Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(23)

“What are you saying?” Ann asked.

I’m saying I don’t like this at all. It’s not the kind of piracy we signed up for.

“I don’t like it either,” Ann said. “But it’s too late to change our minds. This is better than getting conscripted, at least.”

Is it though? Is it really? I didn’t want those people’s deaths on my shoulders, Ann.

Ann didn’t respond. Finally, she stood up straight and walked toward the door. Tress felt a moment of panic, not wanting to be discovered eavesdropping, and scurried back into the head.

Tress listened to Ann leave up the steps outside. “What do you make of that, Huck?” she whispered.

“Don’t know,” he said. “Sounds like they didn’t intend to sink the Oot’s Dream, which makes sense. But after the first cannonball broke through the hull and started the ship going down, the pirates must have decided to finish the job.”

Tress nodded, although she didn’t know what to think about all of this.

“They’re still culpable though,” Huck added. “What did they think would happen, turning pirate and attacking? They can’t simply decide to be sad for killing someone after trying to rob them. These pirates are outlaws now, Tress.”

“Doesn’t sound fair,” she said. “The king would hang the quartermaster even if he didn’t fire the cannon?”

“The law is clear. Felony murder rule, to be precise. Commit a crime and someone dies? That’s murder. Even if you weren’t intending it. The royal navy will be hunting this lot—and we’d best not be on board when they get caught. Just in case the officials don’t believe you’re a captive.”

It was a wise suggestion. This ship was a death trap—either the captain would eventually tire of her, or she’d end up dead in the inevitable fighting. She had a job to do in saving Charlie, and couldn’t waste time.

But how to escape? She couldn’t exactly jump overboard. Plus, her dry throat warned her that she had other more immediate concerns. If the captain wouldn’t let her eat, she wouldn’t live long enough to escape.

She snuck over to the quartermaster’s room again and glanced in to see that the large man had turned his back toward the door. He was arranging things in his many trunks and boxes behind the counter. Could she steal something to eat? Or perhaps Huck could do it for her? She glanced at him.

“What?” he asked loudly.

Tress glared at him, making a shushing motion.

“I think he’s deaf,” Huck said. “When I was prowling earlier, I heard someone mention that the quartermaster couldn’t hear.”

Indeed, Fort continued his work, still facing away from them. He didn’t notice them talking.

“I met a deaf human once,” Huck said. “She was a dancer, and one of the best under the moons—best I’d seen, anyway. I was enjoying the time with her, but it ended up getting interrupted in a rather abrupt way. Which is a shame, but things happen. I also couldn’t afford to talk to her, since—you know, things relating to who and what I am. Didn’t want to reveal myself.”

“Maybe,” Tress suggested, “this would be another good time to not talk. Unless you want one of the pirates to realize they have a potentially sellable loquacious rat on board.”

“Yeah, good point,” he said. “It’s just, I spent all those weeks hiding on the smuggler ship before they grabbed me. Got kind of lonely. It’s good to have someone to chat with…”

She glanced at him.

“…which I’ll stop doing now.”

Tress moved to leave—but as she did so, one of the boards creaked underfoot. Fort spun immediately in her direction, then narrowed his eyes as he saw her. He might not have been able to hear, but every quartermaster I’ve ever known has a kind of sixth sense for when people are sneaking around near their goods.

Beneath the enormous man’s glare, Tress felt like bolting. But he had been the one who’d pulled her up onto the deck. She stood in place instead, until he raised his strange board from the counter.

Come here, girl, it read.

It wouldn’t do any good to run. So, feeling like she was entering the dragon’s den, Tress entered the room.





THE QUARTERMASTER





Fort looked her up and down, rubbing his chin with thick fingers. Finally, he tapped the back of his board and words appeared for her.

You have a name?

“Tress, sir.”

And are you truly a royal inspector?

“I…” Tress swallowed. “No. The coat doesn’t belong to me. I stole it.”

You’re a pirate now, Fort wrote. What you steal IS what belongs to you.

“I’m not a pirate,” she said.

You are so long as you want to keep breathing, Fort wrote. Don’t tell anyone you don’t intend to join us. That sort of talk gets a person tossed overboard.

Tress nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Don’t call me sir. I left that title behind a long time ago. My name is Fort. Anyone feed you yet?

In response, her stomach growled. She shook her head.

Fort leaned below his counter, then came up with a plate, the thin ceramic edge held between the first two fingers of his hand. Earlier, she’d thought he would lack dexterity due to his fingers—which looked like they’d each been broken in several places, then allowed to heal without splints. Yet he managed quite well. Some actions took more effort, and his hands did tremble, but he was obviously capable, even if he had to do things differently from other people.