Fireteam Delta Page 26

  Summers could only watch as they weaved their way through the bustling crowd.

  “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.”

  “Pretty sure I’m beyond giving a shit,” Nowak replied.

  “On the bright side, we’re going to have to explain to the army what happened here. Having a diplomat like Pat to represent the city is probably a plus.” Summers glanced over at Nowak.

  “You know it’s probably rude to keep calling him Pat like that, right?” Nowak side-eyed Summers. “I mean, he’s a prince.”

  “His full name is Payrst Den Tredje Palna-Toki Klingenbeorn, and I am 90% sure I’m pronouncing that wrong.”

  “Pat it is,” Nowak agreed.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The ship was surprisingly more stable than Summers had expected. What it was not, was comfortable. He sat beside Nowak and Cortez, shoulder to shoulder. They were doing their best to stay out of the way of the sailors who milled around the ship doing whatever it was that sailors did. Every so often, he’d hear a shout from below deck as the rowers moved to keep pace.

  “This is hell. I’m in hell, and you people have brought me here.” Cortez glared at them.

  She wasn’t doing too well on the water. She’d sat, hunched over, doing her best not to vacate her stomach, for the entire trip.

  “Is this why you didn’t want to go?” Nowak looked at her, concerned.

  “Maybe.”

  Summers watched as a set of sailors busied themselves adjusting the sails to the yells of their captain. He was screaming something about bad omens and spirits, with the occasional glance in their direction. Something told Summers it was more for show than anything. Not that he minded, as there was quite literally nothing for them to do.

  “How long do we have to do this again?” Cortez groaned.

  “Two months.” Nowak glanced back at the woman. “It’ll get us to the San Francisco Bay, or whatever’s there in this world.”

  “Lot of stops along the way,” Summers ventured. “Maybe we can find something for seasickness. If that’s even a thing for elves.”

  Cortez only groaned in response.

  Summers looked back as Orvar approached from below deck. He spotted them almost immediately, moving to bow in front of them.

  “If I could I take a moment of your time . . . ?” Orvar bowed even deeper as he spoke.

  Summers quirked an eyebrow before he managed to remember his manners. He’d known the man for about a month now. It was rare to get a word out of Orvar, even at the best of times, let alone a full sentence.

  “I was hoping I could continue my training,” Orvar continued.

  Summers glanced to the others for a moment before replying.

  “Much as I’d like to, I don’t think we can afford to use the ammo. We can try some dry fire drills, but . . .”

  “I apologize. I was hoping to train with Ms. Cortez,” Orvar corrected himself.

  Summers looked from Orvar to Cortez, then back again.

  “I’m only saying this because I like you. If you’re trying to flirt with her, she will kill you.”

  “Hand-to-hand combat,” Orvar replied quickly. “The soldiers in the city spoke highly of her. And you as well . . .” he added.

  Summers had considered trying a few hand-to-hand classes with his squad during their training, but he was more worried he’d kill one of them by accident, given his “condition.”

  “All right, I heard him say my name. What’s going on?” Cortez looked at Summers questioningly.

  Summers turned to Cortez, speaking English. “He wants you to train him? Close-quarters combat.”

  “Great. I need the distraction.” Cortez got lazily to her feet, doing her best to stay level. “Let’s find somewhere I can kick your ass.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  It had been a week since they set sail.

  Asle sat working on an exercise that Synel had set out for her. Her parents had ensured she was a good reader—in fact, it was something she enjoyed—but the woman seemed determined to change that. Over the past week, she’d read no less than fifteen books. Some were introductions to various economic principles; others were stories of clever merchants and the ways they’d made their way in the world, with one especially trite romance Synel had insisted was an “excellent personality study.”

  She didn’t see the point of the last one, but had read it all the same.

  Now, the woman sat beside her, pointing to the men that strode across the deck.

  “And who is that?” Synel indicated a sailor climbing the netting attached to the mast.

  “Voggr,” Asle answered immediately. “He’s new to the ship.”

  “Good.” Synel inclined her head approvingly.

  Throughout the entire trip, she’d stressed the importance of knowing the people around you, even if it was only a temporary arrangement. In part, it was polite, and good manners would usually translate to more business.

  “And what is his weakness?” Synel continued.

  “Coin.” Asle indicated the ratty shoes on the man’s feet. “The captain brought him on for a low wage. He was desperate for the job.”

  “Very good.” Synel indicated the portly man at the far end of the ship. “And what about the captain himself?”

  Asle had to think about that one. She could, of course, just give the same answer. When dealing with people—especially those who worked job to job, as sailors did—coin was an especially safe answer.

  “His lie,” Asle finally responded. “I think he really believes what he says—about spirits, and the water. If you were to praise him for it, or find a way to show others that it’s ‘real,’ I think that would win him over.”

  “Excellent.” Synel laid a hand on top of Asle’s head. “Now, let’s try something harder.” Synel’s eyes fell on Summers as he sat beside his friends, looking out to the ocean. “What about our mutual friends? What do you think their weakness is?”

  Asle paused at that. There was the one obvious answer: the reason they’d been stuck in the city in the first place, and why so many people had died.

  “Me?”

  Synel rolled her eyes, tapping Asle gently on the head. “Wrong. They act before they think. Besides that, they’re mostly good people. And do not belittle yourself in front of me again. I won’t have anyone slandering your good name.”

  Asle had to repress a smile.

  “Though those are strengths, as well,” Synel explained, turning back to the discussion at hand. “One of the many things I admire about them.”

  Asle watched them for a moment before turning away.

  Synel must have noticed something on her face, because she tapped Asle’s head a little harder this time.

  “You know, you should talk to them,” Synel prompted.

  “They don’t want me.”

  “They are worried for you, which is an entirely different matter.” Synel stood. “Besides, there will almost certainly come a time when you’ll have to say goodbye. You should enjoy the people around you while they last.”

  Asle glanced back as Synel descended below deck, leaving her to her thoughts.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  It was a few hours later, when Asle headed back below deck, that she found Cortez in the hallway.

  Asle tried to move past, but Cortez only moved to be in her way once again. The woman was scowling down at her.

  Asle just looked back. “Are you . . . mad at me?”

  “Maybe. Are you avoiding us?” Cortez leaned down, looking Asle in the eye.

  “No.”

  Cortez considered her a moment before her frown softened.

  “Not mad at you . . .” Cortez opened the door to her quarters and flopped onto the hammock inside. “It’s just that my stomach is trying to kill me. I want to kill everyone on board, present company excluded. And after that last spar, I’m pretty sure Orvar’s going to be peeing blood for a week. So, just not in a great moo
d.”

  Cortez gestured to the one chair in the room.

  “Come. Sit.”

  “I’m—”

  “I’m not asking,” Cortez stressed. “Come on. The others are above deck. It’s just us.”

  Hesitantly, Asle did as she said, closing the door to clear the hall.

  “How have you been feeling?” Cortez sat, studying Asle.

  “Fine,” Asle lied.

  ”Okay, better question. Do you want to talk?”

  After a moment, Asle nodded.

  “All right. So why are you so dead set on following us?” Cortez sat forward. “You know, if we made it back home, we’d probably have to go to the city again, eventually. It’s not too late to go back.”

  “I want to fix my mistakes.” Asle spoke low.

  “Mistakes?” Cortez tilted her head. “You know you’re a kid, right?” She gestured to Asle in general. “You have nothing you need to prove to us. Shit, just getting us this far has probably saved our asses more than once.”

  Asle didn’t respond.

  Cortez let out a breath.

  “Can I tell you a story?” Cortez waited as Asle nodded. “Back when I was a kid, my grandma used to take us to this . . . let’s call it a festival, back when we’d visited. Big firework show—they’re kind of like bullets that go up into the sky and explode into colors. Prettiest thing I’d ever seen. They called it the Burning of the Bulls.”

  “What are bulls?”

  “Animals.” Cortez caught the look of surprise on Asle’s face. “They’re not actual bulls. It’s just a name. Anyway, it was amazing—lights, explosions, everything. Afterward, I found a this big pendejo in my hometown, ran a stand that sold fireworks. He spent most of his time drunk off his ass and didn’t see the problem with a kid spending her allowance on her own weight in explosives. I started to put on shows for the neighborhood every so often.”

  Cortez smiled.

  “So, I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t just hide that shit under my bed. I had this place in the forest, near where me and my friends would meet. One day, this kid got it into his mind that he could have his own private show. He went to my stash, and ended up killing himself.”

  She paused.

  “The other kids rolled when news got around. His parents blamed me. My family got death threats for a while. We eventually had to move. Got the point where everywhere we went, that story would follow. Eventually, my family started treating me like the neighbors did. I ended up in foster care.”

  Cortez took another breath.

  “I dealt with the guilt of what I did for a long time. But you know what I learned?”

  “What?”

  “I was wrong. I can’t control other people. What I did may have been stupid, but so was the kid who blew himself up. Why should I blame myself for some stupid shit he did?” Cortez sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, everyone’s going to find someone to blame. Especially when there’s no one else left. So don’t do it to yourself. Already plenty of people out there who will give you shit for no reason other than existing. You get what I’m saying?”

  Asle considered before she nodded again.

  “I think so.”

  “Great.” Cortez sat up, heading to the door. “And don’t think we don’t appreciate you, all right? Kind of hurts our feelings when you keep to yourself like this. Now, I gotta go dry heave over the side of the boat.”

  Asle watched as Cortez left a little faster than she would have expected. She sat there for a moment longer, thinking.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers had managed to struggle his way to the top of the rigging after some time. Strength, obviously, wasn’t an issue. It was more a problem of leverage, balance, and a very sudden and acute fear of heights he’d developed by falling on his ass in the first few attempts.

  They were nearing the first port—somewhere they’d hoped to top up on supplies—and he wanted to get a good look.

  “What do you see?” Nowak called from down below.

  Far, far in the distance, he could make out the barely visible silhouette of a tower on a hill. That must be it.

  “I—” Before Summers could answer, something rocked the boat. Hard. Summers managed to hang on as the boat took on a very sudden, very awkward angle.

  The captain shouted something and men with barrels rushed to the sides, dumping the barrels overboard.

  The shouting continued for some time as the others rushed to the side of the boat, looking out at the sea.

  “What in the fuck was that?” Nowak asked Summers as he climbed down.

  “I have no idea.”

  Summers glanced to a barrel of what looked like stew. One of the deck hands was eyeing the water. He looked ready to throw the barrel overboard at the first sign of . . . something.

  Then a massive head breached the water alongside the ship. The deckhand wasted no time, heaving the barrel bodily over the side before grabbing something solid.

  The boat rocked again, and Summers had to focus on keeping his footing.

  The elves around him were yelling for more before the captain shut them down.

  “It’s passed.”

  Summers followed the captain’s gaze, looking at the creature that was now circling the few barrels they’d left behind.

  It must have been chum of some kind, or bait.

  “Won’t be a problem.” The captain must have seen Summers and Nowak staring. “The spirits are with us today. We’ll have no trouble getting to port.”

  “Right . . .”

  All Summers could do was hope that that was true.

  Chapter 31: Bait

  Summers watched as half a dozen deckhands jumped from the ship to a long wooden dock extending from the town. An older elf wearing elaborate clothing stepped forward, hands held out in what Summers assumed was a welcoming gesture.

  Synel and the captain walked down to greet the man.

  “Fucking finally. We can get off this thing.” Cortez stood a little shakily before starting toward the dock herself.

  Just as Summers stood to follow, he saw Synel wave a hand, gesturing him over.

  “This is the formather.” Synel held a hand to the man in front of her.

  Asle moved to Summers’ side before she bowed.

  “Chief,” she explained, emphasizing the word.

  Summers took the hint and bowed to the man as well.

  “We appreciate the warm welcome,” Synel began. “We were hoping to stock up on a hundred and fifty units of travel rations, bread, fish—I”

  “Of course, of course.” The chief held up a hand to stop her. “We’ll be able to discuss business in the morning. You’re one of the first visitors we’ve had to our town in quite some time. Please, come with me. I’m sure you are tired.”

  Before she could speak, the chief had turned, heading for the town proper.

  Synel blinked for a moment before looking to Summers. He shrugged.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers and the others moved through the town slowly. The day was beginning to turn to night, and truth be told, Summers looked forward to having some space after a week of being cramped up against his friends.

  “The war is over, then?” The chief looked at Synel for a long moment. “That’s . . . excellent news. We could use some trade again.”

  “It will be some time before things go back to how they were,” Synel cautioned.

  “I see . . .”

  “If I’m to be honest, we assumed we’d have to skip this port. Being this close to the city, we had suspected you would be involved in the war.”

  “Was not for lack of trying. Had a few ships circling the bay. Sketa scared ’em off, though—think you saw her coming in.”

  “You’ve named it?” Synel looked at the man questioningly.

  “Named her? She’s saved us. Town would have been dust long ago were it not for her protecting our shores.” The chief spoke a little louder than Summer
s expected.

  He glanced at a few of the curious eyes looking their way. Most of the townspeople watched their entourage from the safety of their homes and shops, each with the same placid expression Summers had come to expect from the elves. Even with all the time he’d spent with Asleؙ—or Synel, for that matter—he still had trouble dealing with how alien it seemed.

  “But enough,” the chief started. “As I said, you are the first visitors our town has had in some time. We should celebrate. Come. The drinks will be on me.”

  A short cheer went up from the sailors at those words. Even Synel seemed pleased.

  “Thank god for hospitality,” Cortez muttered from Summers’ side.

  “You understood that?” Summers looked at her.

  “If there’s one thing I learned from the city, it’s how to ask for a drink.”

  Summers saw Cortez start forward, a little livelier than she’d been a moment prior.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The hospitality, it turned out, had been a little overwhelming.

  “I shouldn’t.” Summers tried to wave off the mug Synel was offering him.

  “Come on,” Synel prodded Summers.

  Throughout the night, the sailors had been doing what they did best. That is, drinking themselves into comas. The town hosted a small inn that, with the complete lack of trade, was all theirs for the night.

  Even the captain had joined in before excusing himself back to the ship.

  They, however, had decided to take advantage of the inn while they could and had rented a few rooms for the night, mostly so they could sleep with some elbow room for once. A week in, and they were already starting to remember just how comfortable the castle’s private rooms had been.

  “No. That’s enough for me.” Summers pushed the mug back. “I’m headed to bed.”

  “Fine, fine.” Synel reached into a pocket and handed Summers, Nowak, and Cortez each a peg.

  “How many rooms did you get?” Summers inspected the wooden key.

  “Three,” Synel answered. “Ms. Cortez”—she switched to English, looking at the woman—“would you . . . share with my apprentice?”

  Although she spoke haltingly, Cortez seemed to get the message.

  “Sure?” Cortez shrugged a bit clumsily. She looked back at Asle, who was nursing a large glass of water.