Page 16 of Saint
My father made me wait outside of the merchant’s house while he made his purchases, but I climbed up one of the thick, knotted vines that covered the east wall to a window so I could watch as the traders did their business below.
Even as a boy, I’d seen it—the expansive divide between the well-dressed Saltbloods and the Narrows folk selling their goods. I’d heard talk in Cragsmouth about them, but there was no reason for anyone from the Unnamed Sea to come to a village like ours. That was the first time I’d seen a breed like theirs, and by the time we were leaving the harbor, I was imagining a Narrows crest on one of those ships. Now that Ceros had their own Trade Council and the ability to grant a license, I’d be sailing one of them, just like my father wanted.
The soft slap of bare feet on stone echoed up the alley and I tore my eyes from the shadows, watching the darkness. The girl appeared a moment later, her pale face flashing in the moonlight. She tucked herself into my shadow against the wall, looking up at me with wide, dark eyes.
“Up one street, third building on the left. It’s the flat on the top floor,” she said.
“Did he see you?”
She shook her head, lifting an open hand between us.
I pulled a copper from my vest, holding it up. When she tried to take it, I lifted it higher, out of her reach. “Don’t givethis to anyone. Use it to get some supper,” I said. “Do as I say, and I’ll have another errand for you the next time I come to Dern. Understand?”
Her mouth twisted up on one side before she reluctantly nodded, and I pressed the coin into her palm. A girl like that had more worries than half this village. A sibling to feed. A mother to care for. But if she was smart, she’d see me for what I was: a chance. No one else was going to give her one.
Her fingers closed over the coin and she took off, disappearing around the corner.
I’d been hungry enough times to know that urchins like her made the most trustworthy souls at any port, and I’d needed someone who wouldn’t be noticed. The next time theRivendropped anchor, the girl would probably be waiting outside the tavern and I’d keep my promise. I wasn’t going to change her rotten fortune—that was a task for her alone—but she’d at least get a few hot meals out of me.
I stepped out from the alley and followed the walk to the next street. I counted three buildings before I found the door I was looking for, and I watched the windows above before I opened it. The stairs were narrow, dripping with the last bit of rain that had leaked through the roof. I climbed them with slow, silent steps, passing door after door. Behind them, I could hear voices and the sounds of spoons scraping bowls. A baby whimpering.
The stairs ended at the top floor, where a wood plank door that was once painted red was fixed into the cracked plaster wall. I slipped the knife from the back of my belt, listening. It was quiet inside, which meant he was alone, andthat was simpler. Cleaner too, if it came to spilling blood. And it might.
I fit the tip of the blade into the jamb and slid it up, catching the bolt on the other side. It took two tries to get it lifted enough to push the door open, and then the light from the flat spilled out into the hall. Every corner of the tiny room was visible from the doorway. A simple cot, a small writing desk. The room was small and bare, but the evidence of someone living in it was in the patchwork blanket folded over a chair and a few books set neatly on a crudely carved shelf. The sight almost made me want to laugh. Nash liked to make a show of looking down on us when we came to Rosamund’s, but his life didn’t look so different from mine.
Beside the window, he was bent over the wash bowl, scrubbing his face with both hands before scooping up the water and pulling it through his hair with his fingers. His suspenders hung from his waist and his shirt was untucked, as if he’d just finished his work at the pier. In another few minutes, he’d probably have been headed to the tavern.
I stepped inside, crossing the floor with silent steps, the way my father had taught me to do when we were trapping birds in the fields. I’d always had a weight in my gut on those mornings, a guilt that didn’t leave me. But it wasn’t there now. It had been a long time since I’d felt it.
Nash stood, flicking his dripping fingers into the bowl, and I stopped behind him as he raked both wet hands through his hair. The moment he caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, he froze.
The slow drip out in the hall was the only sound exceptfor the wind tapping the shutter outside. If he shouted, someone might hear him. Or they might not. In a place like Dern, the likelihood of someone racing up here to help him was slim.
He seemed to be thinking the same thing, his eyes frantic as he ran through his options. When he finally turned to face me, his voice was still riding on bravado. But I could see in his eyes that he was scared shitless. “What the hell are you doing here?” His gaze dropped to my bandaged hand.
I didn’t answer. What was the point in that?
The smugness he’d had at the pier was nearly gone now. Here, he was just a fool who’d made an enemy that he was completely unmatched for.
I took a step toward him and he lifted one hand between us, his breaths coming harder than they were seconds ago. “What is this, Saint?”
“I think you know what this is.”
His eyes widened and he drew back, closer to the window.
“I know you’ve been talking. Now we have to figure out what to do about it.”
Nash’s eyes went to the door behind me, as if someone were going to appear there and get him out of this mess. “Look, I have coin, all right? Just take whatever you want and go.”
My hand tightened on the handle of the knife. “It’s too late for that.”
It really was that uncomplicated. There were actions and reactions in the Narrows. Most of them had set, unavoidable consequences. Nash had known when he started the rumorsat the tavern that they would demand an answer. If he didn’t know, then he was a dead man anyway. People who didn’t follow the rules never lived long.
His eyes darted to the dressing table, where his own knife was sitting beside his watch, but before he could make a move for it I lunged forward, catching him by the throat and shoving him backward. He crashed into the wall, nearly toppling over.
I kept my voice even and calm. “You have two choices: be left here to bleed out on this floor or come with us.”
Nash stilled, confusion replacing the panic in his eyes. “Come with you?”
