Page 21 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

She shakes her head, and listens raptly as I give her the abridged version, along with the information I’ve been able to glean from Berun.

“Nimar is well inland,” she says when I’m finished. “So we don’t get many ghost ships. My father must have really wanted to be rid of me if he sent me all the way to Kahnzoka. I’m surprised he didn’t just slit my throat.” She looks around. “So what now?”

I find myself staring at her. “You did hear what I said? That we’re stuck here for good?”

She nods. “Sorry. I’m sure that must be very difficult for you.”

“It’s not for you?”

“Well, if it’s true my father sent me here, that means there’d be no place for me at home anyway. So if I’ve got to leave, I suppose this is as good a place as any. And, well…” She pauses, looking at me expectantly.

“You’re a very strange princess,” I tell her.

“Yes! That.” She smiles, broadly this time, cheeks dimpling. “I get that a lot. When’s dinner?”

7

I sit against the stacked carpets for a while, eyes closed. Meroe has found Berun, and he’s having trouble keeping up with her rapid-fire questions. Just listening to it is exhausting.

Focus. I think about Tori. About the house in the Second Ward, where she probably doesn’t even know what’s happened to me, has no idea that her beautiful, comfortable life is hanging by a thread. She won’t learn that anything’s wrong until I don’t visit when I said I would. She’ll be heartbroken and worried.

Rotting Naga and his rotting Immortals. He could at least let me send her a letter. I will settle things with him, one way or the other. Zarun and Ahdron were both certain there was no way off the ship—I think of the angels and their horrible voices, and shiver—but they can’t be certain. There has to be something.

I’m coming back, Tori. I swear it.

Pleasant fantasies of what I’m going to do to Kuon Naga occupy me until dinner arrives, which fortunately doesn’t take long. The door opens, and Haia and a couple of crew bring in a large steel bucket and a stack of chipped bowls. Whatever’s in there, it smells wonderful.

Ahdron faces off against Haia, trying to puff himself up and act tough. Haia isn’t buying it, though. She glances around at the rest of us with barely concealed contempt.

“You’re going out in an hour,” she says. “Be ready.”

“I’m ready,” Ahdron says, drawing himself up. “But I can’t speak for these—”

“It’s just the Silvercap Gardens,” Haia interrupts. “Try not to muck it up.”

“Or if you do,” one of the crew behind her says, “don’t bother coming back.”

They set the bucket on the metal deck and leave, barring the door again.

“What’s the Silvercap Gardens?” Meroe says, wandering over.

“I’ll explain,” Ahdron grates, “when it needs explaining.” He goes to the bucket, looks in, and shudders. “Ugh. Crab juice again.”

I can’t resist the smell anymore, and I go to the bucket. It’s full of a murky liquid, hot enough that it steams a little, with some greenish things and unidentifiable white bits floating in it. I’ve eaten crab, pulled from the ocean in wooden traps by fishermen from up the coast. It has to be rushed to the city on ice, so it’s a delicacy, steamed, salted, and buttered. Not worth the coin, in my opinion, but edible enough. The smell of this concoction doesn’t have much in common with what I remember, but I’m hungry enough that I don’t care.

The boy from the island slips in front of me and grabs one of the bowls. He dips it in the bucket, pulls it out full and dripping, and retreats to sit on a folded carpet, drinking the liquid and scooping the soft pieces out with his fingers.

“This is the Moron,” Ahdron says to me and Meroe. “Expect nothing from him and you won’t be surprised. He only turns up for meals.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Meroe says politely.

“And he doesn’t talk,” Ahdron growls. “So don’t bother.”

I take a bowl and fill it, mimicking the boy. Whatever “crab juice” is, it’s good. Shockingly good, even considering that I haven’t eaten in more than a day. Spices I can’t identify give it a tingling bite. The white lumps are meat—crab, I assume—and something spongy that I guess is mushroom. Either way, they’re suffused with the delicious broth, and I gobble them down.

I glance at my empty bowl, then at Ahdron. He gestures wearily for me to go ahead—there’s plenty in the bucket. I have a second helping, which is as good as the first, and a long drink of water.

“Melos, you said,” he says as I’m finishing.