sailor. “Direct from the Imperial Heir, so don’t improvise.” Janto watched the papers change hands and hoped they didn’t contain any surprises.
The Legaciattus tossed a sack at Janto. “By imperial command, you are to have supplies when you reach Dori. There they are.”
That had to be a good sign. If the Kjallans meant to kill him at sea, or when they reached land, why bother giving him supplies? Rhianne must have negotiated this deal carefully.
The men climbed hurriedly up the ladder to the upper decks. Janto sat very still, hoping to avoid seasickness, though he knew it would be unavoidable once the ship left port. When his nausea subsided, he opened the sack. Clothes, a blanket, a block of soap wrapped in linen, and food—hardtack and dried meat. All would be useful things when he landed.
He was not enthusiastic about his destination. Several decades ago, the gods had cursed Dori, destroying its coastal cities with a massive sea wave and its inland cities with a volcanic eruption. People still lived there—one could see lights when passing by the shores of Dori at night. But few dared to land there, except to drop off exiles. Mosar had twice sent expeditions to Dori to see if there was anything worth recovering from that broken nation, but neither expedition had returned.
Still, Janto had his magic. He might survive the gods-cursed island better than most.
His questing fingers discovered something hard inside the blanket. He searched through the folds, located the item, and drew it out.
It was an alligator, about half the length of his hand and heavy for its size. Cast in bronze and painted, the creature was openmouthed, revealing teeth carved of onyx. Janto ran his finger across them. They were sharp. Tiny gemstone eyes glittered at him in the darkness.
He stared at it for a while, his eyes swelling with tears.
His stomach began to gurgle ominously. He lay down against the ship’s hull, pulled the blanket over him, and cradled the trinket against his heart.
27
Janto slept on and off for several days, weak and ill. His sleep was fitful and marred by discomfiting dreams. At first, the crew mocked him for his seasickness, but as he grew weaker, they became concerned. It seemed their orders required them to deliver him alive. They started bringing him a cup of broth several times a day.
A sailor named Bellus, delivering his morning broth, spotted the bronze alligator in Janto’s fist. “What’s that?” He snatched it up and ran his finger over the shiny onyx teeth. “Too nice a piece for a Mosari beast- worshipper.” He moved to pocket it.
Janto launched himself at Bellus. His fist glanced off the sailor’s jaw as the man scrambled out of range, leaving Janto to flail uselessly against his chains. “Give it back! Give it back, you jug-bitten, jack-scalded . . .” He couldn’t think of anything sufficiently insulting. Sirali would have had the words on the tip of her tongue.
Bellus laughed and held the alligator just out of Janto’s reach. He called to his mates who were rigging a pump nearby. “He’s not so weak now, neh? Look at him!”
“Give it back!” Janto roared.
“Give it to him, Bellus,” said one of the sailors at the pump.
“Why?”
“It’s a talisman,” said another of the men. “A good luck charm. You want to bring ill upon us near the gods- cursed island?”
Bellus pocketed the alligator. “If it’s a good luck charm, might as well be my luck, not his, neh?” He winked at Janto and climbed up the ladder.
Janto sank back against the ship’s hull.
But he already missed his alligator.
Janto awoke to screams in the night. He’d been dreaming of hunting rats. Kill! Kill! No. He shook his sleep- clogged head. That was Sashi’s dream, spilling over the link.
“Help! Oh gods, there’s blood everywhere!” came a yell from above.
As the fog of sleep cleared from his mind, he could sense his familiar’s movements. Sashi was scampering along the upper deck. Janto’s eyes went to the far wall just in time to see his ferret drop through a hole to the bottom level. Sashi bounded across the ship’s bottom, leaping over pools of bilge water. Chittering in triumph, he dropped the bronze alligator into Janto’s palm.
The trapdoor to the lower hold flew open, and three men stormed down the ladder. Sashi, invisible, scampered for his nest.
One of the sailors pointed at Janto. “There he is!” They ran toward him.
One man picked up Janto’s wrists, still manacled, and followed the chains back to the wall. “He’s chained. He couldn’t have done it.”
“Look!” cried another sailor. “The alligator. It’s in his hand!”
The men looked at it, gasped, and backed away.
“H-how’d you get that?” stammered one of them.
“I don’t know,” said Janto. “I woke up, and it was in my hand.”
Their faces paled. “Fucking gods-cursed Dori,” said one of the sailors. They retreated toward the ladder as if afraid to turn their backs on him, then climbed, casting frightened looks in his direction as they disappeared onto the upper deck.
Janto turned toward him.
Sashi bounded from his nest and looked up at Janto proudly. Clutched between his teeth was a ring of keys.
For the second night in a row, Janto awoke from a fitful sleep to screams. The ship was heeling frightfully.
Oh gods, were they under attack? Janto scrambled into a sitting position. On the decks over his head, men shouted above the roar of wind-filled sails and the creaks of stressed wood, but he could not make out the words. Through the cacophony came the whine of a cannonball. Janto clutched his knees and ducked his head, taking cover as best he could. The arc ended in a splash. Another cannonball whined, and he ducked his head again, waiting.
An explosion rocked the ship.
Janto slid to the full length of his chains, yelling as the floor tilted. Something struck him—a wooden crate. It ricocheted off him and slid to the other end of the ship.
His bag of supplies, which he’d wedged against the side of the hull, began to slide. He grabbed it. The supplies weren’t too important, but the keys Sashi had found for him were hidden in the bag. The floor was tilted
