Fable (Fable #1)(33)
West’s eyes were still on the horizon.
He knew how to measure the clouds against the surface of the water and calculate the pull of the wind. Any decent helmsman would. He could see what I saw—that it would blow in fast and dark, churning up the water and forcing the ship closer to shore than it should be. It wouldn’t last long, though. And the Marigold was small. If she was in deep enough water, the southwest winds wouldn’t push her too far.
As soon as I thought it, West tilted the helm, adjusting it just slightly.
Auster climbed down to the dock to release the heaving lines, and as soon as he was on the ladder, we were drifting into the cove. The wind caught the sails, pushing us out quickly, and Paj found a place beside West.
“How long?” I asked, watching the coastline pull away.
“Two days,” Paj answered.
I wrapped my arm around the shrouds bolted into the deck and leaned into them, closing my eyes as the wind picked up. When the faint whisper of someone’s eyes brushed my skin, I looked back to the village, where a figure stood at the end of the dock. The length of Zola’s black coat blew around him in the wind, his gaze taut as he watched us sail away.
SIXTEEN
I could feel the seafloor pull away from us as we made our way into deeper water. A silence had fallen over the Marigold, everyone busy with securing the new inventory from Dern below deck before the winds hit.
Hamish and West worked over ledgers by lantern light while Auster and Paj sorted crates and barrels, organizing what would come off the ship in Ceros and what would be taken on to Sowan.
Willa was perched at the top of the mainmast, leaning back into her sling and keeping an eye on the storm creeping toward us. I climbed the pegs, finding a place to sit in the riggings beside her. My bare feet dangled out in the air, and I watched the lightning in the distance, tangling like tree roots. From that high, it looked like we were sailing through the clouds, the thick mist hugging around the ship and hiding the water.
“Looks like it might be bad,” she said, softly.
But by the look of the sky, we both knew what was coming. It would be violent, but it would be swift. “I think so.”
Willa was quiet for a long time before she spoke again. “Where’d you learn how to do that? With the gems.”
I propped myself against the mast, trying to read her. She looked genuinely curious. “I’m a dredger.”
“I’ve never seen a dredger spot a fake like that.”
“I’m just good with gems.” I shrugged.
She laughed, giving up. “I’d keep that to myself if I were you.”
I smiled. “That’s what West said.”
“Well, he’s right.” She picked at the rope beneath her with the tip of her finger. “How’d you wind up out there? On Jeval?”
An ache lit in the center of my chest. “What do you mean?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. How do any of us end up where we are?”
Another strike of lightning lit the black sky, a little closer this time. “Whatever you had to do to survive,” she spoke quietly, “it will be worse in the Narrows. Harder.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do.” She sighed.
“You think I should have stayed on Jeval.”
“I don’t know. But you’ll find out soon enough.”
A loud knock sounded below, and Willa sat up, hooking an arm into the lines so she could lean forward. West was standing at the base of the mainmast, looking up at her. A long chisel was clutched in his hand and behind him, Paj and Auster were carrying a large crate down from the quarterdeck.
As soon as she saw his face, Willa stood on the boom. “What’s wrong?” she shouted.
But he didn’t answer. He looked at her for another long moment as they set the crate down behind him.
“What is he doing?” I tilted forward, trying to see.
We both watched as he fit the end of the chisel beneath the edge of the lid, prying it up. The wood popped, and Willa pulled the hair back from her face, squinting. West freed the other end, and the chisel hit the deck with a loud ping as he dragged the lid toward him.
Willa gasped, almost losing her balance in the ropes as she pressed a shaking hand to her open mouth.
Below, the crisp, white moonlight fell on the open crate, where a man with wide eyes peered up at us from a bed of muddy straw.
“What the—” I breathed.
But Willa was already sliding down the mast, trying to find the pegs in the dark. I landed on the deck beside her. She was frozen, every muscle tensed, the bright gleam of tears in her eyes.
The man grunted, writhing in the crate before us and pulling at the wires that were wound tightly around his wrists and ankles. His mouth was stuffed with tarred cloth, muffling the noises trapped in his throat, where Zola’s crest was tattooed into his skin—a crescent moon framed by stalks of rye.
It was the man Zola was looking for. Crane. It had to be.
Willa cried into her fists before she finally looked up at West, her cheeks wet. The others stood silent, as if waiting for her to say something. The sea calmed around us, the quiet that hit right before a storm conjuring an eerie silence as the man looked up to Willa with pleading eyes.
She drew in a deep breath, her hands unclenching before she gave a quick nod, pulling the adze from her belt. Auster and Paj took hold of the lid, securing it back into place and the man’s muted screams disappeared as Willa took a nail from the purse at her belt.