Prologue
By the light of the perpetual dawn, the last nets were dragged aboard. Within their confines, a meager haul of pale, slight fish wriggled and flopped in a futile bid to return to the water.
Raina Marbuck could remember a time when the nets had been full. Certainly, Baylis had never complained of a poor catch. Now, they were finding that the dark currents of the Einfallen no longer cloaked the treasures they had taken for granted. It had been a gradual decline, but had recently grown undeniable. None of the crew of the Fortune spoke of it in certain terms. There was a tacit understanding that acknowledging the problem would somehow compound it.
So, with an uneasiness churning beneath the surface, the fishermen continued to perform their duties, laughing at their crude jokes, smoking their pipes, drinking their liquor, willfully ignoring the growing threat to their livelihood, and to the entire realm. For the shortages they were experiencing mirrored the shortages that had become apparent all around them. The people of Nordabor didn’t know hunger yet, not real hunger, but with each passing full-cycle, they were certainly becoming accustomed to a feeling of wanting more. Scarcity had become the norm, and yet it seemed that from the Crown on down to the lowliest beggar, none would speak this truth aloud.
This superstitious silence held all tongues in check, or so it had seemed to Marbuck. She was surprised to find, as she prepared to depart the battered old vessel that she called home more often than her actual domicile, that Barrett Winslow, of all people, was willing to speak of the decline.
“Fishwife, c’mere. Your merry old captain wishes to speak with you.”
The nickname, which had followed Marbuck from the happier times when she’d only been responsible for selling the fish caught by Baylis and the others, had never bothered her. Expecting nothing of any particular significance, she sidled up next to the captain, who was leaning against the rail near the gangplank. A few of the other fishermen filed past them, bidding farewell to their captain and their first mate until the iron bell of the Vinecrown Keep would announce the commencement of the next full-cycle’s work.
“Yes, Captain?” Marbuck said, her thoughts following the others off the boat.
“I wanted to let you know about a little business venture I’ve got lined up for us,” Winslow said, his voice suddenly conspiratorial. “Something that promises a lot more coin than these depleted waters.”
The truth of their situation, spoken aloud, made Marbuck’s mouth go dry. The fact that Winslow, aboard his own boat, would acknowledge such ill fortune seemed like a bad portent. Marbuck, who hadn’t always carried such irrational notions, knew that, during these past three long-cycles, the rest of the crew had rubbed off on her more than she cared to admit.
“We managed a fine haul this full-cycle,” she said, not believing a word of it.
Winslow waved a hand dismissively. “No, we didn’t. Nor have we for nearing on a long-cycle now, so save your breath with all that. This job won’t even involve fishing none. It’s a transporting job.”
“Transporting what?”
Winslow peered around, wiggling his bushy eyebrows, then laughed wheezily at his own feigned cautiousness. “Transporting the prince on an expedition down south.”
“Phir-Ramarian?” Marbuck said, now believing that she had fallen victim to some strange prank.
“Yeah, that’s right. The prince is leading a whole contingent of guardsmen and shepherds and such, in search of something very important. All at the behest of Phar-Mindorius. Or so Rayburn says.”
Fritz Rayburn, the chief purchaser of their hauls, was known to have had dealings with Phar-Mindorius, particularly in providing provisions for the occasional journey beyond the city walls, including Rorik Fontaine’s doomed expedition. Ever since that famous company failed to return, sojourns outside of the city, like everything else, had grown scarce. The well-known loss of Fontaine, Phar-Mindorius’s esteemed curator, had apparently soured the king on the idea of any further ventures. Despite some vain efforts to follow in his father’s footsteps, Rorik’s son had never seemed to amount to much, and eventually the promised treasures of old Vingallea that had captured the imaginations of the commoners had been forgotten in the face of their hard reality.
Another major expedition, led by the prince, no less, seemed unlikely. Yet, Rayburn’s supposed involvement lent some credibility to what Winslow was saying.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What is this important thing? And how far south are we talking?”
“Well, as for what they’re seeking, that will take some time to explain. Suffice it to say, I wouldn’t agree to nothing until Rayburn made plain what we’d be getting ourselves into. It took some needling, but he told me more than he was permitted to, and, I suspect, less than he knows. It was enough to convince me, though, and I gave him my word that his masters would never know that he let me in on their little secret. As for how far south, well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’d be going further than any boat on these waters has gone. I suspect we’ll be gone for some time. I know with Elibeth …”
Curiosity had replaced her doubt, but Elibeth had overtaken them both. Leaving her daughter nearly every full-cycle was one thing. At least she still managed to return home after her shift; she could still share a meal with her and see her off to bed. Longer trips occasionally kept her away for a few consecutive full-cycles, and that was already a great strain; to be gone completely, in uncharted waters for an indistinct time, was just not possible.
“I’m sorry, Barrett, I can’t.”
“Well hold on now, don’t decide too rashly. Listen, we are talking a fortune here,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the rusted railing. “She’s going to live up to her namesake. Enough coin that we could hang it up for four, maybe five long-cycles, based on what we’re bringing in now. That could buy a lot of time with Elibeth. And anyway, you’ve already got someone watching her most of the full-cycle anyway. Tell them you’ll throw them some extra coin when you get back. You’ll certainly be able to afford it.”
The amount of pay took Marbuck aback, and she fought with herself before defaulting to her refusal. “I can’t just ask Dania to take her for the foreseeable future. Not when your best estimate is apparently ‘some time.’ She’s got kids of her own. And she wouldn’t accept payment anyway; she’s too kind.”
“Well, okay, more for you then.”
“That sounds nice, but it’s just not feasible. At any rate, Elibeth and I are doing fine. We can get by on what I’m bringing in.”
“Raina, please.” Winslow’s good humor had dimmed, and Marbuck was reminded of the moment she’d opened her door to the sight of him and Gregor Falstaff, red-eyed and wretched. The way they had looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. She turned away, choosing to stare at the reflection of the cloud-locked sky rippling across the surface of the water.
“Since you joined the crew, I have done everything I could to support you and Elibeth,” Winslow continued. “Baylis is never far from my mind, and you know the others feel the same way. But this isn’t about charity. I’m not just trying to help you, I need you. There’s a reason you’re my first mate, and it’s not just because Baylis was. As his family, you’ve always been part of mine too, but if you were a shitty mariner someone else would occupy that seat. Castor might not believe me, but you had better. Without your navigation, we’ll run aground, I guarantee it. You have a way of reading the water that the others don’t, and you know it. The Einfallen is tricky, even here, where we’ve mapped the waters. Down south?” He shrugged.
It was a cheap shot to invoke Baylis, and to play to her pride, but Marbuck did not doubt Winslow’s honesty. She knew that she had earned her place through merit. She didn’t give a shit what Fenwick Castor might insinuate behind her back.
“You wouldn’t be gone more than half a long-cycle, if I had to bet.”
Marbuck said nothing. She stared down into the water, the black curls of her hair hanging like curtains on either side of her face. Winslow hadn’t mentioned the wages she would lose while the Fortune was gone and she was left struggling to find work in the meantime. Not to mention if they really did return rich enough to dock the boat for four or five long-cycles. She would be desperate then, and undoubtedly envious of the wealth she’d walked away from.
Four or five long-cycles, completely free of labor. Or, she could still work, but less. She could use that coin to get Elibeth a proper apprenticeship when the time came, to set her up for a better future, to offer her security in uncertain times. The promise of this payment opened numerous doors for her. Doors that Baylis’s death had shut.
“All we would be doing is transporting them down the Einfallen?” she finally asked. “And they would be serving as our protection?”
“I’m told they’re bringing the best royal guardsmen that the Crown has to offer. Everything is expected to go very smoothly. Before you know it, we’ll all be right back here counting out our coin.”
It was going to be very difficult to tell Elibeth. Her eyes, so much like Baylis’s, would betray nothing. At only eleven long-cycles of age, Elibeth was already as fiercely private with her emotions as her father had been. Losing him had only increased her penchant for walling herself off. She would appear to accept Marbuck’s departure with the same quietude that she accepted everything, perhaps concealing her real feelings within a joke, just as Baylis would have done. But a mother always knows the true thoughts of her child, and Marbuck dreaded leaving her. Ultimately though, she could not refuse the promise of such a reward, and she hoped that Elibeth would understand.
Marbuck took a deep breath and turned to Winslow. “Okay. I’m in.” He smiled broadly, and she held up a finger to check his enthusiasm. “But you’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”
