tongue, piss-weasel,” came a voice. “Or I’ll hack off your other nut.”
BigJon scowled up at the former gladiatii, fists on hips. The first mate and his captain had joined the group on the bow as the Maid slipped farther toward the Cityport of Churches. BigJon was soaked through to this skin and looking salty to boot, his drakebone pipe hanging from one side of his mouth. For his part, Corleone appeared exhausted from a week of constant battle at the wheel, his clothes clinging to him like the fur on a waterlogged rat. But the fire hadn’t dimmed from the man’s eyes.
“Did I hear tell you’re leaving us?” he asked Mia.
The girl nodded. “For a time. Being aboard is putting you and your men arisk.”
“Bollocks, that was barely a breeze.” Cloud stamped his foot on the deck. “Solid as the earth beneath your feet, my Maid.”
“We should get the bloody foremast looked at, at least,” BigJon said. “Got a split in it deeper than my aunt Pentalina’s bosom. Bilge pumps are running like a three-legged scabdog, and we’ve got badger-spunk for brains if we don’t re-caulk—”
“You know,” Cloud sighed at his first mate, “for a fellow with a dick like a donkey, you do a remarkable impression of an old woman.”*
BigJon chuckled, pipe stem clutched between silver teeth.
“Who told you I was hung like a donkey?”
“Your mother talks in her sleep.”
“We’ll travel overland,” Mia smiled. “That’ll give you a breath for repairs, and you can still meet us at Amai with plenty of time.” She glanced at Tric. “Safer for all of us.”
“AYE.”
Corleone raised his eyebrow. “Have you ever been to Amai?”
“No,” Mia answered.
“NO,” the deadboy replied.
The captain and his first mate exchanged an uneasy glance.
“I…” Butcher groaned from the railing, “… g-grew up there…”
“Enjoyable childhood, was it?” BigJon asked.
“Not really.” The gladiatii wiped his lips, stood with a groan on unsteady legs.
“I’ve heard tell of it,” Bladesinger said. “Rough city.”
“Rough?” BigJon scoffed. “It’s the blackest pit of bastards, thieves, and murderers this side of the Great Salt. Whole place is a pirate enclave. And not the Charming Bastard kind, either. The Rape and Kill Your Entire Family kind.”
Corleone nodded. “High seat of His Majesty, Einar ‘the Tanner’ Valdyr, Blackwolf of Vaan, Scourge of the Four Seas, King of Scoundrels.”
Sidonius blinked. “Pirates have kings?”
Cloud frowned. “Of course we have kings. How did you think it worked?”
“I dunno. I thought you’d be an autonomous collective or something.”
“Autonomous fucking collective?” BigJon looked Sid up and down. “What kind of backward-arse shit-brained government is that? Sounds a recipe for chaos to me.”
“Aye,” Corleone nodded. “We work by a system, matey. Just because we’re pirates doesn’t mean we’re lawless brigands.”
Sid looked astonished. “… That’s exactly what it fucking means!”*
“All right, all right,” Mia sighed. “Is there any way to get from Liis to Ashkah other than crossing the Sea of Sorrows?”
“No,” Corleone said.
“Is there a major port in Liis that’s closer to Last Hope than Amai?”
“No,” said BigJon.
“Right, well, let’s stop fuckarsing about and start walking, shall we?” Mia said. “We’ll deal with his majesty Einar Whatsit, Scourge of Wherever, when we get there.”
Mia’s notion obviously didn’t sit well with Corleone, but with no real alternative to offer, the privateer finally shrugged assent.
“We’ll need supplies,” Sidonius said. “Horses and harness. Weapons. Armor.”
“We can afford the nags,” Mia said. “But we’ll have precious little coin left after.”
“We have the kit from that Luminatii tosser and his lads killed in your cabin,” Cloud offered. “Four marines plus a centurion. Steel, shields, leather, and chain.”
“That could work,” Sidonius said. “Posing as soldiers moving overland, we’re less likely to be troubled by slavers and the like. We’ll have to ditch the uniforms once we arrive, of course. But I was an officer in the legion, so I speak the language if we come across any other army folk on the way to Amai.”
“Looks like you’re leading us, then, Centurion,” Mia said, saluting.
The group agreed, and without much more ado, set about gathering their meager possessions. By the time the Maid made berth in Galante, they were assembled on deck. Sidonius and the Falcons hadn’t changed into their soldier’s kit yet, each still dressed in the common thread they’d bought with their freedom. Ashlinn stood with Jonnen, carrying the small sack of “essentials” she’d purchased in Whitekeep over her shoulder. Eclipse stood in the boy’s shadow, making it dark enough for two. Tric had finally climbed down from the bow, waiting by the gangplank.