Deadhouse Landing

Wu turned, blinking innocently. ‘What? Why, acquired a property at a fantastic price!’

‘Did you just spend all our remaining—’ He snapped up a hand. ‘Wait! I don’t want to know. What I do want to know is why.’

‘Hmmm?’ Wu was now inspecting the desk, which was heaped high with garbage and plates of dried crusted food. He poked his walking stick at the mess. ‘Why what?’

Dancer sighed, raised his suffering gaze to the ceiling. ‘Why did you purchase this place?’

Wu blinked again. ‘Ah, well, actually the price was a steal because the fellow thought the Napan employees were conspiring to kill him and take the business. Why he should think that I have no idea…’ Dancer just glared until Wu’s brows rose in understanding. ‘Ah!’ Swinging the walking stick, he brushed aside all the clutter on the desk, sending papers, glassware, tin plates and old candles crashing to the floor. Satisfied, he sat behind the expanse of wine-stained dark wood and gestured to the empty surface. ‘There we are. You see? One must sweep aside the old before building anew.’

Dancer crossed his arms. Okay. ‘Why here?’

‘The moment I set foot on this island I felt it.’ Wu raised his hands, brushing his thumbs and forefingers together. ‘Shadow. It’s close. This place has some sort of affinity.’

Dancer let his arms fall. ‘So you say,’ and he added, half muttering, ‘if only to justify this stupid purchase.’ He crossed to the one window. It overlooked a side street of ancient wood and stone buildings, all muted grey and dingy in a thin misting rain. He turned on Wu. ‘But we’re still only two. What’s the plan?’

The lad was undaunted. He raised his hands once again. ‘Why, as before. We take over the town.’

Great. As before … when we failed. Dancer drew breath to tear into the fool but silenced himself as he detected someone on the landing outside the door. A knock sounded. Wu cleared his throat and steepled his fingers across his stomach, arranging his features into a stern frown.

‘Ah! Yes? Do come in.’

The door swung inward but no one entered. Intrigued, Dancer leaned forward to peer out. It was the serving woman, Surly. The young Napan was surveying the room before entering and Dancer smiled to himself: More than a mere servitor. For certain.

She took one step in – still not clearing the door – and eyed Wu as if she’d found a particularly annoying mess. ‘Do you have staff of your own you’ll be bringing in?’

Wu’s tiny eyes darted right and left. ‘Ah … no.’

‘So, we’ll be staying on, then?’

‘For the foreseeable future.’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’

The young woman’s expression twisted into even more of a scowl. ‘Work’s hard to come by on this damned island.’

Wu leaned forward to set his chin on a fist, cocking his head. ‘I should think you and your, ah, piratical friends should easily find employment with any one of the crews that sail out of this island.’

The lips curled up into a humourless half-smile. ‘Don’t know much about the history between Nap and Malaz, do you?’

‘You’re rivals,’ Dancer supplied. Surly gave him a reserved nod. ‘You’ve fought for control of the southern seas for hundreds of years.’

‘That’s right. They won’t have us. And in any case,’ and she raised her chin, her gaze suddenly fierce, ‘we work for ourselves.’

Pride, Dancer read in her every stern line. Ferocious pride. How did anyone come to such monumental arrogance? And he smiled inwardly. Well … I should know.

The girl made it clear she considered the interview over by backing away – not turning round, as anyone else might, but sliding one bare foot behind the other and edging her weight backwards. And Dancer smiled again, inwardly. One should not advertise one’s training so openly.

Also studying the girl, one brow raised, Wu motioned to him. ‘My, ah, partner, Dancer.’

Surly eyed him anew. He watched her gaze move from his face to his hands, to his feet, a knowing amusement similar to his own growing in her dark eyes. ‘Partner,’ she said. ‘I see.’

‘So what brought you here, then?’ Wu went on.

The amused light disappeared behind high, hard walls. ‘Shipwreck in a storm. We are the few of … the crew who made it to shore.’

What had she been going to say just then, Dancer wondered. My crew, perhaps?

‘I see … well, thank you.’ Wu motioned her out.

The scowl returned but she withdrew, pulling the door shut as she left.

Dancer remained poised next to the window. He eyed the door, musing aloud, ‘I heard of some sort of dispute among the royal family of Nap not long ago. A civil war. This lot might’ve backed the losing side. So they can’t go back. They’re stuck here.’

No answer came from Wu and Dancer turned: the lad was leaning back in the captain’s-style chair, using his hands to cast shadow-images on the wall. Sensing Dancer’s attention he glanced over, blinking. ‘Sorry? You were saying something?’

Dancer gritted his teeth. ‘Never mind. Let’s talk about our plans.’