Shadow Road Page 10

  "My name is Brenorra Warring," I whispered. It was like a dam breaking. Words began slipping out faster, and there was no getting them back. "My father is Arrix Warring." Arramy exhaled sharply, but I kept going, talking to the boards beneath my feet instead of hazarding a glance at that stern face again. "I didn't say anything earlier because..." I hesitated, not sure how to make myself sound less paranoid. I couldn't. I took another breath and made myself say it out loud: "Because I think someone assassinated my father. Or... tried."

  Silence.

  I could feel his gaze boring into my skin.

  "Why?" he finally grated out when I didn't look up.

  "I don't know." Then I had to wince. That wasn't entirely true.

  Arramy had gone perfectly still while I spoke. He remained that way for several seconds after I stopped. Then, without warning, he took hold of my arm, jerked me about, and began pulling me beside him as he skirted the gaping hole in the main deck and took the steps to the quarterdeck two-at a time. I stumbled, unable to keep pace with his long-legged stride, only to be yanked upright and towed along again.

  The door to the map room was hanging off one hinge, blown inward by an explosion, and he kicked it out of the way, hauling me roughly around the map table and into that all-too-familiar cabin. Unlike NaVarre, Arramy didn't sit me down in an armchair, or act like we were having afternoon tea. He kept hold of my arm as he went straight to NaVarre's desk, shoved NaVarre's desk chair aside, opened one of the deep side drawers, and pulled out my father's satchel.

  "Is this what you were looking for that night?" he asked, holding it up.

  I gave him a pointed glare and deliberately removed my elbow from his grip. "Sort of," I said, rubbing my arm.

  The captain lifted a brow. "Either it was, or it wasn't."

  "It belonged to my father."

  His unimpressed expression said he had already put that together. "And you think your father had something worth killing him for in this bag." The muscles in his jaw flickered. Then, once again, my father's satchel was upended over NaVarre's desk. This time, though, there was nothing orderly about it. Arramy dumped my father's things all over the blotter without watching what he was doing, obviously already aware of the contents.

  His eyes glittered dangerously as he turned on me again. "You mean to tell me that fifty-seven people died today because someone wanted your father's pen box? Or was it his pipe tobacco? Is there something in the tea I missed?" His voice rose, and he shook the bag violently, then threw it onto the mess he had made. "What aren't you telling me?"

  18. Trading Secrets

  23rd of Uirra, Continued

  I couldn't breathe. I stared up at him. The truth was on my tongue, but that last, stubborn shred of doubt still clung tight, and I wavered. I had already given away too much. If I said nothing about the papers, no one would know where they were even if they sat on them. What if that was the right thing to do? Almost unconsciously I started shaking my head.

  Captain Arramy didn't erupt as I expected. He simply reached out and caught my chin in his sea-rough fingers to keep me from moving, then bent to look me in the eye. "Whoever is doing this, whatever this secret is, they want to keep it a secret. They want it to disappear," he whispered fiercely. "So, if this thing, this secret never sees the light of day... they win. The only way they won't win is if you don't let them hide it."

  He was making entirely too much sense. Whoever was after Father hadn't stopped after the Galvania went down. An awful thought occurred to me. What if they weren't just trying to get rid of the satchel, or me? What if they were trying to get rid of anyone who might have seen it? Or my father? That would include everyone who had been aboard the Galvania, and now the Ang. Hiding that binder wasn't good enough. Destroying it wouldn't make any difference either if they were just going to kill us all no matter what.

  Arramy let go of me.

  I sagged where I stood, defeated and numb. Then I turned and walked around him to NaVarre's desk chair.

  It was a simple matter of lifting the tufted velvet seat cushion up off its frame, and there it was.

  I had never hated an inanimate object in my life. It was so very normal, exactly like the hundreds of other business binders we used in the office, but the sight of this one sent ice churning through my middle. This one had ruined lives. It took several mental tries to make myself lean down and lift the binder out of the indentation in the seat. Forcing my hands not to fling the cursed thing across the room, I pushed a few of my father's things out of the way on the desk and placed the binder on the blotter.

  Arramy observed all of this from beneath lowered brows, his arms crossed over his chest.

  "This was hidden in my father's bag. In a secret pocket." I steeled myself and flipped the cover open. "We were on the Galvania because we were going to the Colonies for a fresh start. That's what I thought. That's what Father said... There was a fire in our shipping office. It spread to our warehouse and the docks. Half the tenement district went up, and our townhouse... We lost everything, so when I first found this, I assumed my father had just salvaged these from the fire and kept them."

  I ran my fingers over the tissue-thin pink-press safety slips, then down one of the thick card paper stubs of a merchant's copy docking receipt. "After the wreck, I took a better look. There isn't any way to connect it. At least, not that I've found. But it can't be as random as it seems. Father must have had all of this collected before the fire, because these," I pulled one of our shipping manifests a little to the side, "were kept in a cabinet that was destroyed. And these," I tapped a finger on the stiff blue paper of a tariff payment stub, "are several months apart. Why only these few out of all the hundreds in that rollafile?"

  I shook my head. "After everything that has happened, first the fire, then the Galvania, now this, I can't help but think that there's something hidden in here. I just can't see what it is."

  The cabin was so quiet, the rumbling percussions of the Stryka's long guns were clear, echoing over the water, a grim reminder that the fight was still going on outside.

  Arramy closed his eyes and lifted a hand, rubbing his right temple with his thumb. Then he ground his teeth again, opened his eyes, and moved to bend over the desk, examining the bundles of paper with all the appreciation one might show a dead puffadder. His frown deepened as he removed one bundle, then another, perplexed. His eyes widened when he got to the third shipping manifest.

  "What in the blue..." he muttered, pulling the sheet out of its little packet to read the date at the bottom. Then he put the paper on the desk between us, eyeing me intently. "What do you know about this ship?"

  I glanced at the 'Departing On' line. "The Persephyrre. We lost it..." I almost had to sit down as I completed that thought aloud: "... to pirates."

  He squinted at me. "That's what they told you? That it was lost?"

  I nodded slowly. "It was a government contract. We filed a loss-claim on it with the Collections Bureau. I did all the paperwork myself."

  Arramy began shaking his head as I spoke, then added a piece of the puzzle I never even knew existed. "It wasn't lost. I retook it. Admiral Shoult had it impounded because I found a cache of weapons hidden in the cargo."

  My brain skipped a cog. "Weapons?" I mouthed, frowning, the full implications starting to unroll before me. "So... my father was an arms dealer? For Bloody NaVarre? That's why they blew up the Galvania?... What if NaVarre blew up the Galvania..." Suddenly ill, I grabbed at the back of NaVarre's chair.

  The captain ignored me, still focused on the manifest. "High Command should have opened an inquest. They didn't. Why?" He began pacing slowly toward the large bay windows. Then he wheeled and came back. "Did your father meet anyone in Porte De Darre?"

  His quick change in topic sent my already busy thoughts scattering into fuzz, and I blinked. "No. I don't think so."

  "Are you absolutely sure?"

  "He couldn't have. We left as soon as we arrived," I stammered.

  "You w
ere with him the entire time?"

  "Yes," I said, then actually thought about it and closed my eyes. "No. I went to the Post." My eyes flew open. "But he couldn't have met someone. Not unless he met them in the Ticket Office. I was only gone for a few minutes."

  Arramy swore under his breath, a fierce scowl drawing his brows together. He took a few steps toward the window, then turned to face me, still frowning. "Why did NaVarre have you in his cabin?"

  My heart skipped a beat, my face instantly heating. "Whatever that might have looked like, I wasn't —"

  "Answer the question."

  "He wanted the binder," I said, remembering the look on NaVarre's face when he found the thing. "He knew what it was. Or at least he wasn't surprised by it."

  Arramy leaned over and put his hands flat on the desk, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then he straightened abruptly and walked over to the liquor cabinet.

  I almost let loose a slightly crazed, incredulous cackle when he found a shot glass and poured a finger of NaVarre's best rum into it. It was like watching that first conversation with NaVarre unfolding in reverse. I sobered. It really was a case of the opposites. Last time I had hidden the binder and kept my mouth shut. Now, I had spilled everything right out in the open. There wasn't going to be any way back from this.

  A fresh lump of apprehension settled into my stomach.

  The captain stared through the bay window, pensively surveying the sea, then tossed back the last of his drink. He set the shot glass down on the marble top of the liquor cabinet with a hard thunk.

  "I need to talk to NaVarre," he announced. Then he stalked out of the cabin.

  I stood where he had left me, gazing dumbly at the empty space he had just occupied. Then I wrinkled my nose. "You are joking, aren't you?" I called, turning to face the empty map room. "Aren't you?"

  My only answer was the sound of his footsteps out on the quarterdeck.

  19. Soup Tureens and Ice Water

  24th of Uirra

  Unspeaking, Laffa regarded me with her black-bead eyes as I stumped from one end of the forward hold to the other.

  I was going to go mad. I was expected to sit about twiddling my thumbs while surrounded by people who were missing whole limbs. I hardly had a scratch. Even the ringing in my ears was gone. It was unfair how unharmed I was, really, but that only made sitting down worse. There was too much guilt involved.

  Earlier, it wasn't so bad. I threw myself into clearing away the rubble, sweeping the floors, scrubbing blood stains, changing bandages, and organizing a makeshift new ceiling out of oilcloth for the hold so the winter air didn't add death-by-exposure to our list of casualties. But the Stryka succeeded in crippling the Erristos as the sun went down and came alongside the Angpixen shortly before nightfall, and after that there were more than enough able-bodied sailors to do everything.

  I was told to 'rest.'

  'Rest' in this case should have been translated: 'try not to think about how awful everything is, and how you could have prevented it all.'

  I didn't want to 'rest,' thank you, so I paced about the hold, worrying my lower lip. There had to be something a non-essential civilian of sound body could do on a ship to keep busy.

  At that instant, Cook began swearing at the dishes because he was missing two more fingers than he had been yesterday. I stopped pacing. Perhaps if I asked nicely, he would allow me to help.

  ~~~

  I balanced the tray on my hip, careful of the blue and gold enameled soup tureen, and tugged the collar of my father's coat closer about my face with my free hand. Then I ducked through the gap in the oilcloth that had been strung up in place of the door to the galley.

  Cook's rough Tetton lilt followed me up the newly rebuilt stairs to the main deck, "Would'a please ask 'is 'ighness if I'm s'posed ta feed 'em wot're come over, or if Cready's already fed 'em all. An' tell 'im if they needs a feed, I needs more s'plies from the Stryka. Got it?"

  "I got it," I called back, now knowing better than to ask him to repeat himself.

  I rolled my eyes at his instant, "'Ya got it' wot?"

  "I got it sir!" I shouted smartly over my shoulder, daring to add, "You cantankerous old coot," under my breath.

  I hefted the tray a little higher and made my way to the main deck. I peered around as I went up the stairs to the quarterdeck, half expecting one of the midshipmen to order me back down to the hold. No one did. Pierse was somewhere forward, standing night watch, and Arriankaredes and Mackney were both among the wounded. The quarterdeck was deserted. The only sign of life was the lantern light pouring through the empty frame that once held the map room door.

  My feet faltered at the top of the steps. The Cook's orders had been clear. Or clear enough to get the gist, anyway. I was supposed to take the soup tureen to the captain. This was proving to be a bit like working up the nerve to jump into ice water. I took a few deep breaths, walked in a small circle while telling myself I was being a ninny, then simply faced the map room, lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and made myself do it.

  The captain and another man were standing at the table, heads bowed over a map unrolled between them, their breath pluming in the cold as they discussed something.

  As I crossed the quarterdeck, I noticed that the captain had cleaned himself up a bit. The last time I had seen him, his close-cropped hair had been stuck up at odd angles, stiff with blood, and his face and throat had been smeared with soot and who knew what else. Now, in the glow of the ceiling lantern above the table, his hair gleamed platinum-silver in striking contrast with the deep tan of his skin. As if the man wasn't intimidating enough already, his dark, navy-issue greatcoat made the pale grey of his eyes seem even more intense than usual when he glanced up at my knock on the doorless jamb.

  The other man was saying, "If we landed on the west beach under cover of night, we could —” when he noticed the shift in the captain's attention. Instantly he went silent, shooting an annoyed glare over his shoulder.

  The captain held my gaze, indicating a nearby bench with a slight nod.

  I carried the tray to the bench and set it down, my heart beating a little too quickly.

  The captain was still watching me, and the silence from the commander was beginning to stifle, so I sank into a half-sweet curtsy and ducked back out onto the quarterdeck, completely rattled.

  "As I was saying, from the beach, the marines could approach the southern wall here,” the commander started, but the captain interrupted him.

  "I'm thinking something more subtle. NaVarre is being held on charges of piracy by the Edonian Court Royale. But the Lodesian Maritime Court also has claim on him. If High Admiral Ghandier, say, happened to show up with papers of emergency extradition to Aritagne..." he trailed off, letting the commander infer his meaning.

  At that point I remembered that Cook wanted me to ask about feeding everyone and the availability of more vittles, and I stopped short of crossing the quarterdeck, utterly unsure what to do. On the one hand, I shouldn't loiter. On the other hand, I didn't want to go barging back in there. And on a third hand, if I came back without that information, Cook would be angry, and then he might not let me keep helping him. I decided to stay put until there was an appropriate break in the captain's conversation. Then I would barge in. Neither were perfect options, but it was that or 'resting.'

  While I was sidling back to stand just to the side of the map room doorway, the commander was quiet, mulling over the captain's plan. Then he said, slowly, "I mean... it could work."

  "If it did, we could get in and out with minimal risk to the men." That was the captain's rough brogue.

  The commander responded with a gruff: "If it doesn't, you'll be on your own in there."

  "That's why you'll be on the beach. You can storm in and mop up my mess like always."

  Both were quiet. Then the commander muttered, "I still can't believe you want to rescue that reprobate."

  "I don't," Arramy grunted, and I could swear I heard him grinding his teeth. "Unfort
unately, he's tangled in this up to his hairline. I just hope the Court Royale doesn't magic him away before we get there. Go on and get your bunk time in. We'll tackle this in the morning."

  Footsteps began moving, tell-tale long strides approaching the door.

  My appropriate moment was about to be replaced by getting caught eavesdropping. I stepped forward, clearing my throat loudly. "I'm sorry to bother you again, Captain, but Cook was wondering if he's 's'posed ta feed 'em wot're come over,'" I rattled off, parroting the Cook as close as I could, "or if 'Cready's already fed them all. If they 'needs a feed,' he'll need more supplies from the Stryka."

  Captain Arramy came to a halt in the doorway, that unnerving glare landing on my face. I held my breath, wanting more than anything to be somewhere – anywhere – else. Then I thought of having to go back to sitting around doing nothing and forced myself to lift my chin and stand up straight.

  The captain narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow, responding in a slightly suspicious tone that said he knew I had overheard everything: "Des'Cready already fed the crew... Supplies will be brought over in the morning."

  "Ah. Good. Thank you." I turned, ready to march away, head held high.

  "Miss Westerby."

  I went still, then slowly came back around, my mouth gone dry. "Yes?"

  Arramy leveled a cool stare at me. "According to the Galvania's passenger list, your father was alone when he left Porte De Darre. How did you keep your presence on the Galvania a secret?"

  I blinked. Yet again, someone else knew details of my life that even I hadn't been privy to until recently. "He booked my passage under another name. Which he could only have done if he falsified several documents... And bribed several officials." Oh, for heaven's sake, stop babbling! I managed to close my mouth and gave the captain a thin smile.

  He studied me.

  I waited. When he didn't seem inclined to say anything more, I cleared my throat. "Was there anything else?"