Free Crossed Blades by Kelly McCullough Page B

room for me to stretch out beside her like I had so many times before.
    I looked up at the shadow tiger keeping watch on the wall above Jax’s head. Sshayar’s subtle stripes just barely showed in the red glow of the thieveslamp. I knew she was looking back at me, but not even a Blade can read the expression on a shadow’s face, so I didn’t know what she was thinking. I reached for the bottle and took another deep drink. This one I felt all the way down to my toes, which was good. I needed it to get me to put my foot on that first step. But it wasn’t quite enough for me to take the rest of that short walk.
    If it weren’t for the fact that I’d probably drown if I stayed out there, I don’t think all the whiskey in the world would have put me in bed with Jax again, even if it was only for sleeping. I raised the bottle again, then paused with it against my lips as I noticed the shadowy dragon take a spot on the wall beside the tiger. I looked into the place where his eyes would have been, for several long seconds, then raised one brow in question. I knew I couldn’t trust my judgment on the booze, so I left it up to him.
    Triss looked down at Jax, then back at me, and finally he nodded ever so slightly, though I could see it cost him.
    I took another drink.

5
    I ntentions are ice. Results are diamonds. Both can be hard and cold or sparkle and shine, but intentions only matter as long as the heat doesn’t melt them away to nothing. Results can’t be gotten rid of half so easily. You can split them or polish them, even burn them in a hot enough fire, but you have to work if you want to change them.
    Waking up with your ex and a hangover when you’d only intended to have a quiet conversation with her will bring that point home with stunning clarity. More so if you wake up wedged into a tightly enclosed space the gods have decided to use as a dice box. At least, that was how it felt, between the way the world had started to roll and pitch and the stuffiness of the air. Things had gone completely dark back when I closed the thieveslamp, so my eyes were useless unless I dug it out again. The heavy smells of tea and sweat and old whiskey in the air made me long for a fresh breeze.
    Triss, how long have I been out? And what the hell is going on?
    Maybe four hours. The storm’s still hammering us. If anything it’s gotten worse. We’re getting serious waves now.
    I hope Faran made it out of the river all right.
There was nothing I could do about it now or anytime soon, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
    I’m sure she’s fine,
sent Triss. But he didn’t
sound
sure.
    I forced the thought aside, burying it in the back of my mind for the time being—mental discipline had always been at least as important as physical for a Blade, and
much
harder. I lifted my left arm—Jax was asleep on my right shoulder—and felt along the wall, finding the hatch closed tight.
    What happened?
I asked Triss.
    When the big waves first started to hit, the captain or somebody opened up the outer ports to let the compartment flood. The back of the ship was practically underwater at the time and it came in so fast Sshayar and I barely had time to get the stairs closed. The seals are tight enough that not even a shadow can pass, but as far as I can tell the ballast tank is still full of water.
    I nodded.
So, for the moment at least, the only way anyone is getting in or out is by cutting through the forward bulkhead into the hold. Not my first choice, but I guess I can live with that. Though it’s a good thing I don’t mind enclosed spaces, and that I’m not prone to motion sickness.
    The hidey-hole I’d hollowed out for us up at the top of the stowed contraband couldn’t have run much more than two feet high by four deep and seven long.
    I took a deep breath by way of a test.
I notice the air isn’t getting any worse.
    The planks between us and the ship’s inner hold are pretty tightly fitted, but the caulking’s only good