Page 14 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
At the top of the steps, a huge door swung wide, and a man in a blue uniform waved to Flay. “Welcome home, Captain!” he called. “The Magnate would like to speak with you.”
“I’m sure he would,” mumbled Flay. Then, flashing a smile, he called, “On my way!” As they climbed the steps he said under his breath to Kestra, “I’ll explain later, Blossom. I’m so sorry to have brought you to this place, at this time of year—”
“What time of year?” she hissed, but he only shot her a warning look as they came within earshot of the uniformed steward.
“Come in, come in,” said the steward pleasantly, but Kestra wasn’t fooled. She’d seen enough predators’ eyes to know a pair when they were peeking out of a smiling human face. This man might be an underling to the Magnate, but he was no harmless assistant. He strode smoothly ahead, hands slightly extended to each side as if in perpetual welcome. The blue coat that accompanied his uniform had a long train which swept across the sleek tiles of the floor in a soundless glide.
They followed him through cool echoing hallways, past vast chambers filled with people copying reports or holding conclaves in low voices. One chamber they passed was plastered with rows upon rows of posters. Each poster bore the sketch of a naked man or woman, annotated and accompanied by paragraphs of neatly written notes.
“That’s where they track the current inventory of slaves,” Flay said quietly. “The stock is kept in rooms below until auction. Kestra, you should know that my brother is—”
The officer ahead turned slightly, not quite looking back at them, but almost. Flay shut his mouth, his eyes narrowing.
Kestra moved to his right side and took his fingers in hers, squeezing them lightly. Flay had stood by her and her people when they had little to offer but a few goods and some gratitude. He’d braved more than his share of savage creatures in defense of Kiken Island. The least she could do was stand beside him as he faced his own personal monsters.
They mounted more steps and took more turns down long halls until Kestra was entirely disoriented. She’d never been in a building this large—couldn’t have fathomed its existence. She felt as though she was shrinking with every step she took. She had never considered herself a hero, but on Kiken Island she had beensomeone, even before their defeat of the mermaids. She’d been important—the best cook on the island, an expert gardener, known and appreciated by everyone in town. In the cold echoing halls of the Magnate’s building, she was small and insignificant. Helpless, the way she’d felt for years when she thought about the hungry swarms around her island. She hated the feeling; it stirred the spark of her old anger.
The long-coated officer shoved open a pair of doors and stepped aside to allow Flay and Kestra to enter.
Light flooded the room beyond, shining through bay windows with thick cube-like panes, glowing on the gilded epaulets that embellished the Magnate’s massive shoulders.
He rose from behind his desk, a burly figure three times the size of Flay. His eyes gleamed pale blue, appraising first Flay and then Kestra. He didn’t spare a look for Graves.
She appraised him, too—from the swollen pouches under his eyes, to his thick sagging cheeks, to his bent nose whose tip was beginning to droop with age. His desk was a clutter of chunky ledgers, papers, ink and quills, a globe, a half-crumpled map, and a tankard engraved with twisting naked figures. In the corners of the room, half-concealed in shadows and perfectly still, stood four more uniformed people—guards, judging from their array of weapons.
The Magnate didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his thick lips compressed and brows lowered in a menacing glare, meaty hands tightened into fists.
“Hello, Father,” Flay said with an ingratiating grin. “I’m back. I know I’m late, but I think you’ll be pleased with the gifts I’ve brought you.”
The Magnate slammed a palm onto his desk with such force that Kestra jumped. He walked around the desk, his hand trailing carelessly through papers, whisking them onto the floor. A nervous-looking boy appeared and began gathering up the papers in his master’s wake.
“What gifts,” growled the Magnate, “could be opulent enough to excuse your complete disregard for the schedule you’re commanded to keep?”
“Come, Father—you know voyages can be unpredictable—” Flay began.
The Magnate’s voice was death and dark stones. “You’re weeks late. You know what that means. It means I didn’t get the profit I was expecting when I was expecting it. I had to tell my client that theasthoreshe wanted was delayed. She was displeased, boy. And when my clients are displeased, I’m displeased.”
“I have theasthore,” Flay said. “But there were complications, with the mermaids—”
“Complications?” roared the Magnate, with a ferocious slam of his fist. His tankard jumped on the desk, sloshing a bit of amber liquid from the jostled lid. “I gave you this ship and this route because you promised you could handlecomplications. You begged for the dangerous assignments. You vowed you could bring back the most precious treasures.”
“And I have.” Flay opened his satchel and withdrew a handful of glistening jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, earrings, all from the mermaid Queens’ hoard. “This is only a bit of it. There’s more on theWind’s Favor. It’s being unloaded as we speak.”
The Magnate approached him and grasped the jewelry. He glanced at Graves. “How much more is there?”
“A moment, sir.” Graves opened his ledger and began reading off the number of rings, crowns, necklaces, and other items they’d brought from the mermaids’ treasury. Kestra waited, palms damp, for the question she knew would come—where had they gotten such treasure?
They couldn’t tell the Magnate why Flay was really late—that he’d helped with their mission to clear the mermaids from the waters around Kiken Island. If any other captains knew that the way was now open for trade, they’d flood the island, demandingasthore. The Kiken miners would be overtaxed and Flay would lose his monopoly on the precious metal. At best, he’d bring back less profit to his father and be directed to alter his route. At worst, he’d be forced to take slaves aboard his ship as the rest of his father’s captains did.
Eventually word of Kiken Island’s open waters would travel; but the longer they could keep it a secret from Flay’s father, the better. And they must also keep the secret of the treasure’s provenance. There was more where it came from—much more, but Flay had determined to leave those riches in the hands of the remaining mermaids and Kiken’s people. He’d only brought enough to pacify his father. But if the Magnate learned there was more wealth to be had, he’d send other captains to fetch it.
Graves finished the list of treasures and went on to read the amount ofasthorethey’d retrieved and the various other rare items they’d obtained on their voyage.
“Stop, stop.” The Magnate raised his hand. “So you’ve brought a bit more than usual. That doesn’t explain the delay. Where exactly did you find this treasure?” He held up the fistful of jewelry.
“A shipwreck, sir.” Flay bowed briefly. “Fetching the treasure from the bowels of the sunken ship took days. I lost my hand to an accident that occurred during the salvage effort. And then we encountered a ship in distress, and were able to save two people from the burning wreck.” He gestured to Kestra.
The Magnate’s eyes lit up. “Good flesh there. Pretty, too. Long hair—good, good. She’ll fetch a fine price.”
