Page 31 of Dark Water Daughter

“Good. Then go find out what he’s doing here.” Slader’s smile settled into a grim, subtle twist of the lips. “And for Saint’s sake, have a hot bath and a good night’s sleep ashore. You’re taut as a fiddle.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but swallowed my words and took the victory. “Yes, sir. Demery’s ship, what is she?”

“A modified brigantine, I believe.” Slader clasped one wrist behind his back and noted the expression on my face. “No more than twenty guns. If we need to take her, the matter will be well in hand.”

Demery’s vessel was too small to be the one in my vision, then, but my dreamer’s sense itched. Could Mary’s pursuer have been Lirr? Could I have ignored a critical vision and jeopardized our whole mission?

I dragged my gaze to Slader, imagining what fury he would unleash if I admitted the possibility. More eager than ever to get ashore, I touched my hat and gave the captain a short bow. “Very good, sir.”

ELEVEN

Gentlemen and Pirates

SAMUEL

James Demery’sHarpywas an economic vessel, unassuming and clean. She rested beside the dock as the Winter Sea’s early evening came on, the sails of her two masts neatly furled, a few hands visible on deck. Her stovepipes, one fore and two aft, trickled smoke into the sky, and dusky blue paint highlighted her lintels, gunports and rails. On her stern, blue met with silver to trace out her name, while herfigurehead—astoic, flint-eyed harpy with bare breasts and spreadingwings—waspainted in startlingly lifelike hues.

Between the vessel and I, wagons trundled, dockhands dispersed, and fishmongers lowered their prices, dispensing increasingly pungent wares as night approached.

I occupied a bench outside a coffee house on the quay, thawing my fingers on my second cup, when Demery appeared from the crowd and made for the gangplank ofHarpy. I sat a little straighter. He paused at the rail, caught a word from one of his crew, then looked straight at me.

I raised an empty hand in greeting, and told myself that the buzz of my nerves was simply from too much coffee.

As I had hoped, the captain came over. He unbuttoned his coat as he did and let it fall open to show that he was armed with two gleaming pistols.

I shifted on my bench, making my cutlass equallyobvious—asgentlemen and pirates did.

Demery sat, rested one ankle across his opposite knee and cast me a half-smile. “Have you paid your Tithe, Mr. Rosser?”

“Of course.” I nodded and tapped my mug. “Something to drink?”

“Not with the smell of fouled fish in the air.” Demery sniffed in displeasure and looked back through the bustle of dockhands and townsfolk, carts and wagons, sailors and darting children. “But thank you. May I ask why you’ve been watching my ship for the last hour?”

“I hoped to speak to you, but assumed your crew would shoot first.”

Demery’s head bobbed in a contemplative nod. “A fair assumption. Me and mine have little cause to trust when you and yours come kicking at our hatches. So, what is it, Lieutenant?”

“My captain wants to know why you are in Tithe.”

Demery looked me full in the face, eyebrows arched. “You’re not subtle now, are you?”

“It is cold, I need to piss, and I have no desire to spend my whole evening teasing the truth out of you.”

Demery’s grin crept up into his eyes. “Well, I appreciate someone who doesn’t waste my time. I’m here for the very same reason you are.”

I glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Lirr sailed southwest out of Whallum a week ago.” Demery’s voice dropped, all amusement fading away. “Chasing John Randalf into a storm. It’s well known Tithe is Randalf’s first port of call. So, anyone looking for Lirr would do well to sail the same route as Randalf and wait. For sails on the horizon. For rumors.”

Sails on the horizon. Again, my vision of Mary reared.

“You are waiting for Lirr?” I clarified.

Demery shrugged. “We have personal business to attend to, but he’s disinclined to meet with me, so here we are.”

James Demery had personal business with Silvanus Lirr? I shifted deeper into my coat and made a considering sound. “What kind of business?”

The older man looked at me levelly. It was not a hostile expression, but it was clear he had no intention of explaining. “Randalf is late,” he stated instead.

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