Fable (Fable #1)(28)
I swallowed the hot tea, and it burned in my throat. Silence fell on the table and the crew shot glances at one another before they looked at me. My cheeks flushed hot under the weight of West’s stare.
So, he did know what happened at the coral islands. Or at least, he had a hunch. And he wanted them to know it.
It wouldn’t be the first time traders misbehaved out from under the watch of their helmsman, but this crew was different. They knew their places, and the rivalry I’d seen on other ships didn’t seem to exist on the Marigold.
West looked to each of them as he took another sip, and I could see by the way they dropped their gazes that the message had gotten across.
Paj muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t hear, and Auster set two fingers on his arm to silence him before he dropped it. My lips stilled on the rim of my cup, watching Auster set the hand into his lap. Because it wasn’t the cool brush of a shipmate in an unspoken message. He’d touched him … softly.
I pretended not to notice, slathering a thick layer of butter from the dish onto a piece of bread and taking a bite. Maybe West and Willa weren’t the only ones on the Marigold who were more than shipmates.
We ate in silence until the morning bell at the docks rang out in the distance, signaling the opening of the merchant’s house. The crew stood in unison, chairs scraping as they buttoned up their jackets, and I drained my cup of tea before I followed them to the heavy wooden doors.
West led the way, walking ahead of the others with long strides through the foggy streets of Dern. His blond hair looked even lighter in the morning mist, the twisting strands peeking out from under the cap pulled low over his eyes.
We weren’t the only ones moving to the east end of the village. From every direction, it seemed, bodies were funneling toward the merchant’s house that sat at the corner of the docks. It looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen it, though I was never allowed inside. I’d only ever waited in the harbor while my father’s crew traded.
We ducked under the low doorframe and into the smoky light of the warehouse. It was already packed with hucksters and merchants, each with their own stall made of scrap wood and torn canvas. A sharp whistle rang out, and West’s head turned toward it, searching the rows for Hamish. He waved us over, and we followed West, pushing through the warm bodies to the other side of the wide room.
“Saltblood bastards,” Willa muttered, glaring as a trader in a velvet-trimmed coat crossed our path.
The crews from the Unnamed Sea were easy to pick out, the same way their ships were. Neat, trimmed hair, scrubbed skin, and fine clothes. There was an easiness about them that looked as if they’d never had to steal, cheat, or lie to get by. It was the reason people thought Saltbloods were too soft for life in the Narrows.
The goods the crew had unloaded from the Marigold were all laid out, and Hamish’s jacket bulged at his hips, where coin purses dangled from his belt. West gave him the ledgers and they exchanged a few quick words before we headed to the southeast corner of the merchant’s house.
A hand found the sleeve of my jacket, pulling me past the others, and West leaned down, speaking under his breath. “Stay close to me.”
Merchants shouted over one another, their hands in the air, but West walked past them until he reached a man who looked as if he was waiting for us.
“You’re a day late,” he grumbled, his eyes wandering over us until they landed on Hamish.
“Storm got us in late to our last port,” West answered and I studied him. His mouth hadn’t even twitched as he spoke the lie. They hadn’t been late to Jeval. They were never late. But we had taken a detour by going to the coral islands.
West held one hand out in front of him and Hamish pulled a small coin pouch from his jacket, setting it into West’s palm. “Two hundred and sixty-five coppers.” West held the purse out to the man.
The merchant’s face was stone. “That’s it?”
West leaned into the table, ready to argue. “The cider doesn’t sell at other ports as well as it does here. You know that.”
“Or you’re pocketing my profit.” The man glared at Hamish, tapping his merchant’s ring against the table. It was set with the striped tiger’s eye of the Rye Guild.
West leveled his gaze at the man, and the room suddenly seemed louder around us. “You don’t trust us to sell for you, hire someone else.” He turned to walk away, pushing back through the crowd.
“Wait.” The man sighed. “Two crates to the Marigold,” he muttered to another man standing behind him. “But don’t think that what you did in Sowan isn’t gettin’ round. Rumors have been pouring in the last three days.”
West stilled, the cool fa?ade of his face wavering for just a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Paj and Willa met eyes behind West’s back, and Paj took a step closer to him, his hand resting on his belt, beside his knife.
The man leaned in, his voice lowering. “We stick together here in Dern. You try to pull something like that here, and you’ll wish it was the sea demons who got their hands on you.”
West’s eyes lifted slowly. “Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The merchant smiled, pulling back a spread of burlap to reveal the crates of cider, and West gave a nod in approval. The man’s attention travelled over to Willa, and he seemed to pause when he saw the burn that streaked up and out of her collar. “Heard you met some trouble, Willa.”