Free The Sea Thy Mistress by Elizabeth Bear Page B

through a makeshift barrier into the carnival grounds. All around the market square the creaking machinery of thrill rides whirred; the voices of candy-sellers and barkers boomed. Cahey pretended serenity, but really it all made him want to put his back to a wall.
    Borje was the only moreau Cahey had ever seen bigger than Helios, and as Helios laid his massive, furred fingers against the back of Borje’s bifurcated hoof Cahey wondered that the transformation they had both endured seemed to have wiped out any trace of natural suspicion between predator and prey.
    “This it?” Borje asked, while Helios took a step back to make room for Cahey.
    “The whole wagon,” Cahey said. He dropped a hand on Cathmar’s shoulder when Cath came up beside him, and felt the young man straighten.
    Someone was watching him. Cahey always knew. In this situation, that was no surprise: two big moreaux and a couple of humans standing by a handcart drew attention. But he turned left and right, as if stretching, to see if he could catch a glimpse. No luck.
    Borje folded black-bronze arms, hide shining over forearm muscle. “This isn’t the biggest wagon this year.”
    Cahey grinned. His hand went up reflexively, to cover the missing teeth, and he forced it back down again. Ridiculous vanity. “Good.”
    Ten years before, that had not been the case, but now what passed for Eiledon’s affluent—and even more so, the working poor—turned out with what they could give. Cahey was endlessly surprised by the basic generosity of people, when they were given half a chance and a decent example. He should probably consider himself fortunate that their rottenness, as easily and frequently provoked, never came as a shock.
    “Dad—,” Cathmar said, whatever he’d been about to say interrupted as Helios spun around and roared, “Hold it right there!”
    Cahey whirled, pushing Cathmar behind him. Cathmar went, but Cahey didn’t expect him to stay there. Maybe it would buy him enough time to deal with the threat while Cathmar was making up his mind—
    But there was no threat to deal with. Helios was already finished with it.
    It wasn’t that Cahey had forgotten about Black Silk, precisely—what they were, how inhumanly fast and impossibly strong. It was just that it had been a long time since Cahey himself had become something equivalent to those elite among the moreaux. So when he saw that Helios had a black-haired kid about Cathmar’s age pinned against the side of the cart by one twisted arm it took Cahey a moment to lock his surging adrenaline back down, to calm himself and accept that somebody else just as competent had already handled the problem.
    Helios’ mane shook forward around his snarling face, the tawny shoulders dark in fragile morning sunlight. Breath steamed in jets from flaring nostrils as the lion leaned over the kid, rumbling.
    “Helios,” Cahey said. “Don’t break him.”
    “Just putting the fear of me in him,” Helios said, taking a half step back on padded feet. He hauled the kid up, and the kid staggered with him, sprawling feet kicking a tumble of shoes and boxes of biscuits that had fallen out from under the tarp on the handcart.
    Helios gave his captive a little rattle—little by Helios’ standards. It lifted the kid off his feet, and he squealed. “You’re stealing from a charity, kid.”
    Cahey frowned at the thief’s worn shoes, too-short trousers, ungloved hands. He tilted his head back and looked at Helios. Helios huffed and stared up at Borje.
    Borje nodded. He gestured with a hoof and Helios let the boy find his feet again. “You follow us,” Borje said. “You’ll get fed, new shoes. We’ll get you a sweater. You run, you get nothing. Maybe the kitty here”—Helios curled his lip at Borje—“will run after you. They do that, you know.”
    The kid’s complexion was too dark to show blanching, but Cahey saw him sway on his feet. Hunger or fear, it didn’t matter. He leaned away from Helios’