by Cari Z
Did anyone in this place actually like Nichol? At least Nichol didn’t seem perturbed by the fact. “Master Grainger, good morning,” Nichol said pleasantly. “My gran sends you her compliments.”
“Does she, indeed?” The quartermaster gazed over the line of his spectacles at Nichol and Colm. “Hardly a common occurrence. That surely means that you want something, Nichol. What is it this time? And if it’s flares, don’t bother. I am never letting you or any of the rest of Jaime’s crew within a hundred feet of ’em again, not after the last debacle.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Nichol assured him. Colm wondered who Jaime was. “We need to borrow a boat. Just a small one, just for tonight. It’s for a burial, a family matter. Gran thought it better not to get the priests involved, and the wharf rats charge so dearly for the use of their little wave skippers,” Nichol wheedled. “Just this once.”
“There’s never any ‘just this once’ with you and the rest of the Sea Guard,” Master Grainger grumbled, but he seemed to be softening to the idea. “I suppose this young man is the newest recruit to buy into your games?”
“Not at all! This is my cousin down from the White Spires, Colm Weathercliff, an entirely respectable young fisherman who only wants to see his dad buried properly,” Nichol said instantly. The description made Colm feel positively dull, but perhaps dull was what was called for here.
“Weathercliff, is it?” Master Grainger squinted at Colm. “Any relation to the Caresfall Weathercliffs?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Colm replied truthfully. “My father never spoke about his past.”
“Well, I can certainly appreciate leaving such things where they belong. A boat, then?” Master Grainger leveled a firm look at Nichol. “Just for tonight, and to be returned first thing in the morning in perfect condition, d’you hear?”
“Your word is like the sacred gospel of the Four to me,” Nichol said solemnly.
“And your grand proclamations are like buzzing flies to me: irritating and ultimately forgettable,” Master Grainger scoffed as he scratched a few quick words onto one of the abandoned tags, then thrust it at Nichol. “Berth number forty, and if I don’t get those oars back, I will make new ones out of your shoulder blades.”
“My day wouldn’t be complete without your friendly threats of mutilation,” Nichol said, bowing extravagantly. “We must be off, Colm, and not keep the quartermaster from his sacred duties any longer!” He turned and left the warehouse with a skip in his step. After a moment of awkward silence between him and Master Grainger, Colm followed.
“Well, that was fun,” Nichol said with a grin as they headed back out onto the streets. “What shall we do next? Gran’s errands, or would you like to see the view from the lighthouse? I’m sure Reckat’s forgotten all about what happened the last time he let me and my mates up there.”
“You seem to have a reputation,” Colm commented, not judging but not really understanding it either. “Wouldn’t it be better to just be polite to people?”
“Do you remember everyone who is polite to you?” Nichol asked rhetorically as he maneuvered them closer to a street vendor. “I want to be memorable, not polite. They may not overly care for me, but they do know that I’m in the Sea Guard, I take care of the things they give me to use, and I’m determined. That’s better than being thought nice. Here,” he continued before Colm could get a word in edgewise, “you’ve got to try this, it’s delicious.” Nichol passed the girl running the stall a coin, and she handed over four small, oval-shelled creatures. “Sea roaches,” Nichol said with a grin.
Colm bent and looked closer at them, then jolted back as one of them tried to roll into a ball. “Are they still alive?”
“’Course they are,” the girl running the stall exclaimed. “Been sitting in a lovely bucket of salt water all morning, the very first catch of the day.”
“Shouldn’t they be dead before we eat them?” Colm persisted, but his hopes were dashed when both Nichol and the girl shook their heads.
“Ruins the flavor,” the girl said.
“Ruins the texture,” Nichol said.
“How could death ruin the texture of food?” Colm asked. “In my mind, it doesn’t become food until it is dead!”
The girl looked over at Nichol, whose mouth was twitching, and smacked him on the shoulder with her spoon. “I don’t need you givin’ my stall a bad name by bringin’ me country lads who wouldn’t know a delicacy like this if they stepped on it in the street.”
“I’m just breaking him in, Kiara, ow!” Nichol grimaced, rubbing his shoulder pointedly. “And be honest, they do come by the roach bit honestly. Colm’s more likely to have seen somethin’ like this in a dirty outhouse than he is to’ve eaten it.”
Kiara’s face went red with anger, and Colm decided to intervene before the girl tried to beat Nichol to death with her spoon. “I’ll try one,” he told her, stepping a bit in front of Nichol. “But I haven’t any idea of how to get into it.”
“It’s simple,” she told him, mollified by Colm’s new willingness. “Here, give me those,” she snapped at Nichol as she grabbed two of the roaches from his palm. “You just pry up the edge of the shell with the flat of your knife, right down here, and then peel back,” she said, and demonstrated with one of them. “And then you slurp them up.” She tossed the one she’d opened back and seemed to swallow it whole. “They squirm a bit on the way down occasionally,” Kiara added with a smile. “But you get used to it. Here.” She handed Colm her knife. “Now you do it.”
Colm managed to get the bottom of the shell off rather quickly, but once he was faced with the small, pulsing pink body inside the top half of the shell, his courage faltered. It was just momentum that got him to raise it to his lips and let it slide inside, a brief burst of salty succulence on his tongue before it hit the back of his throat and kept going, wriggling just a bit from side to side as it went down.
“Well done!” Nichol congratulated him with a grin, eating the rest of them in quick succession. “Shall we take some for the road?”
“No thank you,” Colm managed, barely keeping himself from bending over the edge of the wharf and returning that poor creature back to the sea. He followed Nichol in silence for another few minutes until the man finally noticed that his quips weren’t getting any reply.
“Colm?” Nichol asked, his brow furrowed as he reached out and touched Colm’s arm. Colm had no idea where they were anymore, he just knew that Nichol was touching him and that he needed to make him understand something.
“Please don’t ask me to do that again,” Colm said, and something in his voice must have intimated just how serious he was, because Nichol didn’t make a joke or brush it off. Instead his grip on Colm’s arm tightened further.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I knew you’d never have had anything like that before, and I thought it would be funny. I didn’t think you would dislike it so much, though. No more, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh now, don’t thank me for not being a bally ass to you,” Nichol said with a grin, letting Colm go but staying close. “How about we get the things Gran’ll need for the ceremony tonight? We can be back to the inn by the lunch rush. I know she’ll appreciate the help for that.”
The store they ended up at was a little place not far from the cathedral, where men in deep blue cassocks strolled and spoke and blessed the occasional passerby, and the bells rang almost constantly to signify the beginning or end of another service.
“Grandad wanted to put the inn here originally, but Gran convinced him that the bells would be bad for business at a place where you actually want people to get some sleep,” Nichol said as he looked over the shelves, pulling things free. “Smudge sticks for burials, a votive—these ones have a scent that Gran loves—and a sugarglass bowl. Be careful with it,” he cautioned as he handed it over to Colm. “It’s very brittle.�
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It looked perfect, smooth and sparkling and not at all tacky under his fingertips like he’d feared. “Amazing,” Colm breathed. Nichol patiently waited for Colm’s fascination to wane a bit before he wrapped the bowl in a piece of thin white cotton cloth, and handed all of it over to the acolyte who ran the store.
“Eight coppers,” she said, and Colm pulled his money out and paid even though Nichol protested that he could take care of it, that it was the least he could do after torturing Colm with his company all morning.
“I enjoy your company,” Colm told him, and that put a smile back on Nichol’s face. They paid, and the acolyte packed everything carefully into paper, tied it with twine and handed it over to Colm.
“Blessings of the Four on thee and thy dead,” she told them somberly.
“I certainly hope so,” Nichol said to her. “We’d best be off, Colm. Gran will think I’ve sold you to slavers or something at this rate.”
“I don’t think they’d take me,” Colm replied as they headed back to the Cove.
“Oh, sure they would. Perhaps they’re desperate to reach some very tall things and have need of a human ladder. Or perhaps they’re looking for a gorgeous ivory idol to carry with them from town to town, inspiring new followers to worship.” Nichol spoke loudly enough that several nearby priests gave him dark looks. “Oops,” he giggled. “Forgot where I was for a moment. All praises to the Four!” he called out toward the men before ducking down an alley and pulling Colm along behind him.
“It’s settled, then,” Nichol said, picking up their conversation as though it hadn’t been interrupted at all. “If I ever lose you and Gran’s about to gut me, I’ll tell her you were stolen by a group of very short, religiously ambiguous slavers with grand ambitions. Sound good?”
“Oh yes, sounds delightful,” Colm said sarcastically. “I’ve always loved the idea of being adored from afar while surrounded by domineering midgets.”
Nichol stopped and turned to face him. “Are you actually…jesting with me?” he asked seriously.
“I…yes?”
“Well done! I didn’t think you were capable of it.” Nichol laughed. “Keep that attitude, and you’ll fit in fine with the rest of the Sea Guard, mate.”
Frankly, if the rest of the Sea Guard was anything like Nichol, Colm didn’t think he’d fit in with them no matter how deliberately abrasive he made himself, but he kept that thought to himself. It was enough that he had Nichol’s company for now.
They returned to the Cove and, as Nichol had predicted, were immediately put to work by Megg. Nichol worked the taproom, passing glasses and plates and making conversation with the clients with equal efficiency, while Colm was set to dishing up chowder in the kitchen. It was simple work that nevertheless passed the time quickly, and then came the washing up and the quick sweep of the floors and last-minute deliveries by the butcher for that evening’s special, and by the time Idra got there to help get things ready for dinner Megg was taking off her apron and hanging it up with a sigh.
“Braised pork ribs and roasted red potatoes tonight, and don’t give ’em more than three apiece unless they pay extra, all right, love?”
“I’ll take care of it, Mistress,” Idra said. “May you have calm seas for your father’s ceremony, Colm,” she told him formally, then got to work seasoning the slabs of ribs laid out on the counter.
“You’ve got everything, then?” Megg asked her grandson once they were all out in the courtyard, freed from the crowd for the moment.
“Right down to the boat, although I’m afraid Master Grainger isn’t too happy with me,” Nichol said.
Megg sighed. “Ye catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, lad.”
“I’m not trying to catch flies, Gran, I’m trying to hitch a ride on the back of a gull,” he told her. “Although some of your rum cake would probably go a long way in soothing Master Grainger’s feelings.”
“I can’t buy your entrance to the navy with cake!” Megg protested, but it was a tired, thin denial. “Though I would if I could,” she added. “Right, then. Let me get my shawl, and we’ll be off.”
Colm frowned in question. “So early? Don’t you still do the burials at twilight here?”
“Aye, but it’ll take some time for us to make it to the cove, and we’ll need a bit for the prayers too. Trust me, love, I’ve done this enough times to know,” Megg soothed him before heading into the family quarters. Her spirit cat followed at her heels.
“I’m going to grab us a bit to eat while we’re out there,” Nichol said. “Why don’t you go and get the ashes and meet me back here?” He vanished back into the kitchen before Colm could say anything, which was perfect, because the reality of his purpose here was just now hitting home with him. This was it, the primary reason for his being in Caithmor: to give his father a proper burial. He didn’t know what he would do with himself once that was done.
Chapter Six
Colm climbed slowly up the stairs to his tiny room and pulled his pack out from beneath the cot. Ger’s ashes were tucked away in the very bottom of it, tightly bound in their linen sack. Colm took it into his hands and pressed it against the tender skin at the base of his throat, imagining for a moment that he could feel heat still within the bag, that it was more than just remains. The priests said it was, and so did Megg, but Colm had never seen any proof of it himself. The few burials he’d attended in Anneslea had been simple things, with nothing mystical about them other than the blessing at the end, just as the last rays of the sun vanished from the sky. He, like everyone, could feel the presence of the gods then, the holy power that the priests commanded that made his spine shiver with fearful reverence.
“Colm? Are you ready?” Nichol shouted up the stairs. Colm was so startled, he almost dropped the ashes, but controlled himself at the last moment.
“Yes…I’m coming,” he shouted back, getting to his feet. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and headed back down to where Nichol and Megg were waiting for him. Meg was carrying the package from the acolyte’s store, and Nichol had a heavy metal lantern slung over his shoulder.
“Good. Let’s be off, then, boys,” Megg said, leading the way out onto the street. Her little spirit cat followed at her heels. “Which berth, Nichol?”
“Forty.”
“Down at the end, then. That’s good. You lads will have less distance to row.”
“So thoughtful of you, Gran,” Nichol said with a simper, then yelped as her hand found his ear and tweaked it. “Bloody—that hurt!”
“Good! It was meant to!” Megg replied, walking with a long stride that made Nichol rush to keep up with her, while Colm felt right at home. “Honestly, can you take nothing seriously in this life, my boy?”
“I take the Sea Guard very seriously, Gran,” Nichol said, sounding a bit hurt.
“Well, when you take the rest of your life as seriously as you do the thought of gettin’ into the navy, you’ll finally be an adult.”
“I’d rather not, thanks,” Nichol said with a cheeky wink at Colm. “It sounds too dull to keep me happy.”
“That may be,” Megg agreed, but she wasn’t smiling now. “Come on, boys, put some leg into it.”
Once they finally got to the right section of the docks, they handed their note to the officer responsible for guarding the boats. He inspected it with a squint. “I’m not so sure…that could be Master Grainger’s signature, but there’s no official stamp.”
“He didn’t have his stamp book with him, but it’s from him, trust me!” Nichol entreated. “Just a little rowboat, mate, and we’ll bring it right back.”
“I don’t know…”
“Tobin, are you suggesting that I’m not worthy of your trust?” Megg interjected, crossing her arms and looking as imposing as a little old woman could. “What would your own gran have to say about such a thing, I wonder?”
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sp; It was hard to tell in the early evening light, but Colm thought that the officer went a bit pale. “Oh, Missus Searunner, don’t do that to me.”
“Then don’t call me a liar and let us borrow this one little boat for the evening.”
The officer crumbled after another moment’s hesitation. “Fine.” He went back to his shack and brought them a small burning taper to light the lantern with. “But mind that you bring back both the oars,” he added as they walked past. Nichol shook his head.
“Honestly, it was one time, just one, and I carved them new ones. Better ones!”
“The folks you wrong always have a longer memory than you’d like,” Megg said absently as she sought out berth number forty. All the navy’s boats at this end of the docks were small ones, closely protected by the jutting sea wall that signified the northern edge of the more cosmopolitan part of Caithmor. There was plenty of city beyond it, but very little of it was accessible by sea. Caithmor was built on the only decent port on the coast for over a hundred miles in either direction. The rest of it was rocky cliffs, settled here and there by villages that could manage with a small fleet, but nothing else even remotely as large as the capitol.
“Come on then, lads,” she said, “help me clear it.” They pulled off the tarred canvas that covered the four-man rowboat, rolled it up and set it aside. Nichol got to work on the ropes while Colm helped Megg down into the boat, and handed her their packages. After a moment, he handed over the bag of ashes as well. It hurt a bit to let go of it, but once Colm managed to set it in Megg’s wizened palm, he felt a sense of relief.
“Thank you, love,” Megg said with a gentle smile. “All done, Nichol?”
“Yes, Gran,” he said, pausing only to affix the lantern to the prow of the boat before he hopped down inside. “Shall we share the hard labor portion of the evening, then?” he asked Colm.
“Certainly.” It only took them a few moments to find a rhythm, and Megg took hold of the tiller and steered them around the larger boats and out along the dark-stoned sea wall, thick and imposing, until they rounded the edge of it and broke into open water.