The Abyss Surrounds Us (The Abyss Surrounds Us #1)(12)

As an afterthought, I carve off a slice of the rapidly disintegrating cake that teeters near the edge of the table. The words Welcome to Paradise are scrawled atop it in elegant handwriting. It was supposed to commemorate our first island stop—I remember sneaking a peek in the kitchen the night before Dur—

I rein in my thoughts before they get out of hand and follow Swift to a small table where the four other lackeys sit. She shoves Varma across the bench, and I slide in after her.

“Gonna introduce us?” he asks. He flashes me an easy smile. At this range I can finally tell that the smear of ink on his cheekbone makes the shape of a small fish.

“God’s sake, Varma—you’ve already met. Cassandra, these other losers are Code, Lemon, and Chuck,” Swift says through a mouthful of food.

I recognize Code as the boy who spoke out when I wouldn’t. Chuck’s a heavyset Islander girl with what looks like engine grease patterning her bare arms. Lemon’s all skin and bones in contrast. She twitches when Code leans over her to swipe a slice of bread off Swift’s tray.

Swift catches his hand, and I notice the Minnow tattoo across his index finger. “Son of a bitch,” she growls. “I can’t even sit down for two seconds with you people.” She squeezes hard, and Code yelps while the rest of the table collapses into raucous laughter.

They’re a lot friendlier than I thought they’d be, and for a moment I catch myself hoping that their camaraderie will win out over their ambition. Swift’s relaxed around them—she still postures and pushes, but there’s a genuine spark in her eyes as she ribs at the other lackeys. Could it be that she actually trusts them? Only one of them can captain the ship someday, and these five are in the running for some reason or another. There’s something in each of them that Santa Elena finds valuable.

Which means there’s something in each of them that’s dangerous.

But it’s so hard to see them as a threat when they’re like this. They’re just a bunch of teenagers joking around, tossing food back and forth like they’re in a high school cafeteria instead of the galley of a pirate ship.

On the shore, we measure pirate lives in the percentages posted every time a Reckoner takes down a ship. Seventy-six percent dead. Forty-three percent dead. The gauge of a beast’s effectiveness. Durga died with an eighty-three percent average. Or something slightly less, since in her last fight she batted a solid zero. But on this ship, the monsters we created our Reckoners to fight against have faces and smiles and souls—and that makes them even worse.

And these five are the same age as me. I wonder where they all came from, what choices and circumstances drove them to a pirate ship. For most of them, I have no clue. There’s some sort of inside joke circulating the table about Chuck being a runaway princess, the daughter of an Islander millionaire, but there’s no way of confirming if it’s based on fact without inserting myself into the conversation. And if two Reckoners are interacting, you never get between them.

It isn’t until Chuck’s curious eye settles on me that I get dragged into the discussion. “Hey, pet project, where you from?” she asks, and Swift shifts uncomfortably, her spine rigid.

“The Southern Republic of California,” I say after a moment’s pause.

“Proper SRCese shoregirl,” Swift sniffs.

I don’t dare correct her. It means nothing to this bunch that I’ve spent my whole life with one foot in the sea. They’re so narrow that it makes me want to scream, but I just avert my gaze and shovel another bite of roast into my mouth.

“What’re you doing being a trainer on a vessel like that bucket, then?” Code chuckles. “You’re a friggin’ kid like the rest of us.”

I hesitate again. I don’t know how much to give him—I know every word is a weapon that could just as easily be turned against me. “Grew up doing it,” I finally say. The fact that this was my first solo mission can wait. It weakens me in their eyes, and I know I’m weak enough to start. I want them to underestimate me, but I won’t be a joke to them. And I don’t need Swift to have any less faith in me than she already does.

Code nods, satisfied. “You’re quieter than Lemon on a good day, ain’t you?”

In the blink of an eye, Lemon snatches her knife off her tray and turns it on Code, her lip trembling.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Varma yelps, lunging across the table and latching onto her wrist. “Lemon, look at me. Look at me. Code’s a worthless piece of shit—it doesn’t matter. Look at me.”

As he tries to calm the other lackey, Swift grabs me by the arm and hauls me off the bench. “It only gets worse from here,” she mutters into my ear.

I was only halfway done with my food. I make a mental note to pay more attention to eating and less attention to the company next time. Swift pulls me to the galley’s hatch and clambers out of it. I follow, regretting how easy it is to just go wherever she pulls my leash.

Once we’re out in the quiet of the hall, her brow furrows. “Captain didn’t specify where you’re supposed to sleep,” she muses.

Swift’s thought process is practically etched across her face. She knows I can’t be stowed in the crew quarters or anywhere else where someone could get to me. If there’s a chance the other lackeys might kill me just to sabotage her, she needs to put a locked door between me and them. But the last time she left me locked away in a closet by myself, I nearly got away with taking that pill. There’s no way she’ll risk me finding another way to off myself.