Ship Breaker

18

GETTING WORK WASN’T HARD. Getting work that paid as well as ship breaking was impossible. Only Tool had easy access to work, acting as muscle on valuable goods as they transshipped to the Mississippi and the rail yards. Without a clan system or union contact or a family, Nailer and Nita were left with the dreg work, running messages, hauling small items, begging. A man in an alley offered to buy their blood, but his hands and needles were filthy, and his eyes said he wanted to harvest more than their veins. They ran from him, and were relieved when he did not follow.

A week passed, and then two. They settled into poverty-ridden routine as they watched ship after ship arrive and then depart, making way for a new disappointment to come gliding in on white canvas wings.

Nailer had expected Nita’s prissy distaste for the slums of the Orleans to continue, but she adapted quickly, with a fierce attention to whatever Tool and Nailer taught. She threw herself into work, contributed her share, and didn’t complain about what she ate or where they slept. She was still swank, and still did weird swank things, but she also showed a determination to carry her weight that Nailer was forced to respect.

One early morning, with Nailer and Nita both elbow deep in blood as they gutted black eels for a grub shack, he admitted what he’d been thinking.

“You’re okay, Lucky Girl.”

Nita filleted another eel and dropped its carcass into the bucket between them. “Yeah?” She was only half listening as she worked.

“Yeah. You work good,” Nailer said as he yanked a fresh eel from another bucket and handed it across to her. “If we were still at the ship-breaking yards, I’d vouch you onto light crew.”

Nita took the eel and paused, surprised. The eel coiled around her wrist, thrashing.

Nailer stumbled on. “I mean, you’re still a swank, but, you know, if you needed work, I’d stand for you.”

She smiled then, a smile as bright as the blue ocean. Nailer felt his chest contract. Damn, he was crazy. He was actually starting to like this girl. He turned and fished out another eel for himself and slashed it open. “Anyway, I’m just saying you do good work.” He didn’t look up again. He felt his skin darkening with a blush.

“Thank you, Nailer,” Nita said. Her voice was soft.

“Sure. It’s nothing. Let’s get these eels done and get out to the docks. I don’t want to miss the first work calls.”

Nita had given Nailer and Tool a bunch of names to memorize, writing them in the mud for Nailer so that he could memorize the pattern of their letters. She described the flag her company flew, so that they could look for the ships and between the three of them be sure of spotting any likely candidates.

None of her instructions turned out to matter.

Nailer was running a message to the Ladee Bar from the first officer of the Gossamer, a sleek trimaran with fixed wind-wing sails and an impressive Buckell cannon on its foredeck, when everything went wrong.

The message was a sealed envelope, waxed and marked with a thumbstrip as well, and Nailer had a chit for payment on delivery, if the captain was willing to thumb it. As he ran down the boardwalk to the deep swim he was already thinking about the annoyance of having to make the passage back to the Orleans with one hand above water. If he soaked the letter, he might not get a tip from the captain-

Richard Lopez appeared like a ghost.

Nailer froze. His father’s pale bare head bobbed above the crowds of laborers, an apparition of evil with his red dragon tattoos running up his arms and curling about his neck. His pale blue eyes stared at everything that went past, taking in the docks. Nailer’s mind screamed at him to run, but at the sudden sight of his father he was filled with terror and couldn’t move.

Two half-men were with him. Their huge bodies pushed through the crowds, towering over everyone else. Their blunt doglike faces stared at the people with contempt, their noses twitching for a scent, their dappled dark skin and yellow eyes watching hungrily. After weeks in Tool’s company, Nailer had forgotten how frightening a half-man could be, but now, as these great beasts moved through the crowd, his fear returned.

Move move move move MOVE!

Nailer ducked low, hiding himself in the crowd, and lunged for the boardwalk’s edge. He dropped over the side, the letter for the captain at Ladee Bar forgotten. He sank into the waves and swam under the floating dock. There was just enough space for him to breathe if he craned his neck back and stuck his nose into the small gap between the water and the bottom of the boards.

Overhead, the planks creaked and thumped with foot traffic. Water and grime lapped around Nailer’s cheeks and jaw as he peered up through the gaps in the planking. People moved past. Nailer held silent, watching for another glimpse of his father.

What was the man doing? How did he know to look for him here?

The trio appeared in Nailer’s vision. All of them were well dressed. Even his father had new clothes, not a stain on them, no tears. Not beach clothes at all. Swank. The half-men had pistols in shoulder harnesses and whips coiled at their belts. They stopped above Nailer and surveyed the crowds of coolie laborers hauling freight.

Grimy waves sloshed over Nailer. The wake of a passing boat. The waves shoved him up against the planks beneath his father’s shoes. His face scraped and he held his breath as he sank and then bobbed up against the boards again, trying not to make any sound. Splinters stung his lips and water ran up his nose. Nailer fought the urge to splutter and cough. If he gave himself away, he was dead. He ducked his head under water and blew his nose clean, then surfaced, forcing himself to be silent. He took a careful shuddering breath.

The three hunters still stood over him, surveying the cargo activity. Nailer wondered if they had just guessed that he would go to the Orleans or if they had somehow tortured Pima or Sadna for an answer. He forced the question from his mind. There was nothing he could do about that. He needed to solve his own problem first.

The half-men surveyed the dock workers with a calm detachment so much like Tool that they could have been brothers. The half-men watched the people and Nailer watched them, putting his hands up against the boards as more waves threatened to shove him into the wood. He kept hoping they would say something, but if they did, the rumble of the boards and the splash of the waters around him obscured it. He prayed that Lucky Girl had the sense to be on the lookout. Tool as well. It was just the barest luck that had allowed Nailer to recognize his father and duck away. He trembled at the realization of how close he had come.

Richard and the half-men moved on, still surveying the people. They had to be looking for Lucky Girl. Nailer trailed after them, eeling silently beneath the boardwalk. The trio walked quickly, and Nailer almost lost them twice amongst the thump of workers and crew on the floating docks. He was swimming so quickly that he almost revealed himself when his father climbed off the dock and into a skiff. His father’s face flashed into view below dock level. Nailer sank into the water and kicked silently away, surfacing safely in the shadows.

When he came up his father was saying, “-see if any of the other crews had any success, then send word back to the ship.”

The half-men nodded but didn’t respond. They loosed the skiff’s sail and it pulled away from the dock. Nailer watched them go, wondering if he would ever be rid of his father. No matter how far he ran, no matter how he tried to hide, always the man was there. Nailer started swimming beneath the boardwalk, easing his way to the buoys. He didn’t know where Tool was, but Lucky Girl was supposed to be cleaning pots for a fishhouse down on the water’s edge. If his father caught sight of her, it would be all over. Tool… Tool would have to take care of himself.

When he got to Nita, she was excited. She took her hand out of the murky brown water that she was washing dishes in and pointed out to a ship in the harbor. A new one that had just arrived.

“That one! Dauntless. It’s one of the clippers I’ve been looking for.”

Nailer glanced at the ship, chilled. “I don’t think so. My dad’s here. He’s got goons with him. Half-men. I think he’s linked up with your swank uncle, Pyce.” He tugged her away from the cook shop. “We need to lie low. Disappear for a while.” He searched the crowds for signs of his father. The man was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, or that he didn’t have others searching. The man was sly. Had a way of popping up.

“No!” Nita shook his hand off her arm. “I have to get onto that ship.” She pointed. “That’s my ticket out. All we have to do is get to it.”

“I’m not sure that’s the ship you want. My dad was just talking about a ship. It’s a big coincidence to have your ship and my dad show up at the same time.” He tugged her arm. “We need to lie low. My dad sounded like he had more people with him. They’re going to spot us if we don’t duck and cover.”

“So you just want to let Dauntless sail away?” she asked, incredulous.

Nailer stared at her. “How come you aren’t listening to me? My dad is here with half-men. Swank dressed, all of them. And he was talking about a ship.” He nodded at the ship. “Probably that one.”

“Not Dauntless. The captain is Sung Kim Kai. She’s one of the best captains my father has. Absolutely loyal.”

“Maybe not anymore. You don’t know what’s happened since you went running. Maybe someone else is commanding.”

“No. It’s not possible.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nailer said. “You know I’m right. My dad and the Dauntless showing up on the same day? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“It wasn’t Dauntless that was chasing me before,” she said stubbornly. “It was Pole Star. I trust Captain Sung.”

Nailer hesitated. “We’ll check,” he said finally. “But we’re not just going to walk out and get snagged like a couple of crawfish jumping into a pot. It’s too big a coincidence to have my dad and your ship show up at the same time. It’s probably a trap.” He tugged at her. “Right now we have to get out of sight. None of this matters if they bag us while we’re gabbing in broad daylight. I’ll go out again tonight, check things out.”

“What if the ship leaves before?” she pressed. “What then?”

“Then it leaves!” Nailer said heatedly. “Better not to get bagged than to rush things on a hope. Maybe you’re eager to get yourself caught, but I’m not. I know what my dad will do if he catches me and I’m not risking it. There’ll be other ships, but you won’t get a second chance if we screw this up.”

“There’s worse things than hope, Nailer.”

“Yeah. Getting caught by my dad would be at the top of my list. What’s yours?”

Nita gave him a dirty look, but he could tell she’d gotten the point. She’d lost the feverish excitement that had first filled her. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.” She carried her basin of cracked pottery back into the fish shack, and came back a minute later.

“They won’t pay me for today unless I stick until dinner.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nailer could barely contain his fear and frustration. “We need to get out of sight.”

They hurried down the boardwalk and then slipped into brackish waters, wading until they reached one of the old mansions that filled the area. The bottom floor was entirely flooded, and the place was caving in on itself, but the upper floors held a slew of squats. Tool had convinced the gang who ran the place to let them crash in one of the rooms above. He had chosen it because one of the upper windows afforded a view down to the boardwalks, and also out to the ships. A decent squat, and with Tool as their protector, no one bothered them. Lucky Girl was glad enough to have a place to crash that she had barely complained about the snakes and roaches and pigeon nests that they shared space with.

Together, they climbed the creaking stairs, stepping over broken and mildewed missing steps and finding their way around the holes and gaps in the floors to their room. A rusty spring bed without a mattress lay at one side, but they didn’t keep anything else in the room.

Nita went to the window and stared out at the ship. She looked like the little kids who squatted outside of Chen’s, hoping for scrap bones. Starving. Desperate and starving for something that they weren’t quite sure would come to them.

Nailer said, “If the ship’s still here tonight, we’ll go after it then, when not so many eyes can pick us out. Maybe we’ll do some asking around. See if we can run a message out to your smart captain, see if she’s real, then we decide what to do. But we’ll test it first, right? You don’t jump into a pond until you check for a python at the hole, and you sure as hell don’t go out to that ship without a way to get off if things go wrong.”

Nita nodded reluctantly. They watched as darkness settled on the boardwalks. Laborers streamed back to their squats and street stalls opened for dinner. Music came from the bars, zydeco and high-tide blues. Mosquitoes swarmed.

Nailer studied the crowds, glad they were in darkness. He had a prickling feeling that his father was still out there, watching for him; that the old man knew just where he was, and was circling in for a kill. He fought off the fear.

“Tool’s late,” Nita said.

“Yeah.”

“You think your dad got him?”

Nailer shook his head, frustrated, trying to scan the crowds. “I don’t know. I’m going to go look around.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“No.” He shook his head vigorously. “You stay here.”

“Like hell. I’m no more recognizable than you.” She pulled her long hair over her face so that she was shielded by ratty lengths. The days in the swamps and water of the Orleans hadn’t been kind to the silky strands. “Probably even less.”

Nailer had to admit she had a point. She didn’t look much like the swank he and Pima had found in the shipwreck. She was pretty, maybe one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, but definitely different than before. Now she blended.

“Okay, sure. Whatever.”

They slipped out of the building and down into the water, making their way slowly toward the crowds. They found a place in the swamp land bordering the main boardwalk and crouched together, scanning the night traffic, looking for signs of Tool or of Nailer’s father and the half-men he had appeared with.

Nailer shuddered at the thought of his father with goon muscle like the half-men at his beck and call. Tool was terrifying enough without a man like Richard Lopez in charge. Nailer cursed, feeling pinned down. He didn’t like any of the options. Didn’t relish testing the loyalty of Nita’s Captain Sung out on the Dauntless. Didn’t like sitting here, half exposed, trying to figure out why Tool was missing.

Nita was watching him. “Do you ever wish you just took the gold off my fingers when you had the chance?”

Nailer hesitated, then shook his head. “No.” He grinned. “At least, not lately.”

“Not even now? With your dad looking for you?”

Nailer shook his head again. “It’s not worth thinking about. It’s already done.” He saw a hurt look cross her face and hurried to explain himself. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not saying you’re just some mistake I’ve got to live with. I mean, it’s part of it.” Again the hurt look. Damn, he was making a hash of this, and he didn’t even know what he was trying to say. “I like you. I wouldn’t trade you to my dad any more than I’d trade Pima. We’re crew, right?” He showed her the palm of his hand where he’d slashed it for their blood oath. “I got your back.”

“You’ve got my back.” Nita smiled slightly. “And you’d vouch me onto light crew. You’re full of compliments, aren’t you?” Her dark eyes held him, intense, serious. “Thank you, Nailer. For everything. I know if you hadn’t saved me…” She paused. “Pima didn’t care. She just saw a swank.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Thank you.”

There was something in her eyes Nailer hadn’t seen before. It filled him with a tingling hunger. He realized that at this moment, if he was bold…

He leaned forward. Their lips touched. For the briefest moment, she leaned in to him, let her lips press more strongly against his. Then she drew back, flustered, and looked away. Nailer’s heart beat wildly. He could hear his blood in his ears, thudding excitement. He tried to think of something to say, something smart, something to make her look at him again, to renew the connection he’d felt just a moment before. But the words didn’t come.

Nita pointed. “Tool’s coming,” she said thickly. “Maybe he’ll know something about the ship.”

Nailer turned and caught sight of Tool in the crowd, headed in their direction. He felt a confused rush of relief and frustration at the interruption. And then something else caught his eye: across the crowds, two half-men hurrying to intercept Tool.

“It’s them,” Nailer said. “Those were the ones with my dad.”

Nita sucked in her breath. “They see Tool.”

“We have to warn him.” Nailer tried to get up, but Nita grabbed him and yanked him down.

“You can’t help him,” she whispered fiercely.

He tried to shout to Tool, but she pressed her hand over his mouth. “No!” she whispered. “You can’t! We’ll all be caught then!”

Nailer looked into her fierce, solemn eyes and nodded slowly. As soon as she took her hand away, he sprang up and gave her a withering look. “You’re a cold one, aren’t you? Hide if you want. He’s our crew.”

Before she could stop him again, he was off and running, jumping through the vines and out onto the boardwalk. Tool saw him running and waving. “Look out!” Nailer shouted.

Tool turned and saw his hunters converging. Snarls echoed in the night and then the half-men were all moving. Fast. Blurringly fast. Faster than any natural human could ever move. Machetes appeared in the dog-men’s hands. They dove for Tool, snarling. One of them flew back, thrown by Tool’s strength, but the other swung his machete. Blood sprayed the air, an arc of black liquid gleaming in lantern glow. Nailer cast about for a weapon, something he could throw, a club, anything-

Nita grabbed him and dragged him back. “Nailer! You can’t help him!” she said. “We have to run before they see us!”

Nailer looked back desperately, fighting her pull. “But-”

Crowds roiled where the half-men snarled and battled. Nailer heard wood beams cracking. The crowd obscured what was happening, but suddenly the rotten frontage of a building gave way and collapsed. Dust boiled up into the air. People screamed and stampeded from the wreckage. Nita yanked his arm. “Come on! This isn’t a fight you can survive! They’re too fast and too strong! You’ve never seen half-men fight. You can’t help him!”

Nailer stared at where Tool had disappeared in dust and wreckage. More snarling rose, and then a scream, high and animal.

Hating himself, Nailer turned and ran, ducking and dodging with the crowd.

They huddled near the water’s edge, watching the lights out in the deeps, watching for more of Pyce’s creatures. People walked by, ignoring the two urchins on the shore, just another pair of the many that came and went like the junk in the tides.

“I’m sorry,” Nita said. “I didn’t want to leave him, either.”

Nailer gave her a withering look. “He was helping us.”

“There are some fights you can’t win.” She looked away. “Half-men don’t fight like people. More like hurricanes. We would have been killed or caught, or just made it harder for Tool to fight on his own.”

“And now he’s dead.”

She was silent, lips pressed together, staring out at the blackness and the reflections of torches and LED beacons on the waters. Oars rattled in oarlocks and the distant buzz of a pilot boat wafted across the water to them.

Finally, Nita said, “We have to try to get to the Dauntless. It’s the only way.”

Nailer didn’t want to agree, but he didn’t see any better option. Without Tool to give them protection in this city, they were minnows waiting to be eaten. They couldn’t even keep their squat if he wasn’t around to provide muscle. But the sudden arrival of the ship along with his father and the half-men filled him with unease. They were too closely linked. The ship had come and his father had appeared like a wraith on the boardwalks and it was only dumb luck that allowed Nailer to avoid the man.

And now the Dauntless sat out there in the waves, beckoning like bait on a line.

Throughout the Orleans, Lucky Girl’s enemies would be searching harder now, sure that they were on the scent. The finding of Tool would bring more people down, waves of searchers. It would inspire his father for certain. Surviving in the drowned streets of the Orleans would be impossible. They couldn’t work in the open, couldn’t let their faces be shown without drawing attention.

Nita said, “We’re going to that ship out there, and Captain Sung will help us get to my father.”

Nailer shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

“Yours too.”

Nailer stared at the distant docks and the bustle of nighttime Orleans. The dead city, still half alive, like a zombie corpse reanimated, because people needed the trade, and the mouth of the Mississippi still poured down through the center of the continent with its great barges full of food and whatever manufactured objects came from the northern cities. All sorts of places upriver, probably, lots of places to hide. All sorts. And them just a couple bits of driftwood. They could float…

“We could go up the river,” he suggested.

“Not until I know about the Dauntless.” Nita stabbed her finger toward the distant shape of the ship. “That’s where I’m going. With or without you.”

Nailer searched the crowds, then sighed. “Fine. But I’ll do it by myself.” He held up a hand, forestalling protest. “If your captain’s there, I’ll find her. If I find her, then we bring you out.”

“But they don’t know you.”

“You’re the one everyone wants. They’re not hunting for me, except to get to you. There’s a chance I can at least look things over. But you’ll be recognized in a second. These aren’t my people, they’re yours.”

“What about your dad?”

Nailer made a sound of exasperation. “If you’re worried he’s on the boat, then why go out there at all? Since you won’t listen to me and stay away, I’ll go take a look. I know how to sneak up on them, and it’s a hell of a lot easier if I go alone.” He grimaced. “Stay out of sight. I’ll meet you at the squat and let you know.”

Without waiting for a response, he jogged down the planking and waded into the black water. He made his way out toward the floating docks, swimming slow and off the main marked path through the water. At least this way he could approach unnoticed.

Cool water lapped around him, the darkness almost total. He kept swimming, making his way toward the beautiful ship. He had dreamed about ships like this, about being on their decks, about sailing on them, and now he was on the verge of sneaking aboard one.

When he thought about it, the only thing that had ever seemed truly beautiful to him were these ships with their carbon-fiber hulls and fast sails and hydrofoils that cut the ocean like knives as they crossed the great oceans or made their way over the pole. He wondered how cold it was in the North. He had seen photos of ships rimed with ice as they went through the polar night on their way to the far side of the world. The distances were immense and yet they sailed so fast and so sleek, undeterred.

It took fifteen minutes of swimming and his arms ached by the time he reached the Dauntless. He slipped beneath the docks, bobbing in the salt water, and listened. Conversation: men and women joking, talking about shore leave. Another complaining about resupply rates and local con men. He listened as he bobbed in the depths.

A pair of half-men waited at the gangway, keeping guard and another pair were on the ship fore and aft. He shivered. He’d heard they could see in the dark, and Tool had never seemed uncomfortable in dim light. Now, all of a sudden, the fear that they would pick him out in the blackness filled him with an almost paralyzing terror. They would see him. They would hand him to his father and he would die. His father would cut him open.

Nailer drew deeper under the dock, listening to the tramp of feet. A few conversations mentioned a captain, but no name to go with it… only “the captain” wanting to be under way. “The captain” having a schedule.

Nailer waited, hoping for some mention of the saintly Captain Sung. The waves jostled him. He was starting to get cold from a lack of exercise. Even this warm tropic water was starting to suck the heat from him. The floating dock and its anchor moved and swayed. Footsteps thumped overhead. The whine of a motor launch, someone burning biodiesel to reach the ship. Faces gleaming in the darkness. Men and women with scars and hard looks. Someone hurried down to greet the craft.

“Captain.”

The man didn’t respond, just climbed out. He looked back. “We need to be under way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nailer waited, heart thudding. It wasn’t Captain Sung. This was a man, not a woman. And there was nothing of the Chinese about him. Lucky Girl had been wrong. Things had changed. Nailer forced down his disappointment. They’d have to find another way.

The captain was standing almost directly above Nailer. He spit into the water no more than a foot away.

“Pyce’s people are all over the docks,” he said.

“I didn’t see a ship.”

The captain spit again. “Must have anchored off site and shuttled in.”

“What are they doing here?”

“No good, I’m guessing.”

Nailer closed his eyes. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, he thought. The captain and his lieutenant were climbing the gangplank. “We’ll leave with this tide,” the captain said. “I want to be under way before we have to speak with them.”

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“Send back for them. But hurry. I want to be gone before dawn.”

The lieutenant saluted and turned for the launch. Nailer took a deep breath. It was a risk, but he didn’t have any other choices. He swam out from under the dock and called up.

“Captain!”

The captain and his lieutenant both startled. They drew their pistols. “Who’s there?”

“Don’t shoot!” Nailer called. “I’m down here.”

“What the devil are you doing down in the water?”

Nailer swam close to the planking and grinned. “Hiding.”

“Get up here.” The captain still was wary. “Let’s see your face.”

Nailer scrambled out of the water, praying that he hadn’t made a mistake. He squatted, panting on the deck.

“Dock rat,” the lieutenant said with distaste.

“Swank.” Nailer made a face at him, then turned his attention to the captain. “I have a message for you.”

The captain didn’t approach and he didn’t put down his pistol. “Tell me, then.”

Nailer glanced at the lieutenant. “It’s only for you.”

The captain frowned. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He called behind him. “Knot! Vine! Toss this rat back in the water.” The two half-men rushed forward. Nailer was stunned at how fast they were. They were on him, grabbing his arms before he even had a chance to consider fleeing.

“Wait!” Nailer cried. He struggled against the iron grip of the half-men. “I have a message for you. From Nita Chaudhury!”

A sudden intake of breath. The captain and his lieutenant exchanged glances.

“What’s that?” the lieutenant asked. “What did you say?” He stormed over to where Nailer was held. “What’s that you say?”

Nailer hesitated. Could he be trusted? Could any of them? There were too many things he didn’t know. He had to gamble. Either he’d gotten lucky or he’d walked into a trap. “Nita Chaudhury. She’s here.”

The captain came up close, his face hard. “Don’t lie to me, boy.” He took Nailer’s face in his hand. “Who sent you? Who’s behind you with lies like this?”

“No one!”

“Bullshit.” He nodded at one of the half-men. “Whip him raw, Knot. Get me some answers. I want to know who sent him.”

“Nita sent me!” Nailer screamed. “She did, you rotten bastard! I told her we should run, but she said you could be trusted!”

The captain stopped. “Miss Nita is dead more than a month. Drowned and dead. The clan mourns.”

“No.” Nailer shook his head. “She’s here. Hiding. Back in the Orleans. She’s trying to get home. But Pyce is hunting her. She thought she could trust you.”

The lieutenant smirked. “Christ almighty. Look what the Fates dragged in.”

The captain stared at Nailer. “You baiting me?” he asked. “Is that it? You’re baiting me the way they did Kim?”

“I don’t know Kim.”

The captain grabbed him, pulled him close. “I’ll strangle you with your guts before I go down like she did.” He turned away. “Whip him. Find out who sent him. If the girl’s out there, we’ll go hunting.”

The lieutenant nodded and turned. As he did, the captain raised his gun and shot the man in the back. The gunfire echoed in the darkness, running flat across the water. The lieutenant crumpled to the planks. Smoke curled from the barrel of the captain’s pistol, slowly disbursing.

Nailer stared at the dead man. The captain turned back to the half-men. “Let the boy go.”

Nailer found his voice. “Why did you do that?”

“He was my minder,” the captain said simply. To the half-men he said, “Weigh him down and then go with the boy. We’re leaving with the tide.”

“And the rest of the crew?”

The captain grimaced. “Find Wu and Trimble and Cat and Midshipman Reynolds.” He stared out at the water. “And do it damn quietly. No one else, you understand?” He turned to look at Nailer. “You’d better not be lying to me, boy. I don’t fancy a life of piracy, so you’d better damn well be right.”

“I’m not lying.”

The half-men Knot and Vine guided him into the launch. They were huge and daunting. The boat moved slowly away from the dock, aiming for the deep streets of the Orleans.

“Where are we going?” Nailer asked. “She’s close to shore. We don’t need to go so deep into the drowned city.”

“First our men, then her,” Knot said.

Vine nodded. “She will need protection. It is better not to drag her into the open until we are ready to run.”

“Run from what?”

Vine grinned, showing sharp teeth. “The rest of our loyal crew.”