because they loved to kill and who fought out of fear, who wanted to live.
Then, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, sleep brought those dreams. Not only the dead marines walked through them, but the boys from the academy before he was disgraced and exiled.
Clash, clang! His body responded with the ease of years of drill though his mind was locked inside his skull, living again Dogpiss Noth’s death—seeing his hand, dirty under the nails, freckled across the wrist, fingers tense and spread, and Inda reaching, reaching, touching his wrist. But Dogpiss fell away and lay there in the stream, his open eyes reflecting the stars overhead—
“Hold! Sloop’s ours,” the second mate bawled out in his huge voice, and Inda flung down his sword, his breath whooping, his once-broken wrist throbbing.
Someone thumped his back. “Captain’s barge, Stupid.”
Of course he wouldn’t be part of a prize crew. Walic only permitted new pirates to serve on prize crews one at a time, and never with the mates with whom they came aboard.
He dropped into the barge heaving on the swells and took up an oar, ignoring his swollen wrist except to wish he’d put on a wrist guard—Walic had plenty of gear in the hold, taken off other ships. But Inda had only gotten clothing to replace his ripped, bloodstained clothes. He hadn’t taken a wrist guard because he’d intended to die.
Walic glanced over into his exhaustion-dulled face and smiled to himself. He’s good. Fast, strong, skilled. But doesn’t take any initiative. The perfect hand. Too perfect. If he lives through a few more battles, we’ll test his loyalty a little. Walic chuckled, mentally tolling the new recruits, wondering who would provide the most entertaining display under his knife and hot iron.
But that brought back the old grievance. Walic stirred with impatience when he thought of the loss of that boy’s commanders. If someone as dull-witted as Stupid was so good with steel, his Marlovan commander must have been beyond human excellence. Subsequent questioning had proved that it had taken two full attack groups to bring down the handful of defenders around Stupid—and half of those had been killed. No one at fault, from what he could discover. It had been the hottest fight they’d had in a couple of years, and he’d lost far more hands than he’d taken— though the death toll of the enemy had been correspondingly high.
What he could have done with someone like that if the Venn had refused to give him what he would have demanded as the cost of his prize!
Ah, his plans. Those were more satisfying to think about.
Walic glanced with tired contentment at his new sloop as the oars dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled. Quite a fleet he was building. Now all he needed was another capital ship or two, the recruits to crew them, and he’d be strong enough to make his bid to join the Brotherhood.
He climbed aboard Coco, saw that everything was as it ought to be, then stumped down to his cabin for some rest.
The rest of the crew clambered up after him, Inda one of the last. He turned to help boom the boat up and secure it. When he was dismissed, there was Tau, holding food.
“You haven’t eaten,” Tau observed, speaking as they were alone, everyone busy with tasks.
Inda didn’t ask how he knew that. Nor did he argue. He took the braised fish-and-cheese-stuffed bread and bit into it without thought or pleasure, though he was hungry.
“Get hurt?” Tau asked, aware of the Marlovan redhead watching from above. Tau didn’t have to see the contempt on the fellow’s face—he could feel it, a matter of indifference to him: the only interest he took in either Fox or Rat was how they’d managed to hide their origins from the captain, who was not unobservant. Maybe he didn’t hear accents. The two talked in an abrupt, almost comically harsh Dock Talk that might confuse someone not familiar with the tongues of the Iascan coast.
While Tau mulled this over,
Then, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, sleep brought those dreams. Not only the dead marines walked through them, but the boys from the academy before he was disgraced and exiled.
Clash, clang! His body responded with the ease of years of drill though his mind was locked inside his skull, living again Dogpiss Noth’s death—seeing his hand, dirty under the nails, freckled across the wrist, fingers tense and spread, and Inda reaching, reaching, touching his wrist. But Dogpiss fell away and lay there in the stream, his open eyes reflecting the stars overhead—
“Hold! Sloop’s ours,” the second mate bawled out in his huge voice, and Inda flung down his sword, his breath whooping, his once-broken wrist throbbing.
Someone thumped his back. “Captain’s barge, Stupid.”
Of course he wouldn’t be part of a prize crew. Walic only permitted new pirates to serve on prize crews one at a time, and never with the mates with whom they came aboard.
He dropped into the barge heaving on the swells and took up an oar, ignoring his swollen wrist except to wish he’d put on a wrist guard—Walic had plenty of gear in the hold, taken off other ships. But Inda had only gotten clothing to replace his ripped, bloodstained clothes. He hadn’t taken a wrist guard because he’d intended to die.
Walic glanced over into his exhaustion-dulled face and smiled to himself. He’s good. Fast, strong, skilled. But doesn’t take any initiative. The perfect hand. Too perfect. If he lives through a few more battles, we’ll test his loyalty a little. Walic chuckled, mentally tolling the new recruits, wondering who would provide the most entertaining display under his knife and hot iron.
But that brought back the old grievance. Walic stirred with impatience when he thought of the loss of that boy’s commanders. If someone as dull-witted as Stupid was so good with steel, his Marlovan commander must have been beyond human excellence. Subsequent questioning had proved that it had taken two full attack groups to bring down the handful of defenders around Stupid—and half of those had been killed. No one at fault, from what he could discover. It had been the hottest fight they’d had in a couple of years, and he’d lost far more hands than he’d taken— though the death toll of the enemy had been correspondingly high.
What he could have done with someone like that if the Venn had refused to give him what he would have demanded as the cost of his prize!
Ah, his plans. Those were more satisfying to think about.
Walic glanced with tired contentment at his new sloop as the oars dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled. Quite a fleet he was building. Now all he needed was another capital ship or two, the recruits to crew them, and he’d be strong enough to make his bid to join the Brotherhood.
He climbed aboard Coco, saw that everything was as it ought to be, then stumped down to his cabin for some rest.
The rest of the crew clambered up after him, Inda one of the last. He turned to help boom the boat up and secure it. When he was dismissed, there was Tau, holding food.
“You haven’t eaten,” Tau observed, speaking as they were alone, everyone busy with tasks.
Inda didn’t ask how he knew that. Nor did he argue. He took the braised fish-and-cheese-stuffed bread and bit into it without thought or pleasure, though he was hungry.
“Get hurt?” Tau asked, aware of the Marlovan redhead watching from above. Tau didn’t have to see the contempt on the fellow’s face—he could feel it, a matter of indifference to him: the only interest he took in either Fox or Rat was how they’d managed to hide their origins from the captain, who was not unobservant. Maybe he didn’t hear accents. The two talked in an abrupt, almost comically harsh Dock Talk that might confuse someone not familiar with the tongues of the Iascan coast.
While Tau mulled this over,
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