merchantman was a sailor made good. Enough of them wore the bells for it not to be too noticeable. The worst parts of the whole disguise were the hair and the corset. Pig’s fat slicked Van Gast’s hair back to his head, making him smell like a side of bacon. That was bad enough but the corset—the corset was a living nightmare.
Most merchanters were fat and sleek, at least the well-to-do ones, yet the fashion was for a slim silhouette, a flat stomach. The richer merchanters, unhampered by anything so uncouth as actually sailing a ship, climbing rigging or doing anything other than shouting orders or sitting and talking, tried to outdo the other. The pinched-in waist was a sign of wealth, of indolence, of having men to do that for them so they needn’t worry about how the corset hampered movement. They cinched themselves tighter and tighter till it had got to the point of ridiculousness. Van Gast was sure if he breathed too deeply, he’d break a rib. As always when dressed as Mr. Ibsen, he felt an idiot.
“Are you sure about this, Van?” Holden, being all sensible again. “This Rillen, if Josie’s really—”
“It’s not her. It’s a twist, that’s all.” Even if he harbored doubts about Josie’s motives, he wasn’t going to let her down. Not again. This was his last, only chance, he knew that.
But Holden’s worried eyes bothered him too.
“Look, it’s not her. I’d—fuck, I am staking my life on it. On her. Gilda, Tallia, someone else is the traitor. It’s not Josie. Not her style. Guld’s going to do his best to keep an eye on me, make sure if it all goes tits-up you can get away. Or, you know, help me live. The ship is yours while I’m gone. You’re captain, you give the orders. Except one. You keep that Tallia in the brig. Don’t fall for her mooning all over you like a lovesick puppy, all right? You just make sure everyone’s aboard so we can get out quick.”
All that was forgotten as Van Gast made his way to Kyr’s Palace, acutely aware that Josie hadn’t told him a damned thing about this twist. To begin with, as he moved outside the city walls, he got a few interested looks from likely-looking racks checking out his purse, wondering if they could roll him for his coin. A knowing look, just a hint that he knew what they were about, a subtle hand on his pistol butt, was enough to send them looking for an easier mark. That interest faded as he entered the city proper, strolled along the broad thoroughfares in the more well-to-do areas, past inns that would rather shut forever than have a rack pass their door. He returned genteel nods of greeting and quizzical looks with a serene nod of his own, laughing under his breath.
Kyr’s Palace came into view just as the sun sank below the horizon, pitching the masts in the docks to sullen orange flickers. He strolled up to the entrance and spotted Ansen hunkered down in a nearby alley, pretending to beg but keeping a sharp eye on the street. Van Gast wandered over, playing the indulgent, benevolent gent, and threw a few copper fish-heads into his bowl.
“Hello, Ansen. Looking for me?”
The boy, sharp featured and dark, scowled up at him for a long moment, then his face cleared and he nodded. At least the lad had stopped sucking his thumb. Van Gast leaned down so he was on a level with him. “Can I have my knife back?”
Ansen spat on his boot. “Don’t know why she’s doing this. Should keep away from you. Josie’s nice. Nicer than you.”
“Now there’s a fine way to treat your own father. And probably she is. Are you going to tell me where I can find her or not?”
“Nope.”
Van Gast sighed. He’d never really got the hang of children, as evidenced by the fact his son was on Josie’s crew, not his. It wasn’t even as if Josie was Ansen’s mother—Van Gast’s Tilly had died, and her family hadn’t even told him he had a son—but the boy had clung to Josie like a limpet and resented everything his father did. Van Gast was rather proud of the fact that the little sod wouldn’t do a damn thing he was told though. Just like his father. Van Gast fought back an urge to ruffle the boy’s hair—he’d probably get bitten for his trouble.
“Look, Ansen, I’m here because I