Page 1 of Drift: Willa & Koy

ONE

This ship is going to sink.

The thought echoed in my mind each time I swung the adze, driving plug after plug into the hull of theFeatherback. The ship rocked against a wave, and I propped my feet against the wood to keep the sling that held me still. The ropes suspended from the deck’s railing above creaked as I waited for the water to settle.

Out of habit, I checked the horizon for any sign of a storm. But the sky was blue and clear, the sun hot on my shoulders. It wouldn’t so much as rain today, and that was good. The roof on the new merchant’s house wasn’t complete yet, and we couldn’t afford to miss any trade. Not when we were still trying to convince helmsmen that a stop at Jeval was worth the day it cost them on their route to or from the Unnamed Sea.

I dropped the adze back into my belt. “Ailee! Pitch!”

The girl’s small frame moved like a scurrying mouse on the dock below as she made her way to the anchored line that controlled the bucket of hanging above me. With quick hands, she lowered it, and when she was sure I could reach it comfortably, she re-tied the line. Her cropped, curly black hair blew across her face as she looked up at me, waiting for my next instruction.

This was the third time theFeatherbackhad docked at Jeval needing to be patched, and by my estimation, the next storm would finish her. It wouldn’t be the first vessel I’d worked on to sink since opening up for business, and it wouldn’t be the last. Crews like this one knew their time was running out—they just wanted to rack up every copper they could before it happened. There were enough arrogant bastards in the Narrows to think that when the vessel succumbed to its fate, that they’d be spared.

The stink of the black pitch in the hanging bucket beside me burned in my nose as I took up the swab and painted it over the last plug.

“What’ya say, Willa?” the helmsman called out from below. He peered up at me, squinting, Ailee posted dutifully at his side.

“Hard to say.” I returned the swab to its bucket, reaching for the knotted lines behind me. In a series of movements I had memorized, I unlocked the pulley and lowered myself down.

He stepped aside when I made it to the dock and I caught hold of the post, pulling myself in. My legs were half asleep from hanging in the sling so long. I could hardly feel the hot wood planks under my feet.

Ailee was waiting with her hands extended as I unfastened the heavy tool belt and draped it over her shoulder. Her curls danced around her sharply cut jaw, her pale blue eyes rimmed in thick black lashes. Two months ago, that face had been hollow, her skin pallid. Now, she was sun-kissed, her bony frame less gaunt. She was small for eleven years old, but that would serve her well as a bosun. Only in the last few days had she stopped swaying under my belt’s weight, and I could see the first signs of strength taking shape in her arms and shoulders. Before long, she’d be able to hoist herself up on the lines.

“Bag’s empty.” I nodded to the canvas pouch that had held the wooden cone plugs. “And the adze needs sharpening.”

She gave a quick nod, turning on her heel and disappearing up the dock.

“Well?” The helmsman waited.

I looked up to theFeatherbackone last time. The hull was spotted with patches from stern to bow.

Yeah. This ship wasdefinitelygoing to sink.

“Stay out of the shallows, even when the winds aren’t too high,” I said. “One scrape and that hull will breach. I’d also keep anything valuable you’re trading fitted with floats and tied down up on the decks. That cargo hold is a disaster waiting to happen.”

His mouth twisted to one side, but he eventually nodded. The man wasn’t a fool. “All right. What do I owe ya?”

I pulled the ledger from where it was tucked into the back of my pants, flipping through the wrinkled pages. “That’s eleven shot plugs, the pitch, the work…” I did the math in my head. “Forty-two coppers should do it.”

The helmsman was already pulling one of the coin purses from his belt. He counted, mouth moving silently around the numbers.

Behind him, the harbor was busy. Nine of the fourteen bays were filled with everything from schooners to cutters to a large brig from Ceros stopping on its way to Sagsay Holm. The Jevalis hadn’t been happy when Koy showed up with me and my coin to launch a port on their island, and they hadn’t let me forget it. But there was no denying the transformation underway on Jeval.

When I’d first arrived, there’d been only dredgers hocking pyre on these docks, with the exception of a few women selling guinea fowl eggs and kids trading polished abalone shells for scraps of food. Now, there were hucksters who walked the bays with Jevali-made palm rope and island-forged iron riggings that every ship had need for. There was even a young sailmaker who’d left the island and apprenticed in Sowan and was now setting up shop next to my post.

It had been almost seven months since we finished the new docks that encircled the barrier islands, and the first opening bell of the merchant’s house had rung just six weeks ago. There was only room enough for twelve stalls inside, and not all of them were even filled most days, but in another year, it would be a different story.

“There you go.” The helmsman dropped the purse into my hand and I nodded, tucking it into my vest.

The feeling had come back into my legs, but my stomach was already twisting with hunger. Even so, it would be hours before I got a chance to sit down and have a meal.

I snaked through the bodies on the docks, headed for the brig in the distance. The ship’s crew members were quadruple those of the other vessels that docked here, which meant there was copper on its way into a lot of Jevali pockets. It was the second time the well-knownIrishad docked, and with luck, the helmsman would spread the word about the growing enterprise we were building. As long as the Jevalis didn’t do anything to muck it up before they left.

I shouldered past the crowd of dredgers waiting in line at the merchant’s house and found my way to the end of the harbor, where Fret set up his makeshift stall each morning. He sat on an overturned barrel behind a little wooden table that was littered with rare seashells and bits of valuable coral.

“Any luck today?” I asked, leaning against the post. I kept my distance, eyes on the highest rise of the island. It was in both our best interests not to draw attention to our arrangement.

“Here and there,” he rasped. “Never underestimate the power of a good story, Willa. It can sell the most worthless piece of junk to any fool.”

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