Page 87 of Saint
“Not like this, we’re not.” I pulled the ledger from my jacket, opening it to the last page.
Clove tried to read over my shoulder. “I’m not following.”
“The future of the Narrows won’t be built on gems or silver or silks. That’s not who we are.” My mind was racing with it now as I scratched the numbers down. “The Unnamed Sea built their power with gemstones. We’ll build ours on rye.”
“How? It’s just a tavern drink.”
“Not anymore.” I gestured to the bottle. “In a few years we could be trading this in Bastian.”
Isolde’s eyes widened at the thought. “You think that could work?”
“I know it can.”
“But there’s nothing to govern it,” Clove interrupted. “The rye crofters don’t even have a guild.”
“Not yet, they don’t.” I closed the ledger, handing it to him. “Send a message to Emilia. Tell her to plant every damn field she can in those hills.”
“All right.” Clove’s smile stretched wider. “And Rosamund?”
“Tell her we need the best brigantine she’s ever built.”
“It’ll take at least a year. Maybe more.”
“Good. That’s about how long we’ll need to pay for it.”
Clove reopened the ledger, reading the last few entries recorded there. “I’ll figure up the first payment.”
I pulled the watch from my pocket, checking the time. “I have to go.” I got to my feet and Isolde’s hand slipped from my knee.
“Rosamund will want a name for the contract, Saint.” Clove looked up from the page. “For the ship.”
I clicked the watch closed, dropping it into my pocket. “Lark,” I answered, the word coming out a little more unsteady than I intended. “We’ll call her theLark.”
That was where it had begun, I thought. That bird lying on the deck. The boy who’d thrown it into the water.
The muscle in Clove’s jaw clenched before he gave me a tight nod. I watched him swallow before he repeated after me. “TheLark.”
33SAINT
The village was nearly dark as I made my way up the street, the harbor bell silent. It would take a few routes before our ship had inventory, but Gerik’s eyes had nearly fallen out of his head when he saw me pull that license from my jacket. I was pretty sure I’d caught a gleam of pride in them too.
TheRivenwould hold out, I told myself. She’d stay afloat long enough for another ship to take us to the Snare. And the sea would see to it.
The tavern was nearly empty, still waiting for the evening crowd that would pour in from the merchant’s house. But the booth at the back had its usual occupant.
Henrik Roth had both elbows on the table, hands clasped before him as he stared out the window that overlooked thestreet. The bottle of rye with my name on it was already waiting on the counter and I picked it up, snatching two glasses from the stack.
The fire was blazing despite the warm evening and the doors were propped open, letting the breeze sweep into the tavern. It made the flames on the lanterns bend, casting shadows up the walls.
Henrik didn’t look up as I took my seat, his usually combed hair falling from place just enough to land on his brow. There was something different about him. Something unkempt.
I poured the rye, unsure if I even wanted to know what that look meant. Maybe he’d heard what happened to the gems or about the attention we’d gotten in Ceros. He wouldn’t be happy about either.
I took the purse of coin from my jacket and set it on the table before I slid his glass toward him.
He finally blinked. “You’re late,” he said.
“No, you’re early.”
