An ounce of stiffening left my shoulders, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. He wasn't going to pester me about presenting an easy target by wandering around in the open. I was about to go back to watching the men on deck when a child's laughter had me leaning over the railing to peer down into the shadows of the main hatch.
Lorren, Vinna, and the butcher's wife came trundling into view on the stairs, bringing the Galvania children out of the hold, with Mannemarra and Arkney trailing behind them carrying several blankets and a basket.
There was a smile on Lorren's face as she spoke to one of the littlest boys, holding his arm and helping him hop up one step at a time on his uninjured leg. It was the boy I had held while Dr. Turragan pieced his shin back together. He had been so quiet then. He was still silent, his face absolutely somber as he concentrated on navigating the stairs, but he was responding to the people around him. Someone had taken the time to brush his wild hair and dress him warmly. A little of the ice thawed just a little in that emptiness in my chest.
Vinna came up last, carrying a little red-haired girl on her hip. She followed Lorren and the butcher's wife as they crossed the deck to the empty area forward of the main mast, where Mannemarra and Arkney were spreading out the blankets. Halfway there, Vinna buried her nose in the little girl's collar, growling and snuffling and pretending to 'eat' one of the little girl's ears. When the girl squealed and tucked her head to her shoulder, Vinna began 'eating' her other ear.
"So delicious! You taste like... like smolblentz! I'm going to gobble you all up."
I lifted a hand to hide a smile when the girl shrieked and giggled, then cried, "No! You mustn't!"
Vinna stopped nibbling and pulled back to look the little girl in the eye. "But why? I'm hungry."
"Because. I'm a person," the girl said, so prim and horrified I couldn't help but chuckle out loud.
"Makes the heart glad, aye Miss," Raggan said quietly, coming to stand a few feet away from me at the railing.
I had been so engrossed in watching the main deck that I hadn't heard him come up the stairs. I glanced at him, my smile lingering. Then a thought sobered me. "Do you have children, Raggan?"
"Me? Oh no, Sweetheart," he said. "T'weren't in me stars, I reckon. Couldn't find a woman who'd put up wi' me long enough."
I absorbed that piece of information as I returned to the view below.
One of the older girls had drawn a circle on the deck with a bit of grease-chalk, and they were all taking turns trying to get a bunch of painted stones to land in it, their aim made haphazard by the roll of the ship.
I bit my lip, longing to go down there and join in. Perhaps it was the 'only child' in me, but I had always enjoyed the company of children.
Yes, but these children were orphaned because Father booked passage on the ship they were on.
That familiar chill crept through me again, stealing the color from everything. I was about to tear myself away from all the fun and go back to wandering the quarterdeck, when the sad-eyed boy caught sight of the captain, pulled away from the butcher's wife and went limping straight for Arramy's knees.
The butcher's wife wheeled around in surprise, then saw Arramy and dipped into a clumsy curtsy while still reprimanding the boy: "Xavi! Come back here! Don't bother the captain, I'm sure he's very busy."
But Xavi was already tugging at Arramy's hand, indicating without words that he wanted him to look at something.
Arramy ignored the butcher's wife and sank into a crouch, his bright hair stark next to Xavi's tousle of dark spring-curls as he peered at something Xavi placed in his palm. His low voice was difficult to make out from that distance, but I could hear enough to fill in details. "What's this? Oh. I know. It's a dog. A little shepherd dog — no? Are you sure?"
I stared, not quite able to reconcile what I knew of The Great Stone Captain Arramy, and the man giving a child his complete attention.
Xavi giggled and shook his head.
"It's a goose."
Xavi shook his head again, a silly grin spreading over his face.
"Ah. Now I see. It's a flying fish."
That got a vigorous nod. Then, to my surprise, Xavi wrapped his small arms around Arramy's chest, reaching as far as he could, burying his face against Arramy's throat.
"Xavi, come along now," the butcher's wife started to say, but the captain held his hand up in a silent request to wait as Xavi clung tighter.
"Have any of you ever been at the helm of a warship?" Arramy asked, glancing at the rest of the children, who had left off their games to gather around him.
There was a chorus of 'no's, and a lone 'oh, would I!' from one of the boys.
Arramy looked up at the butcher's wife. "Well, perhaps, if you all ask Mrs. Gorsander very nicely, you can come up to see what Helmsman Farren does all day."
His suggestion was met by a general mobbing of the butcher's wife, who raised her hands in surrender.
"Got the captain tied right round his wee finger, that one," Raggan murmured as Arramy lifted a delighted Xavi to his shoulder and stood up.
"How long have you known the captain?" I asked absently, unable to keep from following the progress of the children as they raced for the quarterdeck stairs. They would pass only a few yards from me, but I couldn't make myself move away. NaVarre wasn't standing there breathing down my neck, and I was fairly sure the children could be struck from his list of suspects. I firmed my chin and planted my feet. I was going to stay right where I was, to blazes with neurotic pirates.
Raggan scratched at his chin, unaware of the tiny rebellion going on beside him. "Oh... must be nearing twenty years now. I'd just made Sergeant when 'e was hired on as seaman's apprentice. That were under Captain Lorme, right a'fore the Panesian wars started. We was on patrol in the Straight..." He drifted off into a middle distance of memories. Then he grinned askance. "But that's another story for another time. Duty waits for no man. Leastwise, it surely don't wait for me. Have a wonderful day, Miss." He bowed and followed the captain up to the aft deck.
And that quickly, I was left alone again.
The other survivors had somewhere they belonged, people they belonged with. The crew all had tasks they were needed for.
I didn't fit in anywhere.
I realized I was staring up at the children like an abandoned mooncalf and wheeled around to face the sea – but not before I caught the captain turning to look down at the quarterdeck. His gaze found me for a long, tense moment, then slid quickly away.
35. Steppingstones
36th of Uirra
NaVarre only came over to the Stryka briefly in the three days following Arramy's speech, popping into the council room to harass the captain about this or that, then leaving just as quickly, constantly in motion the whole time.
That was where I was this morning, on my hands and knees in the council room, my father's documents spread out around me, when NaVarre came striding in, bringing a quick draft of chilly air with him as he swung the door wide.
I squawked in dismay as several of my father's papers went eddying across the floor, scattering two hours' worth of work. Then, with a groan, I tipped my head back so I could glare at him. "Can you not read?"
NaVarre's eyebrows rose at my tone. Then he followed my pointed stare to the door he had just flung open. The note was still tacked to the front, large letters printed clearly across it: "Open Slowly."
"Ah," he said, stepping all the way in, careful of the documents at his feet.
I pinched my lips shut and began shuffling about on my knees, collecting the flown papers.
"Where is Arramy?"
"Mountain climbing," I muttered.
NaVarre didn't move. "What are you doing?"
"I was trying to put together a timeline," I snapped, following a small drift of receipts across the floor, picking them up one by one as I went.
NaVarre crouched and grabbed several manifests that had fluttered over to the wall, bringing them back and adding them to
the middle of the mess for want of anywhere else to put them. Then he went after a few inspection reports that had gone running for the chairs. "Did you find anything interesting?"
I finished pulling an assortment of papers from beneath the council room table and added them to the heap NaVarre had made. "I don't know," I said crossly. "Maybe," I admitted. Then I heaved a sigh, grudgingly letting my spine relax. NaVarre wasn't dashing off to find Arramy for once, and he seemed to be in a talkative mood. Perhaps I could get some answers. "That manifest from the Persephyrre is the earliest I could find. Was that when you began working with my father?"
NaVarre came to sit on the floor across from me. "No. That was Obyrron. Your father stepped in after Len disappeared." His expression had gone uncharacteristically serious. "I told your father it was dangerous, but he wouldn't leave. He wanted to save as many as we could. It was risky, extremely so, but he managed to save four hundred girls, two hundred or so men, and fifty-eight boys." He stopped, staring down at the inspection reports in his hands. "That has to mean something, right?"
I swallowed around a hot lump in my throat and closed my eyes. Six hundred and fifty people. It didn't sooth the pain, but it did help me understand why Father stayed. I took a deep breath and assessed the pile of documents. "There were men?" I asked, frowning as I began sorting through everything again.
NaVarre nodded. "The Coventry are going after three kinds of people. Pretty girls of childbearing age; big, athletic men; and sturdy working-class types between twenty and forty. Although lately they seem to have developed a penchant for teenage boys."
His jaw went tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
Perhaps I was simply becoming accustomed to his company; perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't wearing his hunting jacket and gauntlets. For whatever reason, the wild, unpredictable pirate was gone. There wasn't even much of the lord about him. Sitting there cross-legged on the floor, dark hair wind-ruffled and free of pomade, jaw shadowed by a few days' stubble, he was simply a human being caught up in the same chaos as the rest of us.
"How did you wind up doing this?" I asked.
He shot a heated glance at me, and for a second I thought he might not answer. Then a thin, hard smile crossed his face. He leaned forward and began sorting with me, his answer surprising me when it came: "I had a twin sister."
I blinked.
"Laina was warm. Feisty, like a pyxxe. Funny. The things we'd get up to... she could catch frogs better than any boy I knew."
He paused, his gaze softening. "When she was quite small, she contracted red fever. She recovered, but that was back when the doctors thought it was hereditary, and she was declared undesirable for marriage. Our parents barely took a passing interest in her after that. She was relegated to the nursery, hidden away at parties. No one but the servants and a few close family friends even knew she existed, while I was paraded around like a prize pony. Still... Laina was a beautiful girl, and when it became clear she was going to be a beautiful woman, Mother Dearest became jealous."
"Of her own daughter?"
He nodded. "People only ever saw the glitter on the outside, never the darkness that lived in that woman. I came back from a hunting trip one day and Laina was gone. Her room was empty, new paint, new furniture, as if she'd never been there. I demanded to know where she was. Mother would only say she was earning her keep... My father finally admitted he had given her to Lord Gallander as payment for a gambling debt. When I confronted Gallander, he laughed. Said she was used goods, now, so he sold her."
NaVarre smiled again, a quick flicker of perfect teeth. "The man Gallander sold her to put her on a dark-market slave block in Porte Caresh. I didn't know it then, but that was the first time I ran into the Coventry. It was their slave block she was sold on, and it must have been one of them that bought her. I was able to trace her to a charter boat bound for the Colonies, so that was where I went. Halfway to Nimkoruguithu, the merchant ship I was on was attacked by the pirate Bastartres."
Huh.
"I thought he was going to kill us all. Turned out he was searching for his daughter. She'd been kidnapped by the same group of slavers who took Laina. I don't know why, I certainly didn't deserve it, but Bastartres took me in. Treated me like a son. Gave me more of a home than I'd ever had. Taught me to sail. Offered me a place and a purpose, taking down the Coventry however we could."
Silence fell. Then NaVarre began shuffling the inspection reports, tapping them together, his tone abruptly matter-of-fact: "That's it. That's how I wound up doing this. Bastartres retired a few years back, and I took over. Expanded the operation a bit here and there. I even staged a triumphant return to the Circle as the long-lost heir to the Anwythe title."
"And did you ever find them? Your sister and his daughter?" I asked gently.
NaVarre shook his head and plopped the inspection reports down on the floor next to me. "There's always that little voice at the back of my mind that says she can't be gone. So... I keep looking."
I knew exactly what that voice sounded like. I stared at him, struck by the fact that we had something in common. Then I smiled a little, keeping my tone light. "Destroyer of slavery rings, benefactor of displaced people... That's not exactly the picture they paint of you in the Dailies."
That lazy, wicked grin appeared. "Why would they? The Dailies are a Coventry mouthpiece, and I'm a determined thorn in their shoe. I take it as a measure of my success that my Wanted, Dead or Alive poster is plastered on every tattleboard from Lordstown to Pordazh Kaskara."
I couldn't help it. The glee in his voice had me chuckling. "Is it really?"
"Last time I checked. They want me gone so badly they even set their toughest terrier on me. Quite an honor, really."
I scoffed at that. "Oh, come now. Arramy isn't a terrier. He's a wyrhonde." NaVarre's gaze jumped up to mine and he let out a laugh as I went on, "Long legs... Cranky disposition. Difficult to train... Bites when cornered..." Big, scary, fierce... descended from mountain wolves...
"Alright! Alright," NaVarre held up his hands, chuckling. "Wyrhonde it is."
I leaned over and gathered up all the weights-and-measures reports before asking, slowly, "Do you trust him?"
NaVarre gave a noncommittal shrug. "I don't need to trust him; I need to know where he is. Besides. If he isn't Coventry, I want that tactical brain of his on my side, not theirs. I'd much rather use him against them than have them use him against me." He regarded me evenly. "Do you trust him?"
"About as much as I trust you."
"With reservations, then," NaVarre quirked an eyebrow. "Very wise."
I found the Persephyrre manifest again and placed it face-up on the floor to my left. "Speaking of trust..." I placed the next manifest a little way from that first one, since nearly a year stretched between them. "I was wondering what your plans are for the survivors once we've reached Aethscaul."
"Ah." NaVarre pursed his lips and squinted at one of the inspection reports. "They'll go through the same vetting process that everyone does when they arrive on the island. Nothing to worry about."
"They won't be enslaved or imprisoned as Coventry suspects?"
"They'll be questioned, yes, and housed in a secure facility while my people check their credentials, but it's more of a vacation hotel on a glorious tropical island than a – you really think I'd throw them all in prison? The children? The wounded?" His expression went wan. "What sort of a heartless monster do you take me for?"
I wrinkled my nose. "You did threaten to toss me overboard."
"Ah. That," he mugged. "I'm bound to say anything if it gets me what I want."
"So, what should I expect when we get to the Island?"
"Well, there's a village, and a school... A beautiful beach, good food... You'll like it, I think. More importantly, I promised your father I would get you to the island if he got the information out."
"Am I'm done, then? With all this?" I waved a hand in the general direction of the mess around us. "We get to the isla
nd and it's over?"
"I should think so," NaVarre nodded. Then amended, "I hope so."
I eyed him askance. "What a lovely non-answer."
"It's all I've got, at the moment," he said dryly. Then he got to his feet and began arranging the inspection reports chronologically above the manifests.
An hour later, I lay the last tariff stub on the floor and sat back, surveying the trail of evidence that now spread from one end of the council room to the other. We had moved the beginning of the line three times to accommodate everything, but it was all there, and a pattern had most definitely emerged.
NaVarre's forehead wrinkled. "It has stripes."
Groups of documents were indeed clustered together, with corresponding gaps between, like a string of steppingstones. "They're in threes. There's that first manifest by itself, and then every fourth group after it also has a manifest," I observed. "Every second has docking receipts and safety assessments. Every third has tariff stubs and weights and measures reports."
The longer I studied it, the more something scratched at the edge of my thoughts. Each group was missing two-thirds of the information it should have had if they were grouped by manifests. But that meant... "Why didn't I see it before?" I bent and snatched a docking receipt from the floor.
NaVarre watched as I moved down the line of documents and found the weights and measures report from the group that would have had the missing manifest for the docking receipt. And there it was, one of the first solid connections I had been able to make: the docking receipt and the weights and measure report had the same originating manifest number. "How did I miss that?" I whispered. I found the next docking receipt and repeated the process, coming up with another number for a missing manifest.
I looked at NaVarre.
He reached for the papers in my hand and stepped closer to examine them under the light of the ceiling lantern.
Excitement flared for a heartbeat. Then hope was smothered by a jolt of reality. "But... We don't have enough here to figure out what was on those manifests," I said, my voice dull. "We only know when these cargos sailed, and where they wound up, but I can't tell from just the receipts what ship they were on, or whether the cargo lists are the same."
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