Free The Broken Eye by Brent Weeks Page B

onto the deck. It landed in blood. He scowled. “Deal,” he said finally. “I got a few grudges you might help me with. If you can help me take one pirate in particular, I’ll let you go after one battle, on my honor as son of a slattern and a sailor.” He extended his hand, a bit gingerly. That flash of fear comforted Zymun to no end. A man who feared him this much, having barely seen what Zymun could do, wouldn’t attempt treachery soon. Perfect.
    “Who’s this pirate?” Zymun asked.
    “Fancies himself a bit of a cannoneer. Calls himself Cap’n Gunner.”

Chapter 8
    When the Wanderer came in to the pier, Teia was already waiting at her spot on the railing. In addition to the normal crush of sailors and longshoremen and merchants and fishermen and scattered noblemen, the piers of Big Jasper were crammed full of small folk desperate to find out if their loved ones had made it home.
    At the same time, there was a crush of Ruthgari soldiers, loading ships to go join the fight that Teia and her friends were just returning from.
    The ship’s passengers crowded around midships where the plank would be lowered. Teia hopped up on the railing, one hand holding a rigging line to keep her balance. She stepped outside the railing, grabbed the hemp webbing in both hands, and rolled down. It was a brief flash of joy that she even remembered how. Her early lessons had included acrobatics daily, but since she’d started practicing with the Blackguard, there had been none.
    Clinging to the webbing, Teia could already see their pier was lined with people desperate to hear more news. Andross Guile’s flagship was the first of the mangled fleet to make it home. Word of the defeat had already reached the Jaspers by homing pigeon, but the people were hungry for details. The ship came to rest against the pier with a bump. A sailor balanced next to Teia on the webbing grinned at her and hopped off first, running to secure the lines on massive cleats. Teia hopped off a moment later, not able to jump quite so far with her short stature, and plunged into the surging crowd of gossips, friends, and families, and food vendors and wine sellers eager to find those eager to cleanse their palates of hardtack and stale water.
    Being swallowed by an uncaring crowd was an odd relief. Teia was short enough that she disappeared. Her acrobatics and fighting teacher back in Abornea had been only a little taller than Teia, and she’d encouraged her to explore crowds, to get to know their moods, from the angry crowd streaming out of a hippodrome after a horse race where their favorite had lost, to the eager crowd meeting the arriving dancers and menageries of exotic animals for the Odess Sun Day Festivals.
    There was an awareness you could cultivate only in the claws of such a beast. A thousand or ten thousand bodies might move, but you could only be aware of perhaps a dozen immediately around you, especially if you were small. And you had to be most aware of your own movement. There’s a mesh point, a fuzzy line where your movement can be assertive, even rude, without being taken as aggressive. There was a timing: a momentary sharp annoyance could be ignored if you were gone by the time the person you’d jostled hard turned to find you. Teia ducked and pushed and surged and slithered through the bodies, her form fluid, her mind submersed fully in her body.
    Her trainer, Magister Lillyfield, with a body like a young woman’s and her face craggy as the Red Cliffs, had even wanted to take Teia and her master’s daughter to experience a crowd in riot in the Darks, the wretchedly poor Angari ghetto that had persisted for centuries in Odess, but Teia’s master would never let her.
    The familiar beauty of the Chromeria’s seven towers gleaming in the sun brought no joy to Teia today. Teia had nowhere to be. Commander Ironfist had said only to his Blackguards, “Take the day. Tomorrow, dawn at the field, as usual.”
    A restless energy filled Teia. She