Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

21. A Side of Mutton

25th of Uirra, Continued

The sun was surprisingly warm for winter, with an almost pleasant southern breeze carrying a hint that spring was in the offing. It was as good a day to hang out laundry as we were likely to get. And there were mounds of laundry. After much begging – and an agreement to wash his clothes too – Cook strung a clothesline between the quarterdeck railing and the main mast for us. Lorren and I were up on the deck, trying to rinse the bloodstains out of a bunch of blankets when the lookout at the long-glass shouted that the Stryka was rounding the Wychend breakwater.

I hadn't realized how tense the crew was until that moment, or how quiet the other civilians were. That shout went up, and suddenly the ship was humming with excitement – everywhere people began talking, laughing, even joking.

None of the crew had ever bothered to question why the Captain had gone back to get the very man he had spent months chasing about the sea. Not even after he was gone, and it was just the skeleton crew he had left behind. It was apparently an elemental fact; water was wet, and Captain Arramy never did anything without a great, whopping good reason. If you needed to know that whopping reason, he would tell you what it was. If he didn't tell you, apparently you had to accept that you didn't need to know.

That didn't keep the civilians from wondering, but the only person who was verbally against bringing NaVarre back was Orrul. Everyone else seemed to agree with the crew: if Captain Arramy thought it was necessary, then it must be. What would one pirate be able to do against all those marines, anyway? Besides. Arramy would surely get answers out of that rat snake.

The need for answers was perhaps the largest connecting theme behind the widespread acceptance of Arramy's plan. Dr. Turragan especially wanted to know why the Erristos opened fire on us, and as the oldest and most respected man among the survivors, his opinion held more weight than any of Orrul's bluster.

The knowledge of the binder – and the real reason Arramy wanted to rescue NaVarre – weighed on me. I kept to myself, scrubbing while most of the passengers came up to stand at the rail, all of them waiting for those far-distant sails to draw close enough to see with the naked eye. It was a bit like listening to a five-mile race. The lookout called down that the Stryka had passed this or that mile, there was an anticipatory murmur from the spectators, then more waiting until again the lookout announced that the Stryka had progressed to the next mile. When the Stryka finally cleared the natural horizon – the skyline as it appeared to someone not using a high-powered long-glass – a huge cheer went up, as if the Stryka had accomplished some invisible goal out there on the waves.

Nearly an hour later, she came alongside the Ang. But the Captain didn't bring NaVarre over.

The moment Midshipman Pierse stepped on the deck, I knew he was looking for me. He came aboard and immediately stopped to ask Lorren a question. Lorren pointed, and I saw the moment he caught sight of me, his attention zeroing in on my face as he turned and headed in my direction.

I could guess what he was going to say, but I didn't stop what I was doing. I kept working, making him cross the entire deck and come to a halt on the other side of the clothesline.

With a politely formal bow in greeting, Pierse doffed his hat. "Miss Westerby, the Captain requests that you join him on the Stryka as soon as possible."

I shot a glance at him over the soaked quilt I was pinning to the line. "Did he say why?"

Pierse looked genuinely surprised, as if no one has ever questioned an order from the Captain before. "Ah... Well... No, he didn't divulge that particular information," he said, then stood waiting expectantly, hands clasped behind his back.