Page 96 of Tempest

“So you asked another woman where Valerian Kane is,” he said, delighted by her discomfort. His grip on her tightened. “I did not know you had a rival for his affections, Cat.”

In spite of herself, Cat’s cheeks flamed.

“She is a friend,” she snapped, annoyed with him and his wretched smile. “Or was.”

He did not relent, using the swelling crowd of market traffic to bump his shoulder against hers. This close, Cat could at least stop squinting, using the shade of his hat to her own benefit.

“You’re running short on those, you know,” he said.

Her relief in the shade was short-lived.

“Thank you for noticing, Fell,” she replied, looking at him sidelong. Her voice changed, softening. “But you’re still my friend, aren’t you?”

Captain Fell reeled back with a cold look. After so many years, Cat could see he knew better than to take such obvious bait.

“So long as you remain useful,” he said dryly, urging her onwards.

“Ah, yes, that is the definition of friendship,” Cat muttered, letting herself be herded along. Until she looked up to a collection of whitewashed buildings, and beyond them, the limestone walls of the Alvaris fort guarding the harbor.

She halted in her tracks and dug in her heels, fast enough to force Fell to break his hold. He rounded on her in an instant, one hand flying to the pistol on his hip. In the street, his men reacted, pressing in to surround Cat lest she try to run again.

“Enough of that, Jasper, you’re not going to shoot me,” Cat said, rolling her eyes.

Fell dropped his hand, leaving the flintlock where it lay. “One day I might,” he grumbled. “Now what?”

She glanced up at the fort, then back to Fell with a withering stare. “Where are you going?”

Realization dawned across his face more quickly than Cat expected.

His eyes narrowed. “You never intended for us to interview the commander of Alvaris.”

Cat only shrugged back at him, too aware of Whisten and the others at her back. “Like I said, Fell, women know more than you think.”

The bulldog lieutenant gave a wet, rasping laugh. “Are we to interview every fish wife and tavern maid in the city, then?” he said, chuckling around at the crew.

“No,” Cat said, refusing to give Whisten more than a passing glance. “Do you know what a skirt ship is?”

Despite his merchant’s coat and the battered tricorne, Fell drew himself up straight as a line, heels together, arms pressed to his sides. Cat half expected him to salute.

“I am an officer of the Meridian navy. Of course I know what a skirt ship is,” he snapped.

Cat placed a calming hand on his shoulder in the most condescending way she could. “Of course, Captain, though I know such a practice is beneath you,” she said. “Pirates, on the other hand. Quite the appetite.”

As he would a spider or a piece of lint, Fell brushed her fingers off. “What are you proposing?”

“If the pirates are operating from a new place in the Lyrian Sea, they will have need of resources,” she explained. “Food, water, rum. And prostitutes.”

She did not miss that most of the sailors of the Fledge looked intrigued, if not eager, at her words. Prostitution was not forbidden but certainly frowned upon in the so-called civilized parts of the Lyrian. Though that hardly stopped sailors from pursuing their pleasures. The hypocrisy of it was not lost on Cat. Many a fine officer sneered at a whore in the street before dropping money in her hand that evening.

But not Whisten, who managed to look even more disgusted. Or Fell, whose cool demeanor returned, icy as his eyes.

“Follow the whores?” he offered.

She nodded. “Find the pirates.”

* * *

THE SUNSET TURNED the Alvaris harbor the color of blood. Cat shuddered at the sight, looking out from the gunwales of the Fledge to take in so many warships anchored in scarlet. She wondered if the sea had looked like this six months ago when Harry Morovant and his ramshackle armada sailed against the Meridian fleet. And were slaughtered for it.