“You can tell everything you need to know about folk by the way they look at you. Course, if they’re blind, or you’re blind, or they have some sorta social anxiety, that can make it a little difficult. You know what, it’s more of a guideline, not a rule.”

-The Golden Son, 175 U.E.

 

Stephen and Yin entered the crew deck. They heard some commotion from a nearby maintenance room and went to investigate. Stephan was still wobbly from whatever substance he had ingested, but he could walk on his own.

Yin opened the metal door to the maintenance room with a sharp tug, and Stephan was ready to put holes in whoever was inside. He nearly fired at the person inside before he realized it was Taira. She was curled up against the back wall, arms wrapped around herself.

“Taira?” Stephan asked, lowering the pistol a hair. “What are you doing here?”

Taira stood, a tense smile forming at the sight of him. She gave him a hug, and he hesitantly reciprocated.

“I came to find you,” she said. “It didn’t feel right. Like a… blanket on my mind. But I got turned around. Then I heard gunshots, so I hid. I worried about you.”

“You didn’t drink any of that blue stuff, did you?” Stephan asked.

Taira shook her head.

“Good. What about the captain? Is anyone left with her?”

“Kurko. He would never leave her side.”

“We need to get back there, and fast. This is going to break into a full-on battle if it hasn’t already.”

“The chefs tried to kill us,” Yin explained. “So we killed them back.”

Taira offered no protests. She stayed at the back of the group as they proceeded up the stairs to an observation chamber Stephan vaguely recalled. Stephan spotted two armed members of Barandi’s crew lingering near one of the walls. Figuring that shooting them would make too much noise, even with the blaring music, he pointed them out to Yin. She slit their throats, cutting their windpipes so they couldn’t scream, and they fell to the ground choking for air, rapidly bleeding out.

There was also someone else. Kurko kept his ear to the wall, completely oblivious as they approached him.

Stephan tapped the demi-giant’s arm. “Kurko? Why aren’t you with the captain?”

“Shh!” Kurko hissed. “Can you hear it?”

Stephan frowned. “Hear what?”

“The singing.” He closed his eyes, head bobbing to some imagined melody. “Mother, is that you? I haven’t heard you in so long.”

“He’s gone mad,” Yin said.

“There is no singing,” Stephan insisted. “Kurko, snap out of it.”

“You just need to listen closely,” Kurko said. “Here, come.” He motioned for Stephan to come over to the wall.

Stephan shook his head. There’s no time for this.

He stepped up and punched Kurko in his stomach. The blow glanced off his bulk, and Stephan felt his feet lift off the ground as Kurko picked him up by his suit jacket and threw him against the wall.

“Why’d you do—” he hissed, but cut himself off. He blinked, hand slowly uncurling from Stephan’s jacket. He took a step back, looking around the room. “Where am I? Why am I here? What happened?”

“We were kinda hoping you could tell us that,” Yin said.

Stephan straightened out his jacket and cleared his throat. “Did you have anything to drink?”

Kurko shook his head. “I do not drink.”

“Then there must be some other foul play going on. You were hallucinating.”

“I did not eat or drink anything he gave me,” Kurko said firmly. “I just started to feel… foggy.”

“That’s like what you said,” Stephan said, nodding towards Taira. “Thinking about it now, I did feel a little fuzzy when we were in the captain’s cabin, even before I drank anything. Which probably means…”

“Yes?” Yin asked. “No need to drag it out for suspense.”

“It means Barandi’s probably a psychomancer. That, or someone on his crew. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“It makes sense,” Kurko said with a nod. “Barandi is infamous for being persuasive, able to make anyone do whatever he wants.”

“His plan was to divide us,” Taira said. “Kill us one by one.”

“It didn’t work,” Stephan said. “Let’s find Torch, then show Barandi what we can do.”

*****

Quintilla nursed a heavy headache. She struggled to keep track of the conversation with Barandi. Her surroundings were a blur, people coming and going as shifting blobs of color. At some point, the first mate closed the door to the cabin, leaving only him, Quintilla, and Barandi in the room, all lounging on a soft couch.

She made sure not to drink from any open containers that were offered, and only drank a couple of beers to be polite.

Barandi had taken the hat off his crotch and placed it on his head, exposing his sharp penis to the world. He didn’t have much to work with between his legs, but he didn’t seem to be self-conscious.

Where had the crew gone? Quintilla had been so focused on Barandi that she’d completely lost track of them. That was wrong, wasn’t it? They were supposed to stick together.

“Wenezian?” Barandi asked, a light frown creasing his delicate features. “Did you catch that?”

“Hmm?” Quintilla asked, blinking. “No, sorry, take that again.”

“I’m willing to make a deal for the pieces in my possession. “Two hundred kay standard, plus a ten percent commission of all treasure recovered.

Quintilla snorted. “Fuck you. No commission. Take your hundred thousand and be happy with that.”

“I don’t think I will. See, I know all about you, Wenezian. I know how badly you want this treasure. You need it to lift the shackles that the governor’s wrapped you up in. So you’re going to give me exactly what I want, because I know you’d rather stick that fine revolver in your mouth and pull the trigger than walk out of here empty-handed.” His big, dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Does that sound about right?”

His words stung. Quintilla’s lips peeled back from her teeth. She considered throttling that slender neck. Barandi tilted his head back, grinning, as if to goad her.

“That’s right,” she finally said. “I’m desperate to have this treasure. And you know that a wolf is at its most dangerous when cornered.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Wenezian. You’re no wolf, and you certainly aren’t cornered. Two hundred thousand. Ten percent commission. I know you can afford it. That’s your way forward.”

“A hundred fifty.”

Barandi’s gaze grew flint hard. “Two hundred. Not a standard lower.”

Quintilla swore inwardly. She had hoped to haggle, save as much as possible of the funds they had accumulated. Although, all things considered, two hundred thousand wasn’t so bad. And ninety percent of a priceless treasure would still leave them immeasurably rich.

She considered the proposal.

A loud bang broke her chain of thought. Shouting.

“What was that?” Quintilla asked. She reached for her revolver.

“Just our patrons,” Blink said. “They can get rowdy when the Rainbow kicks in.”

“That sounded like fighting.”

“Like I said, rowdy.”

Quintilla didn’t buy it. She gripped her piece.

Barandi took her face in both hands and turned her around to face him. Those dark eyes bore into her, through her.

“You seem a little riled up,” Barandi said, voice smooth and calming. “Don’t worry so much. Have another drink. Relax. You’ll be out of here with that map in due time. Unless you don’t value our hospitality, that is.” His features became steely and severe. “Sovi.”

Quintilla frowned, struggling to remember what she had been worrying about. Her head was filled with cotton, thoughts knotting like tangled yarn.

What am I doing? she thought. I can’t jeopardize this deal. I have to play along.

She took her hand off her revolver to accept another drink from the first mate. She settled back into the sofa, and Barandi relinquished his grip, smiling a winsome smile.

“Good, good. Now, we were talking terms.”