I walked through Perdue, doing my best to pass as one of the other bedraggled, luckless souls haunting the docks at night. My garments, already a pirate’s oversized cast-offs, had been pierced with holes from Nje’s spider-limbs and were now stiff with drying salt water. Even my raw stump didn’t draw eyes; many of those around me bore scars and mutilations. If anything, I thought, my missing hand helped me fit in.
I gingerly prodded at that thought as I walked. Wounded military veterans weren’t uncommon in Cislunar, either. Scars and damaged limbs were always a risk in the service, and several aristocrats of my acquaintance had been so marked by their experiences.
Still … a hand blown off by a shell or amputated by a battlefield physician was one thing; a hand callously chopped off by a pirate seemed like something else entirely. I couldn’t help but feel that my loss had been shameful rather than heroic. I pressed the stump against my chest, feeling a twinge of pain that was more emotional than physical. Was any wound truly heroic? Heroes might be wounded, but wounds didn’t imply heroism.
Losing my hand was awful, of course, but as I walked, I felt a niggling thought that its loss wasn’t all that was bothering me. Maybe it had more to do with the sense of utter helplessness, of weakness, that I’d felt when Lazare’s sword had descended on my flesh. The sickening realization that I couldn’t stop Lazare’s sword any more than I’d been able to stop the terrorists’ bombs. All my life I’d been somebody special, somebody desirable, somebody powerf—
We are here.
I gave my head a sharp shake and looked up at the tavern sign: a crudely painted black dog. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.
The hot, crowded main room of The Black Dog was dimly lit by candles set on long wooden tables. The air carried the delicious scents of curry and peppers and onions and my stomach growled. Nobody gave me more than a cursory look as I stepped into the room and began walking along the wall, searching for Cutter’s light blond hair and fair complexion.
The boy is at a table aft, Nje said. The sentinel is also at the table.
I paused in the shadows and studied the rear of the tavern. “‘Aft’?”
Door is fore. Table is aft.
“Those terms only apply to a ship. On land, the door is in the ‘front’ and the table is in the ‘back.’”
Nje muttered something uncomplimentary about Empyrian.
“Eating?” A middle-aged woman stopped in front of me. “Open seats over there.”
She jerked a thumb at a table and hurried onward. I took a few steps forward and finally spotted Cadet Cutter. Unfortunately, the person sitting next to him was Kimona.
I lowered my head and stole another glance at the long table. Lazare and Desmarais were also there, with their first mates and several other well-armed men and women. I quickly discerned. No bale tethers, not even on Kimona, which meant only that nobody in the pub was actively calling, not that there weren’t other sentinels present.
By contrast, I glowed like a bale beacon, given that Nje was wrapped around my midsection and had extended bale-wrought tendrils to my throat and ears.
We should go now, Nje suggested. The boy is safe. Its argument sounded pro forma, as if Nje didn’t really expect its words to work. For better or for worse, we were starting to understand each other.
It wasn’t wrong, though, I thought as I looked around. I couldn’t think of any clever way to free Cutter that wouldn’t cause a great deal of injury and death in the process. Nearly half the pub’s clients were armed in a way that would have been illegal in Cislunar, where strict laws regulated who could carry weapons in public. The other half of the pub’s occupants looked like regular dock workers, traders, servers, prostitutes, and even included several children who would have long since been sent to bed in my social circles.
Even if I could somehow free Cutter without creating mass destruction — by erecting balewalls, perhaps, to let him escape and temporarily stop anyone from giving chase — our escape routes were limited, and this part of Perdue was crowded with people wandering in and out of bars and brothels. I’d been trained in crowd control techniques, but it would be difficult to dodge pursuit and find a place to hide in a strange town — especially when Kimona would be able to easily discern Nje’s presence.
I could order Nje away, but I suspected it wouldn’t go. It had made its intention to stay with me clear enough, and frankly, I was much more powerful with its assistance.
Kill Kimona? Maybe. She was a scrappy fighter, as I’d found out on the Chaser’s deck, but I’d also been sleep-deprived, exhausted, and numb with hypothermia when I’d fought her. Anyway, she was Captain Desmarais’ sentinel, not Captain Lazare’s, so she and Cutter would separate eventually.
Either way, I wasn’t going to start a fight here, I decided. I wasn’t going to cause the same kind of wanton destruction to The Black Dog that religious extremists had wrought on the Vigilance Orderhouse in Cislunar.
I turned and walked out of the tavern, my shoulders high and my face lowered.
Very good, Nje said, sounding surprised. Maybe you are not a fool.
I crossed the street and leaned against the wall, then slowly sank down into a crouch, rubbing my face with my good hand. Weariness tugged at my bones. Even if I did have recuperative assistance from beyond the Line, I wasn’t well, and I’d already expended a great deal of energy that evening.
What are you think, Saint-Cloud?
“I haven’t given up on rescuing Cutter. I’m just considering my options.”
Cutter is safe. Options is — are — bad.
“If Captain Lazare finds out I’ve escaped, he’ll kill him.”
You do not know.
“I can guess. Lazare is a ruthless bastard. He’d kill Cutter just to spite me.”
Guess is not know. My Saint-Clouds before were ruthless bastards. They were want to survive and *** ***.
“Well, considering your Saint-Clouds were evil tyrants who got driven off their islands and into exile, I’m just as glad to be different.”
Evil?
“Not good.”
My Saint-Clouds were very good.
“At being evil?” My lips quirked up, despite myself. “Well, I aspire to be good, as in not-evil. If we’re going to work together, you’ll need to understand my ways a little better.”
If we’re going to work together, you’ll need to understand my ways a little better, Nje repeated, sharply. My smile slipped away like bale. Again, Nje wasn’t wrong.
“Fair enough. What do you want, Nje?”
I want to survive. I want to ride Saint-Cloud. I want to *** ***.
“We’ll have to translate that last part later,” I said, turning to keep an eye on the bar door. “But I am willing to let you ride me, Nje. If I haven’t yet sufficiently thanked you for your assistance, let me do so now. You’ve been invaluable to my survival. But right now my survival is linked to Cadet Cutter’s. After we save him, we’ll save ourselves.”
Why is your survival linked to boy’s survival? Nje asked.
“I ….” How much about emotions did Nje understand? Did Nje feel emotions the way I did? “My … Renata, my niece, was just a little older than Cutter. She — she was killed. I — I couldn’t protect her. I don’t want Cutter killed.”
I stopped, throat tight. For once, Nje didn’t reply. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and pulled my thoughts out of the past.
“The Chasers are safe now,” I murmured. “As safe as I can make them. If I went back to the pirates, they’d never know I was gone. They couldn’t blame me for the crew’s escape. I could wait to rescue Cutter when we have a better chance to escape cleanly. In the middle of the night, maybe, when we’re close enough to slip off the ship and swim to the coast.”
You did not kill enemy pirate with crew, Nje sourly reminded me. Enemy pirate will speak to Lazare.
Dismayed, I crouched lower, my shoulders hunched. Nje was right. I’d forgotten the sentry.
You go to water, Nje said, after a moment. Stop at water, no go to ship. I go to kill enemy pirate. I go to pirate, go to water and you, and we speak then, you-me speak, to make plan.
“Wait!” I protested. “You can’t just kill people in cold blood!”
No blood, Nje said, flatly. You captain say this is no time to show mercy.
I grabbed for its tendrils, but the bale softened and slipped through my fingers. In a moment, Nje had spilled out of my pocket and scuttled off into the darkness.
“Shit.” I looked around, panicked. Nobody was paying any attention to another ragged, one-handed beggar crouched outside a pub. I buried my face in my good hand, keeping my right stump tucked close to my chest, and tried to calm down.
Captain Tancrede had said killing would be necessary to escape, but surely he hadn’t meant killing somebody already bound and gagged. The Imperial Navy’s officers were supposed to subscribe to a strict code of honor intended to prevent such atrocities.
But Nje had no such code of honor. Pain summons, blood satiates, death dismisses, according to the old adage about transients. For some reason, I’d thought Nje had evolved beyond that compulsion. After all, it had stayed with me despite being close to enough blood and death to satiate a dozen transients.
If we’re going to work together, you’ll need to understand my ways a little better, it had repeated. It was right. I needed to understand it better. Other than its burning desire to survive and its more puzzling desire to assist members of my bloodline, I knew next to nothing of Nje’s goals and motivations.
In Cislunar, the newborn transient-god that called itself Far had chosen to protect children, much as Nje had chosen to protect Saint-Clouds. Far had carried out its young summoners’ requests ruthlessly and relentlessly. Was such bloody-minded dedication typical of sentient beings across the Line? Did that explain gods? The New Theology blasphemously proposed that Kyrchye and his — its? — evil counterpart Yzyrchye were simply highly evolved transients, fighting over humans as if we were mere resources. But maybe they were simply … fiercely dedicated to their own worshippers?
Nje was willing to kill for me. Had it already done so? I thought about the sailor who’d been killed on the Chaser, the one who’d been strangled, possibly while trying to murder me, and pulled myself to my feet, my thoughts whirling. I should send Nje back across the Line — somehow. That was the only moral choice. But … but not yet. I still needed its help to get back to the Steadfast if I wanted to eventually rescue Cutter.
Overwhelmed, I made my way back toward the harbor, just as Nje had directed.
Some time later, the transient reappeared, scuttling crablike across the street and over my bare foot before turning into serpentine tendrils and sliding its way under my ragged clothes.
“I don’t approve of killing the defenseless,” I said at once.
That was important non-negotiable kill for safety, Nje replied, tone flat. I am the … I am the do-impossible of Saint-Clouds, the make-safe of Saint-Clouds, and very much the make-safe of you, my fool bastard Saint-Cloud.
“I’m not one of your monsters.”
What is — are — ‘monsters’?
I closed my eyes.
“A monster is something bad. Evil. Something that kills the defenseless. We need to talk about this, Nje.”
We talk about monsters later. We talk about escape now.
“I plan to go back to the ship and escape later with Cutter. We know we can escape at any time,” I said, having thought about it further while I was waiting. “We’re powerful together, you and I. And when we’re at sea, the ship and the crew will be isolated and vulnerable. We can —”
What is ‘isolated and vulnerable’?
I explained and continued.
“We can escape whenever we want … and if making a clean escape means I have to blow up the ship behind me as we go, I don’t think the Imperial Navy will object.”
Ship and crew is — are? — not defenseless?
I felt a stirring of unease, but I shoved it aside.
“They chose a life of crime. And they won’t be tied up and helpless when we escape.”
I do not want do this — that? — this very bad plan, Nje said, then paused a moment. I do think on this. I understand Cutter is your ***-family. Saint-Clouds are **** **** ****. I understand this. I understand also Lazare and Lazare crew are your enemy. You are not safe to go to enemy isolated and vulnerable. Better plan is to escape now, go to your captain-crew. Safety in numbers. You rescue Cutter, kill Lazare and Lazare crew, later.
“But if I leave, I might never get the chance. And I told the captain I’d protect him.” I took a deep breath, remembering that the transient appreciated gratitude. “Please, Nje. I would deeply appreciate your help, if you would be willing to stay and work with me. We work very well togther.”
You are *** *** Saint-Cloud.
“Foolish?”
No. ‘Foolish’ is not my talk-want. My talk-want is … you are a isolated and vulnerable Saint-Cloud. I do not know where are the not-you Saint-Clouds. Maybe they leaved and did not survive. Maybe they are dead now. I do not know. I do not want you dead, Mazarin Saint-Cloud, the transient continued. I need you. We work very well together. I want we live.
I knew it was foolish to let its statement bring a lump to my throat — Nje’s desire to stay with me was purely utilitarian, I was sure — but it affected me, anyway. Who else was left to care whether I lived or died?
“And I need you, Nje,” I said softly. “I am aware that you could physically stop me if you wanted. Give me this, and … tell me what you want me to give you in exchange.”
I want-need you to be Mazarin Saint-Cloud.
“…You mean, evil? A monster?”
Yes, maybe you must be the — a? — evil monster to survive. You do not need be a fool, do not need be vulnerable, do not need be maybe-maybe-maybe mind. You need be non-negotiable choice to kill your enemy and be safe. We survive.
Someone walked toward us and I backed away, ducking between two buildings.
“All right. I understand what you want.” My thoughts were racing. “I don’t know if I can be a monster. But if you work with me now, I promise that we can make the name ‘Mazarin Saint-Cloud’ feared again.” At least among pirates, I silently added. I could live with being feared by pirates.
We do your plan now, Nje said after a long moment. We rescue your **** boy. I understand Saint-Clouds are **** to *****. Plan not good later, we do my plan. We kill enemy and escape. No talk. Do.
“You’ll give me enough time, though?”
Before-now-later is time?
“Yes. It isn’t a good time to escape now. But some time later, I’m sure it will be.”
I will give you time.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between slipping back into the pirate’s hold and chains and Lazare waking me up with an angry bellow. Dim light filtered down into the hold, suggesting that it was already daytime.
“Tell me where they went!” Lazare roared, brandishing an oversized knife. As I twisted around to look at him, disoriented, Nje covered me in bale. Spiky tendrils thrust out around me as though I were some sort of human sea urchinm, and the captain checked his forward momentum, eyes blazing with fury.
“What —?” Iron chains clanked as I pushed myself up from the deck, groaning. My entire body ached. Swimming to shore and back had felt easy with Nje’s help, but now my muscles were reminding me that I was neither an athlete nor entirely healed from my injuries.
“Call off your familiar or I start carving parts off the boy,” Lazare snarled, turning and dragging Cutter into the hold with his free hand. Xavier quietly slipped in behind him, moving to one side.
“Drop the armor, Nje. Please.” Nothing changed. I looked up at Lazare. “My familiar has a mind of its own, and unlike me, it doesn’t care about the cadet’s life.”
“Then you’d better control it,” Lazare hissed, holding the knife up to Cutter’s face. “Little Jimmy here is just as useful a hostage without his eyes.”
“Nje…” I said, more urgently.
“Allow me, Captain.” Xavier walked toward me, scowling. “Armor down, Sentinel. I need to check your chains.”
Nje hissed something in Chevachèchen that I was fairly certain was vulgar.
“Please,” I begged.
The armor slowly slid away and Xavier dropped to one knee, capturing and holding my gaze as he rattled the chains, testing each manacle.
“Still secure,” he reported, reaching out to grab a half-empty pitcher of water next to me. “But damn, you stink like laudanum and stale piss.” He stood and dumped the water over my head. I sputtered, glaring at him.
“You’re sure?” Lazare pressed.
“Yeah.” Xavier gave me a lackadaisical kick. He hadn’t put any effort into it, but I still winced at the jolt it sent through my fragile body. Nje stirred around me. “Locked tight. Told you the beck couldn’t have done it.”
Lazare took another step forward, dragging Cutter with him.
“Did your demon help them?” Lazare demanded of me.
“Help who?” I wiped my face with a sleeve. “And I didn’t send Nje anywhere — it’s bound to me.”
Nje, thankfully, remained silent.
“That’s not what the stories say,” Lazare retorted. “Saint-Clouds sent their spirits everywhere.”
“I can call transients….” I glanced at Cutter. “But I know what you’d do if I did. What happened?”
“Still say it was one of the others.” Xavier shrugged, looking bored. “You let the new recruits go into town with everyone else and one of ’em fucked us over.”
Lazare snarled, flicking the knife to one side. I tensed as blood ran down Cutter’s face, but when the cadet glanced at me, I saw fierce satisfaction glowing in his eyes. The boy didn’t look frightened; he looked triumphant.
“Maybe I should cut a few pieces off your little friend here, just to be sure,” Lazare sneered.
I flinched and instinctively pulled my stump closer to my chest. My brain might know I wasn’t helpless anymore, but my nerves and emotions hadn’t caught up yet.
“I don’t even know what you think I did!” I protested. If he started cutting again — I was going to have to act. I was going to have to be ruthless.
“X, chain up little Jimmy.” Captain Lazare turned to leave. “If we don’t find those damn runaways, I might have to sell his pretty ass to make up for lost profits.”
I clenched my teeth as Xavier nodded, rummaging in the hold for another set of fetters and closing them around Cutter’s wrists and ankles as Captain Lazare stormed off. The first mate gave Cutter’s chains a rattle and turned to me.
“Captain doesn’t know much about sentinels,” he said, “but he’s not stupid.”
“What happened?” I asked, to keep up my pretense. Xavier looked unimpressed by my effort.
“Your clothes were still damp and stank like rotting seaweed.” He nudged the pitcher with his boot. “Now there’s a reason they’re wet. Don’t get cocky, and don’t forget your promise.”
I swallowed.
“I am in your debt,” I repeated. “Call on me when you need me.”
He gave a curt nod and left.
“You did it?” Cutter whispered eagerly, once we were alone. I leaned my head back against the powder keg, wincing. “My — the captain? Is he all right?”
“He was concerned about you.” I gestured. “I promised I’d free you, as well.”
Cutter frowned.
“You should have left with him. Your duty —”
“I’m getting sick of that word,” I said, sharply. Cutter closed his mouth and gave me a startled look. “…Sir.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. I contemplated curling back up and going to sleep again, but my nerves were on edge.
“I apologize, Sentinel,” Cutter said at last, with all the formality a polite young officer-in-training can muster. “It’s not my place to second-guess you or the captain. I’m grateful that you’re looking out for me. I’m just … I’m unhappy that I cost you your freedom. I feel … concern for my life has already cost the crew too much.”
“The crew had already been taken captive when Lazare decided to make you a hostage,” I pointed out. “And if he hadn’t threatened you, he would have threatened some other cadet, I’m sure.”
Cutter gave a short nod, and I wondered if he took my words as reassurance, or as trivializing his own situation.
“Are you a strong swimmer?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll find our time.” Later, though, I hoped. I had a feeling my muscles were going to feel worse before they started feeling any better.
“Lazare and Desmarais were furious when they found out the Chasers had escaped,” Cutter said at last, conversationally. “They sent out search parties. They’re offering a reward for anyone who can track them down or find the sentry who was supposed to be guarding them.”
“The sentry was gone?”
“Vanished.”
“Ah.” I wondered what Nje had done with his body. I didn’t want to admit that it had been right about killing the guard, but … I sighed.
“Well,” I said at last, “I wish the captain good fortune in his escape.”
The pirates left us chained in the hold without food, water, or medical care. The heat was oppressive, and although we designated one spot of the hold within our chains’ reach as the latrine, we needed to use it less often as the days stretched on. The situation would have been dire were it not for Nje stealing away each night to dip our abandoned pitcher into the Steadfast’s water butt and bring it back to us. A few gulps of fresh water each night was enough to keep us alive, but constant thirst and hunger sapped our strength. I slept whenever I could, and when I couldn’t, I argued with Nje over whether we should try to make our escape now, in the Perdue harbor, or wait until we were farther from civilization. Despite Nje’s increasing concern, I didn’t believe Lazare would let us die. I also didn’t believe I was capable of another long swim in my current state.
Eventually Nje stopped arguing with me, turning its attention to asking questions and increasing its vocabulary. I felt vaguely guilty that it was shouldering the bulk of the effort. I knew I should work just as hard to master Chevachèchen, but Nje was the more skillful linguist, piecing together crude but functional sentences almost as easily as it shaped bale. It didn’t care how ridiculous it sounded, whereas I did. I quickly realized that its technique was better, but I couldn’t muster the energy to keep competing.
Two or three days passed — I don’t think it was much longer than that — before we heard the sounds of the ship being made ready to sail. That afternoon, Xavier brought us water and a shallow bowl of fried plantains.
“The Chasers escaped,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he smelled our makeshift latrine. “Captain’s pissed. Best do what he says.”
“And you?” I croaked, reaching for the fresh pitcher of water. I took a swallow and handed it to Cutter. “Staying?”
“Waiting.” Xavier glanced upward, as if he could see through the deck. “Crew’s not happy. Saying it’s bad luck to cross a Saint-Cloud.”
“They want to kill me?”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
“Free me?”
“Lazare forbids it.”
“Then, what?”
He dropped his gaze to mine.
“New captain might have better luck on the hunt, if a Saint-Cloud was on his side. One good trip, and everyone could go their own way.”
Cutter made a noise as we passed the water pitcher back and forth.
“We won’t sign the Articles,” I said, guessing at Cutter’s objection. Xavier lifted a shoulder.
“Officer’s word is good enough for me.”
“Or attack another Navy ship….”
“Didn’t work out too well the first time.”
“I would like to get out of these chains,” I admitted. “A temporary truce with the man who put me in them seems reasonable in exchange for our freedom.”
“As long as the Navy never finds out,” Cutter muttered. Xavier nodded and turned, calling over his shoulder:
“I’ll send someone down to clean up this mess for you.”