Save for two lamps the captain’s cabin was dark. The Morning Star, riding the heavy, rhythmic swells towards Averil, rocked gently. Other than when he was at the helm, this was Captain Ford’s favourite time at sea.
He thought of Kendra, back home, and wanted very badly to be with her. She wouldn’t mind if he came into Southport with an empty hold; she knew the run from Strandson to Orindale had been a gamble, but she also knew that he had to take it. They had plenty of money to see them through the winter Twinmoon, even without an inbound shipment, but Captain Ford had his crew to think of. He needed to keep them working, earning enough that they wouldn’t need to consider leaving the Morning Star for a bigger, more lucrative boat. He was happy with the brig-sloop; she was not the biggest of ships, but she was quick. His crew knew their jobs, got on well with one another, and were invariably ready for the next run. He was lucky; there wasn’t much turnover of manpower on the Morning Star, so he rarely had to worry about new people getting used to the culture established over time and adventures together.
But this journey had put all of that in jeopardy. He had put everything in harm’s way – his lifestyle, his crew, his ship, everything – for a bag of silver, and he felt sick to the stomach about it. He regretted ever letting Brexan talk him into delaying his Orindale contracts for this ‘daisy-run’ into Averil – daisy-run? He was shipping sorcerers, partisans, killers to Malakasia. What would Eastland partisans want with Averil? Were they planning to burn the city down? Poison the flour shipments, maybe sink a few galleons? Who knew what these people were capable of? He propped his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his palms and sighed. ‘But you brought them there, didn’t you?’ he said out loud. ‘You rowed them to shore, even gave them a big, wet slathery kiss as they said farewell and began planting their explosives. So they all get killed, but not before they mention you and your boat during the interrogation. Then you get to spend the rest of your life shipping dirt to dirt farmers in Dirt Village for free, because no one in Eldarn will hire you. Or, even better, you get to run from the Malakasian navy until they finally corner you in some gods-forsaken cove at the arse-end of nowhere and burn your ship to the waterline. And all because Marrin Stonnel got you thinking about tits one night after one too many beers. And maybe it would have been different if she had just walked over to the table, but no, the place was crowded, and she almost danced her way to us. That’s all there was too it: bad luck, bad timing and bad decisions.’
Captain Ford finished his beer, tried to steer his thoughts back to his wife, and considered opening a fourth bottle. Maybe it would help him sleep after all. He stabbed another mouthful and cursed, ‘No, you bastard, no easy rest for you tonight.’
A knock at the door derailed his thoughts. ‘Marrin,’ he growled, ‘bugger off-’
Brexan stepped inside. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were eating.’
‘Of course they sent you,’ he muttered.
‘Of course who sent me? For what? Did I miss something?’ she sounded genuinely confused.
Have you not been huddled all day in the forward cabin with Garec, Kellin and those new fellows, the two young men we picked up this morning?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘So they sent you.’ He reached into his crate for another beer. It was heavy, clumsy to ship in bottles, but he didn’t care for fennaroot, and wine was a luxury, like tecan, a port drink. And I’m certain I know why they sent you. I’ve had my dose of Garec Haile and his esoteric brand of diplomacy. Does he kill everyone he meets, I wonder? So that wouldn’t work; after all, I’m already in fear for my life, my crew and my ship. So you wouldn’t get any further with me by sending Garec. But you’re not stupid, are you? You know I’ve taken a fancy to you, call it a schoolboy crush, maybe, or a feeling of getting a bit older and losing a step and wanting badly to have it back. And ka-blam, you enter my life, bat your pretty eyes at me and ask me to ship your friends to Averil. Of course, I say yes. What else can I say? It’s a huge amount of silver for almost no work, and I get to spend the better part of the next Moon watching you, Brexan, I watch you hauling lines, and mopping decks and even helping Tubbs dole out the evening crud for supper. I’m getting older, and I should know better, I should have known better, but I didn’t, and now I’m here, waiting to see what bucket of grettanshit they’ve sent you in here to sell me.’
‘No one sent me,’ Brexan said. ‘I came on my own.’
‘An honest answer? Or are you just softening me up? That tunic isn’t nearly as flattering as the one you were wearing when you asked me to take you on this little pleasure-cruise.’
‘I didn’t lie.’
‘But you didn’t tell the whole truth, did you?’ Captain Ford leaned forward, then relaxed back into his chair. He had been taken for a fool; now he wanted to salvage what dignity he could. ‘What’s happening in Averil, Brexan?’
‘I can’t-’
‘Or are we not really bound for Averil?’ He saw her involuntary reaction and sighed. ‘Rutting whores, that’s it.’ He poured the beer. ‘You want one?’
‘No, th-’ She paused. ‘Actually, yes, why not?’
‘Have a seat,’ he said politely. ‘We can discuss our destination.’
‘They meant to tell you,’ she said. ‘I was just coming to apologise. I didn’t want you to think-’
‘Well, I’m thinking it. So you can take what little conscience you think you have and toss it over the side. What do you do for the Resistance? I know you’re not a scullery-maid. And was the old lady, Nedra, in this with you, or is she the reason you’re trying to salvage your self-esteem?’
‘I’m a… a spy, I suppose,’ Brexan confessed, ‘and yes, Nedra’s one of the reasons I came to talk to you.’
He was shocked at her admission, but he wasn’t sure what he meant to do about it. ‘You must not be much of a spy; I don’t know of many spies who go around admitting it’s their job.’
Brexan half-grinned. ‘No, I’m not a very good spy, but you should have seen me in the beginning. I was downright wretched.’
Captain Ford didn’t join her in celebrating the thimbleful of honesty. ‘So where are we bound?’
‘Averil, if you insist. I can talk them into it. I know I can.’ Garec’s words came back to her: If a guilty conscience and the loss of their trust is all we have to suffer from here on in, then I’m all for it. There’s much, much worse waiting for us in Malakasia.
‘Don’t do that.’ Captain Ford was angry. ‘Don’t try to make amends now. Where are we bound?’
She hung her head, remembered Garec again, and forced herself to look the captain in the eye. ‘Pellia,’ she said quietly.
‘Pellia!’ Now he leapt to his feet again, shouting, ‘Pellia? You’re joking, aren’t you? Why not just sail upriver to Welstar Palace? I can hear the Malakasians manning the blockade already – they have one, you know, a gods-whoring net as tight as my uncle’s arsehole. “Where are you bound, Captain Ford?” “I’m bound for Pellia, sir.” “What are you shipping, Captain Ford?” “Oh, nothing!”.’ He was raging as he spat out the little scenarios. ‘And that’s where the road ends, Brexan, in case you were wondering where and how your life would unfold over the next two hundred Twinmoons. Nope. It ends right at that exact moment. And not just yours, but mine, Garec’s – well, thank the gods of the Northern Forest for that one – and the rest of us. We’ll all be taken prisoner and escorted into the blackest, most foul-smelling nightmare of a pit you’ve ever imagined.’