Page 165 of Tempest

But it was not the papers that interested Valerian. His eyes fell to the flintlock pistol, still attached to its gun belt and holstered on the table. Silently, he stood and prowled towards the weapon, entranced by it.

Silver chasings ran through the polished wood, curling in intricate patterns around the hilt and hammer. The gun looked just as much a piece of jewelry as a weapon, the adornments dulled by fingerprints. Without a word, Valerian drew it from its holster and checked the sights, his grip easy and familiar.

After all, it had been his pistol once. Many years ago.

While the pirate pored over his prodigal flintlock, Cat met Fell’s accusing eye. He pursed his lips, letting her see his anger. Then he glanced about the room, taking it in as she had. Taking in the peculiar, repetitive nature of this moment. And his mouth twitched, betraying the smallest smirk, and his eyes rolled. As if to say, This again?

Cat could not help but agree, the corners of her mouth lifting.

Valerian abandoned the gun and grinned, a feral sight.

“Good to see you, sir. I’m told congratulations are in order,” he said, slapping the shackled Fell on the shoulder.

The navy man became steel again. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been made captain! That’s quite the accomplishment, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fell went stiff as a board when Valerian slung an arm around his shoulders. The pirate leaned loose and easy, while the navy captain almost hissed, the picture of an angry cat with its hackles on end. Cat had to bite her lip to keep from giggling, the pair of them forming the lethal ends of a wide, disparate spectrum.

Valerian steered Fell around the table, forcing him to pace.

“Though I saw that ship of yours,” he said, laughing. “Well, no worry. I’m sure the governor will reward you with a grander post once you whore for him a little longer.”

Purple splotches appeared on Fell’s cheeks, as if he were being strangled.

“You know that is not my ship—” he sputtered, only to stop short and draw a steadying breath. “What do you want for my crew?”

“Want?” Valerian clapped a hand to his chest in mock pain. But the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “Captain Fell, I’m sure you realize as much as I do, the times have changed. I’m not holding your crew ransom.” His arm around Fell’s shoulders tightened. “I’m holding them hostage.”

Fell kept his unyielding stance, despite the pirate staring him in the face. “Hold me. I’m enough.”

With a laugh, Valerian swooped backwards, unhanding Fell so quickly the officer stumbled, chains rattling. An old trick. Though Fell was her enemy, an obstinate obstacle on her path to freedom, Cat could not help but cringe to see Valerian toy with his captive this way.

“No, I prefer multiple bodies to sell if it comes to it,” Valerian sniffed, grabbing the flintlock again. His voice took on a more lethal edge. “And I suspect it will come to it.”

Prideful as he was, even Fell edged backwards.

Cat eyed the gun, half expecting Valerian to load it and level the sights at Fell’s head. But Valerian was smarter, or simply knew Fell as well as she did. There was no threatening him in an interrogation. Jasper Fell was too noble, too loyal to crack under the threat of death. Whatever information he gave would be given freely, or not at all.

Valerian took to counting the shots in the pouch affixed to the gun belt. Silver spheres clicked together in his palm, one by one.

“How many crew aboard the Fledge?” he said.

Fell did not hesitate.

“Ten.”

There was no cause to lie, if Adelo had done as asked, and marched Captain Fell in front of every captive member of his crew.

Valerian nodded. “And how many ships in convoy?”

“One,” Fell said.

“Is that the truth of it?” The pirate’s green gaze flicked to Cat.

Her face remained a mask.

“As far as I know,” she answered, feeling herself step out onto a ledge with death waiting below. She dared not look at Fell, lest her mask slip, and her desperation be put on full display. But it bloomed beneath her skin, acidic and corrosive.