too.”
“I’m sure you are,” Shina said.
The three of them sat in silence after that. Shina resumed popping stuffed olives into her mouth, and Chaqal poured herself a bowl of fish stew. She had pushed her veil back to reveal her long, dark hair, and she avoided Tazir’s gaze.
Suddenly, a bubble of anger welled in Tazir’s chest. “Fuck this,” she growled, standing up and sending the cushion flying behind her. “You two wanna spend the rest of your lives in this creepy eyeball-gouging weather-cult town?” she said. “You go ahead and—
fuck
!” She tumbled as her hip seized up, gritted her teeth, and staggered to the doorway.
“Captain!” Chaqal cried out. She hopped up and ran to Tazir, who was steadying herself and trying to ignore the pain shooting up her back.
“Get away from me,” she growled.
“Captain—”
Tazir shoved Chaqal back. “I said,
get away
from me,” she said. She took a deep breath and began hobbling out of the hut, back toward her crew. “And
fuck
your tea and olives.”
* * *
Tazir lay there on the reed mat until the sun was high overhead.
I can get up,
she told herself.
I’m just a little too tired for that shit right now.
Tazir was starting to get used to mornings like these. She’d lie there for—for however long she was allowed to, depending on the circumstances, and then she’d hobble over to her knapsack for a dose of poppy juice. She’d stretch, she’d curse, she’d smoke some hash, and eventually she’d get herself dressed.
But this morning, there was nothing there for her to sip or smoke.
“What the hell?” Tazir said, staring at the empty room around her. There were no knapsacks, no rum jugs, no piles of clothes left behind by her crew. “What the
hell
?”
She staggered down the stairs in her trousers with her tits flopping on her belly. “Kodin!” she yelled. “Kodin N’jakama, where the
fuck
are you—hey, you!” She pointed at a girl of ten or twelve, pushing a cart of laundry down the hallway. “You see a big guy in locks and a skinny kid with a sun tattooed on his right shoulder?”
The girl blinked. “This morning?” she said.
“Yeah, this morning.” Tazir puffed up her chest and glared at the girl.
“Yeah,” the girl said, staring at her feet. “They paid the bill on room twenty-two and took off. Said they had to be out by sunrise.”
Tazir took a step back and held on to a post for balance. She took one deep breath, then another.
“Hey, were you with them?” said the girl. “I think they left a note with my pa at the front desk.”
* * *
“—and if you agree to the terms, I can have the value of the ship paid back to you within six years,” the clerk said. He was a short, round man with round spectacles balanced on his short, round nose. He wore a clean blue kaftan and a matching turban; his face grew graver and graver as he read the note from Kodin.
“I know you liked that girl, and I know it was hard on you when Chaqal left, but I told you before I don’t want anything to do with the Windspeakers.” The clerk frowned. “We can’t stay in business if we scare a new quartermaster off every six months.”
“He says, as he
ditches his Captain
in Moliki!”
“Madam, please, I am just reading the letter.” The clerk looked up at her with wide eyes and a weak smile. “Do you want me to go on?”
“Sure.” Tazir sighed. She rested her face in her hands, her elbows on the counter.
The clerk adjusted his spectacles. “I expect you to be angry,” he said, “but I also think that this is best for all of us. Please try to understand why we are doing this, and please take care of yourself until we return.” He cleared his throat. “I hope that when we meet again, we can talk this out and come up with a contract on the boat that is fair to both of us. Yours in business and in friendship, Kodin N’jakama.”
Tazir shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed.
“He—he left you
“I’m sure you are,” Shina said.
The three of them sat in silence after that. Shina resumed popping stuffed olives into her mouth, and Chaqal poured herself a bowl of fish stew. She had pushed her veil back to reveal her long, dark hair, and she avoided Tazir’s gaze.
Suddenly, a bubble of anger welled in Tazir’s chest. “Fuck this,” she growled, standing up and sending the cushion flying behind her. “You two wanna spend the rest of your lives in this creepy eyeball-gouging weather-cult town?” she said. “You go ahead and—
fuck
!” She tumbled as her hip seized up, gritted her teeth, and staggered to the doorway.
“Captain!” Chaqal cried out. She hopped up and ran to Tazir, who was steadying herself and trying to ignore the pain shooting up her back.
“Get away from me,” she growled.
“Captain—”
Tazir shoved Chaqal back. “I said,
get away
from me,” she said. She took a deep breath and began hobbling out of the hut, back toward her crew. “And
fuck
your tea and olives.”
* * *
Tazir lay there on the reed mat until the sun was high overhead.
I can get up,
she told herself.
I’m just a little too tired for that shit right now.
Tazir was starting to get used to mornings like these. She’d lie there for—for however long she was allowed to, depending on the circumstances, and then she’d hobble over to her knapsack for a dose of poppy juice. She’d stretch, she’d curse, she’d smoke some hash, and eventually she’d get herself dressed.
But this morning, there was nothing there for her to sip or smoke.
“What the hell?” Tazir said, staring at the empty room around her. There were no knapsacks, no rum jugs, no piles of clothes left behind by her crew. “What the
hell
?”
She staggered down the stairs in her trousers with her tits flopping on her belly. “Kodin!” she yelled. “Kodin N’jakama, where the
fuck
are you—hey, you!” She pointed at a girl of ten or twelve, pushing a cart of laundry down the hallway. “You see a big guy in locks and a skinny kid with a sun tattooed on his right shoulder?”
The girl blinked. “This morning?” she said.
“Yeah, this morning.” Tazir puffed up her chest and glared at the girl.
“Yeah,” the girl said, staring at her feet. “They paid the bill on room twenty-two and took off. Said they had to be out by sunrise.”
Tazir took a step back and held on to a post for balance. She took one deep breath, then another.
“Hey, were you with them?” said the girl. “I think they left a note with my pa at the front desk.”
* * *
“—and if you agree to the terms, I can have the value of the ship paid back to you within six years,” the clerk said. He was a short, round man with round spectacles balanced on his short, round nose. He wore a clean blue kaftan and a matching turban; his face grew graver and graver as he read the note from Kodin.
“I know you liked that girl, and I know it was hard on you when Chaqal left, but I told you before I don’t want anything to do with the Windspeakers.” The clerk frowned. “We can’t stay in business if we scare a new quartermaster off every six months.”
“He says, as he
ditches his Captain
in Moliki!”
“Madam, please, I am just reading the letter.” The clerk looked up at her with wide eyes and a weak smile. “Do you want me to go on?”
“Sure.” Tazir sighed. She rested her face in her hands, her elbows on the counter.
The clerk adjusted his spectacles. “I expect you to be angry,” he said, “but I also think that this is best for all of us. Please try to understand why we are doing this, and please take care of yourself until we return.” He cleared his throat. “I hope that when we meet again, we can talk this out and come up with a contract on the boat that is fair to both of us. Yours in business and in friendship, Kodin N’jakama.”
Tazir shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed.
“He—he left you
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