Sunny. Mild. It hardly seemed like the sort of day to explore the depths of a howling hive. But the clouds were few and the breeze was light, and their peaceful anchorage was a mirror of the treacherous mountain dead ahead. Anouk's every instinct was hopelessly on edge.
Someone whistled, sharply— Sei, on the afterdeck. He was leaning over the weathered banister, dark hair dangling. "It's time," he called down. "You should wake him up."
She shielded her eyes from the sun. "We've got a few hours of daylight left."
"It'll take some time to head in from the shore."
"Did you scout ahead?"
"I did. You'll want this ship in the air before dark."
Howlings, in woodwork. "Aye, I'll wake him," she grumbled. "Wait here."
Sei responded with an offhand salute, but then sighed and looked back out at the mountain. He was probably feeling restless. Anouk could relate. She left him to it and crossed the incurably cluttered main, dressed for the cold, cursing the warmth, hoping their efforts would be worth the trouble. The crew had spat fire when they heard they'd be treading the winds in her absence, but it was safer for them to keep moving, to circle, than risk another attack on the surface.
Baroona was down in the galley with her helmsman, Sam Grayblood, who was sniggering over a half-eaten bowl of rations. They glanced up from their friendly discussion as Anouk emerged from the forward companionway.
Smile fading, Baroona asked, "It's time?"
"Seems like," she grunted. "You can finish your food."
Anouk almost knocked at the captain's cabin. Feeling silly, she opened the door and immediately stopped, met with an unexpected sight; for a great snarled nest overflowed from within, of crisscrossed treebine and vegetation. She could scarcely see the bed.
The men in the galley were chuckling again— at her expense, most like. Anouk irritably closed the door behind her, ducking understory growth. "Oi, seabird," she said, blindly feeling her way. "I'm not someone you want to startle."
But he hadn't heard. He was curled in the farthermost corner of bed, hugged by the foliage. She sat down beside him and studied his expression, reluctant to interrupt.
Handsome, he was, in a beautiful way, too rugged to be just the latter alone. She'd hardly seen him awake in the days they'd been airborne; just twice, in fact, to report in to Peter, the squirrely blistering beanstalk himself. The thought of him promptly darkened her mood.
"Oi, seabird," she said again. "Time to get up."
She played with his ear until he stirred and tiredly tried to swat her away. "Stop it," he muttered, a crease in his brow. "I'm resting."
"You've been resting for days, seabird."
His eyes slowly opened. He yawned and rolled over. He smiled when he saw her and stretched out, catlike. "Oh, Anouk," he noticed. "You look nice."
Wryly, she echoed, " 'Oh, Anouk?' "
"Have we landed?"
"We have. Are you hungry?"
His smile spread. "Are you going to feed me?"
Anouk pushed his face at the pillow, lest she catch his infectious amusement. "Eat before we go," she instructed. "That's an order, seabird. And drink plenty of water."
He came up for air softly laughing, hair thrown in his eyes. "Fine, fine."
She held him still to assess his injuries, most of which looked far worse than they were. The bruise at his temple was just about gone —Peter's contribution, yellowed and healing— as were the handprints around his neck, reduced to sickly shades of green. The colors were foul, but he was improving.
Ethos had stopped smiling when their eyes met again. "I'm not weak," he said, and it sounded like he was frustrated by the state of himself. "You won't have to protect me."
"I know, seabird," she replied. "I remember."
"Since we met, I just— "
"You've had a dose of bad luck. I know."
"I feel like you've come to the rescue a lot. More than I'd like."
She had to snigger at that. His resulting glare was more inspiring than it was dissuading. "Aye, it's so," she agreed, low-voiced and teasing. "It's certainly so. A pretty thing like you."
Ethos didn't rise to the bait. He studied her face. "You could've demanded anything in return for our passage to Flint," he reminded her. "You must have seen something in me worthwhile."
"I did, aye. I love pretty things." Anouk foiled his annoyed attempt to rise from the blankets. "Hold it there, seabird," she laughed. "I'm just playing."
He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, bare feet flat on the floor. "I'm supposed to be better than this," he said. "It's pathetic."
Anouk threw a leg over his lap. When he didn't protest, she rested her chin on his shoulder and agreed, "Not easy, being son of Redbeard."
He stared ahead, lost to his thoughts. "Not easy."
"What say we blow off Savage and set a course for Folke?"
Ethos snorted. "There's nothing left in Folke but the ghosts of Leary Lane."
"And the beach, seabird. We'd have it all to ourselves."
"True. Tempt me with a good population deficit." He suddenly frowned, as if at himself. "Let's talk about something else."
Anouk happily admired his profile. "Didja confuse yourself?"
"It's fine. I'm not— " He stopped. He glanced. He smiled. "Everything's fine."
"Oi, that shitty kind of lie might fly with your boyfriend, but you're gonna seriously piss me off if you make it into a habit with me. I'm no neddy betty loosebit."
His smile quickly became genuine. "No?"
"No." Anouk stood up; no easy feat, with the treebine. "Grab your stuff and meet me topside," she told him. "We'll disembark as soon as you've fired off today's transmission."
Ethos didn't answer at first. He was gazing up at her, green eyes moving over her face. "Thanks," he eventually said, but he looked confused again. "What day is it?"
Anouk laughed and cupped his cheek. "Oh, seabird," she sang. "I'd have to put a knot in the clew if you were my moonraker."
"I don't know what that means."
"Means it's Tuesday. And your breath smells."
He grinned. "Does it?"
"It does." She turned away and opened the cabin door. Partway out, she stopped and whistled over at Baroona. At her gestured instruction, he tossed her the roll of bread on his plate, which she flung at Ethos, who caught it, startled. She thrust a finger at it and repeated, "Eat."
He scowled a little and gave a nod, so she closed the door to give him his privacy. The men in the galley were laughing again. "Anouk Battlefrost, mothering Hans Redbeard," Sam Grayblood leered. "If there's a day to die, this must be it. Seen it all like."
Anouk told him off with a look. "He's not Hans Redbeard."
"That's not what the chain says. The chain says he's been reincarnated."
"Any pisshead with Oldden skyglass can talk on the chain."
"Aye, but only midland highborn can afford it."
"Midland highborn are just pissheads with nicer things."
Sam shrugged and picked at his rations. "Baroona agrees with me," he said. "He saw it, same as the rest of us. All the talk with that tono sea hag— the one who turned."
Baroona had wisely been silent, gaze jumping between them. If he objected to Kacha being called a sea hag, he didn't say so. He didn't even speak until Anouk's expression prompted him to. "I'd never call it a reincarnation," he reasoned. "It seems more like a replication."
Ethos emerged from the captain's cabin, head bent as he buckled his belt. "In the old world they'd have called me a clone," he said. "We don't really have a word for it here."
Sam turned in his chair. "They're selling it in the books like you're Redbeard's kid," he said. "The doing of that wish-he-were Battlefrost, the cretin."
"Peter can call me whatever he wants," Ethos replied, scanning the table. "The records don't mean anything. Is there more bread?"
Baroona pointed with his fork. "Bread box."
"Where's your bag?" Anouk asked. "I told you to get your stuff."
Back turned, Ethos mumbled, "Topside, in steerage."
"It's probably soaked. It rained earlier."
"There wasn't anything in it, really." Ethos was quiet while he ate. He suddenly peered at Baroona from over his shoulder. "You're sick," he knew. "Mildly. A common cold."
Baroona stood with his dish. "I'm on the mend."
"Does Sei have it, too?"
"No."
"That's good." Ethos moved for him to get by, sidestepping braids of upstrung garlic. "What's the situation outside?" he asked. "Any activity?"
"It's quiet," Anouk inserted, gruffly. "For now."
Ethos looked at her, eyes holding the candlelight. "How long do I have?"
"Sundown." Clone, he'd called himself. She didn't know the word. "It'll take some time to reach the mountain," she said, and then wryly: "Some of us can't fly."
Ethos smirked at that. "I could carry you."
"Ballsch. You'd drop me."
"I'd never."
"Liar. Turkey. Spriggan. Seabird."
He just laughed and nodded his head a few times. "Alright, I'll go send out the dispatch," he said, and he passed through the galley, hands in his pockets. "Let's plan on heading out in fifteen. I'll need a coat and a good pair of boots."
Anouk frowned. "You lost your boots?"
Ethos might not have been paying attention. He stopped behind Sam and spoke into his ear. "Her name was Kacha, by the way," he murmured. "Not sea hag. Get it right next time."
Sam's eyes leapt to Anouk. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"Just tell me you understand, please."
"Aye, understood."
Ethos straightened and glanced over at Anouk. His expression was very neutral. "They're too big," he told her— the boots, she recalled. "We're going to be doing a lot of walking, so I'll need something that fits for a change. The old ones are in my cabin."
"I'll find you something," Baroona said, and his voice came from farther away than before. He'd wandered a ways astern toward the hold, perhaps intending to pin down Clancy, whose size was nearly a match to Ethos. "Go on, I'll meet you on deck. Appease Peter."
To remind him, Ethos said, "Fifteen minutes."
Baroona deigned no answer. Anouk followed Ethos up the stairs to the main, patting Sam's rigid shoulder in passing. Daylight hit them before she spoke again. "Don't threaten my men, seabird," she warned him. "That's my job."
Ethos made a sound of amusement. "I didn't threaten him."
"It was implied. Sam's got heart; he just doesn't think before he speaks."
"I didn't threaten him, I reprimanded him. There's a difference."
Anouk caught his arm, stopping him short. "This isn't up for debate, Ethos," she said. "You don't threaten my men, ever. You're a passenger until I say otherwise."
Ethos smiled a little, gaze low on her face. "You called me Ethos."
"Aye, so you know I mean business. Are we clear on the hierarchy of this partnership?"
"Hierarchy? Your people forfeited rank to me."
"My people didn't forfeit snot."
That made his smile spread. He met her eyes, imparting a roguish gleam of mischief. "Alright," he allowed. "You call the shots. I'll behave."
Anouk reached up and covered his face. "Stop that."
He laughed into her hands, blind. "But I wasn't doing anything."
"You know exactly what you were doing, you barnacle. I'll bite off your thumbs."
"You don't want me to smile at you," he guessed. "Is that it?"
"Say it," she demanded. "Pledge."
"I pledge, I pledge."
"It doesn't count if you're laughing."
His hands lightly encircled her wrists. "It counts."
"You've got to say it like you mean it. Like you'd say to your witch."
Ethos fell silent, long enough to make her peek at his face. He wasn't laughing anymore. But he didn't snap at her. He didn't shout. He just stepped back, out of reach, and ducked into the shade of the steerage. "I said it and I meant it," he maintained, from within. "It's enough."
She watched him rummage. "You loved her, huh."
"I don't know. Seems like it."
"Oi, can't you tell?"
"I'm not having this discussion."
"But you're sorta cute when you're uncomfortable, seabird."
Ethos returned to his feet with the salvaged bag. Rainwater spattered the ground. He spared her a glance before proceeding up to the afterdeck. "Kacha never wanted anything from me," he said. "But I used to wish that she did. That's all I know."
Anouk still remembered the look in his eyes. His rage and his fear. His sorrow. Seeing Kacha turn had killed something in him, maybe something that hadn't quite ripened. His authenticity in that one horrible moment had stuck with her. She teased him not.
Sei was aft, sitting against the starboard bulwark. He looked up from his nervous whittling as they filed onto the deck. "There you are," he greeted. "I've switched on the transceiver."
The transceiver was located in front of the battered helm, mounted atop a handsome oak binnacle that used to live on a different rig. Amidst a few navigational instruments, the transceiver itself was a domed encasement, within which was sealed a powdered share of Flint's most valued skyglass. The dust floated foglike at the base of the apparatus, a sign that it was active.
Ethos dumped his bag on the deck and tuned the transceiver settings. "Echo to Flint," he hailed, sounding tired. "This is Ethos. How do you read?"
The powder jumped in sync with his voice, settling as the silence returned. When it jumped again, it was from a new voice, a gruff one from the acoustic horn. "Flint reads you fair," it responded. "Stand by, Echo. Peter's about."
"Just tell him I checked in."
But the dispatcher was already gone. "You do this every time," Sei said, inviting their eyes. "Just wait. You know he wants to hear you himself."
Ethos looked like he wanted to argue. He instead slumped forward, over the helm. His shoulders moved with a hearty sigh. "I'm annoyed," he said. "I want to go back to bed."
"Then go back to bed." Sei was staring down at his misshapen woodcraft. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Ethos," he muttered. "You can do whatever you want."
There was something unusual about the way he said it. Ethos must have thought so, too, because he glanced sidelong and asked, "You okay?"
But the transceiver stirred. Peter's voice spilled out of the acoustic horn. "Hey, it's me," he said, forgoing procedure. "Do you copy?"
Ethos lingered on Sei very briefly. "Ho, Peter," he replied. "I copy."
"It's good to hear from you. What's the situation over there? Alyce says you've landed."
"Yeah, we'll be heading out in a few." Ethos grimly squinted up at the mountain. "Has there been any progress on your end?"
"Some, aye. The tono are all in transit to Harken."
"In transit? Did you give them a ship?"
"Of course I did. What else was I supposed to do?"
"That depends. How many people can the nebule move at once?"
There was a long pause. "I've no idea," he said. "I've never moved more than one at a time."
"You should probably do some testing, Peter."
"This is why I need you here."
Purposefully: "How are the girls?"
"Una's worsened."
"Has she hurt anybody?"
"No, but you can tell she's ill at a glance now."
Ethos mulled that over. "Are Michael and Rhysa doing okay?"
"Rhysa's distributed her team of pothers," Peter replied. "Michael could be better."
"What's wrong with him? Did something happen?"
"Aye, he's missing a brother, brother. I guess it doesn't seem that way to you."
Ethos swore very softly, eyes closed. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry."
"At some point you really ought to have a sit with him."
"I'll pass. Is there anything else?"
"I visited home." Peter made a dark sound of amusement. "Lena was there," he continued. "I just ended up pissing her off somehow."
"You probably did something stupid."
"I didn't, I swear," he insisted. "She just doesn't get it."
Ethos frowned. "What's not to get?"
"This. Us. Any of it."
"I don't know what to tell you, Peter." He inadvertently caught Anouk's eye, then looked away as if she'd surprised him. "I've got to go," he said. "It could be a few days."
The transceiver jumped. "Hey, wait."
"What?"
Silence. Birdsong.
Ethos rubbed at his eyes. "Peter…"
"Rhysa's the one who made the stuff you were drugged with."
"I know. She's very talented. This sounds irrelevant to my current needs."
"She thinks she can come up with something using oupir blossoms," Peter said. "I remembered you saying that they're a paralytic. Made it hard to move."
"What exactly are you planning to do?"
"Aye, well, we figure it'll have the same effect on Alma."
"Alma's not your concern, Peter." Ethos reached for the transceiver's switch. "I seriously have to go now," he said. "Good luck in the days ahead."
"I'm not just going to let you commit suicide with her."
Ethos flipped the switch. The transceiver hummed as the skyglass settled. He glanced in Anouk's direction and smiled at something behind her. "Oh, good," he said. "You found boots."
Baroona had joined them. He rolled his shoulder like he'd slept on it wrong, boots out in hand for Ethos to take. "Clancy's," he said. "They should fit."
"Did you give him my old ones?"
"I did."
"Good man. Coat?"
Baroona tossed him one. "Also Clancy's."
"Poor Clancy." Ethos sat as he donned the boots. "Is everyone ready?"
Anouk surveyed the deck below, at the faces she'd come to know over years. "I need to speak with some of my men," she told him. "Just five minutes."
Sei stood and said, "I'll get my stuff."
Baroona followed him to the main— so they could talk in private, clearly. It was obvious, the way they traded glances. Ethos watched them go, and then traded a glance of his own with Anouk. "They're not my biggest fans," he said. "Just do yourself a favor and pretend not to notice."
Anouk helped him up from the deck. "Do they fit?"
His eyebrows jumped. "The boots?"
"Aye, what else?"
Ethos grinned and threw on the coat, bruised and smelly and somehow still charming. "Yeah, they fit," he replied. "And thanks."
"What are you thanking me for?"
"For not giving me a hard time about what Peter said."
She straightened the coat on him, gaze low. "It looks good on you, seabird."
He suddenly stopped her hands. "You're upset," he realized, softly. "Is it because of me?"
She studied his face for a few quick seconds, and she could see him actively returning the gesture, reading the gears behind her eyes, trying to make sense of her. "It's your life," she said. "Just know you'll be missed if you punch out early. Most like."
Ethos smiled again. "Most like?"
"Aye, most like. Barnacle." Anouk yanked her hands out of his. She didn't see how he could be so warm all the time. "I'll see to my crew," she said. "Five minutes."
Clone, he'd called himself. She didn't know the word. But whatever sort of creature he was, it was something clever, neither good nor bad. She'd like to have called him hers to keep, but the world had already claimed him. The turd.