Tempest (11 page)

“Colm Weathercliff.”

“Oh?” His expression brightened for a moment. “Of the Caresfall Weathercliffs?”

“I don't rightly know,” Colm said.

“Ah, well. You must have the touch, lad, because this old man hasn't brought me a catch like this since his grandson buggered off and joined the army.”

“Don't mention that traitor to me,” Lew grumbled. “Are you going to take these fish off my hands, then? Plenty of other fishmongers along the docks who'd pay plenty for a catch like this.”

Carroll raised his hands peaceably. “I'll take 'em, I'll take 'em. Help me get 'em onto the scale.”

In the end, they brought in a little over two hundred and fifty pounds worth of fish. Carroll was attracting attention with the first ones he laid out before he'd even finished paying Lew and Colm, and he was in a good mood because of it.

“Come to me first,” he exhorted them as he counted silver and copper coins into Lew's hand. “You get a catch like that, and I'll take it, count on it.”

“Dancers?” a passing woman exclaimed, heading over to take a closer look. “Did I hear that you have dancers here? Already?”

“Lovely and fresh, pulled from the sea this very morning,” Carroll said, turning into a salesman again and ignoring them. They drove the barrows back down to the
Serpent's Tail
, Lew almost cackling with glee the whole way there.

“Lovely,” he chuckled. “Just lovely. Oh, that bastard said I'd never bring in a good load again. Who's paying me now! Well done, lad,” he said magnanimously to Colm. “Let's work that magic again tomorrow, eh? You'll bring in plenty of silver for your aunt.”

“It's not magic,” Colm cautioned, remembering what Fergus had said about the dangers of such accusations. “It's just a knack.”

“Knack, spell, whatever. Here y'are.” He handed Colm two silver coins and pocketed the rest. “I'll see you tomorrow, same as today.” He turned to leave and Colm caught him by the sleeve.

“Not until you've given me my fair share.”

“It's my boat,” Lew snapped. “You wouldn't have caught any fish at all without it.”

“And you wouldn't have caught any without me,” Colm reminded him. “I found the fish, I set the nets, and I hauled and prepared the catch. You slept, for the most part.”

“I can do as I want on my own boat!”

“Indeed you can. And I can find another boat to work on where I have more help,” Colm replied. “As well as better equipment. We could have caught more today if they hadn't been slipping through the holes in your nets.”

Lew looked dumbstruck. “That catch was plenty large!”

“And it could have been even better.” Colm held out his hand. “Now, do you want to treat fairly with me and keep making money, or do you want to end this partnership now? Because I may be many things, but apprentice isn't one of them, and neither is a fool.”
At least not in this.

Lew scowled. “You've got that old woman's cutthroat ways. Greed is frowned upon by the gods.”

“Exactly,” Colm agreed. He held his hand out, and after a moment, Lew slapped two more silver coins and four coppers into it.

“Fine. But you'd best be able to repeat it, boy, or I'll have you off my boat faster'n you can wink!” He turned and headed down the street in a huff, and Colm stared down at the money in his hand.

In one day, he'd made as much as Desandre had been able to save for him over a span of months. Back in Anneslea, he could have new boots made, two complete new outfits, and still have money left over to completely replace the rigging on the boat. Undoubtedly, the money wouldn't go as far here, but for a first day, it seemed pretty good.

Colm stopped at a cobbler's shop on the way back to the Cove, one of the dozens of places Nichol had pointed out to him as they'd blazed by earlier this week with a brief, “There's a good place if you need new shoes.” He walked in and was ushered onto a stool, where he got his feet measured by a little woman with hands like iron, callused from years of working needles through leather.

“I'll have something for you at the beginning of next week,” she promised him. “One silver in advance, and another when the work's done.”

Boots certainly were more dear here, but Colm figured he could afford it. He gave her a silver, which she bit to be sure of. “Thanks, lad,” she said with a smile. “Where can I send word if they're done before you come back?”

“I'm staying at the Cove,” he told her, putting his old boots back on. “Meggyn Searunner is my aunt.” Well, close enough.

“You're Megg's newcomer! She's been talking about you,” the woman exclaimed. “Colm Weathercliff, yes?”

“That's me.”

“Well, nice to put a face to a name. And such a fair face,” she added slyly, making him blush. “Do tell Megg that Rosie says hello.”

“I will,” Colm promised. He rose to his feet, grabbed the bag that Megg had packed for him that morning—still full as he'd had no time to eat—and headed back to the inn.

The lunch crowd was in full force as he walked in, and Colm put his things away, then went back into the kitchen to help Megg, who was carving up loaves of dark, rich bread.

“Colm! That was a short day,” she noted, beginning to frown. “Did something go wrong? Was Lew drunker than I thought? That man, I should never have sent you out with such a lush—”

“The day went better than I expected,” Colm said reassuringly. He washed his hands in the basin in the corner and joined her at the table. “We're already finished. We got lucky with a school of dancers.”

“Dancers? It's early yet for them. Congratulations, love!” she said. “What a good way to start your work here. But next time bring some back for me, I can cook them up and offer them as a specialty.”

“I'll do that,” he promised her before taking up another loaf and helping her fill the bread baskets.

Nichol had a day watch with the Sea Guard, and when he learned of Colm's success upon his return, he laughed and said, “Wonderful! If I can't work my way into the navy, then you can buy me a commission once you're wealthy.”

Megg smacked his arm, but all Colm said was “I would if I could.” He meant it too. Most of all, he wanted for the people in his life to be happy, and for Nichol that meant getting into the navy, even though it would necessarily take him away from Colm.

That night as they got ready for bed, Nichol regaled Colm about the excitement that day, which was that the largest of the ships of war were returning to port after finishing training exercises in the Inisfadda islands. They would drop off all unnecessary personnel, stock up on supplies and men and head back out to sea to make the first moves aimed at gaining a foothold on the Garnet Isles.

“That means Jaime will be back soon,” Nichol said, his excitement plain. “Jaime Windlove—you heard the fisherman mention him the other day, remember? His uncle is a captain and lets him accompany the ship on peacetime maneuvers to learn his way around the ship, but Jaime hasn't yet gotten the call for official training. It's only a matter of time before he's awarded his commission, though, and when he does, he'll be allowed to recommend another for service as well. And that will be me. It has to be me,” Nichol added a bit more softly. “Someone's got to be there to look after Jaime. You think I'm a menace? I've got nothing on him.” Nichol sounded very admiring of the fact. “I hope you like him. I want you to like him. You're my two best mates.”

“I'm sure I'll like him,” Colm said, but inside, he wasn't at all sure of that. He would try, but Colm knew that he wasn't a very likeable person himself, too quiet and insular to ever be popular. It was more likely that Jaime would dislike Colm and Colm in turn wouldn't see him much, so his liking or not liking the other man was irrelevant. Except to Nichol, it seemed. Colm held on to the fact that Nichol had just called him one of his best mates, and rolled over to go to sleep.

“Colm,” Nichol said hesitantly a moment later.

“Hmm?”

“Did you…” He sighed. “Just, sleep well, all right?”

“You too,” Colm murmured. He was exhausted from the morning's work, and too tired to let his curiosity over what Nichol had been about to say keep him from nodding off.

Chapter Nine

Twelve days later, Colm finally met Jaime Windlove, fresh off the ship after three months at sea with his uncle. He burst through the front door of the Cove that evening like a sudden typhoon, calling raucously for food and drink and appropriating the window table with an ease of expectation that surprised Colm.

Even more surprising was the fact that the two men sitting there gave the table up without a word, just nodding to the young man and his entourage as they got up, one of them tipping his hat and murmuring, “Welcome back, Master Windlove.” The young man inclined his head briefly before ignoring the other man altogether, yelling for Nichol.

“I know you're here somewhere, you bonny bastard,” he laughed, and his laugh was glorious, the same sort of bright, infectious sound that Nichol had, only deeper, more grown. Nichol was eighteen, two years younger than Colm, and his youth still clung to him with tenacity, softening the lines of his face and the cut of his muscles. Jaime Windlove was either older or taking great pains to appear that way, because his strawberry-blond hair was slicked back and tied in a queue at the nape of his neck, and he wore a fine woolen half-cloak around his shoulders, draped to accentuate their broadness. He looked like a military officer, a figure of authority, and obviously, his authority wasn't all imagined.

Colm, who was helping at the bar that evening, turned to Vernon and asked softly, “That's Jaime Windlove?” just to confirm. Vernon knocked once, then began filling tankards for them. None of the small beer for this group either. Vernon poured from the cask of dark brown ale, the finest drink in the inn, and to each added a shot of the vile peppery spirits that Colm disliked so much.

A moment later, Nichol burst out of the kitchen, heading straight for Jaime with a shout of glee. Jaime stood to meet him, and they embraced, laughing and clapping each other on the back. “When did you get in?” Nichol demanded. “I've been looking for you every day. I thought you must have fallen over the side!”

“What kind of clumsy oaf do you take me for, then?” Jaime replied with a grin. “No, I persuaded my uncle to send me back on the last of them, the
Peregrine
, so I could spend as much time as possible with the fleet. I got to know the captain rather well, and if all goes well, I'll have a berth with his crew by the end of the summer.”

“Will you?” Nichol breathed. “That's fantastic. Jaime…Jaime, who…”

“As though you even need to ask,” Jaime teased. “Now sit, tell me all the things I've missed since I've been gone. These boys didn't have much of interest to report.” He gestured to the other two young men, dressed nicely but not with quite the sense of style that Jaime displayed. Neither of the men looked particularly pleased to be there, but they put on a decent face for Nichol.

“Aye, we've not seen each other outside changing shifts for the Sea Guard,” Nichol said. “Although there's almost as little to report dockside as there is in Blake and Ollie's posh part of town,” he added with a little smile. “The seas have been sadly calm, not a thing amiss, nothing big breaking the water apart from a pod of whales. Oh! I do have a new friend to introduce. Colm!” he called toward the bar. “Come and meet Jaime and the lads!”

Vernon tapped the tray that the four full tankards rested on meaningfully, and Colm brought it with him as he made his way through the press to Jaime's table. Tonight the taproom was packed, and Colm was grateful that his height allowed him to avoid any bumps and jostles against the tray he carried.

“What?” Jaime said as Colm drew close. “Your friend is the new barman?”

“This is my cousin, Colm Weathercliff,” Nichol explained, taking the tankards from the tray and distributing them around the table.

“Of the Caresfall Weathercliffs?”

“No,” Colm said. He was getting tired of that meaningless comparison.

“He just arrived from the mountains, and he's already getting a reputation as the best fisherman on these docks,” Nichol boasted, bumping Colm's hip with his.

“Wait,” Blake said, squinting for a moment as he looked at Colm. “Are you the one who's been bringing in catches of diving dancers for the past few weeks?” Colm nodded, a bit uneasy at the sudden scrutiny. “My father mentioned you. He says Gullfoot's lucky to have you. That old drunk's been living high since you started with him.”

“A fisherman,” Jaime said, a little smile playing around his lips. “Well, that is a fine thing to be. Welcome to Caithmor, Colm Weathercliff.” He said it with a certain gravitas, as though he were speaking for all the city when he welcomed Colm in. Perhaps he felt he was.

“Thank you,” Colm said politely, shaking Jaime's hand. His palm bore few signs of extensive rope work or ship handling, but perhaps his uncle hadn't wanted to put him to work when he was there in an unofficial capacity. “I've heard much about you.”

“Have you, then?” Jaime smirked at Nichol. “Don't believe a word this one tells you. It's all lies.”

“Aye, especially the parts about you being dashing and heroic,” Nichol retorted, and the four of them laughed. Colm picked up the tray and turned to go.

“No, wait!” Nichol caught him by the arm. “Stay a moment. You've barely been introduced.”

“Clearly, he's got work to do,” Ollie drawled.

“Aye, picking up your slack,” Jaime said. Nichol looked momentarily stricken.

“Oh, I left Gran in the kitchen—”

“I'll take care of it,” Colm told him. “Stay. Vernon doesn't really need me at the bar. I can work in the back. I'll have food brought out presently.”

“Thank you,” Nichol said sincerely, and that made it worth it for Colm.

As he headed back into the kitchen, Colm heard Jaime remark, “He's a strange, sallow creature, isn't he, Nicky? Be honest, how do you get on with him?” Colm was thankfully out of earshot before he could hear Nichol's reply.

“Jaime's back, then,” Megg said as soon as she caught sight of Colm. He nodded. “Well, Nichol will be happy. Are they eating?”

“Yes. There are three of them,” Colm added, and he was surprised when Megg snorted suddenly.

“Of course there are. Jaime was a good child—his mama grew up just down the way from here, and a truly lovely lass she was—but he's not had to work for much in his life, I'm afraid. Those other boys who tag along behind them, they're the sons of merchants, from fairly well-off families. They didn't bother to set foot in here all spring, didn't give a whit for how Nichol was faring beyond getting him to cover their shifts in the Sea Guard, and now that Jaime's back, they've returned to my inn, expecting to eat my food and drink my ale for free.”

“They don't pay to eat here?” Colm asked with a frown.

“Oh, Jaime's father settles up the tab at the end of every month. Karlson Windlove is a magistrate, and he's a fair man, I'll give him that.” Megg pressed her lips tightly shut, as though actively keeping herself from saying any more, and Colm didn't press. He just took over Nichol's carving station, laying slices of roast duck on the rows of plates spread out before him. Idra and the other servers grabbed them up almost faster than Colm could prepare them, and the next few hours were blurs of activity, too busy to allow much time to think.

That night, Colm went to sleep alone, which didn't surprise him, but he was surprised to be woken up by Nichol for the first time when the younger man ran into Colm's feet as he staggered into the room in the dark hours of the morning.

“Sorry!” he apologized, his voice too loud to be called a whisper but obviously trying for that. “I'm sorry, shit, did I break your foot?”

“Not even close,” Colm said, sitting up so he could get a better look at Nichol. He was leaning against the door and swaying forward, looking just moments from falling down altogether. “Don't move,” Colm cautioned him, pushing off his blanket and getting to his feet. “Let me help you.”

“You don' need to,” Nichol informed him, the slur of his words belying their meaning. “'M fine.”

“You're drunk,” Colm said, bending so that he could get an arm beneath Nichol's shoulders and help him to his cot. He sat him down, and Nichol looked at Colm blearily, then laughed.

“You look pretty in this light.”

Colm chuckled as he bent and got to work untying Nichol's boots. “You mean I look best in darkness?”

“There's light here,” Nichol informed him. “'S moonlight, it's…'s romantic, right? Blake and Ollie say the girls think it's romantic. They talk to them about moonlight and starlight and, and…what…oh, candlelight! That's romantic too.”

“And what kind of light does Jaime favor?” Colm asked as he put the boots beneath the cot. Gods, they were filthy. Nichol would have to clean them tomorrow.

Nichol grinned. “Daylight shining on white sails and blue seas, he says. The girls don't find that as…as romantic. But he doesn't care.”

“I suppose he doesn't have to work hard to impress girls,” Colm said, pushing Nichol back onto the thin mattress. He lay down easily enough but forgot to lift up his legs and, leaving them dangling over the side, was a knotted muscle waiting to happen, so Colm picked them up for him, resettling them with ease.

“Doesn't work at it at all,” Nichol said, his voice breaking at the end as he yawned widely. “He thinks ships are more beautiful than girls…” He yawned again.

“Rest,” Colm told him, settling back down on his pallet.

“I can't. I have to ask you something,” Nichol said seriously, rolling onto his side so that he could look at Colm. “It's important.”

“Ask me, then.”

“Did you like him?”

There was no need to specify who Nichol was referring to. “He seems to be a good friend to you,” Colm said, almost honestly. “I like that about him.”

Nichol frowned. “But you don't
like
him?”

“I don't really know him yet.”

“But you will,” Nichol said confidently. “And when you do, you'll like him. Just as he'll like you.” Which meant that Jaime didn't like Colm yet either, but that was no surprise. If Nichol was waiting for that day, Colm had a feeling he'd be disappointed.

Fortunately, no reply seemed necessary, since Nichol fell asleep between one instant and the next. Colm lay on his blankets for a while, trying to recover the last few hours he'd hoped to have before getting up to work, but it was no use. When he was drunk, Nichol snored terribly, and after a while, Colm got himself together and left.

Despite his early arrival at the
Serpent's Tail
, Lew beat him to it. Or perhaps he'd never left it. The man was laid out on his nets, another drunkard in the night. Colm rolled his eyes. He'd yet to notice anything good that came from being intoxicated, especially when a useless stupor ended up being the result.

Well, he'd head out anyway. There was no sense in wasting time, and Lew would probably just sleep through it. Colm untied the boat and unfurled the headsail, and the little bit of nighttime breeze fluttering over the docks pulled them gently from their berth and out to sea.

It wasn't as cool out as Colm had been expecting. Spring was giving way to summer, and it showed. The seas were lively, those types of fish that favored warmer waters making their way up the coast, while those that preferred it cool were slow to leave. Colm let them continue on at a slow pace for a while, watching the sky over the cliffs surrounding Caithmor become navy, then purple, then the silvery-gold that heralded the dawn. His hand lay forgotten in the water as he watched the brilliant display, until a sharp pair of teeth nipped at it.

“Ouch!” He pulled his hand back and glared at the seal, which barked at him. “That was uncalled for,” Colm told it, resisting the urge to snap right back. The seal had come to bother him almost every day he'd been on the water, stealing fish from the net and chewing through lines here and there. It didn't do enough damage to hurt their trade, really, just enough to leave Colm feeling harried, which today of all days he didn't need. He scrunched his face up tight and controlled a sudden, inexplicable urge to scream.

“Wossa matter w'ye, eh?”

Colm's eyes shot open to see Lew, leaning back on his hands but sitting upright and peering at him. “Nothing,” he said.

“On the water already, are we?” Lew grumbled. “Can't leave a man to sleep it off alone…”

“Not when you're sleeping interrupts our business.”

“All business, all the time,” Lew said, as though making money weren't the sole reason he let Colm onto his boat in the first place. “'S'no way to live, boy. Now shove over. I have to piss.” He heaved himself to his feet and came over to brace himself against the tiller, which Colm gladly gave up in favor of more distance from the smells of booze and Lew's unwashed body.

“Ahh, that's better,” Lew grunted once he was done. He felt around for the canteen of water he always kept on board—one of his sole wise precautions, in Colm's opinion—and drank deeply. “My mouth was foul as a week-old fish left in the sun,” he said, then settled down at the tiller. “Now. Where're we headed today, boy?”

Colm evaluated the quivers of the sea, the knots of movement and the flow of the current. “There's a lot of activity farther north,” he remarked. “Another hour's worth of sailing or so, and we should be in the midst of it.”

“Oh no,” Lew said with a vehemence that surprised Colm. “No, no, boy. Another hour north and we'll be too close to Cairn Rock, and you won't get me within a seabird's sight of that cursed place.”

“What's wrong with Cairn Rock?” Colm asked, but Lew just shook his head.

“Pick another way,” he said grimly. After a moment, Colm pointed northwest instead, far enough, of course, from whatever Lew seemed to fear that he accepted it. They didn't speak again, not until they'd found a good spot and set the nets, angling the lowered mainsail to give them some shade from the now-vibrant sun.