Engines and werewolves

Chapter 52

She winces as I work, looking over my head. After a while she says, “I thought you were angry at me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because of what I said about Olite.”

“I’m not angry.” The knot is tight, and I’m tempted to just s***h it with a Melos blade. Instead, I tease it gently apart. “I just wanted you to understand. I’m not—”

“A good person,” Marvel says wearily. “You mentioned.”

“It’s more than that. Where I come from, the streets of Rachtown, it’s not so different from this.” I get the knot untied, and unwind the tight linen strip. “I had to hurt people to survive there, and I’ll have to hurt people to survive here.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“No. Grow up the way I did and it wouldn’t bother you, either.” The last of the bandage is stuck to her skin with dried blood, and I grab one of the canteens. “This is probably going to sting.”

She hisses as I pour the water over her, still looking resolutely away. Once it’s softened a little, I peel the bandage off, then clean the wound with more freshwater. It looks better than I was expecting, a nice clean cut, not too deep and no signs of festering. I wrap it in a fresh bandage and get to work on the other hand.

“So what about me?” Marvel says.

I pause for a moment, and look up to find her staring at me. “What about you?”

“What am I supposed to do?” she says. “To survive. I can’t fight like you can, obviously.”

I look down again. “Plenty of people can’t. They manage somehow.”

“Andre thinks I’m useless.” Her tone is perfectly cheerful. “Should I ask him to kill me and be done with it? Or should I ask you?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” I growl. She’s making fun of me.

“Why not? I’d rather get it over with quickly than have some monster eat me.”

“You’re not useless.” I peel the second bandage away and wash her slashed palm. “You just have to learn to be a little more pragmatic.”

“Pragmatic. I like that.” She laughs. “Not evil, just … pragmatic.”

“Just stay close to me,” I mutter, as I tie the bandage up again. “I’ll keep you alive.”

“How generous of you.” She flexes her fingers with a grimace. “But if you’re not a good person, you must want something from me. What is it, I wonder?”

“I told you I have my reasons.”

Marvel stands up, abruptly. “There’s one more.”

“What?”

“Bandage.” She pats her side. “I can’t reach the knot. Can you help?”

“Oh. Sure.” I step back. “Who did these in the first place?”

“Belvia,” she says. “I got him to talk to me, a little. He knows a lot about this place.”

“He…”

I pause. Marvel has nimbly undone a set of buttons at the back of her dress, and now she shuffles her arms out of it. It’s still belted, so the top flutters down to hang like an extra layer of skirt, leaving her n***d from the waist up. Another bandage runs from under her left arm up around her neck.

She’s not as shapeless as she seemed in that ill-fitting dress. And … toothsome, Andre had said. I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s not watching. When I turn back to her, she’s looking at me with a curious smile on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She tugs at the bandage, arching her back. “Here.”

I step close to her, untying the knot at her shoulder. Her breath tickles my cheek. When the linen comes free, I peel it off, stopping when it starts to stick to the wound, a long, curved gash under her arm and onto her back.

“Lean forward,” I tell her.

She obeys, and I step behind her and pour more water from the canteen. It trickles across her deep brown skin, and I see muscles tense in her shoulders. When it soaks the injury, she hisses through her teeth.

Her skin is so beautiful, smooth and perfect. I think of the scars on my own body, a hundred little trophies from a hundred little battles. Faded, now. Since I learned to control my Melos armor, I haven’t taken many scars, at least not where it shows. But my hands are still rough and callused, and my b****y history is written on my skin for anyone to see.

Marvel will have at least one scar to match mine, when this wound heals. The thought tugs at me in a way I don’t like, as I rinse the injury and wind a fresh bandage.

“What did Olite want?” she says, unexpectedly. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind.” I shake my head to clear it. “I’m not entirely sure. I think he wants me to work for him—be part of his clade, I suppose it would be.” I pause to tie off the bandage. “He may also want to rut me. I’m not sure how serious he was about that.”

“To—” Marvel looks over her shoulder at me. “Really?”

“Like I said, I don’t understand everything.”

“And you’re … considering his offer?”

“For the moment, I don’t think it matters. The Butcher showed up and the two of them got into it.” I shrug. “If Olite can help, it won’t be until after this assignment, at least.”

But if he can help, you’d take it?”

I feel myself flushing a little, and it makes me angry. “The Butcher seems to be trying to get us killed. I’d rather not spend more time under her thumb than I have to.”

“Even if it means crawling into Olite’s bed?”

“I have rutted far worse men than Olite,” I tell her, “for far less.”

“Oh.” Her voice is small. “I … didn’t know.”

“Don’t look so rotting shocked.” I turn away from her. “And do your rotting dress up, unless you want the boys to come stare at you with your t**s hanging out.”

“Sorry.” There’s a hasty shuffling of cloth.

“Did you need anything else?”

“What?”

“With the bandages,” I grind out. “Any more help.”

“No.” Marvel pauses. “If you go work for Olite—”

It’s obvious what she wants to ask. What about me? She’s using me, for the protection I can provide, just like everyone else. It doesn’t make me angry. Everyone uses the people around them, as best they can—the way I used Grog and Nathan, the way my bossesused me, the way I’ll use Olite. That’s just the way the world works.

“What?” I say, when she stays silent.

“Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.”

I snort. “Go get some sleep, Princess. You look like you need it.”

* * *

I’m right about that, at least. Within minutes, Marvel is curled up in her nest, snoring in a genteel, aristo sort of way. I find myself too keyed up to rest just yet, although my muscles still ache from powerburn. I walk down to the shore, marked by a scummy, rusted line on the deck, and look across the half-flooded chamber. The Moron is still sitting on his little island, unmoving. I wonder if he’s asleep.

“Victoria.” Andre comes up behind me. “Can I have a word?”

You’re the pack leader,” I say. “Do you need to ask?”

He snorts and steps up beside me, looking out at the little lake and the Moron.

“He just sits like that all day,” Andre says. “Rot-for-brains.”

“He managed to stay out of the blueshell’s way,” I say.

“He’s got a talent for making himself scarce. Is there a Well for that?” Andre turns to me, running one hand through his hair. “Rot. Look. I feel like we didn’t get the best start.”

I shrug. “I can’t say the last few days have been a great introduction to anybody.”

“I know you’re fresh meat and you don’t know how things work here,” he says. “But you understand the Butcher’s got me in the doghouse, right?”

I’d gathered that.” I turn to look at him with affected casualness. “What did you do to make her so angry?”

“It’s not important,” Andre mutters, flushing slightly. “The point is that I’m not going to be down forever. Sometime—maybe soon—I’ll get out from under her, and this is going to be a real pack instead of a trash heap.”

“Glad to hear it,” I drawl. “And?”

“Let’s cut the rot,” he says. “I saw what you did to the blueshell. We both know you and I are the only ones here who are worth a damn. I know you’ve got small reason to trust me, but if we can take down a hammerhead then even the Butcher is going to have to take notice. I need your help if we’re going to have a chance.”

“You don’t have to ask for my help, do you? You just give the orders.”

He swears unintelligibly. “I told you, cut the rot. You could have run for it and gotten away easily. I don’t know why you didn’t, but when it comes to the sharp end this time I’m asking you to stand by me again. It’s not going to be easy, but if we pull this off, we can get out of this rotting hole.” He gestures around. “We’ll move up to Middle Deck, poach a few decent pack mates, and get comfortable again. Pick our own battles. What do you think?”

He seems earnest. Excited, even. He wants to get back into the officers’ good graces, and he thinks I’m his ticket. Whether he’s right I don’t know. I’m not sure he understands that the Butcher hates me more than ever.

“If you’re asking whether I’ll fight,” I tell him, “then I’ll fight. But it would help if someone told me what a hammerhead was, and how you kill one.”

“I’ll explain everything,” he says eagerly.

“In the morning.” I yawn, looking out across the water again. The Moron hasn’t stirred. “I think I’d better get some rest, don’t you?”

I feel him watching me as he walks away. He’s no different from Olite, or Marvel for that matter. Even on a ship full of mage-born, apparently my skill set is unusual enough that everyone wants to take advantage of it.

Which is fine. I can take advantage of them right back.

Everyone on Soliton seems convinced that there’s no escaping the ship. If I assume for the moment that I believe them, that leaves one option to save Vee’s life—figure out how to deliver Soliton to chong wu. The only lead I have is the Captain. I’m going to have to get close to him to find out more, and for that I’m going to need allies. Some of those allies will probably end up with a dagger in the back, of course. That’s the way these things work. I just need to make sure they don’t do the same to me.