donât need them. See that bolt of skin?â Livion says. A sailor carries one to the captainâs cabin. âItâs worth more than the Comber . You donât think that sailor would flay you as well if you do something to take it away?â
âYouâre a good man, Livion,â Tuse says. âI like serving under you. But what youâre doing here, itâll destroy you. The rotâs already setting in.â
Livion keeps all expression from his face. He wants to admit heâs only saying what he imagines Solet would say, but that would prove Tuseâs point. Instead he says, âAre you with us? Or him?â
Tuse slumps into his rowersâ deck posture. âMy chances are better with you. But hereâs my price: We give him the captainâs chance. We let the sea decide.â
âAnd confirm this was a mutiny,â Livion says, ânot a legal action.â
âOnly if he gets back,â Tuse says, âand thatâs the chance we take. Weâll say he was lost overboard saving Beale. A heroâs end. Whoâs to complain that it was improper? And our hands are clean.â He can see this appeals to Livion.
Livion says, âWhat about your rowers? Can we count on them?â
âI think so,â Tuse says. âTheyâll need the money soon. The guild isfinished. Soon the only rowers will be prisoners. Theyâre half as effective as brothers, but half the cost. And you can whip them.â
âWill they keep quiet?â Livion says.
âAnd risk the gibbet?â Tuse says. âSure. But the poth wonât.â
On the rowersâ deck the poth wishes she had another bottle of wine and a sharper saw. Sheâs treated those who needed her help the most, and now she can consider those she thought would live regardless. She starts with a brother slumped over his oar.
Sleep is usually the best medicine. Nonetheless, Everlyn clears her throat. He doesnât stir. Everlyn pats his shoulder. He topples slightly. She puts two fingers on his neck. Itâs warm and wet and without a pulse. She raises his head. His eyes are wide and red; his lips and nostrils covered with sizzling foam the color of fire powder. Everlyn lowers his head then lowers herself to the edge of his bench.
When she looks up, Tuse is standing over her. âLivionâs waiting to see you.â
âI know,â she says. She stands up, her chin thrust at his chest. He slides aside to let her get to the ladder. âNo,â she says, and heads forward again. âLet him wait. These men shouldnât have to any longer.â
As she passes him, Tuse looks at the slumped-over rower. âThis one all right?â
âHe got the job done,â she says. So did I.
7
----
Livion orders Jeryon brought up and the dragon cut loose. Theyâve rendered all they can, stuffing the captainâs cabin with bones, bolts of skin, and sheets of wing membrane. The dragonâs head has been carefully packed to ensure the phlogiston doesnât escape, and so that itcould later be made into a trophy. Crates stacked on deck are moved to the hold as soon as Jeryon emerges. Some people prize dragon meat as an aphrodisiac, but little could be taken that wasnât ruined by the water, a dozen astounded sharks, the sandals of the renderers, and that bit which is being cooked over a brazier by the foredeck.
âTastes like chicken,â Beale says.
â Fire chicken,â Topp says.
The rest of the carcass sinks quickly. The sharks follow it, and by the time Jeryon is marched the length of the ship past piles of stray flesh to the stern deck, the sea is empty but for the dinghy, now tied to the starboard rail.
Jeryon surveys the Comber and his crew without comment. He sees the poth in the rowersâ deck, hurrying aft. He says nothing to her either.
The mates stand together by the unmanned steering oar. The poth climbs up behind Jeryon and his