Deadhouse Landing

Urko peered up as if searching the ship’s side for any sign of a certain hairy beast, then shook his head. ‘Naw. Couldn’t be.’

Both scratched their chins, then edged away from the rearing hull of the Twisted. Clearing his throat, Cartheron asked, ‘Do we have enough timber for planking?’

‘No.’

‘Enough rope?’

‘Gods, no.’

‘Do we at least have enough canvas?’

‘Course not.’

Cartheron glared at his brother. ‘Then what, pray tell, have we enough of – if anything?’

‘Asses,’ Urko supplied, taking a crisp bite of apple. ‘Got plenty of them. Up to our asses in asses.’

‘No kidding,’ Cartheron muttered beneath his breath. ‘Okay. So, why the shortage? Is it money?’

Urko shook his head, chewing. ‘Naw. It’s Mock – he’s claimed everything for the refitting of his boats.’

Cartheron kicked up a clot of mud. ‘Hood take it. Fine. I guess we’ll just have to fall back on the usual.’

His brother sighed. ‘Right. We steal it.’

A new figure came heading over from the boardwalk and it took a moment for Cartheron to recognize the man: the marine from the Avarice, Dujek. He motioned to his brother to indicate that the man was a friend. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he called to Dujek, ‘whatever it is.’

Dujek gave an answering grin. ‘How can you say that? The kid looks just like you!’

Urko elbowed him. ‘Quick work.’

Cartheron gave him a glare. ‘Very funny. Dujek, Urko.’ Both nodded. ‘What can I do for ya?’

The marine rubbed a hand over his prematurely retreating hair, clearly a touch uncomfortable. ‘Well, it ain’t me. It’s this new captain, Hess. He’s hoppin’ mad. Wants you on the Avarice.’

‘He’s got plenty of hands. What does he need with me?’

‘Don’t know. But he’s in a temper.’

Cartheron looked to the sky. ‘For the love of Poliel…’

‘I thought you resigned that berth,’ Urko said. ‘We’ve got the Twisted.’

Cartheron scratched his head, thinking. ‘Surly says we need the prize shares. The Twisted’s going nowhere right now.’

‘But with—’ His brother stopped himself, eyeing Dujek.

The marine took the hint and touched his brow. ‘See you on the Avarice?’

Cartheron gave the man a nod. ‘Yeah. See you there.’

The burly marine headed off; Cartheron turned to his brother. ‘So?’

‘Well, with the jokers gone we can push off, right?’

The jokers – their erstwhile bosses. It had been more than a fortnight now with no reappearance. It was looking as though Surly was right; they’d failed in whatever scheme they’d been attempting. He nodded again. ‘So?’

‘So, me ’n’ the crew, we’ve been talking. We think Falari’s the answer.’

‘I think you’ll find that the Falarans pretty much have that sewn up.’

‘We Napans can hold our own against them Falaran sailors!’

Cartheron raised his hands in surrender. ‘Yes, yes. I mean, you know what everyone says – that the Falarans have Mael himself in their pocket. That no invasion of the peninsula has ever succeeded.’

His brother had spotted a stone in the mud and picked it up, and was now rubbing it, squinting at it through one eye. ‘Well … it won’t be no invasion. We’d just sneak in, all quiet like.’

Cartheron threw up his hands. ‘Fine. Whatever. It’s a thought. But in the meantime we need to get the Twisted fitted. Okay? So get on it. I have to go.’ Urko popped the stone into his mouth and rolled it around there, then pulled it out and squinted at it anew. Cartheron felt his habitual impatience with his brother souring his stomach like acid. ‘Right?’ he asked.

Urko peered up, blinking. ‘Yeah. Fine.’ He waved him away.

Cartheron stormed off. Gonna drive me to drink, he is.

*   *   *

He found the Avarice a storm of activity, the deck piled high with lumber and nearly all hands busy helping the ship’s full-time carpenter. Cartheron gritted his teeth, thinking what they could accomplish on the Twisted with a tenth of the equipment. He searched among the crew for the captain only to find him in his cabin, his booted feet up on a table. He saluted. ‘Reporting for duty.’

Hess set down his glass of wine and looked him up and down, smoothing his long moustache. ‘About damned time. The Avarice is your vessel, understood? I want you here sunup till sundown.’

‘You have plenty of crew. I don’t see what I—’

‘Look over the rudder.’

‘I’m sure the ship’s carpenter is more familiar—’

‘Hold yourself available for consultation, steersman.’

Cartheron clenched his lips against any comment, gave a curt nod. ‘Very well, captain.’

Hess waved him off. ‘You have your duties, sailor.’

Cartheron headed out to find Keren, the ship’s carpenter.

Keren, known affectionately among all the crews as Fat Keren, as she possessed fine curves that all the male and some of the female sailors appreciated, was a damned fine carpenter. She just shook her head, hands on her wide hips. ‘Got all the help I need, Cartheron.’

‘And the rudder?’

‘Wood’s fine. Joins and tendons are tight. Tiller’s worn but strong. All fine. Got worse problems elsewhere,’ and she nodded aloft to the shrouds.

‘Then why…’