Ruler of Naught by Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge Read Free Book Online Page A

ours and Lokri is afraid of him. She laughed
again, but said nothing out loud.
    (Vilarian Negus.) Lokri’s subvocalization was
reflective.
    (Done.) Marim said promptly. (Loser pays for
both.)
    She pushed away from the bulkhead, nudging Lokri to follow. (Vi’ya
drop any hints to you about what she plans to do with our captive nicks?)
    (Nothing.) Lokri lifted a shoulder in a shrug. (She’ll
decide that when we get back to Dis, I expect.)
    ( She only mentioned the Dol’jharians and the nicks. She
coulda also said that half the Rift Sodality’s gonna be after us, if they find
out where we were and who we got.)
    (Life might get interesting,) Lokri agreed.
    He hated talking about the future, even plans. Marim knew
that. (Do you think we might—) she began.
    Lokri shook his head. (I never think.) His hand
dropped from his wrist and he turned off toward the ladder down to the engine
room. Marim watched him disappear, then sprinted down the corridor to the
dispensary, her bare feet soundless on the deck plates. The hatch was open.
    Montrose was still there, looming over his console as
he checked readings on the wall console outside the old man’s berth. Music was
playing, a bright and complicated melody, indicating he was there to stay for a
time. That had to mean Schoolboy was in charge of the meals.
    At the other end of the room all the berth doors were closed
now, the gee warning still blinking above them.
    When Marim stepped inside, the surgeon’s grizzled, ugly face
swung toward her, thick brows rising in question.
    Marim grinned at him. “Is Ivard able to have visitors?”
    Montrose’s brow beetled in surprise. “Might cheer him some.”
    Marim winced. “Is he missing Greywing pretty bad?”
    “He’s tranked.” Montrose sat back, his gaze assessing.
“Though ordinarily I would never recommend a wounded dog as therapy, he seems
to find Gray’s presence comforting.”
    Marim shuddered as she crossed to the berth where the
youngest crew member of the Telvarna lay. She sensed Montrose’s surprise
turning to curiosity, so she nodded toward the next door. “How’s the old man?”
    “He’ll live.”
    Marim stepped over the gee stripe and raised her hand to the
door control.
    “Don’t upset him,” Montrose warned, not looking up.
    “I won’t,” Marim said. “I came to cheer him. Promise!” She hit
the tab, waiting impatiently through the gee-shift before the door opened.
    The space inside was cramped, despite the fact that the two
berths were still connected. The two beds had been reconfigured into a single
larger one. Ivard lay on his unwounded side, one arm lying across the quiet dog.
Marim could see stitches livid against shaved patches of skin on the animal’s
flank. The animal opened its eyes and tracked Marim as she came around the bed,
and the ear tips flattened.
    “I’m a friend,” Marim cooed.
    Ivard made low, soothing noises to the dog, whose tail
stirred. The dog let out a snorting breath and closed its eyes. At least the
other dog wasn’t there as well. The berth already smelled of dog, though the
tianqi was set on high.
    Marim leaned against the door frame and studied the boy. He
was certainly ugly, with his frowzy red hair, pale, blotchy skin dotted with
freckles, and weak, watery eyes. Though he was barely old enough to shave, his
wound had left him drawn and pinched-looking, like a little old man. The
bandage across back and shoulder was clean, but Marim was sure she whiffed the
sweet-sick smell of burnt flesh as well as dog hair.
    With a glance at the dog, whose eyes were closed, she put
out a finger and brushed it lightly along the inside of Ivard’s arm.
    His eyelids lifted, and she watched his pupils widen. She
gave him her friendliest smile. “You’re looking a lot better, Firehead. Those
chatzers aim with their nackers, eh?”
    Ivard breathed a soft laugh, then winced.
    She laid a hand on his skinny ribs and brushed it slowly up to
his cheek. “Don’t make it worse. We’ll