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The peddler promptly opens the trunk on his small hand cart. “Take whatever you like, mistress, I beg you.”
The girl is hardly able to believe the ploy worked a second time, but she doesn’t question it. The quiet of the wood is broken by the clink of miscellaneous items as she burrows around in the trunk, pistol pressed to her victim’s sweating forehead. She wears the satchel from yesterday’s take, yawning open, and proceeds to stuff it full of food and useful things.
The peddler watches her, unspeaking. A bird sings off in the trees and the wind rustles the leaves in a merry, sun-dappled rush.
“Pleasant day,” the peddler croaks, clearing his throat.
“’Tis,” the girl replies amicably, suppressing a stab of guilt. His hands are shaking. It really was kind of him to be so terrified of her when she’d done so little to earn it. Whoever these men thought the girl was, she must truly be intimidating. But she dares not ask.
Then her fingers brush a sheaf of paper. She’s about to push past it, digging towards a clutch of candles in the bottom of the trunk, when she catches sight of her own face.
The peddler sees the direction of her gaze. “That’s the latest one, madam. I’m to post them in every inn.”
The girl picks up the top page and steps back, withdrawing the pistol from his forehead. It leaves a red circle on his sweating skin.
OneABETHA BONNING: HIGHWAYWOMAN OF MOST DREADFUL REPUTEstares off the page. She looks just like the girl, if a bit older and angrier. And the reward? Five hundred solem weight.
Below it, in the stack, she sees postings for various other criminals, but none of them have a bounty half as high.
The peddler gives a strained, wan smile. “Like to take that reward up myself but, you’re a woman to be reckoned with. I shall leave you to the Queen’s Guns and the bounty hunters.”
“Bounty hunters?” she repeats, feeling ill. “You thinkI’m…Oh,damn.”
***
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rendezvous
MARY
The Drowned Prince applauded as I left the stage and waded through a crowd that had, over the course of the last few nights, swelled. Athe and a quarter of Demery’s crew were here too, all surreptitiously armed and ready to intervene at the slightest threat to their Stormsinger.
Never mind that I was tired and longed for a quiet night in my hammock. Never mind thatHartwas in port. The pirate hunters couldn’t openly touch me in Usti territory, and Grant insisted they wouldn’t dare resort to skulduggery when I was always surrounded by a regiment of unpredictable, self-satisfied pirates.
So, I sang and played cards and sat in the quiet of my thoughts as Grant teased out funds for Demery’s venture.
Halfway back to the table where Grant sat with Mallan and Farro, I caught the eye of a man at the back of the room. It took me a moment to recognize him in the half-light, but when I did, my heart wedged between my ribs.
Samuel Rosser sat with hiscoat—hisnewcoat—open,one hand on his thigh, the other cradling a pint of dark Usti beer on the table. He wore a cutlass and a pistol and as my eyes darted to his face, his gaze fell into mine. He looked fine that night, handsome in his guarded way.
My guilt-ridden heart started to race for an altogether different reason.
Rosser nodded to the chair across from him.
I looked at Grant, preoccupied and more than a little tipsy, then found Athe among the crowd. She was shouldering out a side door, likely making for the tavern’s surprisingly well-kept watercloset—theestablishment’s clients enjoyed the thrill that came with merrymaking on the edge of the Knocks, but not the level of sanitation that came with it.
I decided it was safe to approach Rosser’s table.
“Mr. Rosser?” I said when I reached him.
“Ms. Firth. Sit for a minute.” He pointed to the other chair again.
“Why?”
“Because that will attract less attention, and I do not relish the idea of ending up dead in an alleyway.” He nodded to the plethora of pirates around us. “I will only take a moment of your time, I promise. I am not here to harm you or drag you back toHart. This is personal.”
Intrigued, I watched him for a few heartbeats, then sat on the edge of the proffered chair.
