I took the pastry and folded the paper away. There was a noticeable bite out of the back.
“Best you’ll get.” She clapped me on the shoulder and strode away to take command of the anchor watch. “It’s delicious.”
I scowled down at the cinnamon-dusted reminder of my disfavor, until Slader’s shadow fell across the rail.
“Go ashore, Mr. Rosser,” he said, without looking at me. “Next boat.”
I scanned his face for some sign of compassion or deception. I found neither. His expression was one of mild disinterest beneath greying eyebrows and black bicorn hat.
“Sir?” I asked. Fisher, now standing on the quarterdeck, was squinting at the crates of chickens the steward had brought aboard that morning. The chickens’ clucking increased to an accusatory clamor as Fisher leaned in. My counterpart kicked the cage lightly, and the birds, chastened, fell silent.
Slader turned to face me, lowering his voice. “James Demery just dropped anchor.”
I recalled the blithe man from Kaspin’s auction and the unsettled feeling he had left me with. Then, more slowly, I recalled the ship I had seen trailing Mary in my vision—or dream, or whatever it had been. Could that ship have been Demery’s?
My skin prickled with unease. “Why would he be here?” I asked.
“You tell me,” Slader said. “Are you on good terms with the man?”
I nodded, choosing not to tell Slader how troubled I had been by the pirate. “We are acquainted and there were no outward hostilities.”
“Good. Then go find out what he’s doing here.” Slader’s smile settled into a grim, subtle twist of the lips. “And for Saint’s sake, have a hot bath and a good night’s sleep ashore. You’re taut as a fiddle.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but swallowed my words and took the victory. “Yes, sir. Demery’s ship, what is she?”
“A modified brigantine, I believe.” Slader clasped one wrist behind his back and noted the expression on my face. “No more than twenty guns. If we need to take her, the matter will be well in hand.”
Demery’s vessel was too small to be the one in my vision, then, but my dreamer’s sense itched. Could Mary’s pursuer have been Lirr? Could I have ignored a critical vision and jeopardized our whole mission?
I dragged my gaze to Slader, imagining what fury he would unleash if I admitted the possibility. More eager than ever to get ashore, I touched my hat and gave the captain a short bow. “Very good, sir.”
ELEVEN
Gentlemen and Pirates
SAMUEL
James Demery’s Harpy was an economic vessel, unassuming and clean. She rested beside the dock as the Winter Sea’s early evening came on, the sails of her two masts neatly furled, a few hands visible on deck. Her stovepipes, one fore and two aft, trickled smoke into the sky, and dusky blue paint highlighted her lintels, gunports and rails. On her stern, blue met with silver to trace out her name, while her figurehead—a stoic, flint-eyed harpy with bare breasts and spreading wings—was painted in startlingly lifelike hues.
Between the vessel and I, wagons trundled, dockhands dispersed, and fishmongers lowered their prices, dispensing increasingly pungent wares as night approached.
I occupied a bench outside a coffee house on the quay, thawing my fingers on my second cup, when Demery appeared from the crowd and made for the gangplank of Harpy. I sat a little straighter. He paused at the rail, caught a word from one of his crew, then looked straight at me.
I raised an empty hand in greeting, and told myself that the buzz of my nerves was simply from too much coffee.
As I had hoped, the captain came over. He unbuttoned his coat as he did and let it fall open to show that he was armed with two gleaming pistols.
I shifted on my bench, making my cutlass equally obvious—as gentlemen and pirates did.
Demery sat, rested one ankle across his opposite knee and cast me a half-smile. “Have you paid your Tithe, Mr. Rosser?”
“Of course.” I nodded and tapped my mug. “Something to drink?”
“Not with the smell of fouled fish in the air.” Demery sniffed in displeasure and looked back through the bustle of dockhands and townsfolk, carts and wagons, sailors and darting children. “But thank you. May I ask why you’ve been watching my ship for the last hour?”
“I hoped to speak to you, but assumed your crew would shoot first.”
Demery’s head bobbed in a contemplative nod. “A fair assumption. Me and mine have little cause to trust when you and yours come kicking at our hatches. So, what is it, Lieutenant?”
“My captain wants to know why you are in Tithe.”
Demery looked me full in the face, eyebrows arched. “You’re not subtle now, are you?”
“It is cold, I need to piss, and I have no desire to spend my whole evening teasing the truth out of you.”
Demery’s grin crept up into his eyes. “Well, I appreciate someone who doesn’t waste my time. I’m here for the very same reason you are.”
I glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “Oh?”
“Lirr sailed southwest out of Whallum a week ago.” Demery’s voice dropped, all amusement fading away. “Chasing John Randalf into a storm. It’s well known Tithe is Randalf’s first port of call. So, anyone looking for Lirr would do well to sail the same route as Randalf and wait. For sails on the horizon. For rumors.”
Sails on the horizon. Again, my vision of Mary reared.
“You are waiting for Lirr?” I clarified.
Demery shrugged. “We have personal business to attend to, but he’s disinclined to meet with me, so here we are.”
James Demery had personal business with Silvanus Lirr? I shifted deeper into my coat and made a considering sound. “What kind of business?”
The older man looked at me levelly. It was not a hostile expression, but it was clear he had no intention of explaining. “Randalf is late,” he stated instead.
I drained my coffee to the grounds and balanced the mug on my thigh, glancing back out to sea. My mind turned over possible connections between Lirr and Demery—old scores and grudges? Shared history in the piratical sphere? Whatever they were, it could seriously complicate Hart’s commission.
“Perhaps his new Stormsinger has yet to learn her verses?”
Demery huffed ambiguously, but there was a weight to his gaze. “Or Lirr’s already found him, and you and I wait in vain.”
That thought made my pulse quicken. “How would Lirr catch Randalf without a Stormsinger? He obviously does not have one, otherwise he has no reason to pursue the man to begin with. It is a miracle he even made it out of the storm in Whallum.”
Demery stood up and began buttoning his overcoat. “Well, lad, that’s where you’re wrong.”
I stood up too, setting my mug on the sill of the coffeehouse window. “How?”
“Lirr has the best Stormsinger on the Winter Sea and she’s been with him for years,” the other man said as he popped up his collar against the chill.
I was hard-pressed to hide my shock. “Then why would he be interested in Mary Firth?”
Demery tugged at his scarf, letting it bunch under his chin like a cravat. “Damned if I know.”