The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,180

Hare province, and made camp as they awaited an old friend.

“Well, look at you.” Chiang Moag, Pirate Queen of Ankhiluun, stepped off the gangplank and strode down the pier with a broad smile on her face. “Look what you’ve made of yourself.”

“Hello, Moag,” Rin said. They regarded each other for a moment. Then, because Moag hadn’t yet tried to stick a knife in her back, Rin waved down the twenty hidden archers who had been waiting to put an arrow through her head.

“Cute,” Moag said when she saw them disperse.

“Learned that from you,” Rin said. “I’m never quite sure what side you’re on.”

Moag snorted. “Oh, let’s call this what it is. The Republic is done for. That pretty little boy they’ve got on Arlong’s throne couldn’t manage even a village without his father’s help. I know where to throw in my lot.”

She sounded convincing, but Rin knew better than to take her words at face value. Moag was, and always would be, a liability. True, she’d granted Rin safe haven in Ankhiluun after her escape from Arlong, but she hadn’t lifted a finger to help since Rin left for the south. This entire war Moag had remained hidden in Ankhiluun, bolstering her fleets against an anticipated Hesperian attack. Moag was hedging her bets, waiting to see if she’d be better off resisting the Republic or playing by its rules.

Momentum was on Rin’s side right now. But should anything go wrong, Moag was just as likely to sell her out to Arlong. She’d done it before.

For now, Rin was willing to swallow that risk. She needed ammunition—all the fire powder, cannons, and missiles that she hadn’t been able to loot. Mobile warfare tactics worked well enough on underdefended cities from which Nezha’s troops had been hastily recalled. But she needed proper artillery to breach the dragon’s lair.

“It’s nice to see you in charge.” Moag clapped a broad hand on Rin’s shoulder. “What did I tell you? You were never meant to serve, much less beneath snakes like Vaisra. Women like us have no business putting our services for sale.”

Rin laughed. “It’s good to see you.”

She meant it. She’d always respected the Pirate Queen’s blunt, naked self-interest. Moag had risen from an escort to the ruler of Nikan’s only free city through ruthless, brilliant pragmatism, and though Rin knew very well this meant Moag was loyal to no one, she still admired her for it.

“What do you have for me?” she asked.

“See for yourself.” Moag stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled to her crew. “Some old toys, some new ones. I think you’ll like them.”

Over the next hour, Moag’s crew and Rin’s troops together unloaded dozens of crates onto the riverbank. Moag unlocked one and kicked open the hatch, revealing coffins stacked in neat rows of four.

“Does this trick really work?” Rin asked.

“It does if you claim they’re plague victims.” Moag motioned to one of her crew. He pulled the nearest coffin out of the crate, jammed a crowbar under the lid, and pushed down until the lid popped open. A thick pile of fire powder glinted in the sunlight, fine and shiny. Rin had the absurd impulse to bathe in it.

“It’s an old smuggler’s trick,” Moag said. “Shockingly effective. Everyone’s prudent, but no one wants to die.”

“Smart,” Rin said, impressed.

“Save the coffins,” Moag suggested. “They’re good for firewood.”

For the rest of the afternoon they traded coffins crammed with swords, shields, missiles, and fire powder for the riches Rin’s troops had accumulated throughout Ram Province. All this happened outside on the riverbank. Rin didn’t want to let Moag near her camp—the less intelligence Moag gleaned about her forces the better—and Moag didn’t want to wander too far from her ships. The riverbank was a buffer that assuaged their mutual distrust.

Moag was thorough. She inspected every item in every trunk of jewelry, rubbing the larger pieces between her fingers to determine their value before nodding her permission for her soldiers to lug it back on board.

Rin watched the two lines walking in parallel, trading. There was a lovely symbolism to it. All the treasures of one bloated city, in exchange for enough cold steel and fire powder to bring down the rest.

“Now, then.” Moag stood back as the final crate was unloaded from her skimmers. “There’s the issue of payment.”

Rin balked. “What are you talking about?”

Moag showed her the figures she’d been marking in a ledger. “I’ve just unloaded twice as much weaponry as this pays for.”

“By what standards?” Rin asked.