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  His expression must have said something funny, because she laughed.

  “Why…?”

  “I’ve rarely seen such a sour face. Don’t worry; you can do this.”

  When she walked out into the water, he planted his feet. “How did you learn to swim anyway? Who taught you?”

  “Are you doubting my credentials?”

  “No. I just want to know about you.”

  A shadow flickered behind her eyes, but it wasn’t bad enough to steal her smile. “All right. One story, then we go out. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She made him stand with his feet in the water while she spoke. “The first fourteen years of my life, I lived in Gotham. Most Uroch just call them ruins, I think?”

  “We don’t often remember names,” he confirmed. “Impressions of a place are more common. Danger, fear, anger, pain, hunger … or rarely, kindness.”

  “Like with Millie.”

  “Yes.”

  Nodding, Tegan went on, “The part of the ruins I lived in used to be a school, or that’s what my uncle Walter said. I had one mom, Teresa, and many uncles, and a few aunties. There were cousins, too, but they weren’t all my blood.”

  “So you were raised like me. In a clan of kin.” Suddenly intrigued, he puzzled over that. Could that be why she’s more like me than other humans?

  “Kind of. Mostly they were survivors who found each other and tried to hang on. But we had no doctors. So when people got sick, they died so fast. Illnesses I know I could treat now with minimal facilities and basic herbs.”

  “So there were humans who lived almost like the Uroch,” he said softly.

  “Worse than us, definitely. The worst dangers came from humans.” She kicked at the water, sending splashes of it rippling outward. “When your people started changing, they began emerging from under the ruins. Before then it seemed as if they were afraid of the light or something.”

  “It hurt,” he murmured. “And I still don’t like it. At the brightest, it stings my eyes. My cloak is not only to keep me from human sight.”

  “So I’m torturing you doubly now, with sun and sea.”

  Szarok pressed her hand lightly. “Worth it. Now tell me how you learned to swim.”

  “Right. Well, at this school where we lived, there were big basins that caught rainwater. So when they filled up and the sun came out, somebody would stand watch while Uncle Walter gave me lessons. How to float, how to paddle, when to hold my breath. He even taught me the trick with my pants, twisting them into a flotation device. He said”—her voice shook, and she lowered her chin, probably not wanting him to see her tear-filled eyes—“knowing how to swim could save my life. And it has, twice now.”

  “Mine as well,” he said gravely. “It sounds as if you cared for him deeply. Was he kin?”

  “Only in the sense that he helped raise me. My uncle Tomas was my only blood kin, and he died before my mother.”

  Listening to her quiet account of how everyone she had known and loved had left her behind—without the comfort of their memories—it was impossible that his heart didn’t twist and throb in his chest. Her old sadness swelled like the salt water lapping about his feet so that the two scents entwined, seaweed slipping about his ankles.

  “I had no idea you are the last of your blood.”

  Tegan flinched so hard that he almost lost his grip on her hand. He’d meant it as a condolence of sorts. “Was that wrong to say?”

  Mouth compressed, she just shook her head.

  “You said I must tell you if you anger me. Is the reverse not also true?”

  “I’m not angry. I’m just … not ready to talk. Someday, maybe. Which … I hope you’ll accept for the compliment it is, since I swore I’d never speak of it again.”

  Szarok read the sincerity in her gaze and secreted away the promise of maybe and someday. Just when he thought he couldn’t admire her more, he learned something that made her seem more wondrous. Any more brightness, and he would soon have no room inside for the warmth she kindled.

  “I understand.”

  “But I can offer this instead. It’s something I’ve never told anyone. When I was young, everyone died, one by one. Except for three, two of my uncles and me. One morning, I woke up and they were just … gone.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Szarok put one hand on her shoulder, unsure if that was right. When she leaned forward and rested her brow against his chest, he let that loose embrace stand. There could be no crowding her, but he wanted her to feel his skin and understand that even if she was the last of her blood, she was also the closest of his kin. Quietly, he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, leaving his scent as a silent marker.

  “They abandoned you?” he asked eventually.

  She lifted a shoulder, not stirring. “I always secretly hoped that something terrible happened to them. Isn’t that awful? But … the alternative is that after raising me for thirteen years, they thought it would be too much trouble to save me, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” That was inadequate, but she seemed to take some comfort in the slow tap of his palm on her shoulder, keeping time to their pulse.

  Szarok doubted that she noticed, but her heart settled into rhythm with his, pounding a soundless message. She shifted a little now and then, but he remained steady and calm. I will be home and shelter for you. I will be an island where the water never rises. How long they stood that way, he had no idea.

  Eventually she straightened and gave him a smile. “Well, this lesson is an unqualified success. You didn’t even realize.”

  “What?” He saw only her eyes, her hair, her face. The rest of the world was gray and indistinct, unimportant even, in the face of her pain.

  “Look how deep we’ve come.”

  Somehow, while holding her close, he hadn’t even noticed as they waded into the sea, now swirling around his waist.

  A Tale of Three Hangings

  A pall hung over the Catalina.

  With the murderers locked away, they’d spent two whole days searching after the storm broke, but found no signs of Tegan or Szarok. The gulf was thick with skerries, some no more than a rock big enough for resting seabirds, while others could hide a whole village. Advika came to Morrow on the third morning, her face set in somber lines.

  “Captain,” he said.

  “I’m sorry about your friends. But we’ve got to head for port now, or I won’t get the supplies delivered before the ice starts forming. I won’t risk these waters too deep in winter.”

  “We could just toss the culprits overboard and search a little longer.” When she laughed, Morrow guessed that meant she thought he was joking.

  Then the captain shook her head. “We have to deliver them to the family they wronged. It’s the only justice that girl will get, and it’s less than she deserves.”

  For a moment the sorrow receded enough to him to be drenched in shame. He wasn’t the only person in the world who had lost someone, who was suffering. Sometimes Morrow suspected he might actually die of the tightness in his chest. I should’ve saved her. But Malena’s family must be feeling even worse, because while he could cling to the faint possibility that Tegan had survived, they had no such hope.

  “Do you think they’d like it if I wrote a song or a poem for Malena? I could dedicate it in my next book.”

  Her smile warmed her whole face. “I’m sure. That would be a comfort to any heart.”

  “Then I’ll work on that on the way to Antecost.”

  She stared out to sea. “I wish I had a mirror that would let me gaze into a man’s soul. That way, I’d never take on somebody who could do such an evil thing.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said, a sort of rote assurance.

  But the woman shook her head. “I feel the weight, no matter what you say. If they hadn’t sailed with me, that girl would still be alive. They did the killing, but I judged wrong.”

  With a faint sigh, the captain strode away to confer with her firs
t mate. Sung Ji was hard at work in the forecastle, a term Morrow had picked up along the way. He didn’t pause to dip into their conversation. Instead he went below and snitched a bottle from the bags of one of the criminals currently confined. The rotgut tasted like evil and burning, but he downed it all anyway, then fell back into his hammock.

  The next day, he woke with a pounding head and a knot in his stomach. Morrow staggered onto the deck without washing, and as he stood at the railing, he thought about leaning forward. Just a little, and a little more, until his feet left the deck, and the next wave, the next rough wave— But before he finished that thought, Millie dashed toward him, her eyes wider than usual. She grabbed his arm and jerked him toward the access to the lower deck.

  “I can’t do this; I need some help. He won’t be still.”

  His mind felt like it was full of mud. “What?”

  “Just come on,” she said impatiently.

  A moment later he understood. A sailor was pacing in the infirmary, blood soaking a cloth wrapped around his hand. Morrow was no doctor, but he could help by taking charge.

  “Sit down,” he ordered.

  Since he must have looked like a drunkard and smelled like one too, it surprised him when the deckhand complied. Millie settled then and started gathering supplies. Clean water, antiseptic, bandages, medicine. She must’ve seen Tegan work a little because she seemed competent, older than usual, as she prepared everything.

  “This may hurt. Do you have a flask?” she asked.

  “No.” The sailor hesitated under the weight of her dubious stare. “Yes.”

  “Empty it, and I’ll get to work.”

  The man knocked back the same foul-smelling stuff that had numbed Morrow the night before. Millie waited a moment. When her patient relaxed, she pried his fingers open to reveal a bloody palm with a ragged gash. She clenched her jaw, inhaled sharply, then started treatment. First she blotted the blood away and cleansed the wound with the mixture Tegan had left.

  Millie’s hands shook a little when she reached for the bag that belonged to their friend. But once she opened it, she found composure and cracked open the kit with needles and thread. Morrow’s stomach twisted in time to his throbbing head, and he had to look away as she pulled the black thread through the sailor’s torn flesh. The man whimpered like a pup, his eyes squeezed shut, and James held him still. Twice he tried to jerk away, but Millie kept going.

  “There,” she said finally.

  When he looked again, she had a bandage tied neatly around the man’s hand. The sailor staggered out, probably half drunk from the grog and blood loss. Morrow scraped a hand over his rough jaw, wishing he hadn’t put himself to bed with a bottle. The infirmary was a hell of a mess, and he shouldn’t make Millie deal with that alone. But damn, if she didn’t have a cool head on her shoulders.

  “You’re good at this,” he said, helping her to tidy up.

  “I spent a lot of time doctoring animals. But you already knew that; I’m fairly famous for it. People aren’t that different. Actually … they just complain more.”

  He laughed, the sound choking off when he realized.

  I shouldn’t. Not with Tegan missing.

  She went on, “Thanks for helping. I’ve been taking care of little things, but this was more than I could manage on my own.”

  “I didn’t do much.”

  “You always seem to think that, but you matter a lot,” Millie said. “We’ll be in Port-Mer later today. Sung Ji is worried that we won’t make the next stop with all the delays. And some of the sailors are saying the ship’s cursed now because we let a Uroch on board.”

  “That’s superstitious rubbish.” He considered knocking some sense into those imbeciles, but it would likely irritate Captain Advika if he caused additional trouble.

  Smiling, she said, “I knew you’d feel that way.”

  * * *

  When the Catalina sailed back into port, they didn’t receive the same welcome as before. The townsfolk in the market wore grim and dour looks, until Captain Advika shoved the three men forward in chains. She grabbed a merchant seemingly at random and said, “Fetch your chief. He’ll want to see to this personally.”

  “Take these louts and go,” someone called.

  “Malena’s killers were among my crew,” the captain said. “One of ours overheard the confession. I swear to you on my life, it was these three.”

  One by one, she kicked the back of their legs so they went down, kneeling in forced penitence. Morrow could tell by the way they bit the gags in their mouths, they wanted to curse. But Sung Ji and two men on either side of him held them down, and the chains prevented them from running or trying to fight.

  Eventually the chief arrived. “You found the culprits?”

  Captain Advika turned to Morrow and waved him over. “This is James Morrow. His father is the governor of the Evergreen Isle. I think you may have written to him now and then.”

  The chief nodded. “Good man, your father. I’m Byron Littleberry.”

  Morrow nodded, acknowledging the introduction, but it didn’t seem right to interrupt.

  Advika went on, “Mr. Morrow caught the sailors threatening the Uroch vanguard, and in the course of that conversation, he also overheard their full confession. This account is corroborated by Millie Faraday, another crewman.”

  “If that’s true, we owe the vanguard an apology.” With a sigh, the chief lowered his head.

  Captain Advika’s mouth curled down at the corners. “You’ll have to find him first.”

  “Beg pardon?” That clearly startled Littleberry.

  “While struggling with Malena’s murderers, Szarok went overboard, and our ship’s doctor followed him. They were both lost in the storm a few days back.”

  Now missing. Presumed dead. Morrow heard the words she didn’t say. They twisted in him like knives. Even if he never got to be more than a silly clown who made Tegan of the Staff laugh now and then, it would’ve been enough. The idea that she might’ve passed from the world? Impossible. Untenable. It hurt to stand, to think, to breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” the chief was saying. “And our wrongs weigh even heavier since there’s no way to make amends.”

  “Some things can’t be changed. But regardless, there is no doubt in my mind that these men are guilty, and I am remanding them to your custody to do with as you will.”

  The sailors on the ground shouted, but their fabric bindings muffled the words, rendering them indistinguishable from mindless noise. That seemed to be enough for Littleberry. Quickly, he gave orders, and strong men hauled the criminals off. Morrow wasn’t certain what came next, but Captain Advika didn’t seem ready to depart quite yet.

  “I have to see the family and offer reparations. Nothing I can say or do will fix this, but I have to try. Even if I was rushed, I should’ve made sure I could trust my crew.”

  Morrow inclined his head. Normally he’d offer to go with her, but today he felt acutely conscious of how bad he must look and smell. Shame percolated through him that he’d let himself sink to this state. The usual James Morrow would be welcome at a solemn service, but—

  “Oh, take this with you. I did manage a poem for Malena. See if it’s welcome?”

  With a grateful smile, Captain Advika accepted the paper. “Unless I miss my guess, there will be three hangings today. I’m ordering all the men to remain on the ship with Sung Ji now, but I’d appreciate it if you and Millie would attend as our representatives, a gesture of respect.”

  “You want me to take Millie to an execution?” He didn’t mean to bark it so loud.

  At his exclamation, she came over. “It’s fine, James. I lived through the tithes in Otterburn, so do you really think I don’t understand how the world works? Sometimes awful things stop worse ones. They’re not hanging those men because it’ll help Malena. They’re doing it to make any other mug think twice.”

  Her response rocked him. Somehow he’d gotten the idea that she was a beautiful child. Bu
t her eyes were wide open and clear as a summer sky with a quiet maturity that likely surpassed his own. I shouldn’t treat her like that. Just because she’s cheerful, I figured she didn’t understand. But it seemed braver to choose optimism when you did know how grim the world could be—defiant joy that blazed a beacon in the face of adversity. Mentally, he was already writing the lines to describe her.

  But he couldn’t let on that she’d shaken him, even a little. So he teased. “Mug? Where did you learn that word?”

  “My ma says it about anybody whose morality she comes to question.”

  “I like that,” he declared. “It’s going in the book. But your mother has an uncommonly colorful tongue. I’d like to meet her.”

  “Her tongue’s pink, same as mine.” She stuck hers out, and it was … he didn’t know what. Not a childish taunt exactly, not with her knowing eyes. “But you can meet my ma, if you want.”

  For some reason, his cheeks fired, and he looked away first, fanning his shirt away from his chest. “I never knew an autumn afternoon to be so hot.”

  “You’ll have the chills soon enough.”

  As Morrow took the poem back from the captain, he wished he wasn’t so damn scruffy. He followed the crowd to the outskirts of town. They hadn’t bothered to build the gallows like he’d read about in old books; from what he could tell, they’d chosen three solid trees. When the knots were tied and all witnesses had assembled, the chief dropped the nooses around the men’s necks one by one.

  Then Littleberry said, “We do this for Malena, may she rest in peace.”

  That was all.

  The gags came off, and Morrow had never heard such hoarse pleading, sobbing, and praying in his life, a veritable babble of it, grotesquely silenced as the men of Antecost hauled each rope over a branch and strung each sailor up one by one. None of them died quickly, and that might come close to justice for the girl they’d murdered. Millie stood in respectful silence until the last of their feet stopped kicking.

  “Please thank Captain Advika,” Littleberry said with a formal bow. “I know it cost her time and trust to change her course this late in the year. I only hope no other settlements suffer because she did the right thing here.”