Page 82 of Saint
For once, Saint obeyed. He lined his boots up with the edge of the platform, jaw ticking.
“A formal charge has been brought against you by the helmsman of theLuna,for poaching contracted crew.” He pulled a slip of paper free, holding it in the air. “A dredger.”
The whispers swelled again as the attention of the crowd found me, and I was instantly grateful that Daya had given me the clothes. For the first time, I blended in with them, no trace of the Unnamed Sea visible from the outside. The inside was a different matter.
“We have a witness here, a Lander…” He searched the page in his hands for the name.
“That won’t be necessary,” Saint said.
Across the room, Lander looked relieved. There was no telling what Zola had offered him to stand up there and speak against Saint. But anyone who looked at him could see he was terrified.
Edgar Moranton, the master of the Gem Guild, spoke next. “Do you have a response to this accusation, then?”
“I do not.”
The first man sighed impatiently. “Well, is it true?”
“Yes.” Saint’s abrupt answer rippled through the room, the deep tenor of his voice hovering in the unnerving silence.
The guild masters who sat the table were all looking at him now. They didn’t know this man who measured his words and bartered with their truth. No one did.
“I must say.” Edgar fumbled with the parchment in his hands, chancing a look in my direction. “I am disappointed.”
“When we said you’d have your pick of crew, this isn’texactly what we meant.” The woman at the end folded her hands on the table. The bronze placard before her bore the seal of the Sailmakers Guild.
To that, Saint had no reply.
I stepped forward. “The contract was signed and broken by me and me alone. The helmsman of theAsterhad no knowledge of it.”
Saint stiffened beside me, his eyes finding my boots.
“Unfortunately, you’re not the one who will pay for the mistake,” the woman said, her words growing heavy. “The helmsman is responsible for his ship and his crew. He’s the one who holds the trade license and is subject to the laws of this council.”
“I’m prepared to provide restitution,” Saint said, steering their attention back to him. He was going to make short work of this, and I was grateful. The longer I stood there, the more I felt the scrutinizing gazes of the merchants around me.
“Good.” The man at the other end of the table nodded. “This should be rather simple, then. There will be a fine paid to this council in the amount of—”
“I’d like to purchase the contract,” Saint interrupted.
I froze, sure I hadn’t heard him right.
The man’s fingers slipped from the parchment. “Purchase it?”
“That’s right.”
He looked down at the contract still unfolded in his hands, reading it over. “That’s a lot of coin, son.”
“I don’t have any coin.”
Behind Saint’s back, Clove met my eyes, the crease in hisbrow so severe that it looked like it had been carved there with a knife. He was just as confused as I was.
The master of the Smiths Guild laughed. “Well, what exactly do you plan to purchase it with, then?”
Saint reached into his jacket and pulled a rolled parchment free, holding it at his side. It was tied in a rough twine, but the black ink at the edges of the paper was visible. I didn’t recognize it.
It wasn’t until I looked back to Clove that I realized the color had completely drained from his face.
“Saint,” I whispered.
