Scott Lynch - Red Seas Under Red Skies

"— by Jeremite Redeemers mounted on cavalry steeds. Where do you find the energy?" "She makes it easy," said Jean. "Ah." "She's asked me to stay," said Jean, looking down at his hands.

"Aboard the ship? Once all of this is over? Assuming there's anything left of us?" Jean nodded. "And by me, I'm sure she meant you as well—"

"Oh, of course she did," said Locke, not entirely curbing his reflexive tone of sarcasm. "What did you say?" "I asked her… I thought maybe she could come with us."

"You love her." Locke nodded to himself before Jean could answer. "You're not just marking time while we're out here. You" ve really fallen off the cliff, haven't you?" "Yeah," Jean whispered.

"She's good," said Locke. "She's got wits and fire. She has a real taste for taking things away from people at swordpoint, which is an asset in my book. And at least her you can trust at your back in a fight—" "I" ve always trusted you—"

"To be at your back in a fight, sure. But her you can trust not to embarrass everyone before it's over. You two won the day on the Kingfisher, not me. And I saw how she got kicked around — most people would have hugged their hammocks for a few days after that. She's too damn stubborn to stop moving. You two really are a good match." "You make it sound like it's her or you—" "Of course it doesn't have to be. But things will change—"

"Change, yes. And improve. This doesn't have to mean the end of anything."

"Take her with us? Three against the world? Start up the whole thing again, rebuild a gang? Haven't we had this conversation before?" "Yes, and—"

"I was doing my best impression of a drunken arsehole at the time. I know." Locke put his left hand atop Jean's right. "You're right. Things can change, and improve. We've seen it happen to other people; maybe it can happen to us for once. Soon as we finish the Sinspire game, we'll be richer than hell and no longer welcome in Tal Verrar's polite society. She could come with us… or you could stay with her—"

"I don't know yet," said Jean. "Neither of us knows. We've decided to deal with the question by ignoring it for the duration of the voyage." "Excellent idea." "But I want—"

"Listen. When the time comes, you make whatever choice you need to, and you don't think about me, understand? It is a fine match. Maybe you could do better—" Locke grinned to let Jean know that there was no actual need to knock his brains out of his skull."-but I know for a solid fact that she couldn't. Ever." So saying, he squeezed Jean's hand. "I'm happy for you. You" ve gone and stolen something back from this whole dead-end distraction Stragos has shoved us into. Hold it tight."

There was nothing else to say, so they stood listening to the cries of the circling gulls and watched the sun sink into the far horizon, bleeding its fire into the sea. Eventually, heavy footsteps sounded on the quarterdeck stairs behind them.

"My boys," said Drakasha, appearing behind them and draping her arms across their shoulders, "just the pair I wanted to speak with. I'm removing you from afternoon watch duty with all the other Reds." "Urn… that's generous," said Locke.

"No it isn't. From now on, you're detached to the carpenter's mercy for afternoons. Since we're slipping into Tal Verrar for your benefit, most of the alterations to the Orchid are going to be your responsibility. Painting, carving, rigging — you two will be rather busy"

"Wow," said Locke, "that sounds like an absolutely grand way to spend the voyage." It wasn't.

"Land ho," cried the early-evening foremast watch. "Land and fire one point on the starboard bow!"

"Fire?" Locke looked up from his hand in the card game that had broken out in the undercastle. "Shit!" He dropped his cards to the deck, forfeiting his seven-solari bet for the round. Nearly a year's pay for an honest Verrari labourer; common stakes for the games that took place after shares were paid out. There was a lot of spare coinage floating around the ship, since thed'r left Port Prodigal in such a hurry. Emerging from the undercastle, he nearly slammed into Delmastro. "Lieutenant, is that Tal Verrar?" "Has to be."

"And the fire? Is that certain?" Fire in the city could mean some sort of disaster, or it could mean civil war. Chaos. Stragos might already be dead, or besieged, or even victorious — and therefore in no further need of Locke or Jean. "It's the twenty-first, Ravelle." "I know what bloody day it is; I just — oh. Oh!"

The twenty-first of Aurim: the Festa Iono, the grand pageant of the Lord of the Grasping Waters. Locke sighed with relief. Away from the usual rhythms of the city, he'd all but forgotten about the holiday. At the Festa Iono, the Verrari gave thanks for Iono's influence on the city's fortunes by ceremonially burning old ships while thousands of drunkards made a mess of the docks. Locke had only ever seen it from the balconies of the Sinspire, but it was a lively time. Hell, that would make slipping into the city easier; there" d be a thousand things going on to keep the watch busy.

"All hands," came the cry from astern. "All hands at the waist! Captain wants a word!"

Locke grinned. In the event of an all-hands call during a card game, the game had to stop, and everyone with a stake in the pot got it back. His seven solari would be returning home soon enough.

The Orchids mustered noisily at the waist, and after a few minutes were waved to silence by Drakasha. The captain set an empty cask beside the mainmast and Lieutenant Delmastro leapt atop it, wearing a respectable overcoat from the ship's store of fine clothing.

"For the rest of the night," she shouted, "we're the Chimera, and we've never even heard of the Poison Orchid. I'm the captain! I'll be pacing the quarterdeck if anyone needs anything, and Drakasha will be in her cabin unless things go to hell.

"If another ship hails us, I'll be the one that answers. The rest of you pretend that you don't speak Therin. Our task is to deliver two of our new friends to shore, for a job that'll be important to us all. Ravelle, Valora — we'll send you out in the same boat you donated to our cause all those weeks ago." She paused to allow a sudden outburst of chatter to die off. "We should drop anchor in the next two hours. If you're not back by sunrise, this ship will be gone — and we'll never come within five hundred miles of this city again." "We understand," said Locke.

"Once the anchor's down," continued Delmastro, "I'll want double watches aloft. Rig razor-nets on both sides for a quick raise, but leave them down. Lay polearms at the sides, up against the rails, and ready sabres at both the masts. If a customs boat or anything else carrying a uniform tries to pay us a visit, we'll invite them aboard and detain them for the night. If anything more than that troubles us, we repel boarders, lay on the canvas and run like hell." There was a general murmur of approval for that idea.

"That's it. Stand in to Tal Verrar. Mumchance, put us about a mile off the Emerald Galleries. And raise an Ashmiri grey ensign at the taffrail."

Ashmere, though lacking a merchant or military fleet of its own, did a brisk business in registrations of convenience for smugglers, bounty-privateers and tariff-dodging merchants. Nobody would look twice at them for the sake of that ensign. More importantly, nobody would approach merely for the sake of making small talk with fellow countrymen far from home. Locke approved. And anchoring in the waters south-east of the city would give them a good approach to the Cas-tellana, so they could drop in on Stragos without lurking too close to the crowded marinas or the main anchorage.

"Hey," said Utgar, slapping Locke and Jean on the backs, "you two, what the hell are you getting yourselves into? You want a bodyguard?" "Ravelle's the only bodyguard I need," said Jean with a smirk.