The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,35

Did this ship not have a captain?”

“There’s only one captain in the Duchy,” said the Luidaeg. Seeing my confusion, she shrugged. “The Duchy of Ships is a Duchy because it needs to be something, but there’s no Duke or Duchess of Ships. It’s the captain who keeps things running. Hands on the helm, sails to the wind, all that fun stuff. The other ships have first mates, to keep them under a clear chain of command, but they don’t have captains.”

“That feels unnecessarily confusing,” objected Quentin, who had inched up on us while she was speaking.

The Luidaeg granted him a warm, if brief, smile. “Says the boy who grew up in a system of kings ruling kings. The high kingship is no more confusing than a single captain with a whole passel of first mates. It’s all in what you think is normal. Here, this is normal. Now shut up. It’s time for us to be announced.”

Rodrick, who had apparently been waiting for us to be quiet, bowed extravagantly as he lowered the gangplank. He stepped up onto it, hooves clopping against the wood, and called, in a loud, carrying voice, “The Jackdaw is returned safely to port, carrying our contracted cargo!”

A cheer went up from the people on the dock and hanging out of the portholes of nearby ships. I turned, taking them all in. Where had they come from? It felt like there were dozens of them present, all watching us like we were the most interesting animals at the zoo. I hadn’t seen any of them during our approach. Either they’d gathered in a serious hurry, or the Duchy of Ships had some unpleasant tricks up its sleeve.

“Name your cargo, First Mate,” shouted a voice, female, even louder than Rodrick’s.

There was no cheer this time. Only silence. Rodrick paled, and for a moment, I thought he was going to turn and run to the safety of his cabin. Then he cleared his throat and stood up even straighter, squaring his shoulders like he thought posture was the answer to all his troubles.

“From the Court of Dreaming Cats, King Tybalt of the Cait Sidhe,” he announced. Tybalt shot me an irritated glance, apparently not pleased to have been called first, and stepped onto the gangplank, looking along his nose at the assembled crowd. Then he proceeded down to the dock, as was only correct when he had been announced so formally.

“From the County of Goldengreen in the Mists, Count Dean Lorden, and his seneschal, Marcia.” Dean stepped onto the gangplank, Marcia behind him, dragging her suitcase. He looked utterly at ease, which made sense; apart from Nolan and the Luidaeg, he was the only one of us who might actually have been here before. Marcia was so busy rubbernecking that I couldn’t tell what she thought about the situation. At least she didn’t slip and fall into the water.

“From the Duchy of Shadowed Hills in the Mists, Sir October Daye, named Knight of Lost Words, and her squire, Quentin.”

I took a deep breath. “Chin up, kiddo, it’s time to get judged.”

“I’ve been judged before,” said Quentin dismissively.

“Then this should be easy.” I stepped onto the gangplank. The wood was slipperier than it looked, and my feet nearly shot out from underneath me. I saved myself from a nasty fall by putting a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and bearing down hard, trying to make the gesture look as natural as possible. It wasn’t easy, because the smell . . .

The Duchy of Ships was located entirely in the Summerlands, with no mortal population to hide from. There was no reason for any of these people to keep their magic under wraps or to pretend to be anything other than what they were. The air crackled with dozens, maybe hundreds of magical signatures, and while “oceanic” scents were dominant—wind and waves and sea grasses, kelp and sand and ambergris—there were plenty of conflicting scents that would have been much easier to interpret if we’d been inland. Or near land at all.

“Toby?” whispered Quentin. “You okay?”

“Lot of magic here,” I said, holding onto his shoulder. “Get me to solid ground.”

We descended slowly, people watching and assessing us every step of the way. Tybalt was there as soon as we reached the bottom of the gangplank, taking my other arm with the sort of ostentatious flourish that I knew meant he was flexing his possession of me for everyone to see. I would have been annoyed, except that I understood his reasons