Page 33 of Reaper Said Mine

"You asked three merchants whether tariffs were fair."

"Two said yes. One cursed for eight minutes and then admitted Helios charged more."

Vesk folds his enormous arms, which makes two passing Fratvoyan couriers veer around him without slowing. "You are annoying."

"I've been promoted. Three days ago I was merely inconvenient."

His eyes narrow with the weary suspicion of someone who has discovered amusement in a place he preferred not to. "Do not mistake tolerance for approval."

"I never do."

A small Reaper child darts past my hip, slips on the sticky patch by the tea cart, and would have gone face-first into the deck if Vesk had not shot one arm out and caught him by the back of his patched vest. The child dangles in the air, legs kicking, silver hair falling into his eyes.

"Griv," Vesk growls. "Walk."

The child twists enough to look at him upside down. "I was walking fast."

"You were falling fast."

"That happened after."

Vesk sets him on his feet. "Where is your guardian?"

"Working Dock Seven."

"Then why are you here?"

The boy looks at me, then at my recording compad, then back at Vesk with the grave calculation of a born criminal. "Educational reasons."

"You are six."

"Education starts early."

I kneel so I am not looming over him, which is an amusing concept given that even small Reaper children are built like compact trouble with teeth. "Do you want to be recorded?"

His red eyes brighten. "Am I getting paid?"

Vesk makes a strangled sound. "Griv."

I keep my expression serious. "I do not pay minors for interviews without guardian consent."

The child considers this. "Smart. My aunt steals."

"From journalists?"

"From everybody."

Vesk pinches the bridge of his nose, careful of the spur there. "Go to Dock Seven before I carry you there by one ankle."

Griv looks delighted by the possibility, then darts away through the crowd.

I stand and take another sip of the terrible tea. "He seems charming."

"He is a menace."

"Those can overlap."

Vesk starts walking again, and I match his pace. "Why are you still here, reporter? Your interview requests are denied. The others left after two days or began filing dramatic pieces about how dangerous the lighting looks."