Page 44 of Saint
“Who’s going to crew the ship?”
“We are,” he answered.
I glared at him. Thewehe was talking about clearly included me.
“I don’t work for free,” I said.
“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve paid you in advance with a hot meal and a warm bed at Emilia’s.” He winked at me.
So, that was how they were going to play this. A game of trading favors.
I held up the crock between us. When he realized what I wanted, he huffed, producing the key from his pocket and starting toward the hatch. We climbed down into the dankpassageway that led to the cargo hold and Clove lifted the lock from the bolt, fitting the key inside. The deckhands had abandoned their posts, but they hadn’t bothered to let Nash out before they left.
I supposed he deserved that after threatening to cut Mateo’s throat.
When the door swung open, Nash was sitting atop a closed barrel, arms crossed over his chest.
“Took you long enough.”
“What the…” Clove growled, eyeing the empty bottle of rye on the floor. The entire cargo hold reeked of it.
“Man’s gotta eat something,” Nash muttered, sliding down.
When he saw the crock in my hands, he brightened.
I handed it over and he pried open the lid, giving the stew a sniff. “No bread?”
I glared at him.
“Well, there’s at least one civilized creature on this ship.” He fished a carrot from the broth and popped it into his mouth. “That’s something.”
“You just got a promotion,” Clove said, turning on his heel and ducking out.
Nash stopped mid-chew, eyeing me.
“The deckhands are gone.” I answered his unspoken question.
He cradled the crock in one arm, following after Clove. “Wait a minute.”
But Clove was already back on deck, headed for the anchor crank. “I’m not asking.”
Nash looked to Saint, who was coming down the stairs from the upper deck. “So, what? You’re expanding into slave labor now?”
Saint ignored him. “Just get us out of here.” He pulled off his jacket, going to the railing. In one movement, he pulled the knife from his hand and pressed it to his palm. I flinched when I saw the bright shine of blood bead against the steel, but Saint didn’t look fazed. Once the blood was flowing, he flicked it into the water below.
I was the only one who seemed to even notice. Behind me, Nash had already climbed up onto the anchor crank, loosening his trousers. In the next breath, he was relieving himself over the side of the ship.
I pinched my eyes closed, grimacing.
Saint had the bleeding fist pressed against his chest, pulling a cloth from his back pocket as a steady stream of blood dripped from between his fingers. Once it was wrapped, he climbed the foremast himself, not waiting to order someone else to do it.
His hair blew to one side as the wind caught him, the hard shape of his arms surfacing under the skin as he rose higher. I tried not to trace the outline of him against the gray sky. It wasn’t until I spotted the bloodstain on his sleeve again that I pulled my eyes away.
“Riven!” Ward was coming up the dock with a limp that sagged one shoulder, waving a hand in the air overhead.
“Now what?” Clove muttered, locking the anchor back into place. He went to the railing, leaning into it with both hands as Ward turned onto the slip.
“Looks like that luck of yours finally came in!” Ward lifted a sealed parchment into the air.
