Page 22 of Saint
Signed,
Simon Fuerst
Simon Fuerst. I blinked.
Simon.Blue door, black lantern.
The question was already spinning in my head like the eddies that churned over the coral reefs before a storm.
I know who you are.
When he’d said it, I’d thought only of my name. My parentage. But what if that wasn’t all Simon knew about me?
My finger moved over the words as I read them again, still telling myself that it didn’t prove anything. Simon had sent me to Zola, but that didn’t mean Saint was right.
My gaze narrowed on the date. October 12th. That was four days from now. A cold prick crept up my fingers and over the tops of my hands as I refolded the parchment and returned it to its place. Zola was determined to be in Ceros in three days’ time.
The cargo hold was full of goods he was transporting and there was no reason to believe there weren’t twenty-six bolts of Nimsmire silk somewhere among the crates. Unless…
I sank down onto the stool, shifting the parchment on the desk until I found it—the record of the ship’s master inventory. That was one log that never left this room.
My finger trailed down the list quickly as I read, picking up from before the last stop in Bastian. It looked to be the only port in the Unnamed Sea they’d stopped at.
Silver ingots, crystal glasses, reams of parchment, even a crate of handmade horn buttons. But no silks. There wasn’t a single mention of them in the last several pages of the log.
My eyes trailed to the wall that the coin master’s cabin shared with theLuna’s helmsman’s quarters.
It wasn’t proof that Saint was telling the truth, but it lined up with what he’d said. Maybe Zola had no intention of having me run dives and turn over hauls for the rising gem merchants of the Narrows.
Maybe he was running a delivery service instead.
9ISOLDE
The sharp ping of an adze reverberated in the wooden slats beneath my feet, a sign that Yasmin was at work belowdecks. She wasn’t a friend by any stretch, but I also knew she had no affection for Zola. Everyone, however, had an affection for copper.
A deckhand shouldered past me in the narrow passageway as I followed the sound of Yasmin’s tools around the corner. She was crouched beneath the door of the cargo hold with a set of new hinges at her feet. The lantern over her head swung as a wave hit the side of the ship and the adze slipped from her fingers. I caught myself on the wall beside her, leaning into the rock of the vessel before I lost my balance.
“What do you want, dredger?” She only half acknowledged me with a sideways glance as she picked up the adze.
I waited for another pair of footsteps to disappear up the stairs. “I have a question, and I can pay for the answer,” I said, keeping my voice low.
She gave me an indifferent frown, opening her hand.
I fished a copper from my belt and held it between us. “How often does this ship go to Bastian?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just tell me.”
“I don’t know. It’s not exactly a set schedule. Once a month maybe. Why?”
“What do you usually pick up there?”
“I’m the bosun. I keep the ship floating to and from a port. I don’t keep tabs on inventory once we get there.”
I leveled my gaze at her. “We both know that you’re not just a bosun. You’re running a side trade on this ship, which means you know exactly what’s on it.”
When her eyes lifted again, the icy expression I expected them to hold wasn’t there. She was entertained, if anything. “Well, look who’s been paying attention. Thought you were just another cushy Saltblood brat looking for adventure.”
