Chapter 10 Maximus #2
They began a careful negotiation of what Viper could offer for the fluxstones.
I kept my face neutral, but inwardly I smirked.
I’d bet my good leg that Harvey regularly swapped charged fluxstones from private vaults with uncharged ones—skimming just enough to profit without raising suspicion.
The perfect crime in a place where complaining meant admitting you were storing stolen goods.
Just when I thought this excursion would never end, things started to wrap up, and then several handshakes later, we were on the dirt track again, heading toward Duskwater’s center.
Viper announced he had “business” elsewhere to attend to.
I could make three guesses as to what that business entailed: alcohol, card games, and multiple whores.
The only upside was he’d probably stagger back to the ship tomorrow morning, giving the crew a few precious hours’ reprieve.
“Don’t wait up, Reaper,” Viper called over his shoulder, adjusting his ridiculous hat as he veered off toward the seedier district. The skull tattoo on his face seemed to grin in anticipation.
I watched him disappear into the evening crowd before continuing down the main thoroughfare. My leg ached with each step, the prosthetic grinding slightly as the fluxstones dimmed. I needed fresh ones before they failed completely.
An elderly woman was packing up her market stall when I approached. Her wrinkled hands paused over a crate of small glowing stones.
“We’re closed,” she said without looking up.
I placed my pouch of dead pebble-grades on her counter. “I’ll pay extra.”
She pulled out a small scale. “Two charged for every three dead ones.”
“That’s robbery!”
“That’s Duskwater.” She shrugged. “Take it or limp back to your ship.”
I gritted my teeth and nodded. I swapped out the stones, feeling immediate relief as fresh energy flowed through the mechanisms.
With my mobility restored, I gazed up the street toward the sign of The Sea Serpents Saloon. Raucous laughter and the tinny sound of a badly tuned piano drifted from its open doors. Most of the crew would be there by now, including Ghost.
I never socialized with the crew. Couldn’t. The Reaper didn’t drink with subordinates or laugh at their jokes. The Reaper maintained distance… commanded respect through fear. It was the only way to keep order on a ship full of criminals and killers.
But Ghost would be there. We’d miss our crow’s nest meeting tonight.
A knot formed in my stomach as I pictured him surrounded by Duskwater’s unsavory characters. Had he followed my instructions to stay with the others? The harbor was crawling with scum who wouldn’t hesitate to slit a throat for a handful of coins.
That was the reason for my concern, I told myself. His safety. Nothing more.
But a traitorous voice in my head whispered another truth: I didn’t like the idea of Ghost finding companionship elsewhere. Some dockside lowlife buying him drinks, whispering promises, leading him upstairs…
I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Ghost had every right to do whatever—and whoever—he pleased. He wasn’t mine to claim or control.
No matter if the thought of him with someone else made me sick to my stomach.
I stomped back toward The Black Wraith, my foul mood deepening with each step.
The fluxstones might be fresh, but my patience had run dry hours ago.
Damn Viper and his obsession with counting every stolen trinket.
Damn Duskwater market and its extortionate prices.
And damn my own weakness for caring where Ghost might be spending his night.
I’d have to drink tonight, alone in my cabin. Just enough to dull these unwelcome thoughts. The bottle of rum hidden beneath my bed would serve its purpose, carrying me into dreamless sleep rather than lying awake, straining to hear footsteps on the deck that might signal Ghost’s return.
The path steepened as I approached the city’s upper level.
Duskwater’s airship docking bays perched atop the massive walls, accessible only by guarded pathways.
A sensible precaution in a den of thieves.
Pirates might rob, murder, and pillage across the skies, but they needed somewhere safe to drop anchor and spend their coin.
Duskwater provided that security—for a price.
No pirate would risk sabotaging another’s ship here. The punishment was swift and final: permanent banishment from the only truly safe harbor in these parts. It was one rule even the most lawless respected.
The night air cooled as I reached the upper level. Guards patrolled the walkways between docked airships, their lanterns casting long shadows across the wooden planking. The Black Wraith loomed ahead, her viper figurehead gleaming in the moonlight.
A burly guard stood at attention across from our gangplank, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt, and I nodded curtly as I approached.
I trudged aboard The Black Wraith, the gangplank creaking beneath my weight. The ship felt eerily quiet with the crew in Duskwater’s taverns, throwing away their hard-earned coin on watered-down rum and card games.
Perfect. Some blessed solitude.
My cabin beckoned. I navigated the familiar path across the main deck, the faint sound of banging and chittering floated through the air.
Then I froze.
A slender figure stood with his back to me, hovering outside my cabin door. The pale skin and copper hair were unmistakable even in the dim light.
Ghost.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Was he looking for me? Had he slipped away from the crew, hoping to join me in my cabin, finally away from prying eyes? The thought sent a rush of heat through my veins.
I opened my mouth to call out when I noticed movement at Ghost’s feet.
Sprocket was there, the vexling’s fur shimmering between copper and gray as they scrabbled at my door, making small chirping sounds of distress.
Their luminous amber eyes caught the light as they scratched frantically at the wood.
What in the skies was happening?
“Ghost?”
He whirled around, eyes wide with surprise. “Reaper,” fell from his lips.
Sprocket trilled and bounded toward me, wrapping around my good leg with unexpected affection.
They tugged on my pants, pointing at Ghost. That’s when I noticed the large canvas sack clutched in Ghost’s hand.
My gaze traveled from the bulging sack to his face—flushed, guilty, unmistakably caught in the act.
The realization hit me like a cannonball.
Ghost was running away.
Leaving The Black Wraith.
Leaving me.
A cold emptiness spread through my body, starting in my gut and radiating outward until even my fingertips felt numb.
The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. Twenty seconds ago, I’d been filled with elation, ready to pull him through my door, throw him onto my bed, and rip his clothes off with my teeth. And now, I was absolutely crushed.
I’d been here before—that sickening moment when you realized someone you care for was already gone.
Eric had worn the same expression when he’d turned to the officers and ordered my arrest. That cold, detached look as he said, “Take him away,” like I meant nothing.
Like every moment we’d shared had been a lie.
I stared at Ghost, who continued to keep very still.
How could I have been so blind? So foolish? Of course he wanted to escape. He’d never chosen this life—I’d forced it upon him as an alternative to death.
And yet, some na?ve part of me had believed our stolen moments together meant something. That perhaps he’d found a place here. With the crew.
With me.
“Going somewhere?” My voice emerged colder than ice.
Ghost’s eyes widened, terror flashing across his face. He clutched his sack tighter, knuckles whitening. For a heartbeat, he looked genuinely afraid I might strike him—like a cornered animal anticipating the killing blow.
That look gutted me. After everything, he still believed I could hurt him. The weight of the Reaper crashed down on my shoulders, heavier than it had ever felt before. I’d cultivated fear so effectively that even he—one of the few people who’d glimpsed behind my mask—expected violence from me.
Something broke inside my chest. A dam ruptured, flooding me with scalding rage that burned away the hurt.
“Well, that’s fine. That’s just dandy. Just fucking go, then.
Get out of my sight,” I spat at him before he could even stammer an explanation.
My words lashed out like whips, striking before he could wound me further with excuses or goodbyes.
“But I hope you haven’t taken any food from the galley, because they’ll all suffer for it.
Hawk-Eyes. Ariella. Willy.” I deliberately named the people he’d grown closest to, watching his face crumple with each one. “Viper will lower their rations.”
“I haven’t,” he said quietly, eyes dropping to the deck.
Sprocket circled between us, making distressed chirping sounds. The vexling’s amber eyes darted back and forth, sensing the fracture opening between us.
“Brilliant. Off you go then, before I change my mind.” I turned on my heel, the grinding of my prosthetic punctuating my exit as I stomped toward the rigging to the crow’s nest. I’d nurse my wounds up there with the stars.
I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. If I saw his face again, I might shatter completely.
Navigating the shroud with my prosthetic was always challenging, but now it was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache spreading through my chest.
I settled at the top of the crow’s nest, the wind biting at my face. I’d be okay in just a moment. Up here, among the clouds and stars, I could almost pretend nothing mattered. Almost.
The soft creak of the rigging being climbed shattered my plan.
My jaw clenched. What was Ghost playing at?
I poked my head through the opening, ready to snarl at him—only to find myself staring directly into his determined green eyes. My breath caught in my throat.