Red Seas Under Red Skies: The Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Book Two (Gentleman Bastards 2)

Locke yawned, stretched and walked out into a soft, warm rain falling from a sky webbed by cataracts of cloud. ‘Ahhh,’ he said, stripping to his breeches and letting the rain wash some of the smell of the Tattered Crimson from his skin. It was strange, he reflected, how the myriad stinks of the Poison Orchid had become familiar, and the smell of the sort of places he’d spent years in had become intrusive.

Drakasha had shifted the Orchid to a position just off one of the long stone piers in the Hospital anchorage, and Locke saw that a dozen small boats had come up along the larboard side. While five or six armed Blue Watch held the entry port, Utgar and Zamira were negotiating vigorously with a man standing atop a launch filled with pineapples.

The early afternoon was consumed by the coming and going of boats; assorted Prodigals appeared offering to sell everything from fresh food to alchemical drugs, while representatives from the independent traders came to enquire about the goods in the hold and view samples under Drakasha’s watchful eye. The Orchid temporarily became a floating market square.

Around the second hour of the afternoon, just as the rain was abating and the sun burning through the clouds above, the Red Messenger appeared out of the Trader’s Gate Passage and dropped anchor beside the Orchid. Nasreen, Gwillem and the prize crew came back aboard, along with several of the ex-Messengers who’d recovered enough to move around.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ one of them hollered when he saw Locke.

‘Come with me,’ said Jabril, putting an arm around the man’s shoulder. ‘Nothin’ I can’t explain. And while I’m at it, I’ll tell you about a thing called the scrub watch ...’

Scholar Treganne ordered a boat lowered so she could visit the Messenger and examine the injured still aboard her. Locke helped hoist the smallest boat down, and while he was doing so Treganne crossed paths with Gwillem at the entry port.

‘We’ve traded cabins,’ she said gruffly. ‘I’ve got your old compartment, and you can have mine.’

‘What? What? Why?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

Before the Vadran could ask any more questions, Treganne had clambered over the side and Zamira had taken him by the arm.

‘What sort of bid will the Shipbreaker open with for her?’

‘Two silvers and a cup of cowpox scabs,’ said Gwillem.

‘Yes, but what can I reasonably talk him up to?’

‘Eleven or twelve hundred solari. He’s going to need two new topgallant masts, as the fore was sprung as well. It just didn’t come down. New yards, some new sails. She’s had work done recently, and that’s a help, but a look at her timbers will show her age. She’s got maybe ten years of use left in her.’

‘Captain Drakasha,’ said Locke, stepping up beside Gwillem. ‘If I may be so bold—’

‘This scheme you were talking about, Ravelle?’

‘I’m sure I can squeeze at least a few hundred more solari out of him.’

‘Ravelle?’ Gwillem frowned at him. ‘Ravelle, the former captain of the Red Messenger?’

‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Locke, ‘and all I need to borrow, Captain, are some better clothes, a few leather satchels and a pile of coins.’

‘What?’

‘Relax. I’m not going to spend them. I just need them for show. And you’d better let me have Jerome as well.’

‘Captain,’ said Gwillem, ‘why is Orrin Ravelle alive and a member of the crew and asking you for money?’

‘Del!’ hollered Drakasha.

‘Right here,’ she said, appearing a moment later.

‘Del, take Gwillem aside and explain to him why Orrin Ravelle is alive and a member of the crew.’

‘But why is he asking you for money?’ said Gwillem. Ezri grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.

‘My people expect to be paid for the Messenger,’ said Drakasha. ‘I need to be sure that whatever you’re scheming won’t actually make things worse.’

‘Captain, in this matter I’d be acting as a member of your crew - lest you forget, I have a share of what we get for the Messenger, too.’

‘Hmmm.’ She looked around and tapped her fingers on the hilt of one of her sabres. ‘Better clothes, you say?’