Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(18)

They approached a particularly fine ship. A canoe likely a hundred fifty paces long and twenty paces across, with a cavernous reed-covered awning in the center that would keep the crew and cargo protected from the sun and winds of the open sea. Human figures moved about on the ship, securing goods and preparing the vessel to sail. Experience and her Teek eyesight allowed her to count the number of paddles on the side of the ship and, from that estimation, the size of her crew. At least twenty, but the ship could hold fifty bodies. She grinned. That was a lot of ship. She could already see the possibilities once this Tova run was done. With a ship like that, she could haul enough freight up and down the coast that in twelve years she was going to be very rich indeed.

Then she had met her crew, and it had all gone to hell.

“These are Pech’s men,” she murmured to Balam as she finally caught a full view of the workers. Well, not all of them. But there were five or six of the twenty whose faces were familiar, men she had done the last run up the coast with.

Balam smiled that way he had been smiling all morning. “Just like you, they were freshly out of work and the only crew I could find willing on such short notice. I had to pay handsomely for their services, but they are competent and, as you yourself know, experienced. They know the route to Tova—”

“—along the shoreline,” she said, cutting him off. “I thought we discussed taking to the open sea.”

“We did.”

“They won’t like it.” She thrust a chin toward a short, stocky man in a white workman’s skirt. “See him? That’s Callo. I don’t trust him or anyone he’s vouched for.” She unconsciously rubbed her thumb across her missing pinkie joint. It’s not that she thought these men would hurt her, hunt her for her bones or anything. After all, she had sailed with them before just days ago, and they’d given her no trouble. Except for that last day when Pech had come to the docks accusing her of sabotaging her own cargo. She had tried to explain that it was not her fault the quetzal feathers had molted, the honey had gone bad, and the salt had gotten wet. There was a leak in the ship, because all ships leaked at one point or another, and she had failed to notice in time to save her cargo. But she was sure the crew had something to do with that. She had taken on a new man in Huecha, a friend of Callo’s who came vouched for but had made the sign to ward off evil when he’d seen her eyes. She’d chosen to ignore it, trusted that Callo wouldn’t let someone dangerous on her ship, and part of her still believed that people could separate their personal prejudices and get the job done. She had been wrong.

She hadn’t noticed until Pech came aboard to inspect the cargo and found the ruined mess. She could have made an excuse, blamed the new man, called him out for suspected sabotage. But she hadn’t had the chance to even consider it. Pech had made up his mind already. He’d taken one look at her face, her eyes, to be exact, and declared her a half-Teek bitch. A saboteur herself, and up to no good.

“Why would I sabotage my own cargo?” she’d asked, incredulous.

“Why do Teek do anything?” he’d shot back at her. “Half-human means half-animal, and who knows why animals like you do what they do? Spite? Evil? Jealousy?”

“Jealousy?” She’d laughed, loudly and with gusto, and let her face show what she thought of piddling Lord Pech. In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have. He’d backhanded her, knuckles slicing across her cheek, and she’d shown him just what a half-Teek bitch could do.

He’d come up sputtering twenty feet out in the open harbor, yelling for someone to save him, and in the next breath, called for someone to have her arrested. She’d thrown another wave over his head and into his gullet just to shut him up. But she was no killer, and she’d let the waves push him to shallow water. And then she’d left her ship, her cargo, and her payment behind to go find a cantina and a beautiful woman and, eventually, a jail cell.

And then Lord Balam. And here.

Balam motioned Callo over with a wave, and the first mate dropped the rope he had been coiling and lumbered over. He was a short man, the same height as Xiala but twice as wide, and muscles bulged on his well-worked arms. His hair was black, tied back in a simple knot high on the back of his head. A white cloth headband circled his broad forehead, and he wiped sweat from eyes that Xiala thought of as wistful. He always looked sad to her, like life had not lived up to his expectations and he mourned the injustice. Callo might not have done the sabotage outright, but it was his man who had, she was sure, which made him partly responsible.

“My friend, whom I am paying well,” Balam said to the first mate, “you know our captain, yes? And there won’t be a problem, will there?”

Callo’s puppy eyes rolled across her, and he shrugged. “She’s a good captain for a…”

Xiala snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “For a woman? For a Teek?” she supplied. “Say it, Callo.”

He stared at her a moment before lowering his gaze. “Women don’t belong on boats. That’s what the old ones say. They are cold and draw the storms. But then, you’re not a woman, are you? A female, maybe, but not a woman.”

“Mother waters, is that what you whisper about me? That I’m not even human?” She balled her hands into fists and reached for her Song. It came to her like a dark swirl rising up from the depths of a whirlpool and rested ready on her tongue. It occurred to her that using her Song might prove him right, but in the moment, she didn’t care.