When a ganglord named Deadface Drem strikes a bargain with the biomancers to consolidate and rule all the slums of New Laven, the worlds of Hope and Red come crashing together, and their unlikely alliance takes them further than either could have dreamed possible.
1
Captain Sin Toa had been a trader on these seas for many years, and he’d seen something like this before. But that didn’t make it any easier.
The village of Bleak Hope was a small community in the cold southern islands at the edge of the empire. Captain Toa was one of the few traders who came this far south, and even then, only once a year. The ice that formed on the water made it nearly impossible to reach during the winter months.
Still, the dried fish, whalebone, and the crude lamp oil they pressed from whale blubber were all good cargo that fetched a nice price in Stonepeak or New Laven. The villagers had always been polite and accommodating, in their taciturn Southern way. And it was a community that had survived in these harsh conditions for centuries, a quality that Toa respected a great deal.
So it was with a pang of sadness that he gazed out at what remained of the village. As his ship glided into the narrow harbor, he scanned the dirt paths and stone huts, and saw no sign of life.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Crayton, his first mate. Good fellow. Loyal in his own way, if a bit dishonest about doing his fair share of work.
“This place is dead,” said Toa quietly. “We’ll not land here.”
“Dead, sir?”
“Not a soul in the place.”
“Maybe they’re at some sort of local religious gathering,” said Crayton. “Folks this far south have their own ways and customs.”
“’Fraid that’s not it.”
Toa pointed one thick, scarred finger toward the dock. A tall sign had been driven into the wood. On the sign was painted a black oval with eight black lines trailing down from it.
“God save them,” whispered Crayton, taking off his wool knit cap.
“That’s the trouble,” said Toa. “He didn’t.”
The two men stood there staring at the sign. There was no sound except the cold wind that pulled at Toa’s long wool coat and beard.
“What do we do, sir?” asked Crayton.
“Not come ashore, that’s for certain. Tell the wags to lay anchor. It’s getting late. I don’t want to navigate these shallow waters in the dark, so we’ll stay the night. But make no mistake, we’re heading back to sea at first light and never coming near Bleak Hope again.”
They set sail the next morning. Toa hoped they’d reach the island of Galemoor in three days and that the monks there would have enough good ale to sell that it would cover his losses.
It was on the second night that they found the stowaway.
Toa was woken in his bunk by a fist pounding on his cabin door.
“Captain!” called Crayton. “The night watch. They found… a little girl.”
Toa groaned. He’d had a bit too much grog before he went to sleep, and the spike of pain had already set in behind his eyes.
“A girl?” he asked after a moment.
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“Hells’ waters,” he muttered, climbing out of his hammock. He pulled on cold, damp trousers, a coat, and boots. A girl on board, even a little one, was bad luck in these southern seas. Everybody knew that. As he pondered how he was going to get rid of this stowaway, he opened the door and was surprised to find Crayton alone, turning his wool cap over and over again in his hands.
“Well? Where’s the girl?”
“She’s aft, sir,” said Crayton.
“Why didn’t you bring her to me?”
“We, uh… that is, the men can’t get her out from behind the stowed rigging.”
“Can’t get her…” Toa heaved a sigh, wondering why no one had just reached in and clubbed her unconscious, then dragged her out. It wasn’t like his men to get soft because of a little girl. Maybe it was on account of Bleak Hope. Maybe the terrible fate of that village had made them a bit more conscious than usual of their own prospects for Heaven.
“Fine,” he said. “Lead me to her.”
“Aye, sir,” said Crayton, clearly relieved that he wasn’t going to bear the brunt of the captain’s frustration.
Toa found his men gathered around the cargo hold where the spare rigging was stored. The hatch was open and they stared down into the darkness, muttering to each other and making signs to ward off curses. Toa took a lantern from one of them and shone the light down into the hole, wondering why a little girl had his men so spooked.
“Look, girlie. You better…”
She was wedged in tight behind the piles of heavy line. She looked filthy and starved, but otherwise a normal enough girl of about eight years. Pretty, even, in the Southern way, with pale skin, freckles, and hair so blond it looked almost white. But there was something about her eyes when she looked at you. They felt empty, or worse than empty. They were pools of ice that crushed any warmth you had in you. They were ancient eyes. Broken eyes. Eyes that had seen too much.
“We tried to pull her out, Captain,” said one of the men. “But she’s packed in there tight. And well… she’s…”
“Aye,” said Toa.
He knelt down next to the opening and forced himself to keep looking at her, even though he wanted to turn away.
“What’s your name, girl?” he asked, much quieter now.
She stared at him.
“I’m the captain of this ship, girl,” he said. “Do you know what that means?”
Slowly, she nodded once.
“It means everyone on this ship has to do what I say. That includes you. Understand?”
Again, she nodded once.
He reached one brown, hairy hand down into the hold.
“Now, girl. I want you to come out from behind there and take my hand. I swear no harm will come to you on this ship.”
For a long moment, no one moved. Then, tentatively, the girl reached out her bone-thin hand and let it be engulfed in Toa’s.
Toa and the girl were back in his quarters. He suspected the girl might start talking if there weren’t a dozen hard-bitten sailors staring at her. He gave her a blanket and a cup of hot grog. He knew grog wasn’t the sort of thing you gave to little girls, but it was the only thing he had on board except fresh water, and that was far too precious to waste.
Now he sat at his desk and she sat on his bunk, the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the steaming cup of grog in her tiny hands. She took a sip, and Toa expected her to flinch at the pungent flavor, but she only swallowed and continued to stare at him with those empty, broken eyes of hers. They were the coldest blue he had ever seen, deeper than the sea itself.
“I’ll ask you again, girl,” he said, although his tone was still gentle. “What’s yer name?”
She only stared at him.
“Where’d you come from?”
Still she stared.
“Are you…” He couldn’t believe he was even thinking it, much less asking it. “Are you from Bleak Hope?”
She blinked then, as if coming out of a trance. “Bleak Hope.” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. “Yes. That’s me.” There was something about the way she spoke that made Toa suppress a shudder. Her voice was as empty as her eyes.
“How did you come to be on my ship?”
“That happened after,” she said.
“After what?” he asked.
She looked at him then, and her eyes were no longer empty. They were full. So full that Toa’s salty old heart felt like it might twist up like a rag in his chest.
“I will tell you,” she said, her voice as wet and full as her eyes. “I will tell only you. Then I won’t ever say it aloud ever again.”
She had been off at the rocks. That was how they’d missed her.