The boy springs up to grab a pencil from a drawer in the kitchen, thrusting it at me along with the poster.
“I’m not signing my own arrest warrant, am I?” I joke weakly, and he snorts.
“What are you doing here?” the boy asks.
“Ah, I was hoping for a glass of water before I head out to find myself some trousers,” I tell him. “Don’t want too many people swooning as they catch sight of my bare legs, you know?”
Gower snorts, but the boy doesn’t react, just gives a single nod before springing up again and returning with a slightly cloudy glass of water. He hands it over and hesitates for a moment, then roots around under the kitchen sink for a moment before he flings some coarse material into my lap. Meanwhile, the limping woman plucks the water from my hand and replaces it with a mug of ale with a dry smile.
“You don’t want to be drinking our water, trust me,” she murmurs under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
The boy gestures to the material that’s now covering my thighs. “Trousers. They were mine, but I grew out of them when I hit thirteen. They were destined for the rag bag, but you can have them.”
“Oh, uh, thank you.”
As if that’s not a ding to my ego, he drops back into the seat beside me. “Have you come to start a mutiny?”
Both women stop what they’re doing. Gower freezes with the spoon of porridge halfway to one of the children’s mouths, and they let out an unhappy squawk of protest.
“A mutiny?”
Not my style, so much as Torin and Jack’s, I suppose. Although you could say what we did at the labs, breaking everyone free and cursing the place to oblivion, was pretty mutinous.
“What have you heard about the crew?” I ask, then clarify by tapping my finger on the crumpled paper. “The people on these posters?”
“There are plenty of rumours,” he says. “We always get it all third-hand over here. But plenty of people talk about selling stuff that’s washed ashore thanks to your lot raiding different ships. They say you’re a crew of outlaws and fiends. That you don’t even bow to the king.” He lowers his voice for this last part, eyes darting around like he’s afraid the walls have ears.
Maybe they do. We’re within spitting distance of the palace, after all.
“I heard that you’re all ours and that one day you’ll burn the city down. Set us all free.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but it seems like he isn’t finished.
“I also heard that Captain Finch rides around on a dragon in his spare time, and he’s vowed to lop off the king’s head.” He pauses, eyeing me up and down. “But you’re not one of our lot, so how can you be one of his?”
By this point, I’ve cottoned onto the fact that ‘our lot’ are the beast-borne. Letting out a sigh as I prepare to disappoint this young lad who's clearly been dealt a shitty hand, stuck in this city on this street where they’re treated like they’re less than people.
“If I’m honest,” I reply. “I have no idea what my brother is planning.”
Amble freezes in place and then pushes his overly long hair off his forehead, his eyes massive. “Captain Finch is your brother?”
Oh. Shit. I’ve probably revealed too much there.
Welp, if I’m getting arrested, they’re going to have an easy time of it. Here I am letting things slip out that I’d never normally tell a soul.
“He is,” I confirm, and the boy seems to take this information on board, mulling it over before giving a decided nod.
“If you had to guess, what do you think he’s planning? Do you think we’ll ever get to see him riding a dragon?”
I hate to disappoint him, but I have to admit my ignorance again. “I’m not sure, bud.”
His face drops, and I earn twin scowls from Gower and the other woman.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I find more words slipping out. “He’s headed this way, though,” I tell them.
Somehow, I know that with absolute certainty.
I could have done with that conviction when I was taken by the sorceress. If I’d known that the two of them were dead-set on coming after me, it might have made things easier.
