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Chapter 23 – Difficult Voyages

It was difficult to find a place we could stay that night that was remotely clean or safe near the docks, but since we ended up having to migrate inwards towards the city proper to meet back up with Magpie at the spot at which we'd parted ways, we had a better pick of inns than down at the dock.

Magpie was quiet when he found us and re-joined the group, but the first thing he did say was, “I found them,” to me.

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed. “Are you sure?” I asked, as he hopped back up into the saddle with me.

“Yeah. . .” he said, quietly. “I asked around eight different neighborhoods until I found someone who knew'm. The oldest girl works as a local seamstress.”

“I. . . remember him mentioning that,” I confirmed.

“Yeah, well. . . fair certain it's them,” Magpie murmured. “It's kind of a big thing in a neighborhood in the slums when one'a the local boys becomes a Marshall. A few folks. . . knew him. Real well.”

“You didn't-”

“No, I didn't tell no one,” the rat sighed. “Not yet. Figure the family deserves to hear first.”

I glanced back at the rat. “How did your own visit with your family go?”

“They're right where I left 'em,” the rat said, in an odd tone. I was about to ask what he meant, until he continued, “. . . I put down flowers.”

“Hey, you two!” Ransom called to us, as he came sauntering back from the block down the road. “I think I found us a good place to settle in, tonight. The area ain't. . . great,” he muttered as he stepped up beside Molly, and Puck atop her, “but it's a fair bit better than most everythin' else we can afford. Food smells good.”

“That's enough then,” Puck remarked. “We're not going to eat well for a few months. I can't speak for the rest of you, but. . . personally speaking, I'm going to stuff myself until I can't move.”

“We shovin' off that soon?” the rat asked.

“According to the 'hiring man',” I said, sighing at the mere memory of the drunkard, “the Manoratha is leaving in two days.”

“I'm not planning to eat much tomorrow night, though. . . and neither should most of you,” Puck commented. “Small meals all day. Unless anyone here knows they don't get seasick.”

“. . . what?” I asked, confused.

“Just what it sounds like, sweetheart,” Magpie said, sounding uncomfortable. “It's like. . . slugs. . . slitherin' around in your gut. Awful, 'til you get used to it. Took me a week to get over it th'last time I sailed.”

“You've sailed before?” I asked, curiously.

“Just for deployment, when I was with the military,” the rat said, waving a hand. “Although we were on a real small frigate, and it was nearer to th'winter, so. . .seas were rough.” He looked to Puck, “Tell me this's a bigger boat.”

“No idea,” Puck admitted. “We haven't seen her yet.”

The rat crossed his fingers and muttered a silent prayer, and I looked to Ransom. “What's the name of the inn? We'll meet you there.”


The slums were a different kind of filthy. A more eroded, degraded, crumbling sort of filth. The very air here seemed stagnant and decaying, and maybe it was just because it was getting later into the day, but I swear, the skies looked grayer and much of the color faded from the tapestry of city life, the further we got into them.

Apparently the neighborhood Grant's family was in now was even in a better district than the one he'd grown up in, and that depressed me, the more we saw of it.

I saw signs of rampant destruction every other block, testaments to what Grant had once tried to tell me about. This part of the city had come under terrible bombardment a long time ago during the war, and the scars still remained. Everywhere there were signs of people struggling to repair impossibly crumbling structures, trying to eek out a living in the ruins no one else wanted. Clotheslines were strung high overhead between the buildings, and throughout the slanting, dangerous structures, I could hear people going about their everyday lives. Women, men. . . children.

How anyone could raise a family here, I didn't know. The hardships must have been unimaginable, for the Wickhams.

And I was about to add to them.

The further we got into the neighborhood, the more my apprehension grew. I almost didn't want to reach our destination. What was I going to say? What could I possibly say to these people? How could I make any of this any better?

But eventually, Magpie pointed to one of the buildings. . . a smaller, two-story house that seemed to be more intact than many of the others. It was painted white and chipping down to the red brick beneath, with a brick stoop and brick windowsills. The lot beside it, in which stood barely the foundation of another demolished building, seemed to have been converted into a garden, fledgling sprouts of what might soon be a vegetable patch just starting to grow. I could hear children inside. Young boys, shouting something on the second floor, likely playing or fighting, or both. They sounded like they might have been teenagers.

I froze in the saddle, unconsciously tugging at the reins. Helios came to a stop, and for a moment, all I could do was stare ahead at that house. . . too terrified to go any further.

I felt Magpie's hand settle on my shoulder. “Shivah?” he murmured.

I was silent. I'd barely heard him.

“Do you want me to handle this?” the rat asked, gently.

The world seemed to slope towards our destination, blackness flickering at the peripheral of my vision. I felt like I couldn't breathe. . . like if I moved forward, I would fall. The sensation made no sense, and yet somehow, I knew what was happening.

I couldn't do this. . . couldn't talk to Grant's family. . . without reliving what had happened, that day in the field. This would be just like it had been. . . seeing Methoa'nuk. . . reliving the moment he had taken my child away, all the pain he'd caused me. . . .

I couldn't push it all away if I had to look these people in the face.

I swallowed, my throat hurting as I did. “I. . . owe it to him,” I said quietly. “I was with him. . . when. . . .”

Magpie reached forward and gripped my shaking hand on the reins. “You're not alone,” he promised.

Slowly, and on quaking legs, I dismounted Helios. Magpie followed suit, and we led the horse as far as the small fence surrounding their little plot, where I looped his reins around a post, and took each aching step up the stairs of the stoop, towards the door.

Every second of it, I was remembering his final words.

I held my fist out, uncertain if I could follow through. But at length, I mustered the courage, remembering everything the man had ever done for me, and I knocked.

It took what felt like an excruciatingly long time for the door to open. When it did, it was only opened a crack, by a canine woman. . . a husky. The red in her fur was lighter and more sparse, but her eyes were exactly like his.

“. . . hello?” she said uncertainly, looking us over. “Who are you? What do you want?”

She sounded suspicious, and I was doing myself no favors by having such trouble speaking and gathering myself. Luckily, Magpie spoke at that moment, and he was far more well-composed.

“Ma'am,” he said, lowering his hood and clearing his throat, softly, “are you. . . miss Hannah Wickham?”

“. . . I am,” the woman said, still sounding uncertain. “What is this about? You're not with the patrols.” She eyed Magpie's rifle at that. Even strapped to his back, a gun was a gun.

Magpie reached slowly beneath his cloak, and produced something I hadn't ever known he'd had. But in retrospect, it made sense. Connall had never had a chance to take his away.

His UCN Marshal's Badge.

“I'm with the Marshals, miss,” the rat said somberly.

“And you are. . . .” the woman looked to me, opening the door a bit more now that she'd seen the badge.

“I'm. . .” I stammered. What did I tell her? “I was. . . working with the Marshals,” I settled on. “I worked with your brother.”

The woman's eyes widened at that, and it took me a moment to realize it wasn't us she was looking at, anymore. She was looking past us. At Grant's horse. She slowly lifted a paw to her muzzle, and I saw the first inklings of realization dawning over her features. It hurt to watch. It hurt so bad.

“Is that Helios?” she asked softly.

“Hannah, is it?” I asked, swallowing.

The woman nodded quickly, her eyes flicking between the horse and the two of us, panic creeping into her features.

“Hannah,” I said, somehow, around the lump in my throat, “I'm sorry. . . I. . . .”

The woman suddenly pushed the door open completely, and gripped me by the shoulders, staring me in the eyes. “Where is my brother?!” she demanded, her voice cracking.

Something inside me cracked, as well.


“He was so excited. . . that he'd made it in, at such a young age. . . .” Hannah said quietly, her fingers kneading at a scarf she'd clearly been in the process of knitting on the small kitchen table in the main. . . and only. . . room on the lower level of the place. It was barely larger than most of the rooms I'd had at the inns we'd stayed at in Crossroads. There was a small stone fireplace in the corner of the room, with a chimney that worked its way up along the wall, and widened into what looked to be a well-used stove. The table and chairs we were seated at were missing most of their varnish, but like the rest of the room, it seemed like a valiant effort had been made to keep them clean, despite the poor conditions.

I could hear the two boys upstairs still, and Hannah had already told us the rest of the siblings, save her youngest sister, were not currently at home. We'd only told her so far.

She was making a visible effort not to break down, sweeping away any tears in frantic silence, whenever they rolled down her cheeks. She looked as terrified as I felt. . . likely for the same reason. She was going to have to tell the rest of her siblings, eventually.

I felt numb. I knew we needed to be here, and I felt it was wrong to turn away and leave so suddenly, after bringing the news. But I was quite literally falling apart, every moment I had to watch this woman, grieving. . . .

. . . the way I should have been.

“I told him not to rush,” she said softly, like she was in a trance. “That. . . he could do the Warden work for a few more years. . . apply when he had more experience. But then, he. . . he got the Command position, and I thought. . .” she looked down at the scratched, worn surface of the table, “. . . I thought. . . my brother must be. . . a greater man than even I knew.”

I'd never felt the true weight of Connall's betrayal, of how cruel the conspiracy had treated Grant, until that moment. It hadn't just been all of his hopes and dreams they'd been mocking, using him as a scapegoat for a mission that was arranged to fail. . . it was his entire family's. Grant hadn't just been one person. His siblings were a part of him.

And the government he'd sworn himself to had betrayed him, in the most terrible way.

Magpie shocked me, when he replied to her. “You need to know, miss. . . your brother was hired. . . specifically because he was under-qualified.”

The woman looked up with tears in her eyes, confused, and I looked to the rat, sharply. I had never intended to tell her about the conspiracy, and I was angry that he had. These people needed to remember Grant in a better light.

“They didn't think anyone had a chance of huntin' down the man your brother was tasked with finding,” Magpie continued, “so they hired yer brother to chase his tail for a few years, just to make the people in the Senate happy, so that they could say somethin' was being done.”

Hannah's expression became even more pained, and I was about to say something, but Magpie wasn't done.

“The reason your brother died, ma'am. . . is because he was a hell of a lot more competent, more clever, and stronger-willed than they thought he was,” the rat said, in an affirmative tone. “And he actually found the people they tasked us with. He was th'only one amongst us who never gave up. Even when we was all goin' to pieces. . .” he looked to me, “. . . he kept it together. And he kept his head up, stuck to who he was, and did what was right. Right up 'til the end.”

The woman gave a shuddering, soft sob, and looked down at the half-knitted scarf. “Did he. . .” she asked quietly, “. . . did he. . . help people?'

“More'n I think we'll ever know,” Magpie nodded. “I know he helped me.”

“. . . and me. . . .” I said quietly. . . the first thing I'd managed to say in nearly half an hour now.

“Hannah?” a quiet, sleepy voice suddenly said from the stairs, and I couldn't help but turn to look towards the child. She was standing timidly at the foot of the chipped, splintering wooden staircase, looking at all of us in a mixture of curiosity and fear. I knew it had to be Anna, the moment I saw her. She actually looked like her picture in the locket. Grant had been right. She was quite the little artist.

She looked between us all, wide-eyed, and her older sister seemed caught in a moment of indecision, before she said in a remarkably calm, soothing tone, despite her condition, “Go back upstairs, sweetheart. I'll come tuck you in soon.”

“. . . are you okay?” the little girl asked, sounding oddly protective for such a small thing.

“Yes,” Hannah said, with a nod and a forced smile. “I just need to talk to these people for a bit. . . and then. . I'll come talk to you, and the boys. So be a good girl and wait upstairs. . . alright?”

“Wait,” I said quietly, and reached to my neckline, and pulled out the locket that was buried beneath my cloak. I'd not taken it off since Grant had died. As soon as I produced it, Hannah's eyes widened in recognition.

The little girl seemed to recognize it, too. “My brother is supposed to have that. . . .” she said.

“I think he would have wanted you to have it,” I said, holding it out to the timid little canine.

But she just shook her head. “No. No, he should have it. He should always have it. I gave it to him. It was a present.” She looked up at me with wide blue eyes. “Are you going to go see him?”

“. . . someday,” I said at length, not wanting to break this to the child. “I will again someday.”

“Then give it back to him,” the girl said, as though I were a simpleton. “It's his.”

I looked to Hannah, and she just nodded, looking down and very obviously fighting to hold back tears.

“Alright,” I said to the little girl. “I. . . I will. I'll bring it back to him.”

She nodded, and took off back up the stairs, in her night gown.

“Thank you,” Hannah said quietly, after the girl had left. “Thank you for coming here. . . to tell me about my brother.”

“I wanted to tell you all o'this,” Magpie said, “because the Marshals ain't gonna. I want you to know he died doing something no one. . . and I mean no one. . . thought could be done. And your brother. . . Grant. . .” he lifted his muzzle slightly, taking a moment, “ . . . he wasn't just good at his job. He was a good man. In fact, he was the best man I've ever known.”

He leaned back in his chair slowly, and visibly had to gather himself, for a moment. I had never seen the rat get choked up before. He was the actual sort of man Ransom pretended to be. Unyielding and hard. The rat was amicable and humorous at times, but I'd seen beneath that by now. In reality, he was probably the most steady-minded amongst us. Even Puck was often swayed by emotion. Magpie. . . Gabriel. . . was almost entirely unflappable.

He probably had to be, to live with the things he'd seen. And done.

His steadiness, his stable presence, gave me some strength. Enough to speak, once more.

“Grant wouldn't. . .” I paused, dragging in a breath, “. . . wouldn't want us to live with regret. . . for what happened. We can regret. . . the loss of the time we might have had together,” I swallowed, “but not. . . not the sacrifice he made. He believed in what he was doing. More than. . . any of us. More than me.” My voice grew weak at that, and I felt Magpie take my hand in his again. I was so grateful the rat was there with me.

“He was very. . . inspirational, to me,” I admitted, and I felt the tears coming, and I couldn't stop them, and this time, I didn't want to. “He helped me see a lot of good in people. . . in myself, I thought. . . wasn't there, anymore. I wish I'd known him longer, but. . . he. . . .”

I looked up, to his sister. “He wouldn't. . . want us to lose our faith in people, or the world. . . just because he's no longer a part of it. He wouldn't want us to hate, or be bitter, or resent. Even though it seems like there's. . . a lot. . . to be angry over. . . .”

Hannah nodded, silently, and I swear I saw that same resolve I'd always seen in him, in her.

“He restored my faith in people,” I said, hoarsely. “We'll see him again someday, and. . . when we do. . . we ought to show him that the things he did for us. . . the good he inspired in us. . . made a difference.”

I was on the verge of crying, at that point. . . but then, the woman leaned over, and embraced me. This woman I'd only met half an hour ago. . . who was all but a stranger to me. . . embraced me. Just as he had, when we'd been little more than strangers.

I couldn't not remember the night on the mountain with him, when he'd first broken down that barrier inside me, and allowed me to feel again. It was no coincidence, I knew, that she would be the one to tear it down once more.

I cried on her shoulder, and she on mine, and in that singular moment, I felt connected to a person again. Not simply a bystander to the woven fabric of the people in my life, but a part of it.

Puck had been right. I had to start tackling all of this pain, because it was destroying my connection to people. And everyone I'd ever loved and been loved by . . everyone I'd ever lost. . . was a light in my life that was not being honored by shutting them away in the dark recesses of my mind.

Grant had only ever wanted me to be happy. He'd been patient, and kind, and caring, and he'd given everything, in the end, to ensure I was able to reclaim my life. I was squandering the chance he'd given me. . . that I'd worked so hard myself to claim from the grip of despair. . . by casting aside the faith in life I'd begun to embrace again.

I didn't know how to beat this sorrow, how to let go of this anger. It seemed nearly impossible. Feeling anger was easy.

Letting go of it was. . . so much harder.


I was physically and emotionally exhausted by the time we'd made it back to the inn that night, and all I wanted to do was sleep. But the day was not done with me yet.

We got back late, so I was all but certain the two men would have turned in by the time we returned. So it surprised me greatly when I noticed Puck in the empty dining area, while Magpie and I bought our rooms at the front desk from a sleepy clerk.

The rat put a hand on my shoulder once before he headed upstairs, but he didn't question why I wasn't going up yet when he noticed the fox, as well. Puck was seated at one of the tables in the farthest corner of the darkened dining area, alone. It was obvious something was wrong.

I headed over to him, hesitating as I got near. I knew the fox well enough by now to know when he was just irate, and when his mood was truly black. He looked utterly crestfallen and sad. And he'd been fine when I left. I couldn't imagine what could have transpired in the time I'd been gone, unless it had been. . . .

I gave a soft sigh. “What did he do?” I asked, quietly. I sat down next to him, gingerly moving closer to him. He didn't rebuff me, but he also didn't respond for some time.

“. . . I went out,” he said at length, “to get a few more things for the trip. Supplies I. . . thought we might need. He said he was going to rest here. I didn't even. . .” his eyes fell to his lap, “. . . I didn't even question it.”

I remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

The fox took a deep breath. “I came back and he. . . was with a woman. A streetwalker.”

My brow shot down at that, and I balled my fist. “What?!” I demanded, quietly but angrily.

“I'm not even upset that he did it,” the fox said, in a dull tone. “It's not like he hasn't been doing this for all the years I've known him. I'm. . . I'm upset that he doesn't understand why it hurts me. And I thought maybe. . . maybe things had changed, since-”

But I was already standing at that point. The fox followed me with his muzzle. “Where are you-” he began.

“Where is he?” I demanded. “What room?”

“. . . fourteen,” the fox replied, at length. “But Shivah, getting angry at him isn't going to-”

“We are about to leave this country,” I said, feeling myself come unhinged from the entire day, “we do not have time, and I don't have the emotional strength right now, to reason with a man with a brain like a mule! I didn't drag him out of the mountains to watch him hurt you any more!”

I stormed off towards the staircase at that, Puck following close at my heels. I'd had a hellishly hard day, and my own demons to contend with. This was the last thing I needed, and the last thing Puck needed, and gods-be-damned, that man was getting a piece of my mind!

Puck didn't stop me, and considering he'd only made one weak plea to begin with, I got the feeling, somewhere in the back of my mind and possibly his, he'd sort of counted on my doing this for him. The fox's general method of confrontation just wasn't harsh enough to get through the hard, rocky shell Ransom liked to wrap himself in. Sometimes the only way to break a rock was with a hammer and chisel.

Well, what were friends for?

By the time I reached the room, Ransom had opened the door and was leaning out, opening his mouth to say something. He'd probably been waiting behind it the whole while, for Puck. He didn't seem to have expected me, though. . . or the hard slap across the muzzle I leveled his way.

He stumbled back in stunned surprise and stared at me, shocked. “Wh-I-”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I demanded. I heard Puck shut the door behind us.

He looked past me to the fox. “Damnit, Puck, this ain't her business-”

“I pulled you out of a frozen hell, coyote!” I said, stabbing my finger across the room at him. “You owe me your life! Don't you dare tell me what is and isn't my business! Puck is my friend. YOUR friend. Your lover!”

“Keep yer bloody voice down,” the coyote hissed.

“You're ashamed to be with him, but not a prostitute?” I said, incredulously.

“Buyin' a whore ain't likely t'get me thrown in a work camp or hanged!”

“I thought you were past this,” I said, disgusted. “I thought you cared about him, Ransom. I thought you loved him.”

“I do,” the coyote insisted, “the women don't mean nothin'-”

“Do not feed me that BULLSHIT!” I yelled, loud enough that the coyote winced back. “I have had a HELL of a day, and I don't have the patience for this right now! If you loved him, you wouldn't hurt him,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And this is hurting him.”

“It's always been this way!” Ransom said, throwing his arms down at his side. “He knows I like t'spend time with women sometimes. This ain't new!”

“That doesn't make it right!” I snapped. “You're not stupid, Ransom! Look at him!” I stepped aside, so the coyote had little choice. Puck remained silent. “You know this is hurting him!” I continued. “You have to know it. You have to have known it before. Do you just not care?”

“I just don't see what the big fuckin' deal is,” the coyote said with a sigh, gesturing at Puck. “They're just. . . whores. They don't mean nothin' to me, I swear.”

“I believe you,” Puck finally spoke, quietly. “But, it doesn't change how I feel about it, Ransom. I've never liked being cast aside for these women. I'd. . .” his eyes fell to the floor, “. . . I'd always hoped eventually, if. . . I was able to help you. . . to be there for you. . . I'd be enough. I-I thought. . . we'd gotten closer, lately. After the mountains. . . .”

“I didn't go whorin' 'cause of Dominick,” Ransom said, bluntly. “It don't got nothin' to do with. . . inner demons, or whatever. I just like whores.” He dropped his arms at that, as if the point were obvious.

“You also like alcohol, and cigarettes, and going months without bathing,” Puck said pointedly. “You. . . clean your gun while you're drunk, and gamble your money away at dice and cards. . . .” he sighed, and Ransom looked away, guiltily. “And I never complain,” the fox said, beleaguered. “Ransom, I'm not asking you to cast aside all of your guilty pleasures. Just one. One that really hurts me.”

“. . . I just don't see why,” the coyote insisted.

“Well for one, because those women. . . especially the ones here in this city,” Puck said, tipping his ears back, “can be sick. And you favor canines, which makes it even worse. You could catch something, Ransom. . . something bad, something that I can't treat like I did the others. Something worse than fleas and rashes.”

“Can we not talk about this?!” the coyote balked. “Or at least talk about it alone?!”

“If you're embarrassed about it, that ought to tell you something,” I said pointedly.

“It's not just your problem!” the fox finally worked up the nerve to raise his voice. “Do you know how many times I've gotten them second-hand? Do you know how frustrating that is?!”

“I-I'm sorry-” the coyote said, sounding thoroughly humiliated. As he rightly should have been, as far as I was concerned.

“But it's not just that, Ransom,” Puck continued. “That's just a small part of it. Most of it is just. . . how it makes me feel. The doubt. The worry that you'll someday decide. . . you don't want me any more. . . .”

“Puck, we've been through hell together,” the coyote insisted, “I. . . I love you. I ain't leavin' you 'til I die. And if the gods are willin', I'll meet you in whatever's after all of this, too.”

The room went silent at his words. Puck still looked hurt and sad, but I could tell he was softening, some.

I kept up the pressure.

“If you love him that much,” I said, “then you can be loyal.”

“I don't like bein' restrained like that,” the man said, stubborn to a fault. I was about ready to hit him again. “Look, I'd let him do the same.”

“That isn't fair, Ransom, and you know it,” the fox snapped. “How many chances have I ever had? I'm blind. I only like men. I have literally never had any other lover but you.”

“I wouldn't get on you if you ever wanted to stray,” the coyote murmured, “it ain't my fault it's never come up. But I'd let you.”

“You're only saying that because it's never happened!” the fox insisted. “You don't know what this feels like, Ransom. And I know you. You're more possessive than you think.”

The coyote ran a hand over his face, tiredly. “Look, can we just. . . can we just put this t'bed, for now?” he pleaded. “I'm sorry. . . alright? She smelled clean, but. . . I'll. . . be more careful next time-”

“There shouldn't BE a next time, damnit!” I insisted.

“Shivah,” the fox said with a soft sigh, “we're not getting anywhere. Just. . . leave it be.”

“Aye, we got enough bloody problems right now,” Ransom muttered. “You can't blame me for wantin' to have one last huzzah before we ship off to this. . . hellhole you're so set on. We don't need more drama right now.”

“You're the reason for it!” I snarled at the man.

“I didn't know it would cause such a bleedin' issue!” Ransom said, exasperated. “It ain't ever pissed him off this much in th'past!”

“Don't use Puck's passive attitude to justify your right to be a bastard!” I snapped in the man's face.

“I'm sleeping in Shivah's room tonight,” Puck suddenly said from behind us, his voice quiet and calm as ever.

Ransom stared over me, and I swear he looked hurt for a moment. “What?! No, y-. . . this is our last full night together. . . . I wanted to spend it with you, fox.”

“Then you should have spent it with me,” Puck replied, stone-faced. “You made your choice, Ransom.” He leaned down and picked up his pack from the room, and made for the door. I gave the coyote, who'd gone silent by now, one last long glare, and followed Puck out.

We made our way to my room, and I used the key I'd been given to unlock the door and step inside. It was a nice, modest room. The mattress was only straw, and there was little furniture other than the chamber pot and a small desk, but it would do. The bed at least looked spacious enough for the fox and I to fit comfortably in. And I never minded sleeping beside him.

Especially of late. . . it was nice to have someone near me at night. It chased away a lot of painful memories.

I dragged a deep breath in through my nose and put my things down. The visit with the Wickham family had not left my mind. . . nor had any of the complicated emotions it had brought back inside me. I'd said a lot of things in that house that I needed to start abiding by. I just wasn't sure how.

“I don't know how to make him understand,” the fox said softly as he began to lay his things out to prepare to sleep. I meandered over to sit next to him on the bed, leaning on my palms and trying not to get too lost in my thoughts. My friend needed me right now, too. I couldn't get too self-absorbed.

Puck gave a soft sigh. “. . . I suppose a lot of it is my own under-confidence. Honestly, I'm a little intimidated that he's able to be. . .” he looked down, “. . . intimate. . . with women. . . as well. I guess I worry that. . . if he can be normal, one of these days, he'll realize he doesn't need me. Our being together is so hard. . . .”

“Don't make excuses for him,” I said, slipping an arm around him. “You're blaming it on yourself. You're allowed to demand his loyalty, Puck. If he can't abide by it, then he's not respecting you. You don't ask a whole lot else from him.”

“He makes me feel like I'm being unreasonable,” Puck murmured, “sometimes I wonder. . . .” he trailed off, then turned his muzzle towards me, his nose twitching. “Shivah,” he said, suddenly, “have you been crying?”

I blinked. I sometimes forgot how perceptive the fox could be, even without his sight.

“. . . yes,” I admitted. “I. . . I went to see Grant's family. . . .”

“Oh gods, Shivah,” Puck said with a long, shuddering sigh, “I'm. . . I'm so relieved. . . .”

I cast my eyes down into my lap, knitting my hands. “. . . I'm not,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Puck, I. . . I-I don't know how to handle. . . this. It's like everything. . . everything that's happened is hitting me. . . all at once.”

“That's because you never faced it all when it happened,” the fox said, looking at me with his soft, pale eyes. “Shivah, you have to grieve the losses in your life. You have to. You can't just throw yourself into anger. We. . . we talked about this. . . .”

“Crow wants me to burn,” I said softly, in a haunted tone.

Puck narrowed his eyes, then instantly forced away the expression, and sighed. “Shivah, you. . . you know how I feel about that. But. . . listen. . . .” he put an arm around my waist and turned me to face him, even though I knew he couldn't see me in the dark room. But he tried. He tried to look me in the eyes.

“Let's say you're right,” he said. “Let's say this spirit is real, and. . . it gave you the strength to survive, and accomplish what it was you wanted most, when you clawed your way out of the earth. I'm not denying it's possible. No one can prove or disprove spirits, or gods. . . so. . .” he reached to his own cheek, and ran a claw along one of the scarred lines carved into his flesh. A sign of his commitment to his faith, from long ago. “As a rational person, I can't entirely dismiss their existence. A lot of people believe in them. That belief must have a source. But the essence of beings that are so beyond us is that they are unknowable. So, looking for proof, trying to make sense of what lies beyond death. . . I think it's honestly outside the grasp of our understanding. I accept that there are things in the world we just can't know, one way or the other.” He squeezed my hand. “So it's possible. Alright? I'm conceding that.”

I smiled softly at the fox.

“But if this spirit came to you in your moment of need, and gave you the power to avenge yourself, it's because that was what you wanted most in the world, at that very moment,” Puck rationed. “You were angry. Your spirit was, therefor, angry. But the spirits are like us, Shivah. . . in fact, this one bound itself to you. Isn't that right?”

I nodded. “He said as much. He gave me some of his fire. His strength. He breathed it into me, and he told me we were forever bound. That when my task was complete, we would burn together.”

“You were alone, Shivah,” the fox murmured. “Alone, and angry. And so was he. I think. . . you were already bound. Crow is your totem, isn't he?”

I reached down and fingered the small turquoise bead, engraved with a worn, black-etched bird. My totem. Crow had always been my totem.

“I think he's been with you your entire life,” the fox offered. “Watching over you. And I think he grew angry and vengeful. . . because you were.”

I shook my head. “He was angry because he lost a loved one. Another spirit, whom he was close to. Someone who gave his existence purpose.”

Puck wrapped both of his paws around one of mine. “Isn't that what happened to you, Shivah?” he asked, gently.

I fell silent. A lot of what he was saying was making sense, but-

“What would that mean, though?” I asked. “Are you saying I made him the way he is?”

“No, but I think you can. . . affect him to some degree,” Puck said, trying to rationalize. I knew all of this must have been hard for him, considering he barely believed it. . . if at all. “I don't remember you saying anything about him visiting you. . . or seeing him. . . when you were rediscovering yourself, with Grant. . . .”

“. . . no. . .” I admitted, dragging a long breath in. “He. . . he was quiet, then.”

“So maybe you're the one helping him,” Puck said. “Maybe you're able to quiet his anger. . . to show him there is a better way to exist. The spirits are not simply guides for us, you know. We are just as capable of guiding them.”

“You think I can heal him?” I asked quietly.

Puck smiled. “Shivah. . . I believe you can do anything.”

I managed the barest hint of a smile back at the small fox. It felt like it was the first time I'd smiled in a very long time.

“You would have been an incredible Shaman,” I said, and I meant it.

Puck laughed. “I'll stick to earthly medicine, I think. . . but. . . by the traditions, you should know. . . I still am a Shaman.”

“No, Puck,” I murmured, “you're something else entirely. And I believe in you, too.”


Two days later, we made for the Manoratha. Grayson had told us where it was docked, and about what we should be looking for. Although honestly, most of these ships looked the same to me. Some more enormous than others, but. . . .

“Good God,” Magpie said, mouth hanging open as we approached one of the boats. “That monster?!”

“Black and gold colors,” Ransom squinted upwards into the glare of the morning sun, “Wolf's head with crossed sabers and pistol. . . yeah. . . seems right.”

“Well at least it's. . . big,” the rat muttered.

I took in the sight myself, and I had to admit. . . it was somewhat awe-inspiring. It was easily the biggest boat I'd ever seen. I struggled to grasp how it had ever been built. The sheer amount of manpower, and wood it must have taken. . . .

Well this, I suppose, was why the Otherwolves were cutting down all of our forests.

The ship had three enormous masts, with what looked to be around four sails hung from each, although it was hard to determine the total amount of sails, as they were still mostly tied down. I could barely follow the network of ropes strung across the massive masts, and I wasn't sure how anyone made sense of them, let alone operated them.

I'd be operating them, I realized suddenly. Or at the very least, helping someone who did. The mere thought made me realize how much I was in over my head on this.

The ship looked to have many levels, as well, or at least it seemed to be partitioned that way. There was a flurry of activity surrounding it right now. . . mostly men loading cargo and moving about inside, and a lot of wagons and merchants offloading crates and barrels to the veritable hive of men readying the ship.

One of the things I noticed that gave me a glimmer of hope was the bustle of men attempting to herd a small flock of goats up one of the planks onto the ship. If they were bringing animals along on this trip, then maybe Helios. . . .

I still hadn't decided what to do with the horse, and I had literally left it to the last minute. Even with the coin I'd given her, Hannah had said they couldn't manage a horse. They lived in a city, after all, and had nowhere to keep him. And selling him felt wrong.

But my thoughts came to a halt when I saw a familiar figure sauntering through the chaos on the docks, not particularly headed our way, but as soon as he noticed us, he called out over the ruckus, “Is that my healer?!”

The wolf bounded over a few stacked crates and made his way towards us, his gait alone suggesting he was far more sober than when last we'd met. Which meant this was the critical moment. He could still see through my disguise.

Or someone else on this ship could. Gods, this was a risk.

“Ah, yes!” the man chuckled, as he approached, spreading his arms. “My most valuable commodity. I was worried you were just a hallucination. You would have been a real odd one, but. . . .” He glanced at the three of us, then squinted. But not at me. At Magpie. “I don't remember three more of you. . . .”

“We tried to explain we had another companion,” Puck sighed, “but you started falling asleep again.”

“That does sound like me,” the man said with a grin, his ivory teeth glinting in the sun. “Well, then. Glad to see you made it. I've got some work for you as soon as we shove off.”

“Someone's sick already?” Puck asked, seeming shocked.

“No, but I need you to make them so,” the man said, seeming to relish our confusion. “You see, there's a disease in the parts we're going to-”

“Inoculations,” Puck said, in sudden realization. “You need me to perform inoculations?”

“Aye,” the wolf said with a sigh. “I learned the hard way last time around, and got myself some of the concoction for our surgeon to use on the crew. . . but then, well, you know. . . .”

“He got eaten,” Puck filled in, worriedly.

“So can you do it? I know it's a bit outside a regular surgeon's duties, but. . .” the wolf looked to him, expectantly.

“I've done them once before,” the fox said. “I believe I can manage it again. I. . . I will manage it. I can handle it.”

The wolf clapped his hands together and laughed outright. “Ah, you are a gift from the gods! You know of the Fever, then?”

“Yes, and I'd love to get started on treating your crew,” the fox said, enthusiastically. “I'm actually hoping to study it.”

“You're going to the right place, then,” Grayson muttered.

“That was my hope,” Puck nodded. “When can we get started on the inoculations?”

“Now, now,” the wolf held up a hand, “no need to rush. Best we shove off and get to open water. . . get out of Amurescan Privateer territory, first. Once we get past the southern current, you can start. Most of my crew's been, so. . . it'll only be a few poor new souls you need to treat. And yourselves.”

“I've been inoculated already,” Puck stated.

“Better and better,” Grayson crowed, clapping a hand down on the fox's shoulder hard enough that I saw the little creature wince. I saw Ransom's hackles go up, and willed the man silently not to make any trouble. Obnoxious or not, we needed to be on this man's good side, at least until we were officially hired.

“But, ah,” the fox paused “I should really be discussing this with the Captain. . . shouldn't I?”

“Admiral,” the wolf corrected, then pointed out into the bay. “You see the two lovely gems sparkling out yonder?”

“I'm. . . blind,” Puck reminded him, annoyed.

“Right, right,” the wolf waved, dismissively, “well they're beautiful. . . take my word for it.”

“Didn't one of them come into port half-sunk?” Magpie asked, dryly. “And. . . on fire?”

“Oh contraire,” the wolf said with an amusingly triumphant grin, “the flooding put out the fires. It was merely still. . . smoking.”

“Oh, well,” Magpie crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes, “as long as you had it all under control, then.”

“It's a time-honored tradition that at least one of my boats always come into port partially on fire,” the wolf explained, as though it were perfectly rational. “Sometimes we just start them ourselves. So the men can tell gallant stories of their heroism to the women in port. with proof still smoking in the bay. Works like a charm, every time.”

I arched my eyebrow at the wolf. But not because I found his story ludicrous. It was actually because I honestly wasn't certain he was joking. . . .

“Wait, your boats?” Ransom suddenly asked.

The wolf grinned, and things became clear, all at once. Clear, and. . . mildly terrifying.

“Admiral Grayson Reed,” he said, giving a slight bow at the waist, with far too much of a flourish of his arm. “It's a pleasure, once again.”

“You this personable with all your muck-and-muck hires?” Magpie asked, suspiciously.

“No, just the ones who bring me healers who make magic sobering powder,” the wolf said, unabashedly. “The rest of you, I'll be honest, I don't give a rat's ass about. No offense.”

“None. . . taken?” Magpie replied, uncertainly.

“I still don't know what we're gonna do with the little one,” he said, gesturing at me. I stepped back a little bit, self-consciously. “But you say he can work?”

“The cat's plenty tough,” Ransom promised. “And none of us know much about boats, but. . . we're fast learners. Gotta be, livin' out in the territories.”

“I have relations out west,” the wolf said, congenially. “We should talk some time. 'Yotes and wolves keep in touch. . . may be you know some of them.”

“I doubt it,” Ransom said, uncertainly. “If you're just tryin' to get at my whiskey again. . . .”

The wolf laughed again. “I'll admit, it grew on me. But I think I'll stick to rum.”

“Cliche,” Magpie muttered, mostly beneath his breath.

The wolf seemed about to say something more, when his nose twitched, and his eyes fell on me. My heart froze in my chest. The wind had shifted. Had he smelled through my attempts to obfuscate my gender? Or maybe the Patchouli was just bothering him. . . either way, it might make him suspicious.

“. . . what reeks?” he asked, confused.

“You,” Ransom replied, without missing a beat. I silently thanked him.

Grayson seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged. “That's fair.”

“So, what're we gonna be doin' here?” Ransom asked, looking around at the chaos on the deck. “I gotta tell you, I ain't never had my feet off the ground before. So just. . . point me at whatever needs doin', and I'll try to catch on.”

The wolf pointed, “Get on over to the black rat over there, the one missing his left ear. That's Ewan, my Master Lieutenant. He'll set you to work for now until we can figure out where to fit you in with the rest of the men.”

I tugged at Ransom's sleeve, gesturing to Molly and Helios.

“Oh, yeah,” Ransom said, clearing his throat. “We'd really like t'bring our beasts, if that's possible. The mule can go if we really need t'be rid of her, but. . . the horse, we'd prefer to keep.”

“Once those animals are on my ship, they belong to me,” Grayson stated. “If we need to gut one of them at sea to eat, we will. My hold's fit to burst as it is. No dead weight.”

Ransom sighed, and dug into his pocket for some of the gold we'd saved. “Look, just. . . how much to bring him? He's sort of important to my friend here.”

The wolf chuckled. “Looks like a good trail horse. The terrain down there's not easy to trespass. . . . I'll tell you what,” he said, smirking, “volunteer now for some of the scouting patrols when we get down there, and I'll let you bring him along.”

“Sure, fine,” Ransom said, confused that it had been so seemingly easy. “We're hunters, so. . . that's where we're at our best, anyway.”

“Oh, good. . . I didn't imagine that, either,” the wolf muttered, almost to himself. “Well, your profession might be shite on the boat, but once we make landfall, I'll have more use for you. For now, just get to work.”

I tugged at Helios's reins, and looked to the wolf, pointedly, trying to make it clear without speaking what I wanted him to address.

“Right, right. . . the beasts,” the wolf sighed, “fine, then. . . you and the fox, follow me.”

Ransom looked to Puck worriedly, as the wolf led us off. But we'd all known being crewed on this ship was likely to separate us at times, if not most of the time. I'd honestly thought we might still be near enough to one another that it wouldn't matter, but. . . the ship was huge. We could probably go an entire working day on it without seeing one another, if we were positioned at opposite ends.

As we headed towards the gang plank where the men were leading animals on-board, the wolf walking ahead of us reached beneath his coat and pulled something from where it had been tucked into his belt. A thick, tan leather glove with an unusual design. In his other hand, he produced a bizarrely-shaped leather and feathered trinket on a long string.

To fully cap off the bizarre behavior, he began slowly spinning the toy on the string over his head, widening the length of the string as he did, until he was twirling it in a wide circle, above him. He kept his eyes skyward for awhile, and I had to continuously fight the urge to ask him what the hell he was doing.

And then rather out of nowhere, a large bird descended from on high, and he put his glove up just in time to intercept it. The raptor looked to be a falcon of some sort, grey with black wingtips, and barred white and black feathers along its chest. He held up a small scrap of meat for it, and it gobbled it down quickly, before regarding us with a sharp-eyed gaze. It made a low chirruping sound that escalated into a louder 'Kak, Kak!', and I gave the man some distance. The creature did not look terribly friendly.

“Am I hearing a hawk?” Puck asked, confused.

“Harpy is a peregrine falcon,” the wolf corrected, scratching at the scruff of the bird's neck, “and she doesn't like to be called a hawk. It's an important distinction.”

“Why do you have a hawk. . . falcon?” Puck asked, sounding almost exasperated, at this point. It was just one more odd thing about an already. . . extremely odd man. This wolf was. . . complex. I wasn't sure I'd ever really understand him.

“Because only primping dandies keep parrots,” the wolf replied, with a smirk. “And dandies don't get women. Bitches like real men. . .and bitches like falcons.”

I sighed. Scratch that. I think I now knew everything I'd ever need to know about this man.