mirror stood in the corner to catch the good light. Beside it, a tray of crystal decanters filled with amber liquids sat on a small table, and Paj unstopped one of them, filling a little etched glass before he brought it to his lips and took a sharp sip.

  I reached up, touching the fraying edge of unrolled white silk, dotted with tiny yellow flowers, curling my fingers into my fist when I realized how dirty my hand looked next to it.

  Footsteps trailed toward us, and Auster leaned on the counter with both elbows, waiting. The man rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw Willa, but his eyes widened when he caught sight of Paj. The scarf around his neck was tied into a neat bow, his white mustache curled up at both ends with wax.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” His thick accent unraveled the end of each word.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me, Leo.” Paj smiled.

  He huffed. “My customers will not be happy when word gets around that a bunch of urchins were in my shop.”

  “If you remember, it was an urchin who saved your ass back in Bastian. You wouldn’t have this fancy shop if it weren’t for me,” Paj said, tipping his head back to empty his glass.

  Leo went to the window, pulling the lace curtains closed before he pulled a pipe and a small round tin from his apron. We watched in silence as he filled the chamber with crushed mullein leaves, and he lit them, puffing until the white smoke was pouring from his lips.