Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(9)

“If you’re going to change the agreement, you should do it before I sign and not after,” Evan said. He stuck out his hand again. “Now pay me the rest.”

Kadar eyed him for a long moment, as if debating what move to make. Evan knew he was the best pilot sailing out of Tarvos, which was why Kadar routinely put him at the helm of the New Moon. Finally, grudgingly, Kadar paid him the balance. Evan counted it again, then put it away. He was turning to go when the dock boss called after him, “Just so you know, I won’t have any work for you for a while.”

Evan swung back around. “Is that so?” He struggled to control the storm of anger rising inside him. “Why? Are you taking the season off?”

“New Moon’s going to be in dry dock for a while,” Kadar said. “We’re reconfiguring her belowdecks, expanding her hold, making room for more cargo.” He clapped Evan on the back. “Don’t worry, soon as she’s up and running, I’ll call on you.”

The wind came up, setting New Moon’s rigging to flapping, sending a miniature squall line across the water in the harbor. The air thickened, picking up moisture and energy from the sea.

No, Evan thought. The last thing I need is for people to be talking about a sailor who can make weather. He breathed in, then released the air slowly, feeling the tingle in his fingers diminish.

“You know I’m happy to crew on any ship, in any role,” Evan said. “Rupert Fry said he’d be glad to have me back soon as—”

“If Rupert Fry wants to hire you on permanent, then let him,” Kadar said. “I’ve got men who’ve been with me for years that I need to go to first. You’ll get your turn, just not right away.” He waved at Evan’s packages by the door. “Cheer up. You can get all those books read.”

The dockmaster strutted away like the cock of the yard, which was exactly what he was, here in Tarvos.

Evan knew he was being taught a lesson. It didn’t matter to the dock boss if somebody else’s cargo took a little longer to get where it was going—it wasn’t money out of his pocket. So he’d put Evan back to work when his own ship was back in business. But if Evan spent all his time crewing on New Moon, he wouldn’t have the chance to show other ship’s masters what he could do.

He was damned by his own success.

By now, the sun was low in the sky, burning a bloody path from the harbor mouth to the dockside as it sank into the sea. Evan scooped up his books and shoved them into his carry bag.

The traditional path to ownership by a Desert Coast pirate was to take a ship from someone else. But he couldn’t manage that all by himself, and certainly not with New Moon.

One thought kept surfacing, like a bloated corpse. If you want to sail the blue waters, you’ll need a crew you can trust.

Good luck with that.

Shouldering his carry bag, Evan walked away from the waterfront, following a roundabout path to the stable, careful not to be followed.

Djillaba lifted his head and snorted when he heard Evan come in. The stallion was his only other indulgence, beyond books, and this one he kept secret from Kadar and his crew. Celestine might have claimed that Evan had royal blood in his veins, but Djillaba’s bloodlines were older and no doubt finer.

“Hello, there,” he murmured, stroking the horse’s velvety nose. He eyed the bedding in the stall, checked the feed box, and examined Djillaba’s hooves and coat to make sure the stable man had kept up with his grooming. Working methodically, he draped the blanket over the stallion’s back and followed with the lightweight saddle.

Evan didn’t have a ship—not yet—but he could have this, at least.

For a while. But he needed work, and that was going to be hard to find in Tarvos.





4


AN INFESTATION OF FARMERS


When Evan had arrived in Tarvos a year ago, horse rich and money poor, he’d taken to exploring the countryside whenever he was in port. A short ride south of town, he’d come across an abandoned farm. The cottage was in a pretty spot, next to a river fed by snowmelt from the Dragonback Mountains, and close enough to the sea to suit him. After watching it for several days and seeing no sign of activity, he’d simply moved in. It was dilapidated, falling down in places, but it kept the rain off, saved him paying swiving Kadar palace prices for a room in town, and kept him out of sight when he wasn’t crewing somewhere.

It also gave him some space and privacy in which to practice weathermaking. Not that it had helped much. His power came and went, all but impossible to control. He was never sure how much he had on board until he used it, with unpredictable, sometimes disastrous results. He thought of what the empress had said.

Come serve me, and I’ll teach you all about how to use your magic.

No doubt there would be a price he was unwilling to pay.

Once he had a stake, he’d inquired into the ownership of the property, but it led to a dead end. After the attack on the port, the few survivors had abandoned homes and businesses and moved to safer places. So he’d stayed, leaving everything pretty much as it was. It allowed him to put his money to other uses. He wasn’t a farmer. He was too restless to stay still for long ashore.

Now, as he approached the cottage, he was surprised to see smoke curling from the chimney and light leaking from behind the shutters. Djillaba balked, calling a challenge to unseen horses. Inside the cottage, a dog began barking furiously.