IX: The Harbour

Crowded even at first light, it sprawled along the western side of the city, the docks littered with stacked cargo, escaped documentation and the sort of hard-working early riser who somehow deems the shedding of his sweat in the name of his occupation enough of a sacrifice to make elbowing people like me aside an excusable activity. Idiots. I doubted they knew a thing about sacrifice.

Hating him, I whined and bartered and almost pleaded with the captain. Let us on the ship. Take us to a dangerous place for people I dislike. Do it because my contemptible companion took a piss on our previous transport and annoyed its owner past reasoning. Do it even though it would suit me better if you refused.

I've no idea why my sense of duty is still kicking around. But hell, I should finish it off one day. Standing in that harbour with that weathered sailor eyeing me in the weak light, that cinched it.

He gave in after a while. Naturally. There was no drawback to taking us. He was running supplies up to the battlefront anyway. Paid more for no detour. He just made me wait for his own damned amusement. Bastard. When it was done Wrathwrought and I headed back down the jetty, wood creaking under our boots, chain mail jingling over his biceps.

“Had to get your dick out earlier, didn't you.”

He grunted, shrugged one shoulder, grinned and peeled off at a tangent, leaving me in my own company insofar as that was possible with the growing buzz of activity all around us.

I grunted, sat on a barrel, scowled and stared up darkly at the towering metal behemoth rocking in the frothy water that swirled somewhere down below the docks. Ornate swirls prettified a brutish lump of cold steel. It was for bludgeoning through ice and anything else unlucky enough to meet sharply with the ship's prow and that art was unnecessary, like all art, all useless, all for some air-brained fool to grin gormlessly at while others fought tooth and nail in the real world for his privileged arse's fucking freedom.

I clenched and unclenched my fists at the thought. Salt air stung my nostrils. The scent of warm pie soothed them.

“Hungry, Pretty?”

It was Wrathwrought. Stupid brute sat down next to me and offered me pastry. I took it. We ate. The necessary progression of eating unfortunately led to his mouth no longer being full. He talked.

“Nasty boat for a nasty job,” he said, looking up at the ship as I had done. “Ferrying people to a warzone's no different to showing them to a room with a rabid wolf inside.”

I snorted at the notion.

“Idiot, the difference's clear. You know exactly what will happen to the sad case left with the wolf; you can probably visualise ripping and tearing pretty well. But unlucky wretches like us? We could encounter anything. And anything is nothing more than a big blur of nameless threat. Frankly, no matter how menacing I might try and imagine it, I'm not going to feel guilt leaving someone to a cloud of who-knows-what.”

“Don't have to visualise the dying or the suffering. Just the life – then imagine it gone.”

“Huh. I can think of plenty I'd cheer the passing of.”

“No one's that cold.”

“Willing to bet?”

I gave him my fiercest grin, challenging, but he just frowned and looked away. A disappointment.

“Don't expect you'll like this passage,” he commented after a while.

“And why's that?”

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and tossed the last dry husk of pie crust to the gulls.

“Fear. From not being able to swim.”

So, he'd actually managed to earn himself a proper glare. I obliged.

“The hell makes you think I can't swim?”

“Don't look the sort.”

“Hah, brilliant, another gaping hole in that empty head of yours. Don't judge based on looks, fool,” I retorted. Never mind that he was correct.

“Oh? You ought to consider that yourself, Wraithwood. Because all you've done is make assumptions about me since we've met and I don't damn well appreciate it.”

When I looked up in shock he stared back, frowning, mouth set firmly. I settled my features, glared back. Finally he gave a jerky sort of nod.

“Consider it, Pretty.”

He leapt down from his perch on the barrel and stalked off down the dock without a backward glance.