Chapter Seven Finlyr
chapter seven
finlyr
‘Do you at least have a name, kid?’
They look me up and down before giving me a barely perceptible nod, and somehow, I know I’ve passed their test. With street urchins like this, secrets are power. They only give it away when they need to, but apparently a scrap of information is my reward for cooperating in my escape.
‘Today, you can call me Isagani.’
It takes all my concentration to follow Isagani through the throng.
They’re made of liquid. They barely look back as I stumble over the rope of the noose and my own bad leg.
The sun beats down, hard, and I’m sweating like a spit-roasting pig.
Bodies press themselves hard against me and the air tastes like arse.
Of course, the weather shifts just at the wrong moment.
A classic mainland problem: one moment you’re soaked through with rain, the next the water’s evaporating off you as the sun bakes you dark and tanned.
I can barely breathe and Isagani’s moving fast, almost out of view. There is a commotion, and Nestor barrels towards me in his glittering uniform, surprisingly pristine after rubbing shoulders with the great unwashed masses.
‘Seize him!’ he yells, fire burning in his eyes. He seems to have taken our encounter rather personally.
I dive towards the ground, grabbing the sword from his scabbard.
I hit him in the face with the hilt, breaking his nose – again.
I roll gracelessly beneath strangers, cutting my hitches free.
I’ve nicked my skin, but the blood lets me slip my bonds.
Isagani hauls me to my feet and snatches a hat from a woman’s head.
We struggle, me limping badly, towards the sanctuary of a darkened alley.
‘Still alive?’ Isagani asks, plonking the hat on my head as I catch my breath.
‘Barely,’ I gasp.
‘This way,’ Isagani urges, opening a hatch and beckoning me in.
My eyes adjust to the gloom of the basement, the smell of damp. I jostle a crate and hear the clink of empty palm wine bottles. ‘Where are we?’
‘The cellar of The Painted Tankard.’
I look around furtively in the cobwebbed darkness. ‘Won’t the owner come down?’
Isagani turns to me. ‘They couldn’t pay their tithes. This belongs to the Bastion now.’
How much had changed in a few weeks as I waited for death.
‘Let’s get out of here, sharpish.’
They rummage inside a wooden crate, practically falling into the box, their skinny legs dangling over the edge. They emerge, struggling to hold an assortment of items. Isagani throws me some garments, and I’m hit by the pungent smell of sweat, must, and old perfume.
‘What are these?’ I choke out.
‘You never played dress-up?’ Isagani smiles, appraising a purple jacket with brass buckles.
I quirk an eyebrow at them.
‘Look, Finlyr Pane the pirate is dead,’ they explain.
‘I’d say more of a smuggler than a pirate,’ I demur.
Isagani snorts. ‘Whatever.’ They sort through more of the garments. ‘Let’s become someone the authorities aren’t looking for.’
‘Such as?’
They indicate the hat. ‘A widow with no taste.’
I clutch the hat defensively. ‘That old lady was very fashionable.’
Isagani gives me a sour look, and I examine the pile of clothes as I rub my sore leg. I extract a forest green shirt and dark britches.
‘You’ll need to shave,’ Isagani says.
When I look up, I’m surprised to find an entirely different child in front of me.
They’re wearing the purple jacket with tucked layers of skirts.
They’ve discarded their hat, and their hair falls in loose curls to their shoulders.
They’ve even rouged their face. Instead of the little scamp, a delicate, feminine child stands before me.
I wrinkle my nose. ‘What are you supposed to be?’
‘No one will be looking for an honest merchant and his daughter while we lay low at an inn.’ Isagani’s voice is higher, younger. ‘People underestimate teenage girls.’
I look at them askance. ‘A merchant and his daughter?’
‘I’ll go by Isa, that way you’re less likely to slip up. What about you?’
‘Fin doesn’t work?’
They shrug. ‘You’re the outlaw here.’
I had used the name at the Umasa port when I’d arrived. It comes back to me now, unbidden; perhaps because Isagani had used the word ‘honest’. When I think of aspiring to that, I think of him. A sailor, one of my old crew.
‘Call me Larkin.’
Isagani throws me a closed shaving knife. ‘Cut your hair too, while you’re at it.’
‘Does it make that much of a difference?’
‘Darling, hair is everything.’
I use a bucket of water and a candle and hack at my long hair until it’s at chin-length.
I make a right mess of it, scruffier than most merchants, but it will do.
With a sigh, I gaze down and take one last, long look at my luscious beard.
I’ve been growing it out for years. Most people don’t realise how much work it is to maintain, especially on the high seas.
There’s a beard balm I swear by, but my supplies are all on Saltswept.
I’ll pop a vein if the Seaguardians threw that overboard after commandeering my ship upon my arrest.
‘Come here,’ Isagani insists, taking the razor and cleaning up my sorry job. A well-placed slash and that would be the end of me. But I don’t think they’d save me just to kill me.
‘Why did you help me?’
‘I want to get off this island. Heard you were the smuggler to do it.’
I stare at them. ‘I don’t do that anymore. Besides, didn’t you hear, ports are open to outsiders now.’
‘I’m not looking for passage,’ they clarify. ‘I want an adventure.’
I shake my head and can’t help but laugh. ‘They all say that, at first – the lost kids who think things are better out there. Trust me, they aren’t.’
‘Well, you’re a dead man walking. What else are you planning to do?’
‘Live a quiet life and die old in my bed.’
‘Well, you can’t do that in Paranish now. So how are we getting off these islands?’
‘You’re persistent – I’ll give you that. But in case you hadn’t noticed, my ship’s been commandeered by the Seaguardians, thanks to that traitor Nestor.’
‘Where are your crew?’
I focus intensely on rubbing my smooth chin as they try to read my face. Eventually, I say: ‘Back in Lassair.’ What’s left of them.
‘Then who did you arrive with?’
‘Returners, like myself. Not many of my crew wanted to go to Paranish.’
They sniff and then slap the side of the crate. ‘Well, looks like we’ve got to get your ship back from those cursed Seaguardians.’
‘What makes you think you’ll be tagging along?’
‘For one thing, you owe me a life debt.’ Their voice had been pitched high, soft as silk, but now the edge comes back. ‘There’s always a place for a good pickpocket.’
They take a compass from their pocket. My eyes follow it hungrily for a second, then I snatch at it.
‘So, this is yours.’ They smile, stepping back to keep it out of reach.
‘That was my mother’s. It’s from Lassair. Irreplaceable.’ I try not to sound like I’m begging.
‘Why did that Seaguardian – Nestor, isn’t that what you called him? – have it?’
‘I was . . . I was wearing his jacket when I was caught.’
Isagani finally throws me the compass. ‘So you do have a penchant for disguises.’
‘You’re very relaxed about associating with outlaws.’
They look at me. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
I furrow my brows. ‘Why would I remember you?’
Their composure slips for a moment, and I see the hurt in their eyes.
Hurt, and something else – maybe rage. ‘No. Exactly. I’m a street urchin, a gutter snipe with no one and nothing to my name.
No one cares if I disappear. Only the Temple Sisters will mourn me when they guide my soul into the Tree of Life.
’ The speech rolls off their tongue with a combative air, and I sense they’ve had to defend themselves often, scrapping for a fight.
‘I’d rather the rush of danger than waiting for a slow death here. ’
Waiting for death. I know that feeling.
‘I can already tell you’re as stubborn as a tamaraw,’ I concede. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried to stow away.’
‘I did,’ they say, with a self-satisfied smile. ‘But few ships used to leave Paranish entirely.’
Very few ships, save those carrying Seaguardians and skeleton crews. I’ve been the latter before and seen where that leads.
I shake my head. ‘Exactly – “used to” – but you have more options now. Why me and my ship? The ship I no longer have.’
Isagani is silent for a moment, before saying, ‘I’m not exactly on the right side of the Seaguardians myself.’
I nod. ‘Fine. Well, we can’t plan our commandeering from here, so what do you suggest?’
‘I know the perfect place to hole up. Everything and everyone passes through there. We can plan our attack, sniff out a crew. We’re sure to find someone with a taste for adventure.’