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

‘Gentleman Bastard.’

‘You miserable fucking son of a bitch!’ Jean was a blur as he moved, and Locke flinched backward in alarm. Jean snatched up the table and flung it into the sea, scattering the remnants of their dinner across the boat’s deck. ‘How could you? How could you do that to me?’

‘I can’t watch you die,’ said Locke flatly. ‘I can’t. You couldn’t ask me to—’

‘So you didn’t even give me a choice!’

‘You were going to fucking force-feed it to me!’ Locke stood up, brushing crumbs and chicken-bone fragments from his tunic. ‘I knew you’d try something like that. Do you blame me for doing it first?’

‘Now I get to watch you die, is that it? Her, and now you? And this is a favour?’

Jean collapsed onto the deck, buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Locke knelt beside him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

‘It is a favour,’ said Locke. ‘A favour to me. You save my life all the time because you’re an idiot and you don’t know any better. Let me . . . let me do it for you, just once. Because you actually deserve it.’

‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Jean whispered. ‘You son of a fucking bitch, how can you do this? I want to hug you. And I want to tear your gods-damned head off. Both at once.’

‘Ah,’ said Locke. ‘Near as I can tell, that’s the definition of “family” right there.’

‘But you’ll die,’ whispered Jean.

‘It was always going to happen,’ said Locke. ‘It was always going to happen, and the only reason it didn’t happen before now . . . is . . . you, actually.’

‘I hate this,’ said Jean.

‘I do, too. But it’s done. I suppose I have to feel okay about it.’

I feel calm, he thought. I suppose I can say that. I feel calm.

‘What do we do now?’

‘Same as we planned,’ said Locke. ‘Somewhere, anywhere, laziest possible speed. Up the coast, just roaming. No one after us. No one in the way, no one to rob. We’ve never really done this sort of thing before.’ Locke grinned. ‘Hell, I honestly don’t know if we’ll be any good at it.’

‘And what if you—’

‘When I do, I do,’ said Locke. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Yes,’ said Jean. ‘And no. Never.’

‘I understand, I think,’ said Locke. ‘Get up and give me a hand with the anchor, would you?’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘This coast is so gods-damned old,’ said Locke. ‘Falling apart. Seen it, seen everywhere like it. Let’s see if we can’t get this thing pointed somewhere else.’

He stood up, keeping one of his hands on Jean’s shoulder.

‘Somewhere new.’