Free The Broken Blade by Anna Thayer

breath, Eamon took it and read. First horror, then grief, overcame him.
    Ostler, Ford, Smith, Barde, Yarrow. He knew every one of the dead ensigns.
    Eamon blinked hard. The names on the list didn’t change.
    â€œHas Captain Waite been advised of this?” he managed at last.
    â€œNot yet, my lord,” Longroad answered.
    â€œThen send word to him. The West has lost fine men this day.” Tears welled in his eyes as he said it.
    Cathair peered over his shoulder at the names and clucked his tongue.
    â€œI am quite in agreement, my lord,” he said. “They were all good men.” The Hand looked across at Longroad. “I am sure that you did your best, captain, to save them.”
    Longroad nodded. “My men and I did everything that we could, Lord Cathair.”
    â€œGood merchant, did your crew take any hurt?” Cathair asked.
    â€œNo, Lord Cathair,” the merchant answered.
    â€œWell,” Cathair answered, offering Eamon a smile. “That, at least, is fortunate.”
    Eamon scarcely heard him, for his sight was drawn by a pile of bodies growing at the quayside. He recognized Ostler’s pale, broken face among them. At the quay’s steps, men worked to bring another mangled body up from the water. Eamon dared not try to recognize it, for he felt sure that he would.
    The men laid the body with the others.
    Cadet Manners was among the men performing the grisly task of clearing the wreckage. The cadet’s eyes were red; his arms bore cuts and scars, and he was drenched with foul water.
    Manners bowed once to Eamon and went back to the murky waters.
    â€œGood men,” Eamon whispered.
    â€œI’m sorry, my lord,” Cathair’s voice slithered into his ear. “I was being inattentive, for which I crave your pardon. Did you say something?”
    Eamon looked once at him and then back to the list of the dead in his hands.
    â€œNo, Lord Cathair,” he answered. But as he read again, his heart grew cold.
    â€œGood men”: it was the name by which his old cadets, and the many men whom he had saved from the Right Hand’s decimation, had called themselves. They had taken that name because a “Goodman” had redeemed them.
    As he looked at the list, Eamon realized that every man upon it had been one of them.
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    The following days passed as a torturous nightmare, one punctuated by breakfasts, papers, and visits to the four Handquarters. Eamon was never left alone and even when he slept – which became more and more infrequent – he felt as though the Master watched, and caressed, him.
    The repairs of the port were an ongoing nuisance. Because governance of the port fell outside the jurisdiction of any one quarter, it fell to Eamon to oversee the repairs. Three days after the accident, when the repairs were well underway, Eamon made a visit to the East Quarter Crown Office. He sought news regarding the survivors of the families evicted from the East Quarter.
    Rose was there. He greeted Eamon in the hall.
    â€œMy lord,” he said, bowing low. “It is good to see you once again. How fare you?”
    â€œWell,” Eamon answered, though he felt shaken and hounded. “Yourself?”
    â€œWell, my lord.” His pale face gainsaid him.
    â€œI am pleased to hear it,” Eamon replied. “How is the quarter’s reconstruction work proceeding?”
    â€œWell, my lord, well, but…” He faltered and bit down hard on his lip.
    Eamon frowned at him. “Is something the matter, Mr Rose?”
    â€œYes… No…” Rose wrung his hands in his ample sleeves. “Some adjustments have been made to your list,” he blurted.
    â€œAdjustments?” Eamon repeated. “What kind of adjustments?”
    â€œWhen I said ‘some’, my lord… you must forgive me. I would have done better to say that your list has been altered … In truth,” Rose finished at last, “the