Ten
The land teased me, only to reveal itself to be trickery.It wasn’t land I’d seen from afar, not truly.It was driftwood docks—a tangled nest of bleached wood tied together by faded rope, smelling like salt and smoke.
There was real land farther in the distance: grey rocks covered in white squawking sea birds, but in my fevered state, I wasn’t sure I believed in the rocks.The first bit of land had been false.Surely there was a chance the second part was, too?
Hours or maybe mere moments passed in a shivery daze.Things were taken off the boat.Things were put on it.I tried standing when it seemed the sea dogs wanted me to, but my legs had gone weak and tingly.Having spent an unknown number of days in delirium, wearing a drenched, metal-imbued gown, eating little or nothing, I was in a pathetic state.And beyond my physical capabilities, the maze of docks looked no less sturdy than the boat, so I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to get off.
I had a vague sense it was important to keep myself awake, but I couldn’t.
Am I dying?I thought.I felt cold like the black emptiness beneath the soil was spreading through my bones.Have I gone too far from the vault?No one had ever told me goldkeepers died when separated from their work, but my mind was caught on a spinning wheel, and this was what it came up with.
I pushed with all my strength, and I managed to open my eyes for a few moments here and there, allowing me to witness fragments of the dock-city:
Baskets of raw fish with big eyes and gasping mouths.
Leather boots lined in wool.
Children with braided hair and loose blue wool tunics rushing dangerously close to the water’s edge.
Pinkbeard’s chest.
His hands.
I came to consciousness swiftly when I felt fingers at the base of my spine, reaching into the lacing of my gown.I shrieked and shot upward, grasping a woman’s face.
“Shh!Shh!”she said, pushing my hands away.“Soten.Shh!”She lifted a wad of linen.She made a gesture I understood as coldness—rubbing her arms against her body and pretending to shiver.She lifted the wad of linen again.
Her hair was shaved on one side, and this twisted my mind.Had she been shaving her head—for some atrocious reason—and then realized I was transporting gold and stopped to steal my dress?In the middle of shaving her scalp the way men back home shaved their faces?So much of my surrounding was new to me—I was indoors.It was dark.I was lying on my side upon something soft near a blazing fire that doused everything in orange.
The woman reached for the lacing of my gown again.I shrieked once more, pushing her hands away.
Pinkbeard came.From where?I don’t know.
“Soten, nidr.Nidr.”How could a whisper be so strong?
“She was trying to take my dress!”I exclaimed, pointing at the woman.“She’s a thief!”
He spoke softly.I could tell he was trying to reassure me, and it did work a little, but when the woman took a step forward, I yelled again.“She’s a thief!”
The woman unfolded the linen in her hands to reveal a simple dress with a drawstring belt.She made the gesture for cold again.She reached forward, and I kicked at her hands.
They looked at each other, whispering quick, frustrated words.I didn’t like it.Her eyes were the palest green, and the inner corners were sharp like a cat’s.She became Catseye to me.
Farwatcher came in, speaking in a hurried voice.Were they all angry with one another?Then why could I hear Loudlaugher’s giggle outside?
Catseye sighed and thrust the linen dress into Pinkbeard’s hands.He laughed.She pushed him.My mind was again stirred.I’d never seen anything like it: a woman taking up so much space.A woman telling a man off.A man unbothered by a woman’s strong feelings.Nothing led naturally in my mind to what came after it.
My illness swelled, and my eyes fluttered.I’ll never be warm again, I thought.
Wolfshead pushed in from behind Farwatcher, grumbling.And then the host of them—all the sea dogs from the boat excluding Catseye, who stayed behind with an unimpressed look on her thieving face—were hurrying me along the tilting floor, down a dim corridor and into a large room.It was then, from the windows, I knew it was evening.Even so, it was bright inside.Torches and braziers were scattered throughout; white furs covered the floor, brightening everything up.Large, pale wood pillars carved with sea serpents lined the hall.
There was a small sea dog audience awaiting us—nine people in varying states of drunkenness and one sharply sober man with silver-streaked hair and glowing blue eyes.I knew nothing about him at all, but at the same time, I knew everything I needed to.This was not a man to be crossed.
I was urged forward by the sea dog rowers and—I’ve been told this part of the tale many times, so I know word-for-word what was said, even though I didn’t understand it at the time—Pinkbeard said, with a theatrical bow, “As requested, the heaviest woman in the world.”
The sober man with piercing eyes looked at me with the kind of intensity that promised rage followed by suffering.He was dressed plainly like the rest of those gathered, but he didn’t carry himself plainly.He spoke short phrases laced with threat.
Pinkbeard laughed.All the sea dogs did.
