He doesn’t flinch. Yesterday his hair shone almost dark red in the sun. Now in the early morning light it is black, pulled into a neat tail. I take in the rest of him, brown skin freckled and darkened from years on the water. Scarred hands, rope welts. I bet his fingers are rough.
“My boat does the job fine,” he says. “Between the poles and the motor, we make the time we need to make.”
The dwindling coins in my purse weigh heavy on my mind. I could’ve paid him far less than I offered. Stupid. Idiot. “I’m paying you to make better.”
“And why is that?” He tips his head, pushing off the rail in a fluid motion. The man has a prowl to him. A predator, though he is little more than prey. “What’s a Silver like you doing on my rivers?”
My jaw locks and I raise my chin. I settle into the imperious mask I’ve relied upon in many a Silver court, in front of my uncle, my mother, and any other noble Silver who might try my patience. It doesn’t work on the captain.
He stands before me, his stance broad. He’s taller than most, and muscular from work. Behind him, the rest of the meager crew have begun to busy themselves at their posts. It makes me wonder if the captain does anything of use at all. Indeed, I haven’t seen him pick up a pole or touch the boat’s wheel since we boarded. All he seems to do is keep too close an eye on his passengers and his cargo.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You’re not paying me to ask questions.”
I’m seized by the urge to snap this annoyance in half. “No, I am not.”
He knows I’m Silver. Knows I’m his best-paying passenger. Knows I’m a threat in more ways than one. And he still takes another step, looming over me, his form blocking out the rest of the boat.
“If you’re putting this keel and this crew in danger, I need to know about it.”
I regard him coolly. The man doesn’t move back, but his eyes falter, just a little, as his mind catches up with his mouth. He doesn’t know my ability. Doesn’t know what I’m capable of. Doesn’t know how I could kill him, or his passengers, or his crew.
I shove the blanket into his arms. “The only thing in danger here is you.”
He turns without a second thought, bundling the blanket under one arm. As he passes his pet bear, he jabs a thumb at me. “Ean, feed her last.”
The hulking monster of a Red man does as ordered. When food is passed out to the crew, he comes to me last, presenting me with the same thing we ate for dinner, accompanied by a mug of steaming black coffee. At least it smells good, and I take my time savoring the aroma. It makes me shudder, down to my toes.
Halfway through my meal, I notice the little Red girl watching me closely, peering around her waking mothers. Her brother, older by a year or so, still sleeps beneath their bench, curled up in blankets. I meet the girl’s eye and she quickly turns away, terrified by my attention.
Good. At least someone is.
As the sun rises, I pace the boat slowly.
Yesterday, I woke up in the woods long before dawn, making my way down to the ramshackle docks to plead for passage with so many others. I was scared; I was hungry. I didn’t know if I’d find a boat or be turned away. I should feel relief. The river moving steadily beneath us should bring me some peace.
It does not.
I try to shake the unease as I move, working my way up and down the empty walks of the keel to get my bearings. I didn’t leave the bench yesterday, and my legs need stretching. Not that there’s much room for it on a keelboat. The craft is long but thin, perhaps twenty feet across at its widest point, and less than a hundred long from end to end. The cargo hold takes up everything below deck, along with the captain’s quarters. Even though he doesn’t seem to do anything else, I’ve seen Ashe dart in there from time to time, then emerge with charts or the like. The river must always be changing, wearing new paths through the waterbed. Downed logs, new outposts, Silver checkpoints. Ashe and the crew know them all, and keep watch.