CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
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Jameson Wicket
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2nd of Janus, 936 PC
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Wicket stumbled onto the docks an hour after sunrise to find Yormir and Ashe sitting on a bench sharing a smoke stick. The Old Wolf was grinning and slapping the coughing blonde on the back. Wicket tossed his empty bottle of rum into the water and walked up to them. He covered his sensitive eyes from the morning sun and said, “Ready for the high seas?”
“Where have you been?” Yormir asked, an arm wrapped around Ashe’s shoulders. The hot end of his smoke stick was lying on the bristly hair of his beard.
“Had to do some thinkin’,” Wicket said. He’d talked things out with the woman he’d barged in on after she’d climbed into bed with him. First time he’d ever been in a bed with a woman and cared more about what was between her ears more than her legs. He couldn’t help it though, the wheels were coming off of this wagon he was tumbling toward Northcrest in and when that started happening anyone’s opinion was better than his own.
Yormir put his big, ugly paw on Ashe’s thigh and pushed himself to his feet. His legs were only slightly sturdier than Wicket’s. “Never thought you and thinkin’ were friends.”
“We ain’t. Had to call in some help. Where’s Camila?”
“Looking for the ship,” Ashe said.
“You let her walk the docks alone?” Wicket said. “Chivalry.”
Yormir burped into his fist. “Only one with her sea legs this morning.”
As if on cue, Ashe wrapped both hands around the back of the bench and pushed himself to his feet. “Only one without something to mourne.” He glanced at Yormir. “Not sure what The Old Wolf was crying about though.”
“Walk a mile in my shoes,” Yormir said. “You’d tear up too.”
Wicket put an arm around Yormir, partially to embrace him and partially so he didn’t fall into the water. At least not alone. He wanted to say something as he patted The Old Wolf’s chest but his mind had no interest in putting together a sentimental sentence.
“Does it have to be so bright out here?” Ashe said, rubbing his eyes. “And loud.”
Yormir flicked what was left of his smoke stick at the boy. “Quit your bitchin’. You’ll have plenty of time to rest on the boat.”
It was about that time that Camila came wandering down the dock. Her smile was shining even brighter than the sun. “Uncle Wick. Glad to see you survived the night.” Wicket gave her a wag of two fingers. “I found the Seahawk. It’s the big one.” She pointed at the biggest boat in the harbor. Maybe the world.
“Well now, there’s a chariot worthy of our greatness,” Yormir said. “Lead the way missy.”
“Gladly.” Camila grabbed Ashe by the wrist and led him toward the crowd that had formed a little ways down the dock.
Yormir wriggled out of Wicket’s grasp and sniffed sarcastically. “Do I smell the urge to cut and run?”
There was no doubt a hint of that shit somewhere on Wicket’s body, how could there not be when his baby girl was about to end up back in Iris’ hands? But like the woman he’d spent his morning with had said, there was something pulling him and Iris toward one another. He’d have his chance to save Cora eventually but now was not that time. She’d also said that in the meantime Wicket ought to double down on finding the Marsallas – as his way of telling the world he was sorry and showing Alaric he had the wrong opinion of him.
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“I ain’t goin’ nowhere but Northcrest.” Yormir scoffed. “Well then, I guess the same goes for me.”
They walked down the dock together, seeing who could keep in a straighter line while greeting the dockers, until they spotted Ashe and Camila pointing at the Seahawk and all it’s magnificence.
No ship could possibly be as large as the Seahawk, fitting since they were in a city too big to describe with words. She was gorgeous too; seven sails, each with the crest of White Hall embroidered in its center, a bowsprit that stretched over a dozen feet long, three crow’s nests, and room for more than a hundred sailors. Wicket and his motley crew were hardly suitable for such luxury but that was the ship Narah had lined up for them and he wasn’t complaining.
Ashe spotted a man in a long navy blue coat with a white tunic underneath standing on the docks. His thick brown gloves looked like they could withstand any amount of cold and the matching hat on his head was no different than the one all captain’s liked to wear. Below the hat, his long, crinkled hair hung to his shoulders. Rough son of a bitch. Wicket wouldn’t say a word to him for any amount of Leos on a normal day but his arm was waving in a way that screamed importance and so did the orders he was shouting.
“Reckon that’s the guy we’re lookin’ for.” Yormir shoved Wicket toward the man and started talking to Ashe about how bad his head hurt.
Wicket approached the man during one of the brief pauses between orders. “Captain Bahdeir?” He wrinkled up his nose and he hoped that was the right name.
“Aye, that’s me,” the man said gruffly. He spit red juices into the water beside them. “What can I do for ya?”
“I’m Seahawk.”
The captain refrained from shouting at one of his crew members and narrowed his eyes at Wicket. “Narah’s Seahawk?”
Wicket nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And where did ya set out from?”
“Thronerock.”
Captain Bahdeir extended his hand. He had an angry grip, almost crushing. “Good t’meet ya, lad. Weren’t sure you were gonna make it.”
“Rough night. And morning.”
“Been there. Four others with ya?”
“Just three of us now.”
“It happens to the best of us. Just lost some good men of my own not long ago. The captain’s scratchy voice only allowed so much politeness but he tried and Wicket appreciated it. “Grab your things, I’ll have one of my men show ya to your quarters.”
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Wicket had been on more than one ship that made him wonder if it would sink under his weight. Not the Seahawk, she was a vessel to be reckoned with at over a hundred feet long and sturdy as an ox.
They followed a dark-skinned sailor in similar clothes as the captain, only much more worn and tattered. He was a nice fella. Talked a lot without saying much though. Iris would have called him philosophical. He was the kind of man that had never met a stranger too. Like Wicket had been once upon a time. He greeted everyone they passed on their way below deck. Yormir’s headache looked like it might strangle the man. Ashe got a kick out of that.
The berth was divided into sections by rank and since they weren’t of any rank, they had to walk to the far end of the ship. It took something like ten minutes before they reached an open door hidden deep in the shadows. Their quarters were nicer than most inns he’d ever been in. There two bunks fastened to the walls, stacked three beds high. Yormir wasted no time laying down on one. There were multiple chests for their belongings, though they didn’t have enough to fill one between the four of them. An armoire stocked with a week’s worth of food and ale got Wicket’s attention. The sailor even told them they could get more each Sunday morning. All in all, he felt pretty darn good about their voyage. If Cora was here with him he might just become part of the crew and stay forever. Maybe he’d been wrong about the wheels coming off. Maybe they’d just hit a rough patch.
“Reckon I don’t know what t’say,” Wicket said to the sailor.
“Words never mean much anyway, do they?” the sailor said. “Your smiles are plenty.” He reached out a hand. “If you need anything, the name’s Io Pallani. Don’t hesitate to bring me your problems.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ashe said. Which brought a proud grin to Io’s face.
Io walked away, pausing in the threshold and turning around. “Glad to have ya aboard.” He winked and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
It wasn’t until it was too late that they heard the lock jingling. Wicket darted for the door, slammed into it hard, but it didn’t budge. He could hear whistling on the other side, fading fast as Io walked away. He pressed his head against the door. Fuck.