Free The Fox by Sherwood Smith Page B

in the cabin, fresh coffee in a silver urn. He was shirtless, his brown skin covered only by his golden cloak of hair, because Coco liked him to be so. The stunned, hungry first glance of the visiting captain made it clear that she had originated in lands north of the strait where men as well as women hid their nipples.
    Coco gloated. Sex was not only her skill, but her weapon.
    “What news?” Walic asked.
    Eflis glanced once more at Tau, then turned her attention away. So Coco had managed to find some queen’s lap-dog. And was brandishing him for some typically twisty reason.
    “Ramis One-Eye,” she said. “Took out Chaul of the Widowmaker ’s entire fleet, three to six.”
    Everybody considered that: three ships to six. And those six no mere privateer or haphazard pirates: they were Brotherhood of Blood—victorious in vicious fights.
    The stories about Ramis were strange. Threatening even to pirates. He was called a pirate yet so far no one had talked of raids on harbors or navies or traders—always on other pirates. No one knew to whom he owed allegiance.
    And there were worse rumors.
    Walic drank to hide the thrill of fear that tightened his guts, lowered his cup, and grunted. “ You saw it? Or is that the usual bloat of fourthhand news?”
    “I saw the hulks burning on the horizon. A half day more and we woulda been in it,” she replied. “Just off the north end of Chwahirsland.”
    Walic smirked. As did everyone who wanted to be invited into the Brotherhood fleet, he obsessively learned the names and stations of all the Brotherhood command groups. “That breaks up the last of the eastern arm, then.”
    Eflis smiled, her light blue eyes quite aware. “It opens a hole in the fleet, you mean.”
    Walic laughed at the idea that Eflis thought herself competition for him. It was possible she could beat him out, if she managed to pull off a successful raid on a harbor and take the town or defeat a big royal convoy. But she wouldn’t, even if her fleet was larger than his. The only capital ships she showed any interest in were Khanerenth navy—and they traveled in packs too large for her ragtag fleet of small craft to attack successfully.
    “They say the captains were thrust into Nightland, right on the Knife ’s deck, before all eyes. Emis Chaul first.”
    Nightland. The child’s euphemism for Norsunder.
    Coco snorted. “Did you see that?”
    “No. But I believe it.” Eflis glanced Tau’s way again as he knelt at the side of Coco’s chair, clad only in cotton trousers, his head bent, his attention on stirring cream and spice into the coffee as Coco ran her fingers through his hair. She hoped Coco would give her a tumble with that beautiful creature, and cast a look Coco’s way to see her smirking as she braided a silver chime into those golden locks. He was there for display, then. A power gesture. Eflis snorted softly.
    “Why?” Walic asked, not showing how much the idea bothered him. Oh, he knew Norsunder existed, and if you wanted to live forever, you eventually sought it out and bargained—from a strong position.
    The stories about those from Norsunder coming after you were rarer, and those stories that always seemed to include soul-eaters. But they were just stories, from centuries ago. It didn’t happen now; it was all talk.
    Coco’s thoughts were sailing down a similar wind, he could see. She tinkled a chime on her palm. “Some baby-tender ‘saw’ it, no doubt. We all heard it often enough when we were little: ‘If you’re bad, Norsunder will take you and eat your soul.’ Except it never actually happens.”
    Eflis had meant to bargain with firsthand information from witnesses. As she sat there drinking their coffee she decided that she could never stomach Walic lording over her, or even worse, that stupid bawdy-house rat.
    So she shrugged. “That’s what they said.”
    Walic laughed, relaxing. Nothing firsthand. There were no real soul-eaters. Death he could deal out and meant to