Chương 40: 39 Drift Port

The lights of the settlement winked to life as we drifted closer, like weak stars growing in strength as night fell. An Orcish Corvette passed us as it pulled from port. I scanned her decks to catch green-skinned brutes working the riggings. They didn't give us any trouble. They very well might have assumed we were a Scorched fleet ship. A full crew of Vulcans and Primords from the Ash Lords' navy certainly wouldn't make easy pickings. I went to the gun deck, trusting Sliplock to guide us to port.

I found Needles standing on a barrel by the posting board, updating the shift schedule.

"Hey," I said. He glanced up, lifting his pen from the roster.

"Everyone doing their part?" I asked.

"Well enough," Needles said.

"I've got a few Draggers who claim to not be able to read. Sometimes we need to remind them about their shifts." I scanned the posting board, the neat writing.

"Training, demolitions, sailing," I nodded toward the board, "and now scheduling. Is there anything you don't do?" Needles capped his pen, and he hopped down from the barrel.

"Cooking," he said.

"There's not a ship that's had me back for a second shift in the galley." Ezio passed nearby. The moment he left, I dropped to a knee, getting eye level with the Goblin.

"From this moment on, you're Jaser's shadow." Needles' head bobbed once.

"Follow him to his contact? I'm on it."

"Good," I said.

"Avoid being seen."

"Won't be a problem," the mercenary assured me.

"Try to get us a docking permit tonight. I work better after dark."

"I will," I promised, then I turned around. Needles may have been the smallest of my Goblin mercenaries; he didn't have Mordisco's raw strength or Drogo's easy charm, but if something needed doing, I usually found him already halfway through it. I forced myself to go to the lower hold, to the brig that held my prisoners. The air grew heavy as I approached the cell. Six pathetic figures sat in the confined cell, spilling into one another.

Brace, the python, rose from his stool, where he had been watching the prisoners.

"Captain," he growled, his serpentine voice deep.

"Ready to get a solid surface underfoot?" I asked.

"Ready and eager," he said.

"Though my purse is presently light."

"We're going to find some buyers for the crab," I said.

"Need to sell it before it goes bad. Then we'll split the bounty—get some notes in your pocket."

"I'd like that," he said. The sentry glanced about the hold.

"Is there a reason you're down here, Captain?" I shifted toward the cell.

"I wanted to check on the stock. Are they still healthy?"

"They stink. We should wash them down before they get to market." I stepped closer to the cage, getting my first good look at my friends in days. Ingred's head came up, her icy blond hair greasy in the lantern light. She rubbed her shoulder, wincing. Bianca had shrunk. It was subtle, but it seemed she condensed mass to make more room. Bebi seemed the most at ease with their cramped living space. He sat with stubby legs straight out, hands laced behind his head.

The rooster Fowl-kin's much longer legs spilled over the top of Bebi's knees, and the cabin boy's did too, their knees and ankles tangled into a knot of limbs. My chest tightened, and the fingers on my left hand flexed.

"Careful, Captain," Brace said, mistaking my sorrow for disgust.

"The Ash Dwarf is a spitter."

"Please," the woman we'd abducted from the docks said.

"Where are we?" I didn't acknowledge her. To Captain Anton, it was a grunt from a pig, but a shiver ran deep within. I'd get her home. I'd make it right. Just as soon as I finished the mission. Mordisco was right. I was ill-suited to my role.

"What about the boy?" I asked.

"Bruno cut him on the neck. Has anyone examined the wound?" The cabin boy's hand went to his throat, which was ringed in a makeshift bandage that appeared to be a strip from Bebi's shirt.

"I'm unaware, Captain. None of us is a physician." Brace swept his slitted gaze over the prisoners. I met Ingred's icy eyes; my insides yearned to go to her, to touch base, to ask questions. I shifted to Bianca, whose amber eyes reflected the lamplight with an almost feline glint. She hugged herself, expression warring with the desire to communicate, but we couldn't. Down here, our terminals didn't work. If we'd installed Naomi as one of the slaves, we might have been able to establish a mind link. Too late now.

"Brace," I said, shifting to the guard.

"Be vigilant. At the end of your shift, let's get you a proper drink in Drift Port." He hissed in gratitude, and Ingred perked up, latching onto the port name. It was the best update I could afford. I turned, returning to the main deck. Many of my crew members crowded around the lashed crab corpse at the bow, eagerly watching as the settlement on stilts approached.

"All hands, circle up!" I called. Feet shuffled, and murmurs rippled as the crew pressed in around me. Dustnose hung in the back, nervously wringing his hands. Great, I'd forgotten about the trident. How long until that blew back on me?

"Listen up, we're about to make land. Before any boots touch down, I want to establish a few rules!" I singled out Bruno with my gaze.

"I won't have anyone causing problems for the crew. Be civil, be polite. If you're forced into a fight, you'd better make sure you win. If it was your fault, you're on your own. If it couldn't have been avoided, I've got your back." I tapped my hilt with my forefinger.

"Also, I'll tolerate no desertion. You owe me a job, and until then, you're mine." My voice dropped low and dangerous.

"Test me on this. I'm ready to make examples." I received no comments, just a few of Bruno's Draggers stiffening in unease.

"Tasks to accomplish!" I continued.

"We need chains, lots of chains, which means we need silver. Othess, Mordisco. See what you can do about getting us some buyers for this crab. Ships, captains, taverns, suppliers—doesn't matter to me. Get a good price if you can, sell it cheap if you must. I don't need more rot on my ship." The crustacean's thorax remained lashed to the deck, its legs and claws stacked in a neat line beside it.

Ukark had split the shell with an iron wedge, and the men had managed to harvest about half of the glassy, pearly white meat before darkness fell.

"Othess and I will go to shore first—see if we can't make some lodging arrangements, and get a lay of the land. Drogo's in charge in our absence."

"Trident lord!" Mudlock called.

"Allow the warriors to escort and protect you!"

"I'll be fine," I said.

"Stand by until I return." I scanned the crew. Eagerness lit their expressions. After escaping confinement, the Ash Zephyr was the closest thing they'd seen to freedom. This would be their first time walking on solid ground as freemen.

"Get this crab harvested," I ordered.

"Work by lantern light. We don't have much time." They grunted in acknowledgment, and I glanced past to see a long platform extending from the sandbar settlement. A dozen ships bobbed at the docks. Many times more than Los Colmillos could have accommodated. I glanced at Jaser, who stared longingly at the settlement, and a smile tugged at my lips. Yes. Our little slaver was going to run—first chance he got—our little homing pigeon leading us directly to the roost. I turned to Sliplock on the quarterdeck.

"Helmsman, do you have a clean bearing?"

"Aye, sir!" the Rat-kin called. I nodded.

"Take us in!" We navigated to the dock carefully. The drift was, by definition, shallow water, and in the dark, we had to be extra careful. If only it were daytime. I'd be studying the ships in port, which were quickly becoming vague shadows. Additionally, I yearned to see the legendary shifting settlement in daylight. As the tide turned, the Drifters physically pulled up the planks and moved down the sandbar, reinstalling them onto permanent pilings, which the ocean would swallow as the tide shifted.

The tide followed a reliable cycle. The port crawled down five miles of sandbar every three months, then the tide washed them back down in a much more aggressive two-week cycle. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. No guided boats sailed to meet us, no dockmasters signaling us where to land, so we saw ourselves in. My men secured the ship with hardly a word from Sliplock. Apparently, they'd taken their lessons seriously.

I almost believed they might have been real sailors. We didn't have a gangplank. It fell into the bay during our escape, so we climbed down a rope ladder to the docks. I turned to the mostly empty pier. Lanterns hung in various ships, but nobody approached us. No Customs warden, not even dockhands looking for a pretty penny. Othess grunted as he landed on the planks beside me. He pulled a lantern from his belt, lighting it as Mordisco descended. Snake, Hobgoblin, Cousin.

The three of us exchanged a glance before striding down the long pier. The skin on the back of my hands pricked, dry, but not yet visibly irritated. The marks were returning, as they always did, but barring the head of Scorched Rock, or some other painful stimulus, it could be a month before I needed to top off with a new mutagen. Our boots thumped on planks, and I did the mental math, trying to figure out how long it would take to move every board.

We passed a drifter sitting on the dock, fishing line in the water. He looked like a man, only that was hard to tell as sand-colored robes, bindings, and a turban covered every inch of skin. I slowed as I passed, considering asking where I needed to check in, but the lone fisherman ignored us. We continued, and Othess swung his lantern to a shadowed rigging rising to our side. My step faltered at the sight of the three corpses hanging from nooses: two Orcs and a halfling with a peg leg.

I brought a hand to my nose, exhaling softly at the stench. Othess washed the sign over their heads with light. Troublemakers, it read.

"You know, I like the policy," Othess said, tongue darting as he licked one of his eyes.

"Direct, yet open to interpretation."

"Let's go," I said, stepping past. We left the dockside gallows but barely made it ten steps when a lantern bobbed toward us.

"Finally," I said.

"I was wondering if this place didn't have any docking officials—" I cut off. It wasn't a drifter, but three Vulcans. Somewhere in memory, the musk of ash tickled my nose, and phantom heat prickled at my skin. The Vulcans didn't wear the uniforms of the Scorched Navy, but loose shirts and sailing breeches. A tilted tricorn rested atop the tall leader's head, and he slowed his pace as he caught sight of us. A smile melted from his face, and his hand, already on the hilt of his cutlass, tightened.

"Oh," he said, Scorchian accent thick.

"Are you with that Sirocco that just docked?"

"Captain Anton," I said, stepping forward.

"I see," he said, scrutinizing us each in turn.

"I apologize, it's not every day you see—outsiders sailing one of our ships."

"Claimed her fair and square in a skirmish off Scorched Rock." The Vulcan's frown deepened.

"You look familiar. Have we met?"

"Seeing as I'm the only one who offered my name, not officially." He winced.

"Forgive me. I'm Captain Merelun of the Vulka Del Hierro. Privateer and merchant." The name itched in my brain for a moment.

"We haven't met, Captain Merelun, but I saw your ship at Los Colmillos a few weeks back." A smile spread across his lips as his head bobbed.

"Yes, that's it. In the Cozy Brig. You were treating with Barkley and Captain Snapfist." The Vulcan glanced past me at the shadow that was the Ash Zephyr.

"Tell me, Captain Anton. Is Barkley with you now? I owe him a flogging." I rolled onto one leg, folding my arms.

"I'm afraid Barkley and I had to terminate our business relationship on—" I searched for words.

"Less than favorable circumstances."

"Then you are wise," Captain Merelun said with a nod.

"Barkley is an eel."

"Captain," I said, "This is my first time at the Drift. Is there some sort of docking officer we need to talk to or fee to pay?" Merelun barked a laugh.

"This isn't Los Colmillos, there's no Vorblek or Daezi. The drifters are simple, quiet folk. They don't complicate things with the likes of fees or taxes. They provide a port, and the natural flow of goods sustains them. Of course, to them, timber is the best form of compensation. These docks require constant maintenance, and lumber isn't exactly indigenous here."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

"Don't underestimate the locals. Drifters may look nonthreatening, but they know their way around a harpoon. Remember, they're the hosts. Show respect, and you'll get along fine here."

"What about other sailors?" I asked, nodding down the line of darkened shapes.

"Pirates mostly," Merelun said.

"Though there are two Drake frigates in port."

"Bloodwake ships?" I said in surprise.

"Here?" He nodded.

"Aye, sir."

"I appreciate the insight," I said.

"Perhaps you can help me with something. My crew ran into trouble with a Titan Crab earlier today. Would you be interested in helping me keep it from going to waste?"

"A Titan Crab surfaced?" Merelun said, soot-crusted black eyebrow climbing.

"They're usually shy."

"Apparently not this one," I said.

"We were investigating some corpses on the reef when it appeared."

"Ah," Merelun said.

"That could be it. The smell of fermenting flesh. You're lucky, Captain Anton. Not many who see such monstrosities live to tell the tale, much less make a profit."

"Lucky? I don't do luck," I said.

"My crew is good, and our appetites are fierce." A slow grin stretched across his face.

"I'll send some lads to take some crab off your hands. Do you trade in gold?"

"Aye," I said.

"Or chains. Shackles would be better." The smile faded.

"Chains? You're with the Guild then?" I shrugged.

"Something like that." He stepped back.

"Then I suppose it'd be in my best interest not to hinder Guild business."

"Where can one find a drink around here?" I asked.

"Perhaps do a little networking?"

"The Canvas Keg," Merelun said.

"Take this bridge all the way to the second junction. It's the big tent."

"I owe you a drink if we meet again at a tap."

"I'll take you up on that, Captain." I inclined my head.

"Captain." We left, following his directions. Drift Port had to be seven or eight times larger than Los Colmillos, so the relative silence put me on edge. Where was the music, the raucous laughter, even the fighting? A pair of orcs walked past us going the other way, not speaking, not acknowledging our presence. It was like the whole place was holding its breath. Two Drifters glanced our way, eyes staring through slits in their head wrappings.

I noted the short harpoons strapped to their backs and long, straight daggers hanging next to pistols on their belts. We turned into a tent large enough to host a carnival. Dozens of tables droned with low conversation. My gaze fell on a cart in the back, a bar on wheels. No doubt it'd be easy to move when Drift Port migrated. I jerked my head, and we wove through the tables. Two figures passed in front of us, and my body locked up. They were Drake-kin in Wake-black and gold armor.

One wore a chain around his neck, a tiny bead caging a live flame dangling from the line. His head turned toward me, blue and white scales creasing around the eyes. Not Puppetmaster, yet I felt his scaled hand tight around my wrist, a phantom sensation etched in memory. Othess stopped, noting my reaction. I shook my head, and we pressed on. The dark-skinned man at the bar looked up. White shell-like protrusions traced his jaw and cased his brows, forming a beard of white carapace. I wasn't sure what he was.

Primord? His brown skin looked too human.

"What are you having?" he asked.

"Beer," I said.

"Rum," Mordisco said. Othess scanned the room.

"Water, no ice." Glass clinked in his hands as he poured the drinks.

"Any idea who we need to talk to about trading some crab?" I asked. The barman's hands continued to work as his dark eyes met mine, the whites jaundiced.

"Nexus. The halfling by the grog barrel." He set three glasses on the counter and added a shot of something clear.

"What is this?" I asked, indicating the shot.

"Don't go to Nexus without an offering," the barkeep said.

"This is his drink." He blinked.

"Three silver." I fished out the change and slapped it on the counter, fixating on how I missed Naomi's endless purse. We crossed over to the halfling who sat alone over a ledger at a circular table. I stepped ahead and set the shot down.

"You, Nexus?"

"Nexus is my job, not my name," he said, flipping the page without looking up.

"Take a seat." Chairs scraped against planks as we settled into our chairs. A faint cool breeze came up from between the cracks in the dock flooring.

"What are you trying to trade?" he asked, finally glancing up from his ledger.

"Chains," I said.

"Shackles."

"Slavers, eh?" He nodded.

"I can get it for you, or at least steer you in the right direction. You have gold?"

"Crab," I said. He sighed, interest dipping.

"This is the Drift, we have crab."

"What about Titan Crab?" I asked. That straightened his spine.

"You have Titan Crab?" he asked.

"My men are harvesting it as we speak," I said.

"We need to move it before it spoils."

"Yes," he agreed, nodding.

"Wise."

"So how much can I get per pound? I assume the shell has value as well."

"Shell, maybe. Depends on how intact. Meat, that's copper by the pound. Blue ichor—that's liquid gold." My stomach dropped, color draining from my face, and I shifted to Othess.

"Get back to the ship now. Tell them to stop dumping the blood. We need to store it." The Cobra-headed Naga-kin rose, nodding before striding away. The Nexus's eyes widened.

"You've been—dumping ichor?"

"Spraying it off the deck, actually. I assumed it was just blood." The halfling inhaled sharply.

"You may have just dumped a fortune into the sea."

"Why?" I asked.

"Who's willing to buy crab blood?"

"It's a powerful reagent," the halfling said.

"Potion masters and alchemists alike will pay good coin for it." Mordisco shifted back in his seat, cursing softly.

"Just how much of this blue ichor did you scrub off your decks?" the halfling asked.

"More than I care to admit," I murmured.

"What about the meat? Copper by the pound. It's a lot of pounds. Can you get it moved tonight?"

"Yes," he said.

"But I'd practically have to rob you. Short notice labor is expensive."

"I have a crew."

"That helps," he said, tapping his lips with a pen.

"We'll salvage as much ichor as we can," I assured him.

"What about my other request? Chains."

"I can do that," his gaze narrowed.

"But there's a certain Guild that would probably notice if the transaction was too big."

"Oh," I said, glancing at Mordisco.

"That's absolutely fine. I want every chain, link, and lock in Drift Port." The halfling sighed and set the pen down.

"Kid, you're young. This guild—The Slavers' Guild, it doesn't take kindly to upstarts. Now, I'm not one to tell you how to do your business. You want a side gig moving flesh? That's your prerogative. But be smart, keep it small. Stay away from primary trade routes." My smile widened.

"Every link, every lock. I want them all." He watched me, expression unamused.

"I mean it. Slavers frequent this port often. I can try to be quiet about moving chains, but they'll catch wind of it eventually."

"No," I said, steepling my hands and leaning forward. With Othess dismissed, I could ask for what I really wanted.

"I'll pay you extra if you drop a direct line to them. I'm hoping to make contact before morning." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 00: 06: 23: 55: 43>>