Chapter 6
It’s early evening, the shadows lengthening in the narrow, damp alleys of the wharf district, by the time my sister and I make it to the Spout and duck inside, out of the cold wind coming off the ocean.
Surveying the objectively lackluster interior—ale-damp sawdust heaped over an uneven dirt floor, grim-about-the-mouth old men drinking in the corners, dirty tankards left scattered haphazardly over sticky tabletops—I begin to doubt my impulsive decision to bring Lydia here with me.
Having told her at the warehouse that I had a lead on a cure to the heartbreak curse, once I got home there was no avoiding giving her the details—though not the whole story.
I told her about Silas’s plan to heal the Cursed Crew, his offer to take me to Drekja to be healed—but not about the shell or Silas being finfolk.
As far as she knows, Silas is just an ordinary sailor who has come across stories of Drekja on his travels.
As far as she knows, my heartbreak is due only to the loss of Mama and Papa.
And she doesn’t know it’s getting worse.
Nor did I tell her about the cost Silas has named: ending whaling. Because even if that were possible, I’ll never destroy our legacy by agreeing to it. Yet maybe I can find a way to outmaneuver Silas here—to be healed without paying the price.
We’ve borrowed plain dresses and cloaks from Ms. Nilsson, so no one pays us any mind as we walk in until a familiar face tilts up from a table near the fireplace. The tall, dark-haired boy who was with Silas at the meeting last night. He catches my eye, unsmiling, and beckons.
“Lady Fairfax,” he says coolly when I’m close enough for other patrons not to hear. Then he sees Lydia and his eyes widen. “Ladies Fairfax.”
The girl from the meeting is there too, playing cards with another young man and woman I don’t recognize.
But she looks up, her motions quick and economic like a bird’s, and breaks into a smile when she sees Lydia.
The others notice too and turn to look at me.
An apple-cheeked young man with curly brown hair, and a muscular girl with a crooked smile and shiny black hair pulled back from her face.
Dressed in unassuming sailor clothes, linen and battered leather and worn boots and oilcloth jackets, the four of them push cards and drinks aside to make room for Lydia and me to sit down.
Silas isn’t among them, which suits my purposes just fine. Maybe I can get some answers talking to them without their captain present. I sit down, pushing my hood back but not taking off my coat. I can’t help but wonder again what their curses might be.
The girl from the party smiles and looks between the two of us.
“Introductions!” she declares brightly. “Everyone, this is Susannah and Lydia. Susannah and Lydia, this is everyone. I’m Josephine Haskins, first mate.
” Her words come in a rapid patter as she points to the tall boy.
“Ezra McNaughton, second mate. And these are Zimri and Teuila, our harpooners on the Whistler.” The boys nod as Josephine introduces them, and the harpooner girl, Teuila, waves, as if this is any ordinary night.
Maybe it is for them. “Silas is doing a walk-through of the Heralder,” Josephine adds as an afterthought. “But he should be here soon.”
“Annie,” I manage to say around the nervous dry weight of my tongue. Even though they all know who I am. “Call me Annie. This is your whole crew?”
Ezra shakes his head. “No, we usually take fifteen or twenty when we sail on the Whistler. But we’ll be the ones on the Heralder for the voyage to Kielstraat.”
“Oh good.” Lydia slumps in relief. “You can teach me how to sail, won’t you? I don’t want to be shouted at by Mance.”
I shoot her a sharp look, aghast that she would admit such a deficiency to near-strangers, but already everyone is laughing, and I feel wrong-footed. Lydia has always made friends easily, but it just makes me feel like more of a foreign species by comparison.
After we’ve all shaken hands and Zimri has poured two more glasses of questionable ale for us from a ceramic pitcher, Lydia leans forward on her elbows. “So are you the Cursed Crew? What are your curses?”
“Lydia!” This must be impolite to ask. But the others don’t seem fazed. I get the sense that they’ve gotten this question a thousand times before and have their answers down pat.
“I burn everything I try to cook,” Teuila offers.
She has a slight Embran accent and a quality to her voice and smile that makes it seem she’s always on the verge of bursting out laughing.
“It doesn’t matter what it is. Even if it doesn’t involve fire.
I could put something in a jar to ferment and it would come out burned. ”
“Plants die around me,” Josephine says. “Makes you unpopular on land.”
Ezra says, sounding slightly reluctant: “I can’t cross running water. No streams or rivers or creeks. When it’s raining, I can’t go anywhere at all on land.”
I realize as they’re speaking that they all wear a similar necklace, a pendant of ivory or polished whalebone about the size of the pad of a man’s thumb. Each bears a design in red ink—scrimshaw?—but I can’t make out the details.
“My family’s curse started with my grandfather,” Zimri says.
“I don’t know the whole story, but he crossed a finfolk and ever since we’ve been cursed always to lose any money we might have.
” He laughs ruefully. “Not really conducive to life on land. I was born on a ship, grew up on one. And when Silas came around looking for new crew, I figured why not try to fix things?” His laugh booms around the bar, but then his next words come out quiet, just for this table.
“What about you two?” He looks from me to Lydia. “Are you cursed too?”
Lydia blinks and meets my eye. I cut in before she can answer. “That’s private.”
I’m conscious of the fact that the others have shared their curses, but heartbreak is different.
Would that my curse were only burning food or losing money.
I think I could live with something like that forever and happily.
But heartbreak is deadly, not just to me, but to others if I’m not very careful.
If they knew what curse I suffered from, they could chase me from the bar or even turn me in to the authorities.
Yes, the Abbonish government is a friend to the Fairfax Whaling Company.
But not so much so that they would let me live carrying this curse.
“Fair enough.” Zimri raises his glass in a sympathetic salute. “Here’s hoping the finfolk let us into Drekja.”
Drekja. It’s a small shock to hear the word spoken aloud by someone other than Silas Price—it makes it feel more real to know that these people have bought into his claims. Can these four really believe Silas can take them to the finfolk city and lift their curses?
I take a sip of the ale to buy myself a moment—it tastes as bad as it looks, but it’s good to have something to do with my hands as I figure out how to ask what I need to ask. “Why is it just you four going? Why not your whole crew?”
This quiets everyone; Teuila and the others exchange glances before she speaks. “We volunteered,” she says. “It’s going to be dangerous, and Silas can’t promise that it will work. But we wanted to try.”
There’s quiet conviction in her voice, but the mention of danger sends chills through me. “How do you know he’s telling the—”
The tavern door opens, letting in a cold draft, and I look up to see Silas in the flesh.
The others greet him with waves and easy smiles, but my mouth goes dry and my heart jumps into my throat.
After months of fruitless searching and years of reconciling myself to my own death or exile, is it really possible that an answer exists and I’ll learn it here tonight?
Dressed in a long oilcloth coat that looks like it’s seen many voyages, with color high in his cheeks and frost streaking his dark hair, Silas looks much more himself than the tense, buttoned-up boy from the shareholder meeting did.
He’s Captain Price in his own right now.
He pulls up to the table but doesn’t sit down, registering Lydia’s presence with a raised eyebrow. “Lady Fairfax. Little sister.”
I would have snapped at him to address us properly, but my sister just says, “Lydia,” and reaches across to shake his hand. If she finds Silas unnerving, she doesn’t show it; only looks a little wary as she settles back in her seat.
Silas’s eyes find mine, questioning. I stand up, anxiety rising as I realize I should have conferred with him before bringing Lydia here. I need to tell him not to say anything about August in front of Lydia. “Can I have a word?”
He shrugs. “In there,” he says, pointing to a short door set into the tavern’s far wall. He strides away, not looking back to see if I follow.
“Nice meeting you,” Josephine chirps, maybe a touch too brightly, as I get up to join Silas, mouth dry. Lydia catches my eye for a moment too. Hers glitter with excitement and hope, and it just makes the anxiety that I’m going to let her down grow. Be careful, I think at her. Guard your heart.
The door doesn’t lead to a back room like I expect, but to a landing atop a narrow, uneven set of stone stairs. A few steps down, Silas is lifting a lantern from a wall. “Lady Fairfax,” he says with a faint smile, looking up at me as yellow light washes over his face. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Well, here I am.” With those strange pale eyes boring into me, the distrust surges back to the surface. I take a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. I feel sick, but I have to stay calm. Calm is the only thing that will keep the scales and claws at bay.