Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(21)

“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.





9


DESTINY


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 practiced deceiver.

Frances lowered her voice. “I’ve lost so much. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Trust me, I have no intention of risking my life, my investment, and six months of hard work by sailing an untried vessel across the ocean. Especially with me as crew.”

Frances kept gazing at him until he said, with a flicker of irritation, “Mother, please. Let’s get this ship properly launched before she grows a crop of barnacles sitting here at the dock.”

Destin had asked Evan to name their new ship.

“It’s your ship,” Evan had protested. “You should name it.”

Destin shook his head. “No. It’s your ship. You’re the master. Frances and I are just the money.”

“We could name it ‘The Frances,’” Evan suggested.

“If we’re going to have a fleet,” Destin said. “We need names that will connect them together.”

We’re going to have a fleet? And then, we’re going to have a fleet? That sounded like a promise of sorts.

Evan thought a moment. “Destiny,” he said.

“Destiny?” Destin scowled. “You cannot name it after me.”

“I didn’t,” Evan said. “That’s a good name for a ship, and it opens up lots of possibilities for other ships. Alacrity. Temerity. Mutiny.” When Destin kept scowling, he said, “You were the one who wanted me to name it.”

Evan set out the tools for the ceremony—a curved Carthian blade, a small cask of wine, and a large silver cup, provided by Frances, emblazoned with an elaborate C. He ran his thumb over the engraving. Was that their initial? Destin C.? That was as far as he could go. Evan wasn’t all that familiar with wetland names.

“Are you sure about the cup?” Evan asked, for the third or fourth time.

Frances shrugged. “I have no need of silver cups these days,” she said. Then, eyeing the blade, she said, “I hope you don’t plan to sacrifice a goat and make us drink the blood. The goats, I need.”