Read Online The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2) by Justin DePaoli - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Justin DePaoli
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relief to the indescribable and unimaginable terror we faced.
Problem is, of course, Took is made up. He’s make-believe. The mind can end whatever it creates, and in such a satisfying manner.
This mystery suddenly out of hiding was obviously quite real. My brother could probably attest to that. Rivon Eyrie certainly could. And sometimes reality doesn’t end quite as nicely as it does in fairy tales.
Like a wistful old sailor yearning for a boat to take him away again, I walked the slimy docks, fresh with the smell of death. A rougher groaned as he knelt on the planks and scooped a bucket through the water.
“I swear it’s dropped another inch today,” he said. He pulled the bucket up, water sloshing against the rim. He gave a shake of his head. “Soon all’s be left to clean the docks is them taller bastards, huh?”
Oh. He was apparently talking to me, given the others were on shore now, taking to a bundle of nets. “Water shrinking on you?” I asked.
He spat. “Won’t stop. Past month, maybe even more, just keeps goin’ down. Now I’ve got to reach as far as I can, and that still’s only good enough for a half load. Shit, I’ve lost three buckets this week. Waves ripped ’em right out of my fingertips. Luckily they can float, for a while.”
I stood at the edge of the dock and looked over. Deep stains streaked the thick pilings from where the water used to meet the wood. The sea had sunk a good three inches since then.
“No storms as of late?” I asked.
The rougher dumped his half-full bucket of water on the dock, washing off some slime, and shook his head. “Not a drop of rain for… well, since this all started.” He kicked the toe of his boot into a chunk of glazed-on fish flesh, dislodging it from the plank and sending a free meal to some opportunistic crabs.
“Better buckle down,” I said. “Sounds to me like a drought’s coming through.”
“You’re not worried?”
I shrugged, which caused a searing pang in my arm. “Got other things to worry about. How long have you been cleaning up fish piss down here?”
He held up a few fingers. “Three months. Hopin’ to get on a boat soon. Local fishermen’s guild says they’re settin’ up to deploy three more, but that fudge-packin’ lord of Crooked Crags says he don’t want any more boats out there. Says somethin’ about overfishin’.”
I went over to the man and gripped his shoulder. “You want on a boat real bad, do you?”
“Yes, sir. Pays better, get to eat one fish a day right from the nets. Hear the comrod… er, the — the friendship is a nice perk too.”
“There’s a lot of salt scum on those pilings. A shovel will clear it right off. Make sure the boys out there are looking this way when you do it, so they see you.”
The rougher combed a hand through his unkempt beard. “Think that’ll do it? Get me on a boat?”
“Anyone can wash blood off some planks,” I said. “Fisherman’s got to have an eye for detail. Otherwise a net gets tangled under some chap’s foot, and you’ve got a man overboard. Or a pod of porpoise go unnoticed and you’ve possibly cheated yourself out of an extra few thousand gold. Make yourself worthy, and they’ll take you on.”
He raked his grimy hands across his cheek. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, makes sense. Say, you’re not one of the big boys from the fishermen’s guild, are you? I hear they come down here sometimes, help us roughers out. Like takin’ pity or somethin’.”
“Only a man trying out a new life,” I said. I smiled and gave the rougher a goodbye pat on his back, then walked toward the shore.
I could get used to this feeling , I thought, whatever it was. It diffused through my chest like the air after a hot summer rain. Pimpled the back of my neck. Put a big, goofy smile on my face.
And then everything rather washed away as a short figure waddled toward me, arms full of… stuff. Back to the real world now.
“Did you get wolf’s leaf?” Lysa
Problem is, of course, Took is made up. He’s make-believe. The mind can end whatever it creates, and in such a satisfying manner.
This mystery suddenly out of hiding was obviously quite real. My brother could probably attest to that. Rivon Eyrie certainly could. And sometimes reality doesn’t end quite as nicely as it does in fairy tales.
Like a wistful old sailor yearning for a boat to take him away again, I walked the slimy docks, fresh with the smell of death. A rougher groaned as he knelt on the planks and scooped a bucket through the water.
“I swear it’s dropped another inch today,” he said. He pulled the bucket up, water sloshing against the rim. He gave a shake of his head. “Soon all’s be left to clean the docks is them taller bastards, huh?”
Oh. He was apparently talking to me, given the others were on shore now, taking to a bundle of nets. “Water shrinking on you?” I asked.
He spat. “Won’t stop. Past month, maybe even more, just keeps goin’ down. Now I’ve got to reach as far as I can, and that still’s only good enough for a half load. Shit, I’ve lost three buckets this week. Waves ripped ’em right out of my fingertips. Luckily they can float, for a while.”
I stood at the edge of the dock and looked over. Deep stains streaked the thick pilings from where the water used to meet the wood. The sea had sunk a good three inches since then.
“No storms as of late?” I asked.
The rougher dumped his half-full bucket of water on the dock, washing off some slime, and shook his head. “Not a drop of rain for… well, since this all started.” He kicked the toe of his boot into a chunk of glazed-on fish flesh, dislodging it from the plank and sending a free meal to some opportunistic crabs.
“Better buckle down,” I said. “Sounds to me like a drought’s coming through.”
“You’re not worried?”
I shrugged, which caused a searing pang in my arm. “Got other things to worry about. How long have you been cleaning up fish piss down here?”
He held up a few fingers. “Three months. Hopin’ to get on a boat soon. Local fishermen’s guild says they’re settin’ up to deploy three more, but that fudge-packin’ lord of Crooked Crags says he don’t want any more boats out there. Says somethin’ about overfishin’.”
I went over to the man and gripped his shoulder. “You want on a boat real bad, do you?”
“Yes, sir. Pays better, get to eat one fish a day right from the nets. Hear the comrod… er, the — the friendship is a nice perk too.”
“There’s a lot of salt scum on those pilings. A shovel will clear it right off. Make sure the boys out there are looking this way when you do it, so they see you.”
The rougher combed a hand through his unkempt beard. “Think that’ll do it? Get me on a boat?”
“Anyone can wash blood off some planks,” I said. “Fisherman’s got to have an eye for detail. Otherwise a net gets tangled under some chap’s foot, and you’ve got a man overboard. Or a pod of porpoise go unnoticed and you’ve possibly cheated yourself out of an extra few thousand gold. Make yourself worthy, and they’ll take you on.”
He raked his grimy hands across his cheek. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, makes sense. Say, you’re not one of the big boys from the fishermen’s guild, are you? I hear they come down here sometimes, help us roughers out. Like takin’ pity or somethin’.”
“Only a man trying out a new life,” I said. I smiled and gave the rougher a goodbye pat on his back, then walked toward the shore.
I could get used to this feeling , I thought, whatever it was. It diffused through my chest like the air after a hot summer rain. Pimpled the back of my neck. Put a big, goofy smile on my face.
And then everything rather washed away as a short figure waddled toward me, arms full of… stuff. Back to the real world now.
“Did you get wolf’s leaf?” Lysa
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