Chasing the Lantern(6)

Lucian nodded. "Of course, sir. Of course." Then he blinked. "How should I take care of them, sir?"

Fengel swayed. "We've just come back to port. Do what we usually do."

Henry Smalls spoke up. "It's exposure, Lucian. Lots of small beer, clean water, and food."

Lucian nodded, then turned back to the captain. "But with what money, sir?"

"Lucian, I leave that…in your capable hands."

Lucian peered at him. So did Henry. Fengel didn’t seem to notice. Lucian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll just take them to Garvey's Hole. Put it all on the tab." He frowned back at Henry Smalls. "That tab's still good, yes?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Until tomorrow, apparently."

Fengel clapped Lucian on the shoulder. "Good. You have your orders, Lucian. Henry, you're with me. And…you too, Miss Stone."

Saying nothing more, he staggered past them onto the boardwalk and up the hill.

Lina stared after him, then turned to the other two men. She worked her mouth to get enough spit to talk. "Obeisance?" she asked. "To who? Who's this Natasha? Not even the serpent made him flinch."

Henry and Lucian both narrowed their eyes. "His wife," they said as one. The loathing in their voices sent a shiver up Lina's spine.





Chapter Two



The heat-fatigue was making things rather difficult.

Fengel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The wooden stair he climbed was steep and built haphazardly into the earthen slope between terraces. His breath came in short gasps, stolen in the moments between mounting one step and pushing down upon the last.

A platform landing appeared halfway up this terrace. Grateful, Fengel stopped a moment. It was not large. Several small shacks clustered on it like a clutch of frightened pups backed into a corner. Their brightly painted signs advertised a tailor, a tattooist, and a black apothecary. A drunk sailor knelt at the edge of the platform, retching his rum over its lip. Two rogues stuck to the shadows, peering at Fengel and fingering daggers. To his right rose more of cliff-hugging Haventown. At his left the slope continued down to the docks and the lagoon. The air stank of brine, beer, and subtle jungle smells. Nostalgia washed over him and Fengel sighed. Home. I'm home at last. Hurrah.

The failed job in Triskelion, the loss of his Flittergrasp, and then the mad flight from that city. It made him want to shake his head, except that the muscles in his neck ached and his mouth was dry as a bone. Dimly Fengel realized that he should get food and water, though he didn't feel desperate. Just confused.

Fengel tried to focus. Where were they going again? Was this it? The upward stair looked rather imposing. Surely he hadn't meant to climb it now? Visible weakness in a captain was anathema upon a ship, and he was a little off at the moment. He certainly wouldn't have put himself in a position to show it to any of his crew. Or would he? Fengel pulled at his beard. This will take careful deliberation.

"Something wrong, Captain?" The voice came from the stair directly behind him.

He turned to peer at the duo below. Henry Smalls, his faithful steward, looking grizzled and drawn. Beside him stood a young...boy? No, not with that figure. A woman then, petite and with knife-hacked hair. Probably. If only she wouldn't stop shifting in and out of focus, he would be able to tell. Miss Stone. That's right, I brought her along.

The silence stretched. Not good. I need to say something. Fengel grinned. "Absolutely capital, Mr. Smalls. Here we are, after all."

His steward blinked up at him. "Sir? It's still a goodly distance to the Bleeding Teeth."

Blast. This landing wasn't their goal then. "Of course, of course," replied Fengel, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. Think fast. "I meant here, the view of the lagoon. Positively charming. Should the Servants flitter down from the Goddess on high, this is the place where they would choose to do it."

Smalls and the young woman looked out over the placid but scummy lagoon. "If you say so sir," he replied dutifully.

Fengel sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really didn't want to climb anymore. "You are a man of simple tastes, Mister Smalls. Still, I persevere."

He continued in their climb, taking care not to groan at the ache in his calves. Prim, proper, and impervious. Never let them think that you did anything against your will, and never show them your limits. Never let them see you stumble. That was the key to success, though by itself it only took one so far. What was the Bleeding Teeth? He had known a few minutes ago, and felt a peculiar undercurrent of dread at the thought. Ah! He had it now. The place was a tavern atop the highest terrace. Which explained the dread; more climbing was needed. Still, Fengel brightened. A tavern meant food and drink, both of which were sorely needed.