“So where the fuck is Corleone?” Sid asked, wiping his lips.
“Is my face red?” Butcher demanded.
“Not particularly,” Sid replied.
“Well, I s’pose he’s not up my arse, then.”
“Let’s not venture too far into the realm of what’s been up your arse, Butcher,” Mia said.
“Speaking of, your ma says hello,” the man grinned.
“Oi,” Mia warned, eyebrow raised. “Leave my mother out of this.”
“That’s just what your da said,” the Liisian chuckled.
Mia couldn’t help but guffaw, raising the knuckles into the man’s face. He slapped her hand away, raised his mug again. “Cheers, you beautiful bitch.”
Mia blew the man a kiss, took another swallow.
“You all have filthy mouths,” Jonnen muttered.
The group drank in silence, content to listen to the pub’s hubbub and the song of the minstrels in the corner. By the time they’d reached the seventh verse* their glasses were empty. Ashlinn looked about the table wordlessly, eyebrow raised in question. And met with no dissent, she set off in search of another round.
“First time I got drunk,” Sidonius ventured, “I got so sloppy I vomited on myself.”
“I fell into the ocean and almost drowned,” said Bladesinger.
“I got married,” Butcher said.
“You win,” Mia nodded, lighting a cigarillo.
Jonnen pushed his ale away with both hands.
“Good lad,” Mia smiled, kissing the top of her brother’s head.
“I need a bath,” Bladesinger said. “And a bed.”
“Aye, we should get some lodgings here,” Sid said. “With good fortune, Corleone’s just been delayed a turn or two.”
“And with ill fortune?” Butcher asked.
Sid had no answer for that, nor Mia either. She puffed away on her cigarillo, felt the kiss of cloves on her tongue, wondering what they’d do if Corleone failed to arrive. They had coin, but not enough to book passage for seven. They’d still no answer to the problem of the Ladies of Storms and Oceans. And looking around The Pub’s innards, Mia couldn’t see many folk she’d trust the way she trusted the captain of the Bloody Maid. Now she was settled in, she could feel what Butcher spoke of, catch a glimpse of it in a silvered smile or at a knife’s edge or in the bruises at the corners of a serving lass’s mouth. An undercurrent of violence. A streak of cruelty in this city’s bones.
Tric stood slowly, pulling his hood low, hiding those black hands in his sleeves.
“I’LL WALK THE JETTIES, SPEAK TO THE HARBORMASTER,” he said. “PERHAPS THERE’S SOME WORD OF THE MAID AND ITS DELAY.”
“Don’t you want to rest?” Mia asked. “Warm yourself by the fire a spell?”
“ONLY ONE THING IN THIS WORLD CAN WARM ME, MIA,” he replied. “AND IT’S NOT A HEARTH IN A DOCKSIDE COMMON ROOM. I’LL RETURN.”
She watched him leave, sensed the Falcons around her exchanging glances. Remembering the feel of his heartbeat under her palm. Bladesinger headed off in search of the innkeep to arrange lodgings, Butcher and Sid nursed their empty glasses. Mia smoked in silence, watching the room around her. It seemed a mix of regular citizens and salted, the pirates in their colors mixing with crew of other ships, gambling and carousing, occasionally joining in with the bawdier verses of “The Hunter’s Horn.” There seemed to be a birthturn revel or some other celebration up on the mezzanine. Mia heard breaking crockery and howls of laughter and …
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
Ashlinn’s voice.
“Watch Jonnen,” she told Sid, rising from her chair.
“What’s—”
“Watch him.”
Mia stalked into the crowd, pushing through the crush until she found herself in a semicircle of folk that’d formed around the bar. Ashlinn was in the middle of it, a spilled tray and empty tankards and puddles of ale about her feet. Three young men were stood in front of her, all leering grins and yellowed teeth. They wore greatcoats and leather caps and lengths of rope tied in nooses around their necks.
Salted, for certain.
Ash had her fists clenched, fury scrawled on her face as she addressed the tallest of the group—a fellow barely out of his teens with lank red hair and a monocle propped on his eye in an attempt to look lordly.
“You put your hand on me again, whoreson,” she spat, “you’ll be learning to toss with a stump.”
The lad chuckled. “That’s not very nice, poppet. We’re just having a play.”
“Go play with yourself, wanker.”
Mia walked out into the ring of amused onlookers, took Ash’s hand. Drawing attentions was in no one’s interest here. “Come on, let’s go.”
“O, and who’s this? Haven’t seen you about before?” Monocle turned his