Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(2)

It was the first cruelty Captain Zharo had shown her. When she had set foot on the Brackish’s deck seven years ago, the man had looked her over, unimpressed, and said, “Who you are and where you came from don’t matter. Your name’s Silverfish now, and you’ll be thankful for it.”

She had once thought that beatings were the worst punishment the captain could dole out, but now she better understood what had happened that day, the same thing that happened whenever a new child was brought on board. The captain stripped them all of their names, their lives, everything that made them people.

Because to him, they weren’t people. They were bugs, easily squashed under his heel.

Captain Zharo let Weevil go at last, forcing the boy to scramble for a hold on the railing. As Weevil slumped with relief onto the deck, Zharo went back to the debt board. With a single motion, he erased Weevil’s sum with an aggressive swipe of his sleeve, the chalk screeching as he increased the amount by two weeks. Then he picked up the abandoned hardtack and shoved it in his own mouth, crumbs spilling onto his beard as he grinned at Weevil and continued on his patrol.

Silverfish lowered her head, puncturing the soft underbelly of the sturgeon she held. She scraped out the red globules of its insides and flung them into the metal pail before her, some of the warm ichor seeping into the open sores on her hands. In the water, the fish’s blood turned purple.

The Water Bugs were no better than the contents of that bucket: useless, repellent, easily dumped. She glanced at the end of the line at Beetle, who was still trying not to cry.

Silverfish knew better than to get involved. After a few more days of this, she would leave this festering ship for good.

Beetle whimpered loudly now. She hadn’t hardened yet, but she would. She would have to.

What’ll the captain do if he comes to shut her up?

Cursing again, Silverfish threw the sturgeon’s carcass into the bucket with the rest she’d gutted and moved down the line. Without a word, she crouched beside the girl and grabbed the next fangfish out of her still-full pail, swiping the knife up along its belly. Beetle’s whimpers died down to harsh little gasps as she caught her breath. They worked in silence for a while, and Silverfish was content to keep it that way.

Then came a voice, small and broken, from beneath all that wet hair and snot.

“Will you tell me about Moray? You used to live there, didn’t you?”

Silverfish nearly dropped her blade. It had been a long time since she’d heard the name of her city spoken out loud. She tried hard not to even think it. Memories had a way of creeping up on you if you let your guard down, of taking you by the throat and refusing to let go.

Beetle was waiting for her to go on, her eyes wide and frightened and eager for escape. She was tempted to tell the girl that it was better to simply forget the past and everything you were before.

Silverfish took a deep breath.

“I remember walking by golden, columned buildings. Those might have been the banks in the Business Sector, or maybe the Widow Vaults.” She found that once she started talking, the memories, hazy as they were, became insistent. “There were gardens, too, filled with ferns and palms and trees that dropped fruit when they were ripe and heavy. My mother and I would take the bananas, mangoes, and papayas from them for our breakfast. And the water of the bay is beautiful. It’s blue and clear, and you can see the coral and fish beneath.”

Beetle’s eyes were faraway, her lips parted. “Da used to tell me he’d take me there one day,” she whispered. “Soon as he got the money to.”

Silverfish instantly regretted saying anything. Beetle had only just begun her seven years, and Silverfish was already filling her head with images of a life beyond this ship. Part of her wanted to keep the hope alive in this girl, this tiny flicker of the future. Another part wanted to douse it with seawater, to make her realize that this was now her only reality: blood, guts, and fear.

Debt ruled on both land and sea. Silverfish knew they could never likely escape it.

Beetle’s face was red, but her eyes were shining. “You’re going home soon, aren’t you?”

Home. Back to Moray, to her mother, to everything she had forgotten while trapped on this gray expanse of a prison. Would her mother even recognize her? It had been so long since she was truly Amaya. Would her mother see the girl who used to sing to her rag dolls, who used to leave an offering of milk and herbs for the gods, who used to curl up to sleep beside her? Or would she only see Silverfish, a stranger with deadened eyes and blood crusted under her fingernails? She supposed she would find out in a few days’ time.

“Yes,” she said, blinking. “I’ll go back.”

The small, quivering smile Beetle gave Silverfish lasted only a second, but it was enough. She had done the right thing. She had done the Amaya thing.

Then a shout pierced through the air:

“Man in the water!”

Silverfish joined the Bugs who scurried to the railing, many of them still holding their knives. She saw him within a moment: a dark shape bobbing as he tried to stay above the surface of the frothing water. She ran down to the middeck, where the rest of the Bugs were crowding the starboard railing, and squeezed in next to Roach.

Captain Zharo was already yelling at them to get back to work, his hand straying toward his pistol as if itching for an excuse to put a few holes in them.

“There’s a person in the water!” one of the Bugs cried.