Jean knelt down and pushed Mai's eyelids closed. "I know what you mean." He paused, seeming to weight his words before continuing. "We have a serious problem." "Really? Us, problems? What ever could you mean?"
"These people are our people. These people are thieves. Surely you see it, too. We can't sell them out to Stragos." "Then we'll die." "We both know Stragos means to kill us anyway—"
"The longer we string him along," said Locke, "the closer we get to pulling off some part of our mission, the closer we are to a real antidote. The more time we get, the greater the chance he'll slip… and we can do something."
"We can do something by siding with our own kind. Look around you, for the gods" sake. All these people do to live is steal. They" re us. The mandates we live by—" "Don't fucking lecture me about propriety!" "Why not? You seem to need it—"
"I" ve done my duty by the men we brought from Tal Verrar, Jean, but they and all of these people are strangers. I aim to have Stragos weeping for what he's done, and if I can spare them to achieve that, by the gods, I'll spare them. But if I have to sink this ship and a dozen like it to bring him down, I'll damn well do that, too."
"Gods," Jean whispered. "Listen you yourself. I thought I was Camorri. You're the pure essence. A moment ago you were morose for the sake of these people. Now you" d fucking drown them all for the sake of your revenge!" "Our revenge," said Locke. "Our lives." "There has to be another way."
"What do you propose, then? Stay out here? Spend a merry few weeks in the Ghostwinds and then politely dieV "If necessary,"said Jean.
The Poison Orchid, under reduced sail, drew near the stern of the Kingfisher, putting herself between the flute and the wind. The men and women lining the Orchid's rail let loose with three raucous cheers, each one louder than the last.
"Hear that? They" re not cheering the scrub watch," said Jean. "They" re cheering their own. That's what we are, now. Part of all this." "They" re str—" "They" re not strangers? said Jean.
"Well." Locke glanced aft, at Lieutenant Delmastro, who'd risen to her feet and taken the Kingfisher's wheel. "Maybe some of them are less strange to you than they are to me." "Now, wait just a—"
"Do what you have to do to pass the time out here," said Locke, scowling, "but don't forget where you come from. Stragos is our business. Beating him is our business."
"Pass the time?" Pass the gods-damned time}" Jean sucked in an angry breath. He clenched his fists and for a second looked as though he might grab Locke and shake him. "Gods, I see what's twisting under your skin. Look, you may be resigned to the fact that the only woman you'll ever consider is years gone. But you" ve been screwed down so tight about that, for so long, that you seem to think the rest of the world keeps your habits." Locke felt as though he'd been stabbed. "Jean, don't you even—"
"Why not? Why not} We carry your precious misery with us like a holy fucking relic. Don't talk about Sabetha Belacoros. Don't talk about the plays. Don't talk about Jasmer, or Espara, or any of the schemes we ran. I lived with her for nine years, same as you, and I" ve pretended she doesn't fucking exist to avoid upsetting you. Well, I'm not you. I'm not content to live like an oath-bound monk. I have a life outside your gods-damned shadow." Locke stepped back. "Jean, I don't… I didn't—" "And stop calling me Jean, for fuck's sake."
"Of course," said Locke coldly. "Of course. If we keep this up we'll be breaking character for good. I can prowl below myself. You get back to Delmastro. She's holding on to that wheel to stay on her bloody feet." "But-" "Go," said Locke.
"Fine." Jean turned to leave, then paused one last time. "But understand — / can't do it. I'll follow you to any fate, and you know it, but I can't fuck these people over, even for our own sake. And even if you think it's for our sake… I can't let you do it, either." "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you have a lot to think about," said Jean, and he stomped away.
Small parties of sailors had begun slipping over from the Orchid. Utgar rushed up to Locke, red-faced with excitement, leading a group of crewfolk carrying lines and fend-offs to help hold the ships alongside one another.
"Sweet Marrows, Ravelle, we just found out about the Redeemers," Utgar said. "Lieutenant told us what you did. Fuckin" amazing! A job well done!"
Locke glanced at the body of Mai resting against the mainmast, and at Jean's back as he approached Delmastro with his hands out to hold her up. Not caring who saw, he flung his sabre down at the deck planks, where it stuck tip-first, quivering from side to side. "Oh, indeed," he said. "It seems I win again. Hooray for winning."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All Else, Truth
1
"Bring the prisoners forward," said Captain Drakasha.
It was full night on the deck of the Poison Orchid, and the ship rode at anchor beneath a star-pierced sky. The moons had not yet begun to rise. Drakasha stood at the quarterdeck rail, backlit by alchemical lamps, wearing a tarpaulin for a cloak. Her hair was covered by a ludicrous woollen wig, vaguely resembling the ceremonial hairpiece of a Verrari magistrate. The deck fore and aft was crowded with shadowed crewfolk, and in a small clear space amidships stood the prisoners.
Nineteen men from the Red Messenger had survived the morning's fight. Now all nineteen stood, bound hands and feet, in an awkward bunch at the ship's waist. Locke shuffled forward behind Jean and Jabril. "Clerk of the court," said Drakasha, "you have brought us a sad lot."
"A sad lot indeed, Your Honour." Lieutenant Delmastro appeared beside the captain, clutching a rolled scroll and wearing a ridiculous wig of her own.
"As wretched a pack of dissolute, cockless mongrels as I" ve ever seen. Still, I suppose we must try them." "Indeed we must, ma'am." "With what are they charged?"
"Such a litany of crimes as turns the blood to jam." Delmastro opened the scroll and raised her voice as she read. "Wilful refusal of the kind hospitality of the Archon of Tal Verrar. Deliberate flight from the excellent accommodations provided by said Archon at the Windward Rock. Theft of a naval vessel with the stated intention of applying it to a life of piracy." "Disgraceful."
"Just so, Your Honour. Now, the next bit is rather confusing: some are charged with mutiny, while others are charged with incompetence."
"Some this, some that? Clerk of the court, we cannot abide untidiness. Simply charge everyone with everything."
"Understood. The mutineers are now incompetent and the incompetent are also mutineers."
"Excellent. Very excellent, and so very magisterial. No doubt I shall be quoted in books." "Important books, too, ma'am." "What else do these wretches have to answer for?"
"Assault and larceny beneath the red flag, Your Honour. Armed piracy on the Sea of Brass on the twenty-first instant of the month of Festal, this very year."
"Vile, grotesque and contemptible," shouted Drakasha. "Let the record show that I feel as though I may swoon. Tell me, are there any who would speak in defence of the prisoners?" "None, ma'am, as the prisoners are penniless." "Ah. Then under whose laws do they claim any rights or protections?" "None, ma'am. No power on land will claim or aid them."
"Pathetic, and not unexpected. Yet without firm guidance from their betters, perhaps it's only natural that these rodents have shunned virtue like a contagious disease. Perhaps some small chance of clemency may be forthcoming." "Unlikely, ma'am."