Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(40)

Tress settled down on the deck in front of him, catching his attention. “What’s up with Ann and the cannons?” Tress asked. “I thought she was the ship’s assistant cannonmaster.”

Suppose she still is, Fort wrote. Didn’t ever officially get removed from the post. She won’t be firing guns anytime soon though.

Tress’s breath caught. “What did she do?” she whispered, leaning in.

Are you whispering? Fort wrote back.

“Um…yes.”

That’s cute.

“Ann. Are you going to tell me about her or not?”

What will you trade me for the information?

“Do we have to negotiate every time, Fort?” Tress asked. “Can’t we just chat like friends?”

But the negotiation is the fun part! he wrote. It’s what tells me about you. What you’re willing to give up, what you value. Come on. Doesn’t it excite you to try to find the best deal?

“I…don’t really know.”

What will you tell me to get me to talk about Ann? Information for information. You’re distracting me from repairing these socks, you know. I can’t sew and watch the board at the same time. So you owe me.

“But I don’t know anything interesting to trade.”

Oh? And why are you here? What possessed a nice girl from a small town to steal an inspector’s coat and go out pretending to be a pirate?

She leaned in, speaking softly despite what he’d said before. “My ignorance is that obvious?”

Girl, if you’d been sailing the spore sea for longer than a week before we found you, I’ll eat my own cooking. So why are you out here?

“I’m looking for someone,” she said. “Someone dear to me.”

Ah, Fort wrote. So you’re searching the seas, like Salay. Hoping that at each new port, you’ll at last find the sock that… He deleted that part. Sorry. Board isn’t always good at predicting. You’re hoping to find that PERSON you’ve lost.

Tress glanced across the ship toward the helmswoman, who stood as sturdy as the masts, fixed in her place on the quarterdeck, both hands gripping the ship’s wheel. As usual, her dark eyes were fixated on the horizon with the kind of intense expression people reserved for only the most important of tasks, like finding the last piece of unopened candy in a bag full of wrappers.

She hunted relentlessly for her father. In the face of Salay’s confident determination, Tress’s own quest seemed laughable.

“It’s…not really the same,” Tress told Fort. “Salay has no idea where she’ll find her father. I know exactly where Charlie is.”

Fort nudged her a moment later. Oh? he’d written. Just need to save up some money to get to him, then?

“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” she said. “The Sorceress has him. Attacked his ship. Took him captive.”

Fort’s shoulders slumped. Oh, he wrote. I’m sorry.

“Yeah. I barely have any idea what I’m doing, Fort. But I have to reach him.” She grimaced. “I said I’ll likely never reach the Midnight. That was kind of a lie. I’m determined to get there. Somehow.”

If the Sorceress attacked his ship, he’s dead. I’m sorry. You should probably move on.

“He’s alive,” Tress said. “She asked for a ransom from the king to free Charlie. I thought…maybe I could make enough money to convince the king to pay it.”

Tress, Fort wrote, the Sorceress doesn’t ask for money as ransom. She asks for souls, usually from the royal bloodline. Mere money would never satisfy her.

Tress blushed, feeling like an utter lunatic. She’d already realized that she wouldn’t be able to pay his way free, but still, the depth of her ignorance was disturbing. Like a fish trying very hard to jump out of its tank in order to escape, she’d been trying to solve a problem before stopping to wonder if she even understood her situation.

Look, if this Charlie was kept for ransom, he’s likely a nobleman. Right?

“Yes,” Tress whispered.

That lot don’t care about people like us, Fort wrote. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. You’d best move on.

“Maybe,” Tress said.

Well, you gave me information. Only fair that I give you what you wanted. I can tell you about Ann.

“I didn’t tell you anything important, Fort,” Tress said. “You don’t have to take that in trade.”

Ah, he wrote. But the information about Ann is barely worth anything. Everyone knows it. You’d have found out soon anyway.

“You acted like it was some big secret!” Tress said.

No. I just asked what you wanted to trade. He grinned, poking her in the arm with a knuckle, then continued writing. Don’t look indignant. Revealing your emotions makes it easier for people to get a good deal out of you. That one is free.

Ann was given the job of assistant cannonmaster because she asked for it after the last one died. But no one thought to have her fire one of the blasted things first.

“And…?” Tress asked.

That woman has worse aim than a drunk man riding a three-legged llama, Fort wrote. She once fired a pistol at a target, but managed to nearly hit ME—and I was standing next to her. The first time she manned the cannon, her aim was so far off, the only thing NOT in danger was her target.