Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (30 page)

A mutter ran through the group, and at the head of the table, Nodobe laughed out loud. Heat flushed Cobiah’s face. Before he could stammer an indignant reply, Tarb sighed with annoyance and sat back in his chair. “Yomm’s got a point,” the asura said grudgingly. The captains erupted into shouts, yelling opinions one over the other.

Hedda banged a fist on the table, shutting them all up. “Captain Isaye hasn’t voted yet. Let her speak. The rest of you, shove it in your brig and let her talk.” She placed her hands on the table, red-painted nails scraping like claws against the hard wood. “Well, Isaye?”

The room fell silent, staring at Isaye. The dark-haired woman steepled her fingers before her lips in thoughtful concentration. Cobiah could tell she was weighing the arguments that had been given. In frustration, he clenched his fists beneath the table and struggled to remain silent. At last, Isaye met Cobiah’s eyes and then Nodobe’s, finally settling on Yomm. “All right, Yomm,” she said at last. “The council has never set guidelines on how often a captain has to be at sea if they’re to be considered master of their ship. I have to admit that you meet all the other requirements. We’ll have to clarify the rules . . . but we can’t hold you accountable to laws that haven’t been made yet. For now, you’re acceptable by all the standards we have in place for Lion’s Arch. Welcome to the council.” However well reasoned, her words felt like a slap in the face.

Angry, Cobiah pushed away from the table and stood. “I think that’s enough business for today.” At his side, Macha’s dark glower matched his tone perfectly. “Council is in session for a week. We can meet tomorrow to talk about how we spend Yomm’s . . .” Cobiah waved at the bag of money on the table. “Regency.” The word was bitter.

“Captain Yomm,” the shopkeep said, gloating.

“Don’t push it, you sniveling rat,” hissed Macha, her hand falling to the hilt of a pistol at her belt. The two glared at each other for a moment, and then Yomm tossed his head and looked away.

“Cobiah,” Isaye protested.

“Fine. You made your choice. The vote’s done.” Pretending not to see Isaye’s hurt look, Cobiah turned on his heel and ignored the sputtered arguments behind him. He heard Isaye rise from the table. Even Bronn reached to stop him. “Sorry, Coby,” the norn said pensively. “Times are hard. I need the job to support my children. You understand, yes, my friend?”

Shoving the norn’s hand from his shoulder, Cobiah marched on. He could hear Macha trotting along behind him, multicolored braids flapping across her shoulders as she hurried to keep up. Once they were outside the gate, she grumbled, “Was that really necessary? The tantrumy-storming-out part? They still have a quorum. They could continue the meeting and you won’t be there—”

“They won’t continue the meeting.” Cobiah took the wide steps of the pavilion two at a time and didn’t care who was in his path.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Yomm just joined the council. He’s not going to want to vote on anything until he’s knows what’s going on, and that means he’s going to want exhaustive argument on
every issue. That’ll take a while.” Cobiah’s tone lightened a bit but lost none of its sharpness. “Trust me.”

“Fair.” Macha grunted. “Poor Bronn.”

“Poor Bronn?” Cobiah rounded on her, his last nerve frayed raw. “That traitorous braggart. I’d like to see him keelhauled!”

“For what? Not wanting to starve?”

“He’s a member of my crew! He works
my
ship!”

With an unkind laugh, Macha snapped, “He
was
a member of your crew, but he’s not now. He has to make money somehow, Coby. Yomm’s right about one thing: the
Pride
’s always at port. We don’t go raiding, or adventuring, or even pirating. Most of us have jobs on the side. Half the
Havoc
’s old warband work as night guards on the dock, and Sykox spends his time repairing busted-up ships to be used as buildings. He hasn’t worked on the
Pride
’s engine in months, but you wouldn’t know that. You’re always on land, pandering to merchants and planning out the town.”

Her words stung. “What about you, Macha? Have you started taking jobs, too?”

“No.” She stiffened brusquely. “The only thing I want to do, Coby, is sail with the
Pride
. But you’ve got to wake up and look around.” Macha tugged awkwardly on her bright braids as she rushed to keep up. “Tell me something. I heard Sykox say this morning that you were going to ask Isaye to marry you. Is that true?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he answered, puzzled. “Why?”

“Is that what’s making you so invested in this city? Get married, settle down . . . I mean, the way you light up when she comes into port. That big house you’re building on the north shore. You know, the one with the high bedroom and the view of the harbor?” Macha’s eyes twinkled. “You built it for her, didn’t you? Love is positively smeared all over your face.”

“I have to sleep somewhere!”

“You used to sleep on the
Pride
,” Macha teased. “C’mon.” He still didn’t answer, and Macha’s smile faded into genuine curiosity. “What if she says no?”

Cobiah reddened. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about what I’d do then.” Cobiah paused to look around, taking in the pleasant streets and freshly painted buildings. “Look at this wonderful town we’ve made, Macha. Isaye was a big part of that. Without her, I don’t know if I could even live in Lion’s Arch. Seeing the city, every day, without her? It’d remind me too much of . . . what we had.”

“Yeah.” Macha nodded, patting his hand. “I understand that. Don’t worry, Cobiah. I’m sure she’ll say yes. What’s there to say no about? You’re scoundrelous, violent, unpredictable, and utterly incorrigible.”

He laughed out loud. “Thanks, Macha.”

“You wouldn’t be able to make it without me, and you know it. We’re a team.” Narrowing her eyes, she rushed on, changing the subject abruptly. “So, Yomm has a council seat. What will happen now?”

Somewhat abashed, Cobiah answered, “I guess I should apologize to Isaye.”

Macha rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I’m asking, loverboy. Sheesh, you have a mind like a dolyak following a carrot. I’m
asking
what’s going to happen to the city.”

Cobiah sighed and looked out at the docks. He could see blue water through the jagged spiderwebs of open alleyways, and he could hear the shouts of sailors on the tugs, bringing a clipper into its mooring. “Yomm’s on the council. He gets a vote. Most likely, he’ll quell any argument about standardizing prices in the town—or bringing in a bank or other shops. He’ll fight against anything that could jeopardize his control of trade. He’s
got enough money to pay off some of the other captains, or at least to promise funding for their pet projects if they go along with his ideas.”

“That’s bad.” Macha worked the figures in her head. “If Yomm manages to get his way with shipping and sales tariffs, he’ll control trade through Lion’s Arch. Captains will have to go through him to unload their wares or load new stores aboard their ships. He’ll eventually rule Lion’s Arch de facto, no matter what the council says.”

She grabbed Cobiah’s sleeve, jerking him around to face her. “What then, Coby?” The little mesmer’s eyes were dark pools of shadow.

“He’ll get greedy, like he always does, and he’ll raise prices. Captains won’t want to pay his fees. Ships will stop using our port.” Cobiah looked down at the bustling docks. “Lion’s Arch will die.”

T
wilight crept over the harbor, bringing with it the sweet scent of open flame and meals cooking in homes and taverns. The lapping of water against the ships on the docks matched the rhythm of drums and violins in the ale houses where sailors spent their pay on a night of drinking and debauchery. A light from the windows of the captain’s cabin aboard the
Nomad
shimmered on the waves.

Cobiah marched stiffly down the dock toward the clipper. He heard a distant bell ringing the hour in the town and paused at the gangplank to hear it toll. On the deck of the
Nomad
, the few sailors still on board called out to one another, saying their good-nights and walking the rounds before they turned in below. Cobiah twisted the cuffs of his blue frock coat and straightened the collar at his neck. He wished the walk had taken longer. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. Taking a deep breath, he considered turning on his heel and going back to the
Pride
, but even as he tried to convince himself to leave, Cobiah stepped out onto the gangplank, and he found himself striding up the walkway onto the
Nomad
’s deck.

“Ahoy!” a voice called from the deck. The soft glow of
a lantern moved closer as someone approached the gunwale. “Who goes there?”

“Hail, aboard,” he answered, waving awkwardly. “I’m here to . . . I mean . . .”

“Is there some problem?”

“No, no problem. It’s Captain Marriner. I’d like to speak to . . . um . . .”

“Cobiah?” As the figure approached, Cobiah caught the shadow of gently fluttering black wraps on the wrist holding the lantern. “Dwayna bless my soul.”

Recognizing both the voice and the odd, bandagelike strips of fabric, Cobiah relaxed. “Verahd. Good to see you.”

Lifting the lantern higher, the elementalist pushed back his wire-rimmed glasses and studied Cobiah intently. “You look like a fop,” he said bluntly. “Where did you get that terrible coat?”

“Macha gave it to me. You don’t like it?” Cobiah looked down at the frock coat in distress.

“I can lie if you want, and say it’s very fashionable. Isaye, on the other hand, will tell you the truth. Probably through a lot of laughter.”

Grumbling, Cobiah took off the coat and tossed it to hang on one of the dock pegs. He walked up onto the deck and shook Verahd’s hand. “Thanks.” Verahd nodded with a sound that was half chuckle and half sigh and gestured for Cobiah to follow.

“Lucky for you, Henst’s at the tavern with most of the crew; you’d have never gotten aboard. She’s a bit miffed at you. What did you do?”

“Me?” Cobiah raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t do anything.”

Verahd snorted. When they reached the big oak doors of the captain’s cabin, the elementalist stared at
him appraisingly and then shrugged and knocked three times. “Cap’n?” the elementalist announced with resignation. “You’ve a visitor.”

“At this hour? Who in the Mists . . .?” Cobiah heard the scrape of a chair, followed by the sound of bare feet on deck boards. Isaye opened the door.

She wore her leather pants and white shirt, as she had in the council chambers, but now her hair was unbound, spilling down past her shoulders in dark mahogany waves. Isaye wrinkled her nose and narrowed her green-gold eyes. “Cobiah? Forgot where you docked your ship, did you?” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the arch of the doorway and looked him up and down.

“No. I . . . Look, Isaye . . .” Suddenly awkward, Cobiah glanced over at Verahd.

The slender elementalist raised an eyebrow, tapping his long, birdlike fingers atop the lantern’s hood. “Oh,
fine
.” Verahd sighed again and tucked long strands of reddish hair behind his ear. “I’ll check on the forecastle. You two behave, or I’ll turn into a tornado and hurl you both into the sea.” He eyed Cobiah with skepticism and lowered the lantern, muttering as he walked away.

Isaye was still staring at him, a bemused quirk twisting her full lips. “Well?” she said blankly. “You didn’t come all this way just to stare at me, did you?”

“No.” Cobiah blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Look, Isaye, I wanted to talk to you about the council meeting today.”

“Talk to me?”

“Apologize,” he added smoothly. “I want to apologize.”

“Hmph.” She stepped to the side and walked back into the cabin, leaving the door open for him to follow. “Come in out of the wind, Cobiah Marriner.”

The main room of the captain’s quarters on the
Nomad
was spacious, not unlike his aboard the
Pride
, with
well-scrubbed floors and shining brass ornaments. But that was where the likeness ended. Cobiah’s quarters were rambunctious, filled with the trinkets and trophies of a life raiding ships at sea. Isaye’s were sparse and businesslike. They were tidy, if lavish, with colored window glass in diamonds of yellow, red, and blue. Light came from covered wall sconces that smelled of burning oil. There was a table with a stack of maps and charts, a desk that had been bolted to the floor, and several chairs shod in heavy lead to keep them standing when the ship tossed on the waves. A tall, three-part Canthan screen blocked Cobiah’s view of the bed, but he caught a glimpse of tightly tucked sheets beneath a scarlet-and-gold coverlet. A wardrobe stood in the same area, its doors closed and latched to keep its contents safe even in a storm. Cobiah smiled to see his hat and a book he’d been reading still on her nightstand, right where he’d forgotten them before she left port three weeks ago.

Isaye crossed to the captain’s desk and poured two glasses of whiskey. She kept one in her hand and set the other on the table with a thump. Choosing the large padded chair near the desk, Isaye settled down, pulling her bare feet underneath her legs. She gazed curiously at her visitor. “If you’re here to start an argument, it’s going to be a short one.” Isaye tapped the side of her glass with her fingers. “I’m tired, Cobiah, and I don’t have enough whiskey to entertain myself while you rant.”