David Gross: An Opportunity for Profit

"What's the point of our being here, if not for the money?"

"After what you told Anvil, I thought you cared more about just…"

"Oh, Shadow," Belmer said, chuckling. "What would you have told him? It was the only thing he would hear from me. Perhaps you could have found a subtler persuasion. You have a greater talent for it than I."

Sharessa pushed away from him, standing apart. She didn't like the way he was laughing. Was he mocking her? Did she seem so transparent? Her frown must have told him what she was thinking.

"Besides, it was true," he said soothingly. "How can we enjoy our reward if we don't survive to collect it."

"I saw the way you looked at Ingrar when we stopped," countered Sharessa. 'You weren't worried just about the money then."

Belmer chuckled again. "What? Did you think I'd gone paternal on the boy?"

"So why didn't you order him left behind?"

"And spark a mutiny? Come, Shadow, there's no profit in mercy. Taking Ingrar with us kept Anvil and Brindra from fighting me. He was valuable, so we kept him."

'You don't really think that way, do you?"

"Of course I do. So do you. What did you do before we met? You killed people for their cargo."

"I'm not denying that," said Sharessa. Her own bitterness surprised her. "But Ingrar's a mate. We're loyal to each other."

"Loyalty is just another contract," Belmer stated.

"What?"

"What's loyalty but a promise of help in return for the same? You're loyal to Anvil and Rings and the rest because you know that they'll watch your back in return. It's an informal agreement, but it's just a contract, no different from the one you signed for me."

"It's completely different," said Shar. "It's a matter of trust."

"Isn't trust what a contract is for?"

"Of course not! Contracts are for when you don't trust someone."

Belmer laughed again. "The only difference is that contracts are written, and your promise of loyalty is never spoken."

"Even so, that's a big difference in itself."

"I don't think so," said Belmer. "Every man does just what pleases him, and contracts are a way to keep others from interfering with his wishes."

"So what about priests and lords who give their money to the poor?"

"They do it because it pleases them." Belmer shrugged again, but he was no longer looking at Sharessa. He seemed bored with the conversation and turned his attention to the cliff above.

"How can it please someone to give up all his wealth and live like a beggar, just to spread a few coins around a crowd that'll live and die in filth anyway? What's the pleasure in serving others who don't have the strength to take for themselves? That's sacrifice. It's charity."

"No, that's foolish," said Belmer, still watching the cliff. "But it pleases those who think their gods will reward them for it. Even a priest behaves kindly because he thinks there's spiritual profit in it for him." Belmer stopped staring at the cliff and looked straight at Sharessa.

"There's nothing good in this world, Shadow. Everyone seeks profit, whether that's gold, power, pleasure, or passing crusts to beggars because II-mater will love you for it. You get what you take by your own strength and cunning, and when someone interferes with that, you kill him. That's what I do, and that's what you do. It's what we are."

Sharessa stared back at Belmer, wanting desper ately to argue with him. If he'd put it another way, if they'd laughed at the misfortune of some ship they'd robbed together over cups of ale in a Tharkaran tavern, then she'd smile or laugh or make a joke in response. But put so seriously, examined so plainly, this life didn't seem exciting. It seemed wicked and cold, like the fiend that hunted them for its own pleasure. Cruelty was that monster's profit.

Her damp clothes seemed suddenly cold, and Sharessa hugged herself against an imagined wind. The sudden pain in her right arm made her wince, but it warmed her slightly. That twinge made her think that maybe what set her apart from the fiend was that she sought profit in pleasure rather than pain. Maybe that was the important difference, the thing that made her human.

She looked up to renew the argument with Belmer, but he had already crouched low against the cliff wall. She felt his cool hand touch her belt, tugging her gently to join him. Sharessa crept into the shadow beside Belmer, and he leaned close to whisper.

"Something's coming."

Doubt drew the moment thin and tight as a bowstring. Sharessa felt a nauseous, uncertain quivering in her stomach as she strained to hear the sound that had alerted Belmer. Distance shushed the echoes of something coming through the forest above.

When Sharessa saw torchlight reflected on the far cliff, she felt her own smile and rose to her feet to call out, but Belmer squeezed her left hand to stop her. He put his lips near her ear and whispered, "Wait."

They listened carefully, almost painfully. Sharessa heard the faint sound of voices far above.

"It's them," she whispered to Belmer.

He hesitated a moment longer. "This fiend has tricked us with illusions before."

Sharessa nodded and drew Brindra's sword from her belt. "Here," she said, offering it to Belmer. This time he did not protest.

"Call out. I'll climb, in case it's another of the fiend's tricks." He faded into the shadows before Sharessa could reply.

"Rings!" called Sharessa. "Anvil! Belmer! I'm down here!"

"Shar!" came the dwarf's reply. Then they all called out questions for a moment before falling suddenly silent again. Sharessa was sure it was really them; they'd remembered the fiend might hear them. Soon they lowered the rope that they had salvaged from the Morning Bird.

"My arm's hurt," called Sharessa from the bottom of the cliff. She hoped her voice was loud enough for them to hear, but not so loud that it carried down the ravine. "You'll have to pull me up."

She looped the rope around herself and secured it as best she could with one arm. She tugged once, hard.

"Belmer?" she whispered. But he did not answer. She wondered whether he was already climbing. The rope pulled taut, and she felt herself rise. She used her feet to guide her ascent, careful of her wounded arm. When she came to the top, eager hands pulled her into quick embraces and patted her on the back, careful of her arm.

"Brindra's dead," said Sharessa. She could see by their faces that they already knew it.

"At least you made it," said Belgin. His chubby face was lucent with moonlight. "We saw you fall."

"The water knocked me senseless, but Belmer found me before I drowned."

"Belmer made it, too?" Rings sounded half disappointed, half astonished. "The fiend threw him like a doll."

"He's not human," interjected Turbalt. Sharessa marvelled that he still lived, while better fighters had already fallen to the fiend tonight. "He's a fiend himself! We should get out of here before he finds us again."

"Silence," said Belgin.

"I have a right to speak my mind," bleated Turbalt. "It was my ship you sank. They were my men you've let die — "

"Shut up, you fool!" This time it was one of his own crewmen who spoke. Turbalt didn't even pause.

"And I haven't been paid yet! By Umberlee, I'll have…"

"You'll have what?" Belmer's voice came smooth as a sharp knife from the shadows.

Turbalt's flabby face blanched, and his jowls shook as he jabbered his mouth silently. He didn't turn around to face the voice but shuffled back into the shadows. Belmer walked into the light, ignoring the frightened ship captain.

"Kill those torches, and hood the lamp. If the fiend doesn't know that you've found us, we may have an advantage we can use."

"What d'ye have in mind?" asked Rings. He stubbed out the torch he carried before Belmer could answer. One of the sailors did the same with the other, and Anvil shuttered the lantern. The scant light spilling through its covers cast tiny yellow stars on the faces of the company. "Listen carefully," said Belmer.