Page 23 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
“I’m happy to report that one of those fears was unfounded. We will not be taking a slave route.”
The men started to cheer, but Flay lifted his hand. “Don’t celebrate, boys. We’ve a rough task ahead of us, and heavy losses if we don’t succeed. I must pay the Magnate my personal profit share from the next two voyages, and we must place in the top three in the Meridian Games. If we don’t, theWind’s Favorwill be given to another captain, I will be forced into Feral’s service, and the rest of you will be reassigned or sold.”
Silence dropped like a cold shower over the tables. The men stared at each other, as if they could scarcely comprehend the severity of the punishment.
Flay broke the quiet with a harsh laugh. “I know, I know. The Magnate was in rare form today. Something about his private investments and personal life, as well as some business disappointments.”
“Flay.” Jazadri’s deep voice carried a warning. The big first mate scanned the pub’s common space, as if looking for spies.
“Far be it from me to speak ill of the one who spawned me, Jaza,” Flay said wryly. “A toast to the merciful Magnate, and to my illustrious brother Feral, who bought us this chance at redemption.” He hoisted his cup, and the men lifted theirs half-heartedly.
Mai joined them in the toast, gulping more of her sharp, burning drink. She could feel a buzzing sensation rolling along her extremities, a heated fog ascending to her head.
“Let us not despair, gents!” Flay cried out, smashing down his mug. His lips shone wet from the liquor, and his eyes burned bright. “Our mettle and might is going to be tested in the Games! Such fun it will be!”
“And what are these games, exactly?” asked Baz. Mai glanced at him, noticing how pale he had turned beneath his freckles.
“I’m glad you asked!” Flay stood on his chair, one foot on the seat and one on the table. Kestra cringed at the nearness of his boot to the food, and her mouth opened to protest; but Mai caught her gaze and lifted both eyebrows, a wordless reminder that Kestra herself had stepped on the table earlier. Kestra’s lips pinched together. Her expression of pained restraint was so comical that Mai nearly exploded into giggles.
“The Meridian Games,” said Flay. “A competition invented by my father and Feral, through which some of the surplus bounty of the fleet may be given to the highest-performing crew. It’s a way to ensure loyalty, my father says—though it’s also a way to pit his captains against one another and keep them focused on out-performing each other as they strive to bring him the best slaves and treasures. He can’t have any of them banding together and starting a new fleet, you know. That wouldn’t do.”
Jazadri rumbled low in his throat, and Flay rolled his eyes. “Whale’s balls, I’m only telling the truth, Jaza. As for the contest, it’s held during the stormiest month of the year, when being at sea carries more risk than reward. Not that we mind risk aboard theWind’s Favor, eh gents? I’ve avoided participation in this contest by carefully scheduling our voyages so we’re here and gone again before it begins, safely moored in Meroa for the worst of the storm season. But now we’re to join the other twenty ships in my father’s fleet for three different types of unfriendly competition. The first round is the Race. The second round is the Hunt. And the third round is the Brawl.”
The Race, the Hunt, and the Brawl. Mai’s muddled brain didn’t like the sound of any of them. The competition seemed like an enormous waste of time that would result in her having fewer days to study the ancient mermaid artifacts and create Flay’s replacement hand.
“For the Race, each captain and crew builds a boat with which to compete, a racing vessel that must carry at least four people,” Flay said.“It’s not as simple as it sounds, because there are obstacles to navigate, checkpoints to hit, and dangers to avoid. And yes, everyone tries to sabotage each other. We’ll need to construct a sailboat for the competition and optimize her for speed. We’ll also need lightweight weapons to defend ourselves and to strike at targets along the route. Mai, I was hoping you might help us with that.”
Mai nearly choked on a swallow of flaming liquor. She forced it down and blinked watery eyes at Flay. “Me?”
“You’re the best scientist and engineer we’ve got. The cage you designed to hold the mermaid? Brilliant. And I’ve seen some of your other sketches and designs. We sailors might have an instinct about the flow of air and water around a ship, but you understand thewhyof it all, the science of it. You can help us win the Race.” His blue eyes shone warmly at her.
Mai’s face burned with mingled embarrassment and pride. “I’ll do my best, Captain.”
Baz slapped her on the back with a jovial cheer, then apparently regretted the move and sat on his hands, flushing bright red.
“The second round is the Hunt,” Flay said. “A person is taken from the crew of each competing ship and set on a tiny island—there are scores of islands around here. A rival crew must land on that island and try to capture that person as quickly as possible and bring them back to the port. We have some experience tracking down hard-to-find objects and hunting unique treasures, but the other crews have an advantage over us here, since they’re used to taking slaves. To win the Hunt, we’ll need everyone who has skill with tracking and hunting. And of course one of us will be prey for a rival crew.”
Flay took a swig from his mug, then continued. “For the last round, the Brawl, each captain chooses a champion. Usually it’s the largest, strongest, most dangerous of the slaves the captain has collected during his travels. Since we don’t take slaves, we’ll have to choose someone from the crew.”
“I have volunteered,” Jazadri said.
“And I haven’t accepted.” Flay threw him a pained look. “We’ll discuss the selection of a champion later. For now, all you need to know is that the Brawl is a tournament-style competition, with contestants battling until one of them is dead, or nearly so.”
The shock of his words punched through the blur of the alcohol in Mai’s head. She stared at Jazadri. He could be pessimistic, stubborn, and stolidly practical, but he was also kind, loyal, compassionate, and brave. She liked him. She certainly didn’t want to see him bloodied and beaten in some sort of awful battle.
Slowly Mai surveyed the faces at the table and realized that she liked all of Flay’s crew—maybe some less than others, but the thought of any of them being killed, or “nearly so,” sent a pang through her heart. Most of them had physical differences of one kind or another—a wooden leg, the inability to speak, difficulty hearing, weak eyesight, irritable bowels, skin studded with odd lumps. She had never paid much attention to the sailors when they came to Kiken Island, but living with them aboard ship had expanded her understanding of the struggles they each endured. Flay had collected them all—the debtors, the captives, the rejects from the other ships in the fleet—and he’d provided them with a place to belong. A place where their needs were not treated as strange or special, but simply accepted and accommodated ashumanneeds.
Tipping up her glass, Mai downed the rest of the drink. She was doubly glad she’d asked for it, because without its calming warmth, her brain would have immediately whirled into a hurricane of plans and designs that would have kept her up all night. As it was, she could barely keep her eyes open. Her limbs felt heavy and loose, and she toppled aside, leaning against Corklan’s shoulder.
Flay was finishing up his speech, but she didn’t really hear the individual words—just a slurry of groundless positivity and hope, which appeared to have its intended effect of bolstering the crew’s spirits. Flay called for music, and one of the barmaids went into the kitchen and dragged a greasy-looking man out into the common room. He bowed and grinned, wiping his hands on his apron before taking up a viol and beginning to play. Someone else joined in with a pipe, and another with two small drums.
Mai rested against Corklan, drowsily watching the others shake off their future worries and spin into a dance. Flay’s dancing was clumsy and enthusiastic, while Kestra’s ample curves gave her a sinuous charm as she moved. Mai was a good dancer, but she could barely stay awake, much less attempt a jig. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could dance without thinking of Rake’s awkward feet pressing hers when they danced in the courtyard of The Three Cherries.
Tears were slipping from her eyes before she could stop them, trailing hot along her cheeks. Corklan did not notice. He was clapping one hand on his knee to the rhythm of the song.
Most of the sailors had left the table and were pairing off with various women or men. Jazadri was dancing with a mananda woman, and Mai blinked in bewilderment at the sight. She could barely imagine taking one person to bed, let alone two.
She knew the mechanics of such things, how a man and a woman could fit together. She knew it was supposed to be pleasurable. But thinking of it did nothing to excite her, not even now, when her blood was blended with alcohol. She only felt a revolted kind of fascination, a distant interest, and a flush of embarrassment as she pictured the awkwardness and exposure of such an encounter.
