Page 69 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

Word spreads fast in the small community of Soliton’s crew. I shrug.

“Do you still have time this evening?” he says. “The Council meeting is the day after tomorrow. If you’re going to be presented to the officers, you’ll want to make a good impression.”

People telling me I have to look nice instantly sets my teeth on edge. Unfortunately, he’s right. The Council is the only way to get closer to the Captain.

“They saw me in the Ring, didn’t they?” I say. “It’s hardly being presented.”

He shrugs. “This is more … official.”

“All right.” I stretch, with a show of reluctance, and reach for the string that gathers our stack of scrip.

Zarun waves a hand.

“Please,” he says. “I’ll take care of everything.”

I slip the scrip into a pocket anyway. Zarun’s grin widens a notch, and he gestures to the door. I follow him out through the corridor and into the crowded chaos of the Upper Stations. He leads the way through the streets, toward a section of the market I haven’t visited before.

“So,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Are you getting accustomed to how things work here?”

“More or less,” I tell him. “It’s not that different from back home. I get paid to kill things. Here they just tend to have more legs.”

Zarun chuckles. “That’s what I like about you, Isoka. You’re so refreshingly direct.”

By the way he looks at me, it’s clear that’s not all he likes about me. Fair enough. I’ve snuck a few admiring glances, too.

“These Council meetings,” I ask him, “does the Captain ever attend?”

He shakes his head. “Not since I joined. When we want to see the Captain, we visit him in his tower.”

“When did you join? How long have you been on the ship?”

I’ve picked up enough of Soliton’s etiquette to know this is something of a daring question. Everyone on board, no matter how comfortable they seem in their current circumstances, came from somewhere, and not by choice. We’re all prisoners here, and not everyone is happy to be reminded about it. Fortunately, Zarun only smiles slightly.

“It will be … eight years, now?” He looks up at the ceiling, where the sun slants in through rusted holes. “I think. It can be hard to keep track, in here.” He glances back at me. “Did they tell you I’m a Jyashtani prince?”

“I may have heard that somewhere, but I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re wiser than most, then,” he says. “My father was a prince of Harzashti. And my mother was a weed picker’s daughter. When I became an embarrassment, Soliton provided a convenient solution.”

If I’m right about his age, he wouldn’t have been more than twelve at the time. Hell of a place for a child to get dumped. “And the Council?”

“That came later. I built a successful hunting pack, won the respect of my fellow crew, and eventually…” He spread his arms. “You’re full of questions today, Deepwalker.”

“It’s sinking in that I’m really going to be staying here,” I ad-lib. “Seemed like I should learn the ropes.”

“You’ve made a good start, at least. I hope Thora and Jack have been helpful.”

“They have.” It was true, though I’m sure they also provided Zarun with regular reports. “Thora has been training Berun, too.”

“Thora is extremely reliable,” Zarun says. “And your princess? Is she recovering?”

“She is.” I don’t particularly want to discuss Meroe. “Where exactly are we going?”

“In here.”

He gestures down an alley, which leads to a side door into a nearby tower. There’s no sign, and I look around curiously as he walks up and knocks.

“This is a shop?” I say.