Page 13 of Dark Water Daughter

Randalf abruptly turned to me and held up my gag. “Ms. Firth, here is your first lesson about life aboard my ship. You do something good, I reward you. You do something bad, I punish you. It’s a simple arrangement, is it not? One simple enough system for any lack-witted Barrowside dullard to understand?”

The captain’s eyes dragged back to the crewman, identifying the dullard in question. That look was so cold and so cruel, I suddenly understood the crew’s fear.

The urge to sneer, to curse my captor and strike out, died. As angry and frustrated as I was, I had to be logical. I had to protect myself.

“I understand,” I said lowly.

“Wonderful.” Randalf spun on his crew. “See this man tied to the grating above and fetch my lash. Then make this ship ready for open sea. I want us leaving Whallum by tomorrow night.”

“Sir?” another sailor asked. “We’re not set to depart for threedays—”

“No matter.” Randalf’s smile remained intact, but it turned distinctly nastier as he began to fit my gag back in place. It took all my strength not to fight back. “As soon as we’re in open sea? Tie our new Stormsinger to the mast.”

GHISTWOLD—Being forests of most ancient and uncommon origins, Ghistwolds, more commonly referred to simply as Wolds, are to be distinguished from the common wold as places where the tworealms—thatwhich is human and that which isOther—intersect.In such places, Ghisten Trees rooted in the Other grow into the human plane and manifest in a variety of common trees, though these trees frequently reject the laws of nature in terms of seasonal shifts or the directions of their shadows. These trees are then harvested for shipbuilding, most frequently the figurehead. The spirit of the Ghisting within the Ghisten Tree then merges with the ship, to remain there until it is moved, or the last of its figurehead is burned away, or taken by the degradation of time. The spirit of the Ghisting, then, will roam free until it eventually returns to theOther—aprocess that may take days or centuries. In Aeadine, the Ghistwold cuts across the center of the main island, intersecting with various common wolds (that is, wolds without Ghistings) such as the Lesterwold, to form a vast wilderness. See alsoGHISTWOOD, SPIRITWOLD.

—FROMTHE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW

WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES

FIVE

Antiphony Cove

SAMUEL

Fisher squinted at me over the top of a small, green and gilt book. “Slader is still furious with you.”

I sat down on the other end of the bench and pulled off my knitted cap, toppling unkempt hair into my eyes. We were in the cabin we both called home. There was a single canvas curtain strung down its center, pulled back during the day, and Fisher’s hammock swung from the beams on her side of the divide. Mine was rolled and stowed in my sea-chest against the bulkhead, as I had been on watch allnight—repercussionsfor losing the Stormsinger, Mary Firth. Slader was convinced I had intentionally thwarted our chances, and my sending Fisher away had not helped.

Our cabin had no other furnishings save a hanging dragonfly lantern, a fortified iron woodstove, and a narrow table with a bench, where we sat. The lantern was a luxury, as it posed no risk of fire and could be used during the worst of storms. The dragonflies themselves were as immortal as any other creature from the Other, requiring no food or water or even air. They simply pulsed gentle purples and golds in their sleep and lit to a bright, shining frenzy when they awoke.

Fisher wore a striped blanket over her shirt, stays visible in a line across her breasts, breeches but no shoes, and appeared to have stolen a pair of my socks to wear over her own. Normally, I would return from a night watch to find her dressed and gone, already above decks taking command. But this morning there was no need for her to leave the cabin so early. I would be taking her watches today. And tomorrow.

I shook the snow off my hat and pushed my hair back from my face. I could feel Fisher eyeing me, prying answers from the tired lines of my face.

“Something was not right,” I repeated. “With Demery and that last guest. Not calling up the armsmen would have been foolish.”

Fisher lowered her book to the table. “Oh, I’ve little doubt of that. But there’s no way a smuggler like John Randalf outbid you with four thousand solem. Tell Slader the truth. You intentionally lost the bid.”

“I am not lying.” I glowered momentarily and tossed my cap onto the table. “He had the money. I ought to have warned Slader, not you.”

Fisher put down her book and shifted to straddle the bench. “Perhaps. What ofyour…inklings?Any further notion what they meant?”

“None.” I stared past her at the door. My curse was the last thing I wanted to talk about with her. “Is there still breakfast in the galley?”

“Yes. Hammond saved you some.”

“Good man.”

“Because I asked him to.”

I frowned at her. “Why would you do that?”

She produced a distinctly knifelike smile. “Consider it my thanks for pissing Slader off. Now I’ve two days to sleep late, go ashore at leisure and spend two years’ worth of petty cash on good wine and fine company. I might even put on a dress.”

“As if you own a dress,” I retorted, rising and starting for the door.

“I do.” She sounded genuinely irritated. “I am a woman, Samuel Rosser. Whatever else I am too.”

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