“You’re shocked,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t understand.” Richard leaned against the desk. “He was born wearing a silk shirt. He has wealth, status, the privilege afforded to his bloodline, the best education one can buy . . .”
All the things that had been denied to Richard. An education was a double-edged sword: it broadened his horizons, and, at the same time, it made him painfully aware of the opportunities he would never have. There was a time when he felt trapped in the Mire, aware of the world outside the Edge but unable to get to it, chained to the swamp. He had neither the breeding, nor the money, nor the opportunity to make it past the Louisiana troops guarding the border with the Edge, but he had the intellect and the education to understand the full futility of his position. He would’ve killed to open just one door and escape. Brennan had all the advantages. Every door was open to him.
“Why? Why do this? He’s like a millionaire who’s robbing beggars.”
“Who knows,” Charlotte said. “Maybe it’s the thrill of doing something criminal.”
She sounded exhausted. Worry stabbed at him. He had to get her and the boy out of here.
He cut a section of the gauzy curtain, stacked the books on it, and tied it into a makeshift bag. Stealing was criminal. This was an atrocity. More so, because Brennan, born into privilege, had a duty. He had a responsibility to wield his influence for the benefit of the realm, and instead he spat on it. Whatever sickness drove Brennan to rule over the slave trade, Richard would make sure he paid. He would make certain. He had promised it to Sophie, and he would see it through.
Richard sheathed his sword and handed the bag of books to Jack. “This is vitally important. Guard it.”
The boy nodded.
Richard offered Charlotte his right hand. She rose from the chair, swaying a little. They walked downstairs and out of the front door. Below them, the city stretched down the hill to the harbor. Orange flames billowed from two different sides of the town, far to the left and closer to the right, devouring the structures. Here and there, isolated shots rang out, followed by screams. A single ship waited in the middle of the harbor, like a graceful bird on a sea of black glass, and above it all, in the endless night sky, a pale moon rose, spilling its indifferent light onto the scene.
Richard turned to the left, behind the house. The horse still waited. He untied the reins and brought it over to Charlotte.
“I can walk.”
“Charlotte.” He hadn’t meant to put all of his frustration into that one single word, but somehow he did.
She blinked, startled.
“Please, get on the horse.”
She climbed into the saddle. He took the reins and started down the street, Jack at his side. The dog took position ahead of them. Richard’s face itched mercilessly. As soon as they got down to the coast, he would wash all the gunk of his disguise off his skin.
“George has been alone with dad for a long time,” Jack said.
It was a lot to ask, but he had confidence in George, and the boy needed to redeem himself. “He will be fine.”
“Are you going to kill our dad?” the boy asked quietly.
“It’s not for me to decide what to do with your father.” John Drayton deserved to die, and if Drayton weren’t connected to the boys, he would dispose of the man like the piece of garbage he was. But family took precedence, and the children’s claim superseded his.
“If you’re going to let us handle it, don’t let George do it,” Jack said. “I’ll kill him for grandma. I don’t care. I don’t even remember him, but George waited for him all this time. It would be bad for him.”
It was said that changelings didn’t understand human emotion. They understood it just fine, Richard reflected. They simply couldn’t figure out why others chose to mask what they truly felt. Jack wanted to spare his brother. Even in the Mire, where things like betrayal and punishment were kept in the family, no child was expected to kill his parent.
The boy, no, the young man was looking at him.
“Don’t worry,” he told Jack. “That’s one burden neither of you will have to carry.”
NINE
“YOU look good,” John Drayton said from the opposite end of his cabin. “Solid. All grown-up. I remember when you were sickly. You kept raising animals because you couldn’t stand to watch something die. I take it you’ve gotten over that.”
George examined the man in front of him. The key was to cordon off his own anger and evaluate him as he would any other opponent. The years had banged John around, but he was in good health. He ate well and carried a few extra pounds. The air in the cabin hinted at the spicy notes of his cologne. His clothes were well cut from good fabric. His hair was professionally shorn to flatter his face. John Drayton was a vain man, and he liked spending money on himself.
George remembered him as being big, a tall shadow. He remembered him being funny. He would make jokes.
The thought spurred the vicious part of him into a gallop. Jokes. Right.
For the first hour and a half, John had kept his mouth shut, probably waiting for him to talk. Waiting for “How could you abandon us, Father?” and “I’ve waited for you to come back, Father!” Waiting for some tell, some clue or lever to push. Keep waiting, scumbag.
Most people didn’t handle silence well, and John had banked on it and lost. George had no problem with silence. It was an effective tool, and he’d seen his Mirror handlers use it to great effect. Having finally realized that no clues would be coming, John decided to start talking and probe for weaknesses. George had sat in on enough of the Mirror’s interrogations to guess the most likely course this conversation would take: John would try to bridge the gap between the six-year-old sickly child he left behind and the sixteen-year-old he saw now.
“You remember what I told you when I left?”
Like an open book.
“I said—”
You mind the family, Georgie. Keep an eye on your sister and brother for me.
“—for you to keep an eye on your sister and brother for me. You’ve done good. Jack’s still alive, that’s something. Couldn’t have been easy to make that miracle happen.”
What do you know about it? What do you know about Jack, about his rages, about his not understanding how people think, about Rose spending hours to coax him back to humanity? What do you know, you slimy weasel? You know nothing of our family. You chose to know nothing.
“How’s Rose?”
Where were you when she worked herself into the ground? Oh, that’s right, getting rich from misery, rape, and pain.
“You afraid to speak to me, George?” John slapped his palm on the desk. “Damn it, boy. Tell me how my daughter is!”
George moved Lynda a step closer. “Do that again, and I’ll let her gnaw on your neck, slowly, one bite a time. Rose will be delighted when I bring her your head.”
John leaned back. Fear shot through his eyes. He hid it fast, but George had seen it. Yes, he knew the type. John would do anything, say anything to avoid physical pain and punishment. He feared being held accountable more than anything.
“You wouldn’t do that,” John said. “Not the Georgie I remember. The Georgie I remember was kind.”
“The Georgie you remember had a father.” Argh. He knew he shouldn’t have responded to the bait. Too late now.
John’s face brightened. “You still have one. Look, I know I haven’t done right by you kids. And it’s not like I set out to haul slaves for a living. I just kind of fell into it.”
“Do tell. How does one fall into slavery?”
“The same way one falls into anything.” John spread his arms. He was becoming more animated, happy he’d found some common ground. “You’re hard-up for cash, and one day in port, a man asks you if you want to make some easy money.”
Easy-breezy. No need to worry about paltry things like honor, integrity, and sleeping well at night.
“That’s the only kind of money you were ever interested in, isn’t it? The easy money.”
“Hey, I work hard just like anybody else. I just had a stretch of hard luck there for a while.” John leaned forward. “Georgie, listen to me. Whatever else happens, I’m still your father. I’ve done pretty well for myself here, and I wanted to come and find you guys. I kept thinking, just do one more run, get a little bit more money, then I’ll split. But I’m in a good place now, and I’m sick of these slaver assholes. We can take off, you know. You and me. I can show you the ropes, bring you into the family business. I’m a good sailor, Georgie. Let me tell you, when you go out on the ocean and leave the shore behind, it’s something. Just water everywhere, sapphire blue for miles and miles. Water, wind, and sky. You can taste the freedom. There is adventure there. Mystery.”
He was good.
“What about Jack?”
John shrugged. “What about him? Jack’s a good kid. Didn’t go nuts like his people do.”
“His people?”
John leaned closer. “Oh, come on, Georgie. We all know it. Rose is mine, you’re mine, but Jack was never mine. For him to be what he is, one of his parents had to be a changeling, and there ain’t no changelings in my family or your mother’s. I checked. My father wasn’t one, my mother isn’t one . . .”
George fought against grinding his teeth.
“Their parents weren’t changelings, and on your mother’s side, nobody was one for three generations back either. Your mother, she wasn’t a bad woman, but she was troubled. You think it was easy knowing she opened her legs to every bastard that came through town? It hurt me. Really hurt me, but I’ve come to terms with it. And so should you. You always looked out for Jack. Rose and your grandma, they put that burden on you, and I never thought it was fair. Everyone deserves a break, Georgie. Everyone. Come with me. Jack can look after himself. And later, when you’re older and I’m ready to retire, you can take over. This ship isn’t just named after me. It’s named after you, too.”
