Below, men were still thrashing in the water next to the pier. But some had swum to the dock and were climbing up the pilings. Spitting like cats, they hauled themselves up onto the planking on the shore side of the gap. One man lay groaning on the dock, gushing blood, his left leg gone below the knee.
Evan’s stomach flipped. He’d seen his share of bloodshed while crewing for Strangward, but always at a distance. Now he’d been two years away from it, and it seemed that his thick skin had been sandpapered away.
Destin surveyed the scene, eyes narrowed, as if tallying up the score in a game of nicks and bones. When he looked up and saw Evan’s stricken expression, he grunted. “This is what it takes to survive, Pirate. These are the stakes in the game we’re playing.”
By the time everyone who hadn’t drowned was out of the water, there were only six men milling about, soaked and unhappy, from the swearing that was going on. None of them went back into the water to look for the missing. Nobody seemed particularly eager to continue the mission, either.
Finally, one of them raised his club and shouted, “Come on, boys. Let’s break her up.”
They split up, each man claiming one of the hawsers. The first man gripped the line and began to climb; but, halfway up, he shrieked and let go, flailing, and dropping back onto the dock with a bloodcurdling crunch. Two more ended up back in the water, screaming in pain.
“What’s that called again?” Destin peered through the railing, surveying the chaos below.
“Sea nettle,” Evan said. “It’s a kind of jellyfish. The tentacles deliver a really nasty sting, even days after they are detached. Some of the healers use them, but personally, I’d rather die.”
The dockside raiders had seen enough. Collecting their wounded, they stampeded back up the pier and disappeared into the twisty streets surrounding the harbor.
“Ruthless,” Destin said, raising his glass.
“Ruthless,” Evan said, and drank deeply, his mind in turmoil. He’d been on his own since he was a ten-year, and nobody would describe his life on the harbor front as sheltered. But he felt like a temple novice next to Destin Karn. Evan didn’t know his story—not yet, anyway—but clearly the wetland soldier had lessons to teach him about survival in a brutal world.
Was that what made the soldier so attractive—the sense that nothing was off the table?
There was one more attempt on the ketch, which they repelled once again. That same night, the newly refurbished New Moon caught fire and burned to the waterline. The next morning, Evan and Destin walked down the quay to where Kadar stood glaring at the smoking hull.
“Too bad,” Evan said. “She was a fine ship.” He shook his head sadly. “What’s the world coming to?”
“What the hell do you mean?” Kadar said, looking him up and down.
“Last night, for the second time, somebody attacked our ship, too,” Evan said. “And now this.” He gestured toward the New Moon. “Do you think it’s the same people?”
Kadar was momentarily speechless, which was a fine thing.
“Look,” Destin said. “I might own the mooring, but it seems to me that, as dock boss, you should provide better security.”
“Go suck the Breaker’s balls,” Kadar said, regaining his voice and demonstrating his usual eloquence.
“It’s to your advantage to make sure there are no more incidents,” Destin said. His gaze swept over the ruins of the New Moon, and across the array of ships in the harbor and buildings at dockside. “This whole harbor could go up if it were to catch fire.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all,” Destin said, looking him in the eye. “I’m the one that’s asking you to make sure there will be no more problems.”
Kadar, a muscle working in his jaw, stood with his eyes locked on Evan for a long moment. Was it a threat, a promise, or an acknowledgment of defeat? It was impossible to tell. The dock boss turned on his heel and walked away.
Kadar hadn’t said yes, and he hadn’t said no, but there were no more incidents at the pier.
9DESTINY
When the day arrived for freeing the ship, Frances, Evan, and Destin took a wagon laden with provisions down to the waterfront. Breaker rode along, curled up in Destin’s lap as if he knew they were going somewhere and didn’t want to be left behind.
We’re only going to be gone three days, Evan thought, shouldering a bag of lentils and carrying it up the gangway while Destin rolled casks of water and wine on board. Evan was used to a shipboard diet of hardtack and salt pork.
When the provisions kept coming, he spoke up. “With just the two of us, we’re going to have to focus on sailing, not cooking,” he said. Especially when one of us is as green as grass. “You’ve packed enough to take us to Baston Bay and back.”
With that, Frances stopped in her tracks and swung round to face her son, who all but ran into her. “You’re not planning to do something reckless, are you? Is that what this is all about?”
For what seemed like a long time, they looked at each other, silent messages rippling through the space between them. Obviously, this was a follow-up to conversations Evan had not been privy to.
“Of course not, Mother,” Destin said. “As least nothing more reckless than setting sail in a ship built by a pirate and a sword-dangler.”
As if unconvinced, she turned to Evan. “Promise me you’ll stay on this side of the Indio,” she said, gripping both his hands. “Don’t let him talk you into going farther. Promise me you’ll be back in three days.”
Evan, uneasy at being put in the middle, looked from Frances to Destin. “I’m planning on three days,” he said. “This ship needs a larger crew for a crossing, even with the changes Destin’s made.”
“Listen to him, Destin,” Frances said. “He’s the expert.”
“Of course he is,” Destin said, in the soothing voice of the
