Free The Fox by Sherwood Smith Page A

open.
    “But it’ll be a long cruise before you get on land, or any pay to spend on sex.” Haw, haw, and two laughers joined in from behind. Tau felt relieved, then angry at himself. Being up all night was no excuse for not staying alert.
    “Uh?” Inda asked, right on cue.
    The second mate thought derisively, This rockhead was a commander? “It’s your snore-watch, Stupid, which you better get. You’ll be replacing the standing rigging on the sloop tomorrow, and you better not be asleep at the job.” He swaggered away, the chimes in his swinging braids tinkling sweetly.
    Inda slouched below. The crew quarters were empty, as often happened directly after a battle. Walic did not like idle crew. The first mate had taken a party to repair and sail the prize, leaving the low forepeak crew quarters empty. Inda whirled into the modified knife drill that he and Dun had developed out of the precise drills used by the women in the knife style they called Odni back home. Not that he had his knives. Those had been taken before he woke on this soul-sucking ship; he had no idea who had them.
    His mind cut free, remembering Dun, a coastal Iascan coming aboard as a carpenter’s mate—just happened to know some fighting—boarder-repel drills on the Pim Ryala trader—blond like Marlovans but taller than they usually were—who was he really?—last fight, he seemed not only skilled, he fought like the king’s Runners at home—defensive fighting—offensive fighting—women kept Odni a secret—
    Hadand, his sister, saying We have to be able to strike once —the long drills up behind the pleasure house at Freedom Island—Dun never speaking—refinements—dead, dead.
    Kodl dead. Like Dogpiss.
    As he had since he was eleven years old, when the pain was too great, he shoved it all away, behind the mental wall between the past and the present. A wall that needed to be stronger and higher, to keep grief and pain inside, where it couldn’t escape.
    Finished, he wiped his face on his sleeve and dropped into his bunk, staring up at the bulkheads, fighting sleep— imagining that wall going up, stone by stone, to hold as long as possible against the invading dreams.
    Tau leaned tiredly on the rail, considering Inda’s words— those said and those unsaid. He had no duties outside of pleasing the captain’s favorite—and the captain—but he had no place to sleep other than in the captain’s cabin, either in the bed or on the deck as Walic and Coco chose. The thought of going down below where those two lay in summer-sweaty sleep was repellent; they’d demand his attention soon enough if nothing else was going on.
    He beat impatiently at his hair, already dry, and tangling in his elbows, the rigging, and whatever else it could catch in as it was played with by the wind. He hated wearing it down. It was a nuisance—no. Concentrate. He’d worn it down before and thought nothing of it.
    The hatred was because it was a constant reminder of Coco.
    He drifted along the rail, watching everyone for a chance to slip down below unnoticed.
    The lookout overhead cried, “Sail ho!”
    Out came the glasses, crew at sail and rope, until the lookout shouted down to the deck, “Black leaf fores’l!”
    “That’ll be Eflis o’ the Sable, ” someone observed.
    “She’s dipping sail!”
    Comment whisked round the ship: that meant news. Tau sighed, knowing his duty, and ran back to the cabin as the captain bellowed, “Reduce sail.”
    Pirate etiquette, such as it was, mandated that the captain of the smaller ship or fleet came aboard the larger; the Sable had more ships, but her fleet was mostly fast, small schooners. Walic had three capital ships—he signaled the invitation and Sable signaled back an acceptance. Either his captain acknowledged Walic’s superior strength or she had news that she was eager to impart.
    When the tall, fair-haired young captain of the Sable swaggered on deck, Tau was in his place, kneeling beside the pillows