Nine days later a sharp whistle from the Gull’s Nest came downward into the ears of all on board the Mercy. Ninia’s ears perked up at the sound, looking at the nest, then off into the distance where the world grew too small to see, the pale line of the Ice Wall visible. She had been swabbing the deck, mopping the saltwater off so it wouldn’t etch into the wood. Each wave the Mercy chopped through sent a salty spray onto the deck, making her job as everlasting as the sun itself.

  Captain Alinyaln leapt onto the bow of the ship, spyglass in his hand pointed toward the landmass that was coming into view. Ninia had noticed that the Captain was particularly anxious to get to Tusana, one of the port islands of Loshbor, but it didn’t seem to be related to Tyrnarm.

  “All hands!” The Captain called, turning around, keeping his balance remarkably well as the ship tore through another shallow wave. “All hands, I said!”

  Ninia hurriedly put her mop into the freshwater bucket and ran to stand at attention beneath Alinyaln. Behind her, she heard the wooden handle of the mop strike the deck as she hadn’t rested the length against something more substantial.

  A dozen Yishks, as well as Kiara, Drags, and—surprisingly—Timphinny all lined up at attention, awaiting what the Captain had to say. As Ninia waited, she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her arm, the smooth leather of the knife sheath pulling moisture across in one sweep. Though Rythmar was typically hotter than the other regions of the world, save for the Dead Hills, there was an oppressive humidity here in the Loshish waters that made her clothes stick to her body.

  “We’ll be making port in Tusana in a few hours.” Alinyaln said. “I want this ship cleaned, inside and out. Kiara, delegate groups to specific tasks. Drags, you are in charge of burning any refuse that we no longer have need for. Ninia, you can work alongside the Yishks. And Timphinny, please bring up any empty rum bottles you have belowdecks, we might be able to sell them back unless you’ve managed to break all of them.” And with that, the Captain hopped down from his perch and entered his cabin.

  Ninia was disappointed that she hadn’t been given a more important task, but she nodded to herself and lined up with the Yishks as Kiara met with them all, giving them orders.

  “—And you two,” Kiara pointed to Ninia and a younger Yishk, this one being a skinny woman who was missing her nose and left ear—something about a sex trafficking mishap in her youth. “Take the side saddle and scrape off the crust and barnacles that have affixed themselves above the waterline. We will be getting the hull of the ship cleaned in port, but there is no excuse for being sloven in the meantime.”

  When it came to deciding who would be in the chair and who would raise and lower the cleaner, Ninia lost. “Lucky throw,” The Yishk woman said to her after using dice to determine who would have the worse job.

  And so it was that Ninia dangled off of the side of the Mercy of Dradinoor as it sailed along toward Tusana.

  The saddle was little more than a loop of rope connected to a pulley with a crank, which the Yishk woman used to lower Ninia until her feet were touching the surface of the disgustingly warm waters. The waves, of course, had begun to rise in intensity as soon as she had been lowered down, each one they smashed through dousing Ninia with sea water.

  Ninia took her brush and began to scrub at the greenish scum that had developed on the grain of the wood over time, the coarse bristles cutting through to the surface of the wood far faster than she had anticipated. After finishing the section of hull, the Yishk would slide the entire pulley system over a few feet for Ninia to access more.

  On the third repeat of this, the Mercy of Dradinoor had cut through a massive wave, and Ninia, who made the mistake of looking directly at the water as it crashed in on her, had to sputter and cough to get the water out of her lungs. Up above, the Yishk woman was laughing hysterically.

  “Stupid Yishk, stupid cards, stupid chores,” Ninia grumbled, shaking the water out of her ears. This would be the last time she gambled to decide her chores.

  She sighed and slumped in the loop, setting the brush down in her lap. She looked at the ship on either side, looking at the condition of the wood. The Mercy of Dradinoor was unique in that Captain Alinyaln had never painted the hull, or at least had never had the paint reapplied after it had originally worn off, leaving it brown and reddish from the wood used to create the ship. It gave the Mercy an almost boring look, while also being distinct as it was rare for ships to be left unpainted.

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  The only exception to this being the words written in the swooping characters of the Siston region, “Mercy of Dradinoor.” Ninia couldn’t really read Sisim, but the words were as clear to her as anything.

  Most of the languages of the world were all similar, offshoots of the Common tongue that everyone is taught to speak early on, even slaves. But oftentimes for the sake of individuality the local dialects and scripts would be used instead, all similar but all distinct in certain ways.

  Ninia had once asked Captain Alinyaln why the hull of the ship was bare, except for the name of the ship written on the bow. He had told her that it was an unnecessary expense for the ship as it didn’t contribute anything to what they do, so he just left it as is. Ninia didn’t necessarily agree with the Captain on that note. A striking coloring of the hull could incite fear in those they boarded and took goods off of, making them more likely to surrender. The fabled Phantom’s Folly, with its mist gray hull that made it blend in on cool humid mornings, was said to strike such fear into the victims for the ability to sneak up unnoticed for an attack.

  There had been no barnacles worth going after, so Ninia gave a wave to the Yishk above and the woman turned the crank, pulling Ninia up until she could climb over the railing. They quickly took care of the other half of the ship, and after Kiara inspected their work they had been dismissed to their own activities until they docked.

  Unsure on what to do, Ninia decided to go down into the hull of the ship to talk to Higlim. The cook was probably getting started on the evening meal, signaled by Midin’s initial crossing in front of the sun. Midin would completely block the light from the sun in about two hours, the sky growing progressively darker until then.

  Stepping into the hold of the ship, Ninia kicked Timphinny’s feet as she passed, the drunken man having already completed his chore and was snoring in the walkway. Where was his head? Ninia stopped and saw that Timphinny’s head was stuck between a bag of grain and the inner hull of the ship, a soggy melon as a pillow. He hadn’t even reacted to Ninia’s kick.

  “Ayo, Viniata!” Higlim called, waving to Ninia as he noticed her. “Leave Phinny alone, eh? He’s had a long day.”

  “He ran out of rum, then?” Ninia asked, sitting down in Higlim’s spare chair. The cook was cutting dried vegetables on the table, moreso shattering the dessicated plants with the knife as it passed through. “What are you doing?”

  “Cooking, foolish Minia,” Higlim said, tossing a dried piece of potato at Ninia. “Captain’s orders, cooking up the old food we had saved for a hard time, so now we can get more, eh?”

  Ninia looked at the pile of food that had already been cut up. “Is that even safe to eat?”

  “Of course!” Higlim roared. “So long as you make sure no rats pooped in it.”

  Grimacing, Ninia glanced around for any rats. They weren’t common on the Mercy, thankfully, though they didn’t employ a cat to do the job as other ships Ninia had been on did. “And did you see any rat poop, Higlim?”

  “Thankfully, no.” The cook admitted. “Though if I had, it would probably be dry as to pick it off, eh?” He gave Ninia an exaggerated wink, then continued to his work. Once he finished with the pile, he slid it all off of the table into a big pot, and then pulled more dried foods from a woven sack and repeated the process.

  As always, when Ninia offered to help the older man, he refused, so Ninia just let the man work. She tried to look around the hold to see if she could find the bundle of sinbark, but Higlim must have hidden it somewhere. “What happened with that wood Jendul brought you?” She asked him, curious.

  “The sinbark?” Higlim asked, confused at first, then smiled. “Why, Quinoa, do you think I have not put it in your food?”

  “I think I would have noticed if the slop you cook changed any, Higlim.” Ninia told the cook with a laugh.

  Higlim shook his head. “Slop is slop, yes, but the plans for the sinbark are far grander than just common food.” He stepped over to a drawer and slid it open, pulling out the wrapped bundle and uncovering part of it to take a deep sniff. “Sinbark has an important role soon, Cinina, just wait.” Higlim dropped the bundle back in the drawer and slammed it shut, eliciting a snort from Timphinny.

  “Is he… Is that going to be food?” Ninia asked, looking back at the drunkard who was now drooling onto the melon.

  “No, no, it’s too far gone even for me.” Higlim said with a dismissive wave. “He can canoodle it all he wants.”

  A groan came from the cell. Ninia was doing everything she could to not look in that direction, but her resolve broke. She looked inside and saw Yaskin laying on a cot, leg wrapped in a heavy bandage. His hands also had bandages wrapping them, soaked with blood. Ninia didn’t know the full extent of what had been done to the thug, but she knew that it had been… unpleasant.

  “How is he?” She asked, not sure why she cared.

  “Healing.” Higlim sighed. “Slowly, but healing. Captain wants him here until he heals enough to fend for himself.”

  Ninia nodded, standing up and stepping over to the bars of the cell. Yaskin, who was lying on his back, turned his head slightly in order to look at her. Though his eyes watered with the pain of the action, she could see fury burning in his eyes, not pain.

  “Is there something you want to say to me?” Ninia asked him with a smirk.

  The only response was a wheeze.

  “That’s what I thought.” She said, then stalked away, leaving Higlim to his work of cutting dried vegetables.