"Two dollars a week?" Ger hesitated. "Even when it was just you?"
"I guess."
Ger kept staring at Kellen, like she was some riddle he was trying to figure out. Kellen found she wasn't enjoying the sight of Ger's face all that much, all of the sudden.
"I never learned my numbers." She looked into the cider remaining at the bottom of her tankard. "The Widow counted it out for me."
Ger was quiet for a long time. Kellen could feel him still looking at her, though.
"The Widow counted it for you." His words held an edge. For reasons Kellen didn't even understand, she suddenly felt stupid.
"That's what I just said, isn't it?"
Ger was quiet again, and again for a uncomfortably long time. "I could teach you your numbers," he finally said.
Kellen's face felt too warm again. She shot a sharp sideways look at Ger. "Why would I need to know?"
"So people like Widow Howland don't steal you blind."
Kellen brought her head up and stared at Ger. The outrage burning in his eyes startled her.
"I'm not saying she has been," Ger said, "but she could've been cheating you. You wouldn't have had any way to know."
Kellen thought about how Widow Howland poked at the coins Kellen laid on the table every week, pressing her fingertips against the faces in the metal and counting them before she swept them off the table and into her pocket. There were never any coins left over, even though Kellen had only guessed at how many to lay out on the table to begin with. Not even one, not ever.
"Even if you just learned to ten." The edge in Ger's voice had gone so soft Kellen could barely hear it over all the other racket in the room. "That's all you'd need. You could count out your own payment for anything, then."
That softness, that was pity, Kellen realized. Her face really caught fire, then. It burned all the way up into her eyes. She shrugged with one shoulder, so fiercely that cider sloshed over the side of her tankard.
"It doesn't matter," she mumbled.
"It does." Ger leaned closer again, but Kellen turned her face away and wouldn't look at him. "Don't you care that she's taking advantage of you?"
"You count the money from now on, then." She wanted him to stop, to just shut up and stop making her feel dumb. God, she was stupid.
Ger was quiet for a little bit, but he didn't lean away. Tears tried to well into Kellen's eyes, but she refused to let them.
"Sure," he finally said. "I will. But you could still learn. That way you could look out for yourself, even if I'm not around."
Oddly, it was Vincent's face Kellen thought of then, not Ger's. Vincent, who'd left her, just like Ger was saying he might. She was abruptly roaring, red around the edges pissed off, and Ger was sitting far, far too close.
"I already look out for myself." She raised her tankard, tipped her head back, and drank the last swallow of the cider. Some dribbled onto her chin, and she dashed it away with the back of her hand.
"Kellen."
She hated how he said her name, all gentle, like she was some stupid child to feel sorry for. She stood up and glared down at him, and if there were tears in her eyes now, she didn't fucking care.
"I don't need you or your damn numbers," she said.
Then she slammed the empty tankard onto the bench and walked away.
~
In the last couple of days, since Ger had offered to teach Kellen her numbers, Kellen had barely spoken to him. Ger understood she'd been embarrassed, but he'd thought they were friends enough by now that she wouldn't still be holding it against him. Then again, he'd sort of thought maybe they might become more than friends, but that was looking like a serious error in judgment, too.
"There is no such thing, Em."
At the sound of Kellen's voice, clearly emphasizing each word as she spoke it, Ger looked up.
Kellen trudged down a gangplank just ahead, on a path that led directly across Ger's as he walked the wharf toward the pay line. Despite the spring warmth that lingered even as day approached dusk, she'd shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Even her footsteps, sharply staccato against the planks covering this newer section of pier, seemed angry.
Em Jacobs walked beside Kellen. He barely stopped for breath even though she spoke. Em's eyes were big, and his mouth rounded into an incredulous o as he spoke. Kellen's mouth was set in a line of determined patience, the expression of someone who's heard the same story too many times.
It wasn't hard to guess which story it was. Em Jacobs was as cheerful and friendly as a month-old pup. He was also about as bright. His repertoire of tales was limited to begin with, and he was caught on the gossip about the supposed water ghosts like a fish on a gaff. His voice carried back to Ger, as obliviously bright as the cry of a gull.
"They're worse at night, you know." Em turned sideways as he walked, waving his hands expressively right in Kellen's face, as though that might help to convince her.
Ger glanced at the dark water visible through the criss-cross of mooring lines stretched between the wharf and the docked ships. He couldn't entirely fault Em—the way wind and water and weather conspired together did often sound like voices, and very convincing ones. Ger had been tempted a couple of times over the past couple of weeks to believe the stories himself.
Michael Finch followed Kellen and Em down the gangplank. An amiable smile creased Finch's broad face, although he shook his head at Em's one-sided conversation with Kellen. The trio reached the wharf at about the same time Ger reached the gangplank. Finch caught Ger's eye, winked and nodded in a silent greeting, and sidled to one side to allow Ger to walk beside him. They clomped along the dock behind the other two.
Em kept right on talking. "After dark, they're free to lurk up close around the ships and the docks."
Kellen's mouth tightened further. Em, being Em, didn't seem to notice. Ger did. He'd become quite familiar with Kellen's warning signs. Em had done the equivalent of cornering an annoyed badger, and Ger wagered that she was about to bite.
"And then they lay in wait." Em made a series of sinuous movements with his hands. "Trying to lure unwary fools to a watery grave."
"Jesus!" The word fairly exploded from Kellen. "Would you just for chrissake shut up about the ghosts, Em?"
Em's face crumpled. He cringed as if someone had swung a spar at him. Ger couldn't help it—he laughed out loud.
Kellen and Em both swung their heads around to look at Ger, Kellen with an irritated frown and Em with a hopeful lift of his shoulders. Ger realized, too late, that he'd just put himself square in the path of Kellen's ire and cringed a little himself. Someday, somehow, maybe he'd learn how to get on her good side and stay there. Today, apparently, wasn't going to be that day.
"Ghost stories are exciting." Ger tried out a disarming grin. "Romantic, even."
Kellen's scowl deepened.
Em's brow knitted. "I don't know, Ger. I don't think there's any kissing or anything."
Finch chuckled, so low and quiet it was barely loud enough to be heard.
"Not that kind of romantic, Em." Ger grinned at Em. "Exciting and mysterious, that kind of romantic."
Em's mouth made a smaller o, and his eyes shifted up and to the right. Ger supposed Em was storing that tidbit of information away for later use. They'd all be hearing about romantic things for the next few days, Ger was sure.
"Yeah, that's exactly like what I think," Em said. "You're pretty smart, Ger. You know, we could be brothers, we're both so smart. Hell, we even look kinda alike. Because, you know, we both have blonde hair and—"
"And skinny butts," Finch chimed in. "Ain't neither of you look like anyone's feeding you."
Ger laughed. He knew he shouldn't, because Kellen sure wasn't. But it just felt pure and good to be with friends—it was a new feeling, but Ger thought he could get used to it.
"I'm strong, though," Em said. "It's all muscle."
"It's dumb!" Kellen glared so hard at Em that he cringed again. Kellen's hands curled into fists. "The
whole thing is plain-as-my face, flat-out dumb."
"Damn, Kellen." Em aimed a wounded look at her. "You know, you used to be fun. You used to think things were funny, and you'd laugh and... and smile... and, you know, laugh ."
"It's not funny. Nothing is funny." Kellen swung her head toward Ger and included him in the glare. "Neither of you are funny."
She didn't wait around for any response this time, just hurried off ahead of them toward the pay man. Her footsteps got louder as she crossed from planks onto flagstones.
The three of them, Ger and Em and Finch, stood there for a second and watched her go. A breeze stirred around them, balmy but carrying the reek of coffee that had been sitting too long on the pier and the acidic stench that sometimes rolled down from the tanyards up the hill.
"Well, gents," Finch rumbled, eventually. "There we have it. It ain't funny."
Em tipped his head back to peer up at Finch. When Finch smiled, a flash of white in his broad, dark face, Em's uncertain expression eased into an answering smile. Ger laughed, but it was a short laugh that wound up ending in a sigh.
"I think she just flat out hates me," Ger said.
They started walking again, although at a slower pace. Ger was sure none of them wanted to catch up to Kellen very soon. Even Em had fallen silent, and for a few seconds there was nothing to hear but murmuring water and the creak of rocking hulls.
Ger didn't understand it—not Kellen's mercurial temper and not his own decision to keep staying on at Widow Howland's. Or maybe he did understand, at least his part of it. He'd promised Kellen that he'd stay away from Ripley, and that was what he'd done. He'd justified his decision by telling himself he was only protecting Kellen, and some days that felt like a right decision.
Other days, not so much. Because the truth was, if he'd ever meant to put a stop to Ripley hurting people, then he shouldn't have stayed under Widow Howland's roof to begin with. He sure as hell should've left before now.
Finch looked down at Ger, eyed him like he was weighing whether or not Ger was a man who could keep a secret. After a few more thumping steps along the pier, Finch finally said, "Ain't you she hates."
"She didn't used to hate anyone," Em muttered. "She used to be... fun."
Ger smiled vaguely at Em but looked askance up at Finch.
"Who, then?"
"Yeah, Finch," Em said. "Who's Kellen hate? Not me, right?"
Finch didn't answer, just fixed Em with a weighty stare. After a second, Em's eyes widened.
"Oh, right," Em said. "I guess she's still sore about Vincent."
An odd sensation danced along the back of Ger's neck, as though understanding had arrived but still lurked just out of his grasp.
"Vincent?" Ger asked.
"Yeah." Em nodded, as though he'd explained it all. "He left with Colley and Byrne and a lot of others, on that job at that place outside of town or wherever. I didn't go. Mostly because no one told me about it until after. But I could've gone, couldn't I, Finch?"
"You could have indeed. But then what would we have done without you here?"
Em flashed a grin up at Finch. Ger walked quietly alongside the two of them for a few moments more, trying to fill in the blank places surrounding Em's words. He shot a look up at Finch.
"So, Vincent was...?"
Finch's smile was kind, but he shot a warning look at Em and shook his head.
"Ain't no good comes of telling folk's private tales." Finch clapped a big hand on Ger's shoulder. "Might be not such a bad thing if you asked her yourself sometime, though."
Em nodded solemnly. No longer than a second later, he poked Ger in the arm.
"Hey, Ger? I have this great idea."
"Yeah, Em?"
"You could teach me to read that newspaper, like you're always doing. Then we really would be just alike."
"Sure, Em." Ger was too distracted to pay much mind to his instinctive certainty that wouldn't work out so well. "But later, all right?"
He glanced at Finch and took a bracing breath.
"I suppose I ought to catch up to Kellen first."
Chapter 16
A few vendors lingered on Market, but most of the covered stalls running up the center had emptied out. A butcher still swung his cleaver, with a solid whack that spattered blood into the sawdust spread beneath him, and a few farmers were reloading their wagons while the cattle under harness chewed their cud and waited, lowing impatiently now and again. The stink of meat and fish and over-ripe produce hung heavy in the air.
By the time Ger trotted up the hill and fell in beside Kellen, he was winded. He took a few seconds just to catch his breath and match his steps to hers.
Kellen didn't glance toward him or acknowledge his presence in any way, just kept walking with her eyes straight forward, as though Ger were nothing more than part of the normal bustle of the street. She dodged the poles between walkway and carriageway with practiced ease, skimming so closely past them that Ger was forced to fall back a few steps.
After that happened the third time, he wised up and shifted to Kellen's other side.
"I'm sorry. About the thing with Em and the ghost stories. I was trying to help."
Kellen shrugged. Ger assumed that meant he was supposed to believe she was over it and leave her alone.
He didn't want to leave her alone. He wanted to reach over and take her shoulders in his hands and make her turn and face him. He wanted to look down into her gray eyes, and he wanted for her to look back at him. To really see him.
God. He wanted to kiss her. He was about as far off from making that happen as he could get.
"I don't understand why you got so upset, though," Ger said. "They're just stories. The same stories, granted. Over and over and over and—"
"All right." Kellen didn't smile, but her mouth wasn't quite as tight and angry-looking anymore. "I get it."
"But still. Just stories." Ger flashed a grin at her. A gentle one. Maybe he could tease a smile from her yet, and maybe something that wasn't anger to go with it. "Unless you believe them, of course. You worried about Em's ghosts coming to get you?"
Kellen's face slammed right back into tight lines and hard angles.
"Stop." She shot a glare at him. "It's not—"
"Funny." Ger threw his hands up in surrender. "It's not funny. Right. Sorry. Sorry!"
He should've left it alone. Now, Kellen stalked along in fuming silence again. Ger walked alongside her without speaking for another minute before he worked up the courage to try again.
"I've done everything you said," Ger finally ventured. "Stayed away from Ripley. Started shaping up for a different company from him. Tried to lay low. Everything."
Kellen showed no signs at all that she was listening.
"I even helped you figure out the Widow might be cheating you," Ger said. "I offered to help you learn how to stop her."
Her face turned pink. She walked a little faster.
Ger quickened his pace, too, got a half step ahead of Kellen and turned to walk half-sideways so he could look down at her face. "I've done everything I can think of to help you out. So why are you still so angry at me so much of the time?"
"Pissed off."
"What?"
"You talk too smart for the docks. Don't say 'angry.' Say 'pissed off.'"
Not exactly a response Ger had anticipated. He faced forward and fell back to walk beside Kellen again. A vendor came toward them from the other direction, whistling as he walked. Bright ribbons fluttered from the staff he carried slung over his shoulder. As he passed, Ger caught a whiff of rum.
"Sorry," Ger mumbled. "God forbid I allow myself to appear educated."
Kellen dodged a post, jostling Ger in the process and forcing him to fall a step back.
Ger was abruptly annoyed—with Kellen, with the way he couldn't seem to do anything to please her, with himself for giving a damn what she thought or wanted. It didn't matter what she thought.
Except it did matter. Damn him, but it did. Ger caugh
t up to Kellen again and matched his steps to hers.
"Who's Vincent?" he asked.
She stopped and spun on Ger so fast that he nearly fell over her.
"Who told you that name?" But realization lit in her eyes as soon as she'd asked. "Em Jacobs. Wasn't it?"
There didn't seem much point in denying it. Ger shrugged. "He didn't mean any harm."
"He never does, does he?" Ger had a feeling that wouldn't have saved Em, if Em had been in front of Kellen right that second.
Kellen turned and started walking again. Ger heaved a resigned sigh and followed her. Lover or husband, he guessed, but he figured it wouldn't do much good to guess out loud. He hated how much he wanted to know.
"So why are you still so pissed off at me?" he asked. "I've tried to avoid Ripley. I don't tell stupid ghost stories, and I haven't made a single pass at you. What am I doing wrong, then?"
Kellen face turned pink, and she glanced sharply up. Her gaze touched his, so fast it might have been Ger's imagination. Then she faced forward again, and they walked a few more steps before she responded.
"What did he do?" Kellen asked. "What did Ripley do that made you think it'd be a good idea to follow around someone two times your size and ten times as mean and try to trip him up?"
Leave it to a woman to turn things around on you. The skin across Ger's forehead felt too tight.
They passed Cooke's building. A few folks still strolled through the shops inside, men in fine clothes and ladies in high-waisted, soft-colored dresses and ribboned bonnets. Ger pretended to watch them while he tried to decide how to answer.
"He hurt someone I knew," Ger finally said. "I'm not sure I can explain."
"Usually has to do with his fists." Kellen's earlier venom had bled away. She almost sounded conversational.
"A little girl died," Ger said.
Kellen's head snapped around. Her eyes met Ger's, so wide and clear he could fall right into them. He could trust her with this, he suddenly knew. He could—and maybe he should.
"I worked in the Liberties before. For a ropemaker named Comstock. Ripley worked there, too."
It felt odd, saying those things out loud. Saying them at all, for that matter. Ger hadn't left that life behind all that long ago, but it felt a little like he was talking about a stranger's life.
A Stillness of the Sun (Crowmakers: Book 1): A Science Fiction Western Adventure Page 11