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“You’ll carefully ensure she sits back down?” Demery offered.
“What do you care? You’re a pirate,” the wigged man, Randalf, suddenly accused.
Demery’s eyes tracked to him, still amiable. If being outed so publicly perturbed him, he did not show it. One did not go to Whallum without expecting to brush elbows with criminals of all distinctions.
“I’ve been called as much, yes,” he affirmed.
“He’s seventh on Her Majesty’s contract list,” I heard myself commenting. My hand was still on my cutlass, but I loosened my grip, palming it absently.
The Stormsinger noticed my movement and considered me for a narrow second, then looked at Demery.
“Pray, seventh?” The pirate frowned. “Last I heard I was fifth.”
“You’ve lost your touch, old man.” Randalf chuckled. “There’s a piratehunterin this room, but has he interest in you? No.”
I shot him a look. How did he know what I was?
Reading my expression, Randalf flapped a dismissive hand at me. “I’ve eyes in my skull, boy. I can seeHartin the harbor, same as everyone else.”
“I’ve not lost my touch. Rather, I’ve been preoccupied,” Demery said in a way that made my dreamer’s sense prickle. “It’s hard to steal enough tobacco and molasses to stay on the Queen’s List, even in peacetime. Besides, any position higher than four and there’s already a noose strung for you at Fort Almsworth. Hardly something I aspire to.”
The Stormsinger flinched at that, and my curiosity strayed back towards her. Her eyes met mine, still edged with the anger that she had unleashed on Mr. Speck. They were the deep grey of summer storms, infiltrated with shocks of equally dark blue. The combination was odd, but even odder on a Stormsinger. Her kind usually had pale blue eyes, many to the point that they were blind.
Or, in the worst cases, intentionally blinded in an ill-informed attempt to increase a singer’s power. It rarely worked and occasionally had the opposite effect, but that did not dissuade avaricious slavers from the attempt.
Gooseflesh prickled up my arms.
Demery’s voice pulled me back to the rest of the room. “At least Mr. Rosser knew me on sight, did he not?”
I tore my eyes from the young woman’s and gave him a nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Demery looked back at Randalf. “You, you’re a smuggler?”
He pursed his lips. “A merchant.Julietteis my ship.”
Demery leaned back in his chair and stacked his heels under the table. “Oh?”
Randalf rolled his eyes. “Merchant and occasional purveyor of tax-free goods.”
The Stormsinger looked between the two of them, her eyes losing even more of their light. Had she just realized how bleak her options were?
The sight made my guilt triple. I could not drag this woman aboardHart. I had been a fool to agree to this errand, a fool to think there was any world where I could stomach exchanging money for another’s freedom, let alone dragging a villagegirl—which,from her clothes and manner, she certainlywas—ontoa warship with a contract as dangerous as ours.
Everyone looked up as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Demery’s hand drifted beneath his coat and every muscle in my body went taut. Silently, I prayed Fisher and the armsmen were not far off.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, angling myself so I could see the top of the stairs.
A young gentleman came into sight, his blond hair swept back into a fine red ribbon and his cheeks flushed with cold. There was more than a little snow on his clothes, and he brushed it off as he topped the stairs and came through the door.
“He is not coming,” Charles Grant, the man who had brought us our invitation to Kaspin’s auction, announced. He took an unclaimed glass of whiskey from the table and retreated to a corner, close to the fire but far from the light of the window.
Irritation flickered across Kaspin’s face. “Not coming at all? Or is there another day he’d prefer?”
“He is not coming.” Grant nursed the whiskey, the cup brushing his bottom lip and distorting his voice as he added, “He was also very rude.”
“Well, then.” Kaspin was clearly put out, but rallied. “Let’s introduce our witch.”
I stole a quick look at Demery as Kaspin removed the Stormsinger’s gag. The pirate’s expression was inscrutable except for a few lines around hiseyes—notirritation or disappointment.Perhaps…preoccupation.
