Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(18)

Next, Destin took his investigation to town. At the dock boss’s office, he introduced himself as Denis Rocheford, pretending he was looking for a pilot. A sharp-faced man named Kadar suggested several prospects. When Destin inquired about Lucky Faris, saying he’d heard good things about the young captain, Kadar had informed him that Faris was an ungrateful, greedy, unreliable bastard he should steer clear of.

Destin knew that wasn’t true—whatever Faris was, he wasn’t lazy. But clearly Kadar wasn’t sending any work Faris’s way.

An investigative trip to Deepwater Court proved more fruitful. There Destin learned that the empress in the north was offering a very large reward for the live delivery of a particular sixteen-year-old boy who might be using the name Evan Strangward. The boy was described as a weather mage and sailor with hair like flax, streaks of silver and blue, and sea-green eyes. Well, not those words exactly, but the message was clear. Destin had noticed that Faris always wore a watch cap when he went to town, even in hot weather. Destin noticed everything.

So the pirate had secrets—a past he was holding close. Secrets could be useful—in particular those you know about somebody else.

Why would the empress be offering such a large reward for a pirate without a ship? Then he answered his own question. Because he’s a weather mage—called a “stormcaster” along the Desert Coast. A stormcaster whose skills were improving under Destin’s tutelage. Destin credited practice with the amulet more than any instruction he was able to give. He found himself scheming to somehow acquire an amulet for Faris, even though that might leave a trail that could be followed back to Tarvos.

With some questions answered, Destin continued slipping off to town on his own. He was putting together a plan—a legacy of sorts. He discussed it with his mother, but only the part he knew she’d approve of. She’d signed on immediately. One morning, he invited Faris to go with him into town.

“You want me . . . to go into town . . . with you?” It was no wonder the pirate was surprised. Now that his leg had healed, Destin often spent days away from the cottage, but never invited Faris along.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

They left the horse and wagon at a livery and walked down to the harbor front. Faris went to meet with whomever he always met with, while Destin searched out his contact at the boatyard and made final plans.

When Faris returned from his meeting, it was clear from his expression that there was no good news.

“Nothing?” Destin said.

“Nothing,” Faris said, jaw set, green eyes glittering with anger. “It seems I’m going to have to find another port to sail from.”

Faris had not shared any details so far, and Destin hadn’t asked, but now seemed to be the time. “What’s the problem?” he said.

“I’ve pissed off the dock boss,” Faris said. “Now he won’t give me any work.”

“What did you do?”

“I refused to be cheated. So he’s teaching me a lesson.”

“You cheeky bastard,” Destin said, with a thin smile. “Here, come with me. I have something to show you that might cheer you up.”

Looking mystified, Faris followed Destin to the far end of the harbor. There, in one of the slips, lay a ruin of a ship—an ancient ketch that had seen hard times. It had been there since before Destin and his mother arrived in Tarvos. He’d tracked down the owner, who had owned the slip she occupied since before Kadar came to town. He’d refused to sell his dock space, because then he would have to make a decision about this ship that had belonged to his father and was named after his dead sister Ariya. He couldn’t bring himself to beach and break the old ship, but he might consider selling her for the right price.

Destin knew for a fact that her hull was intact. He’d paid off the watch, who’d allowed him to climb inside and inspect her from bow to stern. He didn’t know much about ships, but he knew quite a bit about construction. Her deck, however, was a disaster. At some point, the ship had caught fire. Though the blaze had been confined above decks, it had charred the masts, the rigging, and the quarterdeck.

“Captain Faris,” Destin said, running his hand along the mooring line with studied nonchalance. “What do you think of this ship?”

Faris stared at it, hands on hips. “That’s not a ship,” he said finally, “that is a cautionary tale.” He looked up at Destin. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m thinking of buying it,” Destin said, his confidence already dwindling. “I’ve not signed papers yet, and no money has changed hands, so if you—”

“What would you do with a ship?”

“I thought—” Destin cleared his throat. “I thought we could work on it together. You built a barn under my supervision. I could build a ship under yours.”

“And then what?” the pirate persisted, staring at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to peer through his skin to the soul inside.

Pirates don’t have plans, Destin thought, exasperated. Soldiers and engineers have plans. “I hoped that once she was seaworthy, you’d sign on as captain and partner.” There. He’d said it. He waited, pretending to watch the frigate birds circling the harbor.

Faris turned away from the ship and faced Destin. “Partner?”

“You provide expertise and labor, and I provide the capital. We split the profits.”