Chapter Twenty-Four Ris
chapter twenty-four
ris
For an outlaw, Finlyr is surprisingly easy to sneak up on. He almost soils his britches when I find him in the room at the top of the inn, half out the window.
‘By Aistra, I could kiss you,’ he says, leaning against the wall.
‘Well, don’t,’ I whisper, closing the door. ‘What’s going on? There’s Seaguardians downstairs.’
‘They’re here for us. Well, mostly me,’ he says, catching his breath. ‘I’m supposed to be dead.’
‘Fin!’ I hear Isagani from above. ‘I can see Saltswept from up here.’
‘Saltswept?’ I ask, joining Finlyr at the window.
We can see the whole town from this vantage point, peering into open windows where other folk are caught up in their revelries, unaware of what’s going on the other side of the alleys from them.
We’re sea-facing, the port stretching out with the vessels small blots on the moonlit ocean.
‘You have a ship,’ I say.
‘Can we talk about this later?’ Fin pleads, starting to crawl out of the window.
‘Not so fast,’ I say, grabbing his shirt. ‘How do I know you won’t disappear and never come back?’
‘I can make no promises. Right now it’s life or death, Ris.’
‘You know about my map. Do you know where it leads?’
‘The Lahon Maelstrom,’ he says.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Ris, the Seaguardians—’ he begs, tugging to free his shirt.
‘How do you know?’
A moment’s silence. ‘I’ve sailed there before,’ he finally admits.
‘Take me there.’ It’s not a question.
‘Ris, there’s nothing there but death.’
‘Yes, well, death is coming for us all.’
‘Quicker for some if you don’t let me go. The Seaguardians will be here any minute.’
‘I’ll help you get your ship back. Just promise you’ll take us to the Maelstrom.’
‘Anything to get off Paranish. It’s been nothing but trouble since I came back.’
‘Do we have a deal?’
‘Aye!’ He agrees.
‘Haul arse, then,’ I say, helping him out the window.
I give him a boost, and he uses brute force to smash his way up, scraping against the stonework and barely biting down a yell. I have my two arms on the flat of the roof and am trying to hoist myself up. Isagani grabs at my shirt and tries to haul me over.
‘Get your legs up higher!’ Isagani calls desperately.
I grab Finlyr’s flailing legs and help him get his arms anchored on the ledge so he can raise himself up. He wriggles like a tamaraw wrestling in mud.
He’s just out of my arms when the Seaguardians burst through the door.
‘Found ourselves a warm body,’ one of them says, and I turn around.
‘Any reason you’re alone in the dark, my pet?’ says another.
‘Stargazing.’
‘Beautiful,’ the first one snarls, shoving me out of the way. He looks out of the window, surveying the area.
One of the other Seaguardians staggers towards me, the smell of palm liquor on his breath. ‘Want to join us for a round, sweetheart?’
I shake my head, and he pushes me against the wall.
‘That’s not very comely of you.’
I whip out my dagger and place it under his jaw. ‘Get your hands off me.’
‘I’d love to know where you were hiding that,’ he croaks, trying not to bob his apple too close to the blade.
I bring the blade closer, nicking his skin.
The other Seaguardians turn now, hands on their hilts. ‘Drop the knife, lass.’
I drop the knife and catch it in my other hand, close to the guard’s nether regions. ‘Would you rather lose these or your life?’
He backs off at last. ‘Wouldn’t fuck an ugly broodmare like you anyway.’ He scowls and throws the near-empty bottle on the floor, sending glass smashing and liquor flying. I turn and cover my face as tiny pieces bury themselves in my skin.
‘Let’s get the rest of the liquor and head.’
The drunken one makes a lewd gesture, but they leave, laughing and spitting as they stagger down the stairs.
‘Bunch of bastards,’ Isagani says, once they’re out of earshot.
‘Ris, are you all right?’ Finlyr asks, descending the wall.
‘I think so,’ I say, examining the shards. ‘Didn’t expect I’d have a blade.’
‘I hope they choke on their own sick.’ Finlyr sneers. ‘Let me get those out.’
His touch is careful as he extracts the fragments of glass. They’re mostly in my forearms, the rest of me covered by my clothing.
‘I’m so sorry, Ris,’ he says quietly as he dabs the wounds with a clean linen.