That was not what Saul wanted to hear, but he knew there was little he could do about it. Brat was Brat, and she would always do exactly as she pleased. Nothing Saul said ever seemed to stop her.
He kept an uncomfortable eye on her for several moments until Malachi motioned him to follow. There was still plenty of work to be done. There was a large collection of goods to be brought off the ship strewn across the deck, but there were very few dockworkers on The Albatross. They were all on other vessels, though there was little work to find on them. They were definitely making Malachi pay for the state of his last shipment, maybe a little more than he deserved.
Saul commented on his friend’s chipper appearance. “You look like you are keep away from the liquor.”
“Are keeping away.” Malachi nodded. “I have Brat to thank for that.”
“Brat?” He picked up a box and realized he could carry more. “Put another one on top here.”
“Malachi placed another crate on top of the one Saul had in his arms, decided it wasn’t enough, and placed on one more. “Yeah. She told me I could either spend my money on booze or beautiful women. I had a particular one I was after.”
The weight of the three boxes was more than Saul had counted on. He strained against them and tightened his grip on the bottom box to keep from losing his cargo. He made his way to the gangway and walked toward where Malachi directed him.
“I saw your sister last night.” Malachi liked nothing better than to tell of his nights with Sasha, unless it was the nights themselves.
“I expect nothing less from you.”
“Would expect,” Malachi corrected him.
Saul shrugged. He felt like that one could have gone either way, but he didn’t argue. He set the boxes in a cart that would take them to their final destination.
“I hardly slept a wink last night.”
Saul knew exactly where this was headed and cut it off early. “And if I hear about a single moment of it, I throwing you into the Suvan.”
“Am throwing. And what you really should have said is ‘am going to throw.’”
Saul stopped and glared at Malachi. “Do you really want to piss of the one person who’s on your side today?” Spotting a puddle on the deck, Saul nodded to it to make Malachi aware of its presence. “Watch your step.”
“What is it?”
“It smell like urine around here.”
“Somebody pissed on my ship?” Malachi didn’t even bother correcting Saul’s grammar mistake. “How angry are they?”
Saul shrugged as he stacked two boxes on top of each other and lifted with his legs. “Pissed.”
Malachi glared at Saul’s back as he stepped off the ship. “You’re a sarcastic son of a bitch.”
Saul smiled and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, but you still have to put up with me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if you don’t, I will kill you for touching my sister.”
Malachi was in a foul mood now and left Saul to his work. There was a lot of it. Saul took the boxes to the cart and stacked them with the others. Walking back on to the ship, Saul continued his work on this pile of boxes, and over a bell, it dwindled to nothing. Finding the next shipment, barrels filled with Gods-only-knew what, Saul tipped one on its side and hoisted it up to his waist. The familiar burning in his shoulders and arms began before he had even delivered the first barrel to the man who was to complete its delivery to its final destination.
Once back on the ship, he looked for Brat again. It was a habit of his to always check up on her from time to time throughout his day, if he knew she was at the harbor with him. She was still up on the yard spar, imitating the gulls flying overhead by spreading her arms outward and teetering back and forth on imaginary rises of warm air. Saul still wasn’t comfortable with her up there, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he tipped another barrel, lifted it, and walked it back to the waiting cart driver.
He had to pause when delivering his third barrel, the weight of his previous loads having sapped his strength, and over the next three dozen of them, his reserves seemed to drain entirely. Wearily, Saul stumbled back up on to the deck of The Albatross.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered to check on Brat. He had not done so since early with his work moving the barrels. Casting his gaze upward, he found her exactly where she had been before, only this time she was farther out on the yard spar still imitating the birds. This time she acted as if she was being buffeted by little gusts of wind, ducking back and forth compensating with her outstretched wings.
Saul was about to shout up to her to tell her to get down when a real gust hit her. Her body moved with the gust, and like some expert seagull, she dipped her arms into the wind, throwing her weight against it. She was agile, but she overcompensated. She teetered too far the other way.
That sickening feeling returned to Saul’s gut. He knew she wouldn’t recover this time. Any weariness he had felt before left his body, and he was already sprinting toward the edge of the ship when she fell. At least she managed to tuck her arms in and hit the water feet first. From that height, hitting the water flat would be like hitting solid rock.
Saul didn’t know if Brat could swim. He had never asked. One thing was certain, he wasn’t waiting to find out. He leapt over the side of the ship, making sure to jump far from where Brat hit. One thing he knew would do neither of them any favors would be landing on her.
Taking a deep breath midair, he hit the water the same as she had, arms tucked into his side and feet first, cutting deep into the harbor water. The dull roil of the churning water was the only thing around him now. That, and cold water. Saul hated the sea. Not only was it cold, it also felt foreign to him. He never knew what direction was up. Gravity seemed to largely lose its effects. Still, he knew what direction he had entered the water in, so he kicked his legs powerfully back and forth, driving his body toward what he hoped was up. His heavily muscled frame did him no favors in the water. It wanted to sink, but the work his legs were doing managed to push him to the surface. |
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