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Authors: Sherwood Smith
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Marlovans. When anyone mentions either Venn or Marlovans, tempers get hot and I stay out of the way.”
The two girls brooded, Nugget remembering how much fun they’d had in the two weeks they’d sailed the Land Bridge before the Brotherhood attack. They’d talked all day and all night, Nugget showing Pilvig everything, introducing everyone. Offering to teach her Inda’s fighting. Those pirates won’t have a chance, she remembered saying right before the battle, when Pilvig’s already pale face had gone chalky.
But it wasn’t Pilvig who’d nearly died, and Pilvig had spent the two years since with Inda and the crew. Now Pil vig knew everybody better than Nugget did. Nugget didn’t even know who captained that big schooner except that the captain was a tall, handsome woman with fair hair.
“I was stupid,” Nugget admitted, and saw in Pilvig’s black eyes no comforting denial, but a silent agreement.
Nugget flushed, but couldn’t get mad. For months she’d had nightmares about the pirate who’d almost killed her, laughing the while. Stabbing her and then laughing while she shrieked and begged for her life as she tried to protect her half-severed arm. Torture had been sport to him.
She was only alive because the fighting had shifted, and somebody stabbed the pirate in the back. He fell dead across her, and she’d had just enough wit and awareness to lie still and pretend to also be dead.
“Did any of our other rats get it?” she asked.
Inda had been firm about the ship rats under sixteen staying out of the main fight, remaining under Jeje’s command in the support boats. They’d had a real job—attacking pirate sail crew with arrows, so they’d have trouble guiding their ships—but Nugget had not thought that exciting and heroic enough.
She’d gone into the battle thinking it sport, but not because she liked killing. She’d just wanted to be a hero. She wanted people to admire her. She’d never believed that she was in any danger, because even if others got massacred, heroes never did.
“No,” Pilvig said. “ We all made it. Except you.”
“Because I went with Tau, but we got separated. The Iascan fishers who saved me said he was alive. They said a golden-haired pirate threw money onto the beach and yelled something, as if gold coins could be traded anywhere. Anyway, the fellow they described had to be Tau.”
“Jeje ordered us to stay on the scouts. So I did.” Pilvig jerked her shoulder again. Her life on the sea had begun as a ship’s girl aboard a merchant. Sharl the Brainsmasher took the ship, killed most of the crew, keeping her because he’d killed his last cabin rat in a fit of anger and he needed a new one. She’d had to learn fast that when he sat in this chair, he wanted food. If he sat in that one, he wanted his charts. If he smashed his fist on the table, he wanted a messenger. Or his latest favorite. If Pilvig wasn’t right there, no matter what time of day or night, and fetching whatever he wanted, he beat her.
Then, when that mysterious Ramis of the Knife killed Sharl and his worst mates, the locals had killed most of the rest of the pirates but left her alone because she was young, and promised she’d not joined Sharl of her own will. They’d spared her life, but never trusted her.
Nugget’s showing off had been a pleasure compared to life under Sharl, and the begrudged existence in the Pirate Island orphanage. Pilvig said, “It’s past. You’ll know better. Come with us.”
“I don’t know if I can fight,” Nugget admitted, her voice going high, and hot tears burned down her cheeks.
Pilvig chewed her lip. “You don’t mean with one arm. You mean at all.”
Nugget ducked her head, gulping on a sob.
In Chwahirsland you never admitted to cowardice. Nugget’s soft words, her muffled sobs made Pilvig’s arms tingle with some complex emotion she could not define—something between pity and warning.
She set aside her wooden mess plate and put her arms
The two girls brooded, Nugget remembering how much fun they’d had in the two weeks they’d sailed the Land Bridge before the Brotherhood attack. They’d talked all day and all night, Nugget showing Pilvig everything, introducing everyone. Offering to teach her Inda’s fighting. Those pirates won’t have a chance, she remembered saying right before the battle, when Pilvig’s already pale face had gone chalky.
But it wasn’t Pilvig who’d nearly died, and Pilvig had spent the two years since with Inda and the crew. Now Pil vig knew everybody better than Nugget did. Nugget didn’t even know who captained that big schooner except that the captain was a tall, handsome woman with fair hair.
“I was stupid,” Nugget admitted, and saw in Pilvig’s black eyes no comforting denial, but a silent agreement.
Nugget flushed, but couldn’t get mad. For months she’d had nightmares about the pirate who’d almost killed her, laughing the while. Stabbing her and then laughing while she shrieked and begged for her life as she tried to protect her half-severed arm. Torture had been sport to him.
She was only alive because the fighting had shifted, and somebody stabbed the pirate in the back. He fell dead across her, and she’d had just enough wit and awareness to lie still and pretend to also be dead.
“Did any of our other rats get it?” she asked.
Inda had been firm about the ship rats under sixteen staying out of the main fight, remaining under Jeje’s command in the support boats. They’d had a real job—attacking pirate sail crew with arrows, so they’d have trouble guiding their ships—but Nugget had not thought that exciting and heroic enough.
She’d gone into the battle thinking it sport, but not because she liked killing. She’d just wanted to be a hero. She wanted people to admire her. She’d never believed that she was in any danger, because even if others got massacred, heroes never did.
“No,” Pilvig said. “ We all made it. Except you.”
“Because I went with Tau, but we got separated. The Iascan fishers who saved me said he was alive. They said a golden-haired pirate threw money onto the beach and yelled something, as if gold coins could be traded anywhere. Anyway, the fellow they described had to be Tau.”
“Jeje ordered us to stay on the scouts. So I did.” Pilvig jerked her shoulder again. Her life on the sea had begun as a ship’s girl aboard a merchant. Sharl the Brainsmasher took the ship, killed most of the crew, keeping her because he’d killed his last cabin rat in a fit of anger and he needed a new one. She’d had to learn fast that when he sat in this chair, he wanted food. If he sat in that one, he wanted his charts. If he smashed his fist on the table, he wanted a messenger. Or his latest favorite. If Pilvig wasn’t right there, no matter what time of day or night, and fetching whatever he wanted, he beat her.
Then, when that mysterious Ramis of the Knife killed Sharl and his worst mates, the locals had killed most of the rest of the pirates but left her alone because she was young, and promised she’d not joined Sharl of her own will. They’d spared her life, but never trusted her.
Nugget’s showing off had been a pleasure compared to life under Sharl, and the begrudged existence in the Pirate Island orphanage. Pilvig said, “It’s past. You’ll know better. Come with us.”
“I don’t know if I can fight,” Nugget admitted, her voice going high, and hot tears burned down her cheeks.
Pilvig chewed her lip. “You don’t mean with one arm. You mean at all.”
Nugget ducked her head, gulping on a sob.
In Chwahirsland you never admitted to cowardice. Nugget’s soft words, her muffled sobs made Pilvig’s arms tingle with some complex emotion she could not define—something between pity and warning.
She set aside her wooden mess plate and put her arms
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