The Fanged Crown: The Wilds (9 page)

Most of the boys looked relieved, but Merik looked suspicious. “Are ya going to make him finish so we can get out of our time?”

“I’ll tell the captain you did your jobs.”

As the days passed, Harp saw it happen again and again. Merik led the charge against Kitto, who never complained or cried. And hardly spoke, Harp noticed. Merik took his cue from Predeau, who seemed to have a particular dislike of slender, quick-footed Kitto, even though the boy had a reputation for being the best picklock and pickpocket on the crew. Predeau’s men took Kitto with them whenever there was a tricky lock or the need for quick hands in a crowded bazaar. Despite these successful ventures, Predeau hounded Kitto more than anyone else on the ship.

Harp never heard Kitto say a word. After his day’s work ended, the boy would find a quiet corner and hack away at a hunk of wood with a little blade that was barely sharp enough to cut butter. On the few occasions Harp tried to talk to him, Kitto scurried silently away, although Harp

once found a crude whistle stuck in the laces of his boots. It played a surprisingly sweet tune.

On the night before Merik’s eighteenth birthday, Harp found him sitting behind a row of barrels, smoking a pipe, and rolling a bone-carved die over and over on the boards beside him. The die landed on the jack-side every single time.

“Have you ever heard Kitto talk?” Harp asked, sitting down beside Merik and pulling out his tobacco pouch.

“Nah, he’s a mute,” Merik said, looking pleased that Harp had joined him. He sat up straighter and tucked the die into his pocket.

“Why does Predeau hate him?”

Merik shrugged. “Cause Kitto’s too stupid to live, you know? All he’s got to do is simple. But he always has to make things hard on himself.”

“How?”

“You know those ‘tails Predeau’s got to use on the prisoners?”

Harp nodded his head. So far he hadn’t witnessed one of the notoriously brutal beatings Predeau unleashed on crew members and prisoners from time to time, but he’d seen the cat-o-nine tails’ distinctive scars on Kitto’s back—Predeau’s fingerprint that the child would bear his whole life.

“Usually he likes to do it himself, but sometimes he asks one of us to do the lashes. And you better do it, you know? Kitto had been around. He knew that. But there was a little boy got nabbed with his da. Not like a baby, but you know, younger than Kitto. Predeau hands him the ‘tails and tells him to lash the boy. I think he stole a crust or something. But Kitto wouldn’t even hold the handle, just let it drop to the ground. You should have seen the captain’s face. Three times he put the ‘tails into Kitto’s hand, and three times Kitto lets it drop. Between you and me, it was kind of strong of him to do it, but it was stupid too. He took the kid’s lashes

and some more. Captain was furious and made us all pay for what Kitto done, and we hated him for it.”

“Captain Predeau?” Harp asked.

“Kitto. It was his fault.”

“What happened to the boy? “

“The kid? His coin got paid,” Merik said, looking surprised at the question.

“Do you plan to leave after your birthday?” Harp asked, pulling out the small flask of brandy that was the boy’s allotment for the tenday and handing it to him.

Merik shrugged again and uncorked the flask. “I’ve been on the boat since I was thirteen. I hated it so much, I thought I’d die. I was sure I’d leave the day I turned eighteen But now I’m not so sure.”

“There’s nothing for you on the ship.”

“Where would I go? I hate it, but it’s my home, you know?”

Harp sat quietly for a moment before checking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one in sight. They were sitting near the bow of the ship, both of them having finished their shifts before the dinner call. Harp pulled out his dagger and began to clean his fingernails. At the sight of the knife, there was shift in the mood. Merik, used to violence, felt it.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Merik. I might be wrong, but I don’t think so. Who bought you?”

“What?” Merik asked in confusion.

“Who bought you? Who beats you? Who makes you work like a dog for no pay?”

The boy made a move to get up, but Harp grabbed his wrist and yanked him down hard.

“Who, Merik? Is it Kitto?” He whispered, digging his fingernails into the boy’s dirty arm.

The boy shook his head quickly, obviously shaken by Harp’s unusual intensity.

“Say who it is,” Harp said.

“The captain,” Merik whispered.

“That’s right. And who should you hate?”

Merik tried to wrench his wrist out of Harp’s grasp, but Harp tightened his hand. There were tears in Merik’s dark brown eyes. Harp felt bad about making him cry, but he felt relieved at the same time. At least Merik could still feel something. It might not be guilt exactly, but it was a stone’s throw away from being so.

“Who should you hate? Kitto?”

Merik shook his head again.

“You’ve become a little captain, which makes you more whipped than Kitto. Don’t you get that?”

Merik stopped struggling and slumped against the railing.

“Do you know what you’re going to do on your birthday? You’re going to walk off the ship a free man. And you’re never going to look back. Find a girl, get married, and forget about Captain Predeau. Otherwise he’ll be the voice that whispers in your ear for the rest of your life.”

Harp put his dagger away and helped Merik to his feet. When the boy walked off the ship in the morning, Harp was the only one at the railing to watch him go.

With Merik gone, Predeau searched halfheartedly for a new ringleader. But with Harp around, the other boys were reluctant to turn on each other. They stopped targeting Kitto, kept quiet, and did their work. When Predeau unleashed his wrath, it was at the lot of them, and that seemed easier for the boys to take. Harp counted the days until his tenure was up and worried what would happen to the young sailors when he left.

And then Predeau kidnapped two elves: a blond male and a coppery-haired female. There’d never been any ransoms of anything but human men before, but from his perch in the rigging Harp saw the distinctive slant of the

prisoners’ ears, and a feeling of certain dread rose in his chest. Everyone knew that Predeau viewed elves as little more than vermin infesting the land. Harp slid down the mast rope for a better view of the elves, but not far enough to attract the attention of Predeau.

Predeau strode out of his cabin to the elves lashed to the center mast. Without speaking, he pulled out his sword and slit the throat of the male, an older elf who had a look of calm acceptance on his face when he died. In later years, Harp wondered why Predeau picked that elf, if he knew of him specifically, or if he was simply closest to the captain at the time. As if he’d heard Harp’s involuntary gasp, Predeau looked up and grinned at Harp, who was still perched in the rigging.

“Get down here,” he bellowed as the blood from the elf soaked into the boards around the mast.

Harp slid down, landing softly beside Liel, who was trembling visibly. She was shorter than Harp, and slender with a pixieish face. A delicate pattern of flowering vines was inked along her jaw and disappeared along her neck under her coppery hair. There was a palpable sense of strength about her, as if she could strangle a man with either her hands or an incantation—had she not been bound. They must have taken her cloak and armor when they grabbed her. It was too cold for the thin shift she was wearing.

“We got ourselves a little elf whore. What do you think we should do with her, Flute?”

“I’ll take her down to the hold,” Harp volunteered.

“Eager, aren’t you, boy.” Predeau laughed, and Harp saw the elf flinch. As Predeau headed back to his cabin, Harp undid the rope from around the mast and led her to the hold.

“No one is going to touch you,” he whispered. But he could tell by the loathing in her eyes that she didn’t believe him.

That night, he organized the boys into a round-the-clock watch on the elf. If any of Predeau’s henchmen came near her, one of Harp’s boys made a diversion, and another ran to tell Harp. Harp made sure he was the one who brought her food. When she figured out that Harp was watching out for her, the hatred disappeared from her eyes, although she was still reluctant to talk to him. She took a shine to Kitto, however. One night as Harp started down the steep steps with a plate of food, he heard two voices coming from the hold. He hurried to see who had slipped in without his notice, and saw Kitto seated on a barrel outside the elfs cage.

“What are you talking about?” Harp asked casually. He handed her the plate of food, trying to hide his surprise that Kitto wasn’t mute after all.

“Flowers,” she said, with no trace of humor.

He paused. “What kind?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that they would be discussing gardening in their wretched surroundings.

“Violets.” She smiled, and he decided it was the sweetest smile he had ever seen.

Soon it became obvious that Predeau was in no hurry to ransom Liel. When they were docked at ports, couriers brought letters almost every day, but Liel remained in the cell. One of the older sailors told Harp that he’d heard there wasn’t going to be an exchange made at all. That Predeau had kidnapped her for political reasons and was waiting for the right moment to kill her and leave her body in a public place.

One day as Harp worked on the sails, he heard one of the boys screaming his name. Although he was much to high to make it safely, he jumped down out of the rigging and landed painfully on the deck where one of the boys named Mallie waited for him.

“Captain said that Kitto was trying to free the elf,” Mallie cried. “He’s beating him to death!”

Harp sprinted across the deck to the open trapdoor that led down to the hold. But as he scrambled down the steps, one of Predeau’s men grabbed him and yanked him off the ladder. Harp scuffled with the man, shoving him up against the wall as another sailor grabbed Harp around the neck. Harp flipped the man over his shoulder, slammed him down hard, and punched him in the face to keep him there. Two more sailors grabbed Harp from behind and pulled him back as Predeau lashed Kitto with the ‘tails.

“Stop!” Harp shouted as Predeau raised his arm to hit the boy again.

Predeau wheeled around and glared at Harp. “Did you just give me an order?”

“You’re going to kill him,” Harp yelled. “He’s just a little boy.”

He stopped struggling and looked around the room, which had grown eerily still except for the tin lanterns that swung back and forth with the rolling of the ship. Almost the entire crew was there, and some of the older sailors looked uncomfortable, although none had raised a finger to help Kitto. Liel’s cell was in the far corner, but the elf was obscured by shadows. He could see her silhouette, but he couldn’t tell if she were injured. Kitto lay on the floor in a heap at Predeau’s feet^

“You’re killing him,” Harp repeated quietly, shrugging off the hands of the men holding him back.

“I’m a fair man,” Predeau said. “He’s got more lashes coming to him. You can, of course, be his proxy.”

“I’ll take them.”

Predeau grinned. “Fine. Up on deck.” “Let someone see to Kitto.”

“That wasn’t part of the offer,” he said, stepping over Kitto’s bruised body on the way up to the deck.

That night, the blood soaked through Harp’s shirt, ran down his trouser legs, and stained the inside of his boots.

He couldn’t lie down, and he could barely stand up. When he joined the boys in their quarters, Mallie held a flask of whiskey to his lips and told Harp that the captain had locked Kitto up in the cell with Liel, that there were murmurs among the sailors that Predeau had gone too far this time.

Through teeth gritted in pain, Harp whispered his plan to the boys. As he told them what he wanted them to do—if they were willing—his mind was on the key in the captain’s quarters. He would take it from that bastard. Then he would get Liel and whatever was left of Kitto off that floating tomb forever.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said in a hushed voice, looking down at the five grubby faces assembled in front of him. “What I’m asking isn’t an easy thing. But he won’t stop at Kitto. One day it could be one of you under that lash.”

He looked carefully for fear on their features. But he didn’t find any. What he saw gave him a sense of hope.

“Shaun, you’re on the armory door,” he said, and the boys nodded. “Mallie, you’ll rouse the men. You know which ones will follow. Bristol, you ready two boats. If nothing else, just get away.

“When you see the light in the captain’s window, then you’ll know what to do.”

•Š••Š•ŚŠŚ

Standing behind Predeau, Harp pressed his dagger against the big man’s throat. Grabbing a handful of the captain’s long hair, Harp yanked Predeau’s head back till he could see the thick blue vein pulsing on the side of the man’s neck. Despite the precariousness of his position, Predeau didn’t seem concerned, and was still issuing orders to Harp as if he were in control of everything that was happening.

“If you touch that lantern, boy, I’ll see to it that your skin is flayed off your back and hung on the mast to dry.”

Harp’s face was swollen and cut, and he felt like he was bleeding from both eyes. He could barely stay on his feet, much less keep the blunt dagger in his hands from shaking. Harp had been on the short end of several beatings in his younger years, and the shame of being hit was something no man talked about—how taking that first punch makes you feel like an idiot. Harp had taken his first punch at age seven, from some of the older kids in the village. Horrified at the tears that had filled his eyes, he had launched himself at his attacker, only to be smacked down. The second punch had knocked him to his knees, but had brought out a rage that had him on his feet again, charging head first into the older boy, who was twice his age.

He’d put his attacker down that day, earning a reputation among his fellows. Quick on his feet, with a fist that could knock a man unconscious in one blow, Harp had rarely lost a fight since. But Predeau outweighed him and wore metal rings on his fingers that had split the skin on Harp’s face wide open.