“Look at all of ye! Young’uns one and all! What in the world makes ye think yer fit fer this sort of work?”
There are eight of us sitting around the table, including him. He looks us up and down, the deep lines creasing his forehead growing deeper. One eye rheumy and white, the other a sharp icy blue. He’s paid someone for an extensive healing or had a replacement grown.
“Ye’ve all heard the tales, ‘aven’t ye? Now ye turn up on me doorstep, hearts all aflutter with dreams o’ easy silver. Thinkin’ ye’ll never ‘ave to work again, aye?”
Slowly, he looks around the room. He meets our eyes one by one.
“I’ll tell ye now. Those tales? All true.”
We’re silent.
“If ye ain’t dumb-and if yer here, ye passed muster-ye will ‘ave realized that this ain’t no run fer “Mornoi Salt-Cod”.”
“We are going to be suckin’ Blood from the Good God Himself.”
The Captain rummages around in his coat for a second before bringing up a small leather bag. He reaches in to it and gently places a fingernail-sized glass vial on the table, filled with a gently glowing red liquid.
“‘ere we go. Godsblood. Not at all like the kind ye’d find fillin’ holes in the ground, aye? This is pure. The blood of ol’ Adavancer himself. It is worth ten times it’s weight in gold. A hundred times in silver. Do ye know why? Anyone?”
A round of murmurs across the room.
“Wards off demons.
“I’d believe that it could empower-“
“If you drink enough, you become a go-“
“I heard it makes you age backw-“
The Captain raises his hand, and the room goes silent once agai-
I cough. Something in my throat. I can’t help it. He locks eyes with me. He’s got an intense sort of stare, like he could drill a hole straight through you.
“You there. Something to share, son?”
I stare back at him. My mouth goes dry, but…
“It’s the only thing that can turn someone human again, isn’t it?”
He nods.
“The lad’s exactly right. I’m no mage, see, but I’ve done this run before. Nobles in the Principalities will pay anything for a thimble of the stuff. If ye got handy with something or someone ye shouldn’t have, well… it’s one a’ the only ways to make that mistake go away. There simply ain’t enough o’ the stuff to meet demand, so we set our own price. We all make out like kings, eh?”
“It is, also, one of the most tightly controlled liquids across the Continents. Scant few vials legally make it past the Wall, even less now that the Byrian Gate is down. You realize, sir, that getting caught would mean the deaths of every single person aboard your ship?”
She speaks up, a few seats from my right. Closer to a girl than a woman. She can’t be more than 20 summers old.
“Mmm. I’m well aware of the risks, and ye should all be as well. What’s yer name, girlie? Why are ye here?”
She withers slightly under his gaze, but quickly finds her courage.
“Lark. Magistra of Sending and Receiving. I am here because, at normal S’n’R rates, it would take me several decades to pay off my patrons in the University. I’d personally rather not suffer an indenture for that long.”
Someone laughs across the table.
“Sending and Receiving! Hah! What the hell do you think you’re going to be doing aboard a ship?”
I’m not sure how I haven’t noticed him until now. He’s got a full head of bright orange hair. It’s a shade that shouldn’t be natural, which tells me he’s either gotten it dyed or gotten it worked on by a mage.
“Veradis Highcastle, at your service. Magister of Elementalism, specializing in Wind and Waves.” He smirks, thin and sharp. “You need me.”
“I suppose I should forgive an… elementalist…” The word drops from her mouth like poison. “For not understanding the proper value of a Sender. I’ve yet to meet one with any real talent for the Art-“
The Captain, who has been steadily turning redder this entire time, finally reaches his limit.
“ENOUGH, you two! Veradis, Lark, are ye going to get along or am I going to be sending ye out on yer asses and finding another set o’ magi?”
“I’ll cooperate. Captain, you should know – I will be of use to you on this trip. I assume you’re in possession of a compass of some sort?”
He nods. “Aye, two. One’s enchanted. Points directly to the Big Bitch ‘erself. The other – a drop o’ the Blood. Points towards Adavancer.”
“Good. As I’m sure you’re aware, your second compasss is going to point directly to the closest and strongest concentration of Adavancer’s essence it can find. On your return trip, it’ll be pointing to the hold. I won’t bore you with the details, but I could use Sending to find our exact position at any given time while we’re on the sea. This should keep the Rive from upsetting our navigation on our way in and out.”
“Mmm. I see. I’ll have you and Highcastle on navigation and propulsion. Ye’ll have plenty o’ time to get to know one another, aye? An’ now, fer the rest of ye… I suppose ye should introduce yerselves. We’ll start with the pair o’ imps.”
The two of them look almost identical. Reddish skin, hair a matte black, coming down over their eyes. One wears it longer in the back than the other. I’d imagine it’d make it hard to see, but they seem fine.
Imps.
“…Nuha and Mara. I’m an acrobat. I can handle heights, and I’m good with my fingers. My sister reads, writes, knows her numbers. She can handle clerical work and mind the ledgers.”
“Aye. Ye’ll meet me quartermaster and first mate when ye board. She’ll work under his supervision. Nuha, ye will be working the rigging and the sails with the other topmen. Next…”
The others. Hugo, the carpenter. Big guy, rough hands. Clearly a man of few words. Here to pay off his gambling debt. Dagan. A surgeon. Not, as I was surprised to note, a magus.
“He’s, ah, not a mage, Captain.” Highcastle speaks up. “Do you think we’re not going to get hurt?”
“I think we’re going to hurt plenty, aye. We’re keepin’ magery to a minimum, yeah? Rive messes with it. If ye trip and scrape yer knee, ye’ll have to make due until we get back to port.”
Finally, his gaze lands on me. The last one. The room is quiet, expectant.
“Last ‘afore we depart. Speak up, son.”
My heart beats a frantic staccato against my ribs. Why am I so afraid? These are my crewmates now. Our lives, intertwined. Trust has to start somewhere. And yet…
“I-I’m Jaime. Just Jaime. I can cook, clean, general duty. Anything that needs doing. And…”
It’s been sitting next to me all this time, poking into my…
With a heavy thump, I heave the canvas-wrapped object onto the table. The sound cuts reverberates through the nearly silent room. Hugo, the carpenter, leans forward, his eyes wide. I slowly unroll the stiff canvas.
There, nestled in the rough fabric, is the drill. It’s a dense, formidable tool of brass and dark iron, but it’s the bit that draws the eye. A spiraled tip of pure cynthite that seems to drink the lantern light, glowing faintly from within. A low, appreciative whistle escapes Hugo’s lips.
“It’s a drill. Enchanted, with a cynthite bit. It… should make short work of the God’s skin. Once we hit a vein, the core retracts. It becomes a spile. I have a few copper taps we can rig to it if we need to bleed more than one at a time.”
The captain looks at me, face unreadable.
“Quite an expensive tool ye’ve got. Makes our job a lot easier, aye? One might wonder where ye nabbed it from. One might wonder if someone’s still lookin’ fer it.”
“I… used to work the taps in a mine on the other side of the gulf. Sometimes we’d be issued godmetal if we were tapping something arterial. When it was my turn to drill, well… I nabbed it and ran. I can’t pawn it. I’d get less than a tenth of what it’s worth. I need coin, and I need safe passage south. Far south.”
“Interesting.” The high, sharp voice belongs to one of the imps. Noha? “If you were tapping arteries, you were deep. The only way out of those shafts is up. How did you manage that?”
I don’t want to say.
“I don’t want to say.”
The captain opens his mouth-
“Nobody’s looking for the drill, captain.”
“Fine. If yer in, yer in. We’re departing tomorrow. Boat’s anchored out in the bay. If yer out, well… keep yer mouth shut. I shouldn’t have to say what happens to snitches, aye?”
A heavy silence hangs in the room. No one moves to leave. We’re all here for a reason, after all. To come this close and give it up? A wave of silent consensus ripples through the room. Veradis gives a sharp, confident nod. Lark, glaring at him, soon does the same. Hugo the carpenter grunts his assent, and the imp twins, Nuha and Mara, incline their heads in perfect synchronicity. Dagan, the surgeon, swallows hard but doesn’t look away. It’s settled. We’re all in.
The Captain grins. “Good. I knew ye were a greedy lot. That’s what I like to see. Be at the docks an hour after sundown. I’ll have a boat waitin’. Don’t bring nothin’ but what ye can carry and what ye’ll need for the voyage. Don’t be late.”
The spell is broken. Chairs scrape against the floorboards as our newly-formed crew begins to disperse. Veradis strides out without a backward glance, while Lark her things, pointedly avoiding his path. Hugo and Dagan leave together, muttering about supplies. The imps slip away into shadows, and suddenly, it’s just me and the Captain left in the lamplight. I turn to leave-
“Jaime.”
I stop, my hand on the door latch, and turn back. The Captain is still standing by the table, tossing the small vial of Godsblood from one hand to the other. The red liquid sloshes, casting a faint, pulsing glow across his face.
“I saw yer hand. Ye got handsy with one o’ the girls at the docks, aye? Or…” His gaze softens, slightly. “Mayhap one o’ them got handsy with ye?”
“I…”
“Ye don’t have to say. We’ll be asail fer a month. Weather permitting, slightly less. Is it going to be a problem? Can ye keep it under control?”
“I can control it.”
The Captain nods slowly, pocketing the vial. “Good. Because if ye can’t…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. We both know what they do to those taken by the change out here.
“One more thing, lad.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “That drill of yers. Ye sure nobody’s lookin’ fer it?”
The question hangs in the air. I smell blood and dust. Something like water laps at my ankles. It’s… Why did I…
The Captain studies my face for a long moment, then chuckles—mirthlessly. “Aye, well. We’ve all got our secrets, haven’t we? See ye at the docks, Jaime.”
I step out into the cool night air, wrapping my cloak tighter around my shoulders. The scent of the sea hits me, sharp and briny. Stinking of rot. Thick enough to stick to your teeth. What am I doing? I’m not a sailor. I’m a thief. I’m a monster. I’m- going to throw up. I can’t stand this.
This is it. This is my only chance for a cure. Where else could I possibly go? Please, God, what else could I do?