interrogate the guy.
“May I help you with anything, sir?”
“Just looking,” I said. After a minute or two, I approached the counter.
He looked up from the newspaper he was reading and studied me through the top half of his bifocals. Something in his stare made me think I was familiar to him, like he’d seen me before. On a wanted poster, probably.
“‘Scuse me,” I said. “I come here looking for a job.”
“I’m sorry sir, but we aren’t hiring.”
“Oh, my apologies. Not to work here. Y’see, I’m a miner by trade. Worked the nearflow all my life. Trawlers, diggers, catchers, grinders—you name it, I can run it. Heard there was a new game in town… someone settin’ up nearby.” I put a little extra drawl into it, selling the hillbilly laborer persona.
The proprietor gave me a look of understanding. “Yes, you are quite correct. There’s an operation, name of Gilfoyle and Associates, something or other. They’ve been around here a week or so. We’re just downstream of them now. If you have a way to get down, head southwest and you should see the platforms not more than a few miles out.”
“Well I sure am grateful to you,” I said. “Say, I noticed you was sold out of them fancy neckties back there. The brown ones.”
“I’m sorry? Oh, the cravats, you mean…”
“Them’s the ones. You think I’d put on a good impression if I was wearin’ one of them for my interview? It’d be real nice if I could look sharp when I go in. I don’t s’pose it’d be too much of a bother if I asked you to take a look in your stock room, in case there’s any extra you might’ve missed.”
The man blinked, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t believe those are in stock, sir, but I’ll certainly take a look. Just a moment, please.” He laid his newspaper on the counter, dislodged himself from his stool, and waddled through the doors to the back room.
When I heard him start to shuffle boxes around, I left. On my way out, I tore the wanted poster off the bulletin board beside the door, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the barrel trash can on the porch. “Time to go,” I said. “We’ve got some gravstone to steal.”
8
Chaz stood and shoved a pebble into his pocket, one bloated eye pulsating behind a triad of lenses. “What did the shopkeep say?”
“We’re practically right on top of them. Gilfoyle’s new mining operation is less than half an hour away. Dangit, Blaylocke, your nose for finding people appears to be more exceptional than I’m ready to give you credit for. I’m calling it now: this was a fluke.”
Blaylocke said nothing as we made our way back to the Galeskimmer, but he wasn’t fooling anyone with that proud grin he was barely holding back the whole way there. We skirted the town to avoid any other prying eyes who might’ve seen my wanted poster. By now, I’d be surprised if there was a soul left in the stream who didn’t know my middle name, or who hadn’t at least seen my unflattering likeness plastered across every town square.
When we boarded the Galeskimmer, I headed straight for the captain’s quarters and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Sable was lounging in her chair with a glass of wine, the overcast sky filling the room with gloomy gray light. She rolled her eyes and crossed her legs when she saw me, bouncing her foot beneath the table. “What do you want?”
“We’re close,” I said, letting the door swing shut behind me. “I found out where Gilfoyle is.”
She shrugged. “Good for you.”
“Are you really still that mad at me?”
She tossed her braid, reached back and checked it with her fingers, chewed on her lip.
I cleared my throat. I’d told myself I wouldn’t blunder through this, but dispelling the silence seemed more daunting now than it had been in my imagination. “I’m sorry I… I touched you. Without your permission. I’m sorry I kissed you.” I felt my face go hot. “It was inappropriate.” I ground my teeth, my chest thumping like a scared rabbit.
The ten-or-so feet of space between us might as well have been a chasm. I didn’t know whether I was apologizing because I cared about her, or because I needed something from her. If I were honest with myself, it was probably a little bit of both.
Sable set her glass on the mantle beneath the windows. I expected her to get up, to come toward me. To look at me, at least. She didn’t. Just sat there, staring down at her fingernails as though she were as interested in the dirt beneath them as Chaz would’ve been to find a loose bit of driftmetal there. She still wasn’t saying anything.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my friends were primies,” I added, hoping it was what she’d been waiting for me to say. Apparently, it wasn’t.
“Did you mean it?” she asked.
“Do I mean what?”
“When you kissed me. Did you do it because you wanted to, or because you thought it would get you out of trouble?”
Behind her, the riverwood trees were swaying in the wind, their twisted, sinewy branches heavy with leaves as thick as shrubbery. A light rain began to patter on the windows. I wished I hadn’t come—that I had sent Vilaris to deliver the news in my stead so I could be below in my hammock, napping with the crew. It was too hostile for comfort in here. I wanted to lie, to say I’d done it because of the way I felt about her, but I couldn’t bring myself to preserve such an empty falsehood. I usually found it much easier to lie to the people who didn’t matter. Maybe my hesitance to lie to Sable meant that she was one of the people who did.
“I just wanted to get you off my case,” I said.
She nodded. Her lips tightened, a sharp line creasing her brow, and she turned away to stare out the window. She swiveled in her chair until I couldn’t see her face anymore. She was quiet for a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm and then head down there.”
I hesitated. My foot slid half a step toward her, but I didn’t let it go any closer.
I tried to be silent as I shut the door behind me and crossed the deck. The rain had become a steady downpour, and I was drenched by the time I reached the stairs and descended to the crew’s quarters. They were all inside, my people and the Galeskimmer’s, settling in and relishing the opportunity to get some extra leisure time. Neale Glynton was lying on his back, tossing a ball up to ricochet off the bunk above him. Big Thorley Colburn was carving a wooden figure with his rigging knife while Dennel McMurtry read to himself from a thick leatherbound tome with no title on the outside. Nerimund was sitting cross-legged on his bunk, biting his fingernails. Eliza Kinally was banging pots and dishes around in the kitchen, and Mr. Scofield was probably off somewhere studying his navigation charts and updating his maps. Blaylocke was writing letters to his wife, and Chaz was examining the rocks he’d picked up, scribbling notes about them in his journal.
Vilaris was sound asleep. I settled into my hammock and set about joining him.
It rained all afternoon and into the evening. By the time we ventured into the galley for supper, it was past dark. A fog had settled over the fields of Falkombe, shrouding the Galeskimmer in its dense blanket. Eliza had made us a hearty stew of carrots, onions and potatoes with chunks of meat, just the thing to warm our bones on a night like this. We’d eaten well since we came aboard; now that the money was flowing, Sable and her crew had bought enough food to keep the ship’s larder well-stocked.
After the meal, we paraded across the ship single-file and gathered in the captain’s quarters to discuss our plans. Everyone was included—not just those of us making the decisions. I had a role in mind for each person to play. After all, I’d learned the hard way not to get into something this big on my own.
“We have a bead on Gilfoyle’s location,” I announced. “I say we strike while the iron is hot. Get this done fast, so we can rescue your captain.”
“Don’t we have to turn the ore into chips first?” asked Landon Scofield.
“Ore into chips. Chips first,” said Nerimund.
“Mr. Scofield, that’s a very good question. I’ll
get to that.”
He eyed me. “Very well. Then the next order of business is how, exactly, we’re to go about this whole ordeal.”
“If you’ll permit me to share a few of my ideas,” I said.
Mr. Scofield nodded. So did Nerimund.
When I glanced in Sable’s direction, she was staring at me, as if in a trance. She looked away, snapping out of it.
“You’re a talented crew,” I told them. “I’ve seen how well you run this ship. So I want you to do what you do best: fly the Galeskimmer, and fly her like there isn’t a more noble pursuit in all the world. Mr. McMurtry, how many guns can she bring to bear, and what kind?”
The quartermaster removed his black top-hat and scratched his head. “The guns’ve been packed away for quite some time now. We don’t like to present a threat most times, since we haven’t much to support one. I think of the ones we haven’t sold, there’s an old cannon or two down there. Four-pounders, I believe, plus a barrel of powder and a dozen rounds.”
“So no fleckers, lasers… nothing like that,” I said, ready to be disappointed.
Dennel shook his head.
“Okay. How many of you are trained to use them?”
“Just me and Cap’ Sable,” said Dennel. “Thorley here knows how, but… his depth perception ain’t the best, you know.”
I smiled. “Captain Sable?”
Her eyes were cold blue spheres, but she spoke with courtesy. “I’ll help man the guns, if it comes to that.”
“In