Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

38. Upon Arrival

11th of Nema, Continued

There was quite a stir at the docks when the Angpixen came limping into port followed by a Coalition warship – and not merely any old warship, but the famous Stryka herself.

It was an interesting event, the moment Captain Arramy stepped off the gangway. I swear you could hear the collective gasps of hundreds and hundreds of women.

Because there were. Hundreds and hundreds of women, that is. Everywhere. Crowding the pier, lining the streets, even leaning out of upper story windows.

I suppose it was understandable. NaVarre had been liberating women for the last several years. He had to put them somewhere.

That wasn't to say there were no men. I saw a few. Possibly those map makers who disappeared without a trace; tradesmen; merchants; farmers; fishermen; all the poor blighters who were unfortunate enough to be on the ships that wandered into the Rimrocks and were driven aground by storms or pirates. There were also the crews of the Angpixen, and the two other ships NaVarre ran in his piracy conglomerate, the Faballe and the Velda, as well as the very respectable looking crew of a very respectable looking skoune-dreisen called the Coralynne – NaVarre's safe ship.

There were a great many children, too, ducking and weaving through the crush on the dock. Some of them were undoubtedly girls, but they weren't eyeing the Stryka with a certain air of hunger.

It was such a complete reversal of the situation aboard the Stryka that it was almost comical.

Yesterday, Arramy declared that his men could have a day ashore when we reached the island. That announcement was met with little enthusiasm, given the expectation of cannibals and floubestes. But then we came in sight of Aethscaul, the sailors took one look at what was waiting for them on the boardwalks, and they began whooping and hollering, swinging from the shrouds, all their reluctance forgotten.

I'm not entirely sure who was more interested in meeting whom. It was a like throwing fresh meat to wolves, but the line between meat and wolf was exceedingly blurry. There was a great deal of mutual hunting going on. When the gangways were put down and everyone began debarking, every pirate, sailor and male refugee who wanted a female companion wound up with one. Or several.

NaVarre was met on the pier by not one, not two, but three very eager, very lightly dressed blondes who all seemed happy to see him, giggling and laughing as he kissed them each one after the other.

I rolled my eyes. Surprise, surprise.

True to form, the Captain didn't appear to notice that there were women everywhere. I had to hide a grin when a few girls bravely chose him for a target, beckoning and winking and grinning at him. He walked right on by, absolutely oblivious, a scowl firmly etched on his face as he went striding after NaVarre and the blondes, following them up the pier to a large, whitewashed building.

I stepped off the gangway, my bundle of belongings clutched under my arm, my father's satchel slung from my shoulder. For several moments I stood on the pier, letting my sea-legs adjust to solid ground as I took in this place that Father had pinned all his hopes on.

The docks ran along the edge of a small marina which, in turn, became a boardwalk with a row of shops and offices facing the harbor. A cantina, a public meeting hall, a milliner, a dressmaker, and a cobbler. There was even a Post and a savings bank and a pleasant park with manicured lawns and a fountain. It was all very civilized for the home of pirates. I was expecting dirt streets lined with run-down, ramshackle drinking establishments and crowded brothels, but the streets were paved, and the buildings were well-built and clean. Higher up the hill, the spire of a chapel rose from a group of palm trees.