Dear Reader,

For more than 10 years, I’ve been writing books in the Cowry Catchers/Refugees saga. This year, I will bring the entire epic tale to a conclusion with The Cormorant. At that time, I’ll be rebranding the books and stories as a single series (Pirates of Wefrivain), so that the reading order will be more obvious. I can’t tell you how excited I am to reach the end of such a long-running project!

In preparation for this event, I’m releasing entry-level short stories every 2 weeks for the next few months. This story will come down on Sept 12 and be replaced with another. I hope you enjoy the story.

~Abbie

Bad Blood

Padmay slunk into the dockside pub with a sense of mingled guilt and relief. She sat down against a wall at the very end of the bar as far as she could get from other patrons, and ordered a drink from a bored looking grishnard kid who didn’t give her a second glance.

Good. That was good.

Any port town would surely have hunti passing through from time to time, but this pub was high in the cliffs where the airships moored. Padmay had not felt like walking all the way down to the river at the bottom of the valley just to get a drink.

Not a lot of hunti in the airship crews. Padmay hadn’t worn any of her traditional gold or bone jewelry. She was dressed just like the other sailors in the pub, but her mottled skin and hair were impossible to hide. Hunti were known to be ferocious fighters, and they were rarely attacked in port in spite of the general distaste for their species.

However, it was also true that hunti traveled in packs. Where you found one, you were likely to find half a dozen. Any friend would have told Padmay not to go into a pub in a strange port alone. And any friend would have made me regret it immediately by airing their grievances.

Padmay took a grateful gulp of her ale. I just need a quarter watch without anyone complaining at me. Or pointing out yet another way in which airships are different from waterborne ships. Or giving me meaningful looks. She took another gulp. Starting with Layjen.

Padmay felt she’d made a mistake with that one, but she’d be damned to the seventh hell if she could figure out how. She was grateful to him; of course she was grateful! Her whole pack would have been in nooses were it not for Layjen. But, as her grandmother would have said, “A cup of water in the desert does not buy a well in the jungle, no matter how kindly given or received.”

And even if his saving us did create some sort of lasting obligation, we still seem to be speaking two different languages.

Although he was a hunti, Layjen had been raised by grishnards—the royal family of Haplag, no less—and Padmay thought privately that he was more grishnard than Captain Bellwater. Percival Bellwater had his faults—a multitude of them in Padmay’s opinion—but at least he did not try to push his way into pack dynamics. As long as the hunti followed orders and sailed the ship, Bellwater was content.

Layjen, on the other hand, was trying to keep a foot in both worlds. In addition to going among the grishnard sailors as though he were one of them, Layjen was forever trying to save the captain from himself—dining with him, attending his family gatherings, coming and going from his cabin at all hours. You’d think they were lovers. And wouldn’t that solve so many problems?

Hunti thought of grishnard men as women, so if the captain had taken Layjen into his bed, that would have tied everything up with a bow. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Layjen was an unclaimed male hunti, second in command of the ship according to Bellwater, and this created instant problems for Padmay as the leader of her pack. Of course, she had bedded Layjen. She couldn’t have done anything else and maintained order.

She’d fucked him and claimed him. Problem solved. The grishnards could call the ship’s hierarchy whatever they liked, but from the point of view of the hunti pack, Layjen’s position had been established.

Except he didn’t seem to understand. In fact, Padmay had gotten the bizarre notion that he was becoming jealous of Hosoli and Kurcsh and any other lower ranking male that she took into her hammock. Worse, she’d gotten the impression that he thought he’d laid some sort of claim to her. It was as though he didn’t understand a dominance display when it was right in front of him. Right on top of him, for godsakes!

Does he think that when a woman beds with a man, he owns her? Padmay felt foolish for not seeing this earlier. Maybe the alcohol was helping. Do grishnards think so? Well, it’s the other way around for hunti, you idiot. I own you. Get that straight. I’ve done you the favor of claiming you myself and not letting one of my subordinates do it.

More startling still, Layjen had made it clear that he was interested in fathering children. His arrogance was breathtaking. If any other man had said such a thing to her, Padmay would have put him abruptly and painfully in his place.

Hunti had a great deal of sex, but very little of it was reproductive. The choice of whether to get children with any particular partner lay entirely with the woman, both socially and biologically. Reproductive rape was impossible for hunti. Childbirth through a pseudo-penis was quite dangerous, so it wasn’t a decision that a woman made lightly.

Hunti were well aware that other shelts found them strange, even repulsive, and they rarely mated outside their species. There was no need, as any hunti with a pack had ample opportunities. Hunti used sex to establish social hierarchies, to smooth over disputes, and to strengthen bonds within a pack. Sex as dominance display was common. That did not mean that it wasn’t pleasurable for all parties involved, but any hunti understood what it meant.

Except, apparently, Layjen.

Ursul was already smarting because Layjen had rebuffed her advances. He had a right to do so as the claimed mate of the pack leader, but it was still rude, especially to Padmay’s beta. Layjen could easily say no to the lower ranking women, but the pack beta? And him an outsider? Padmay massaged her temples. I am going to have to have a blunt conversation with him. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

Because she liked Layjen. He tried so hard, and he was attractive. He did have many of the qualities Padmay looked for in the fathers of her cubs—intelligence, strength, patience, and he was kind in so far as he understood what that meant. He was absurdly proud of having made a connection to his own species across the gulf of his grishnard upbringing. Padmay had a soft spot for him. It’s going to feel like kicking a cub when I have to set him straight.

Ursul… She was a good beta, but she was constantly testing the limits of what Padmay would allow. If she decides to set Layjen in his place herself, there will be trouble. There was always trouble when pack dynamics came into conflict with a ship’s hierarchy aboard a grishnard vessel. If Ursul believes that a hunti man is showing her contempt, she’ll attack him, and Bellwater will interpret that as mutiny, because Layjen is his lieutenant and his friend.

The problem was that hunti who thought like grishnards were so rare. If Layjen had been any other species—hells, if he’d just been female—the trouble would not have existed. But he was a male hunti, and it was impossible for the pack not to see him as a creature bound by their rules.

I can maintain control of this situation, Padmay told herself. As long as Ursul does not sense weakness or indecision. Padmay finished her ale and ordered another.

The alcohol was working. She was beginning to feel a little better. Ursul will be fine. She’s just struggling like everyone else to learn her way around an airship. She takes out her frustration on the lower ranking males, and she tests me. But the work is becoming easier every day. We can do this. It’s better than being hanged as pirates. In a year, we’ll say it’s the best luck we ever had.

Padmay was startled out of her reverie when a big grishnard sat down heavily on the stool beside her. He called out cheerfully to the bartender to order his drink and then turned to Padmay. “Well, I hope you’re having a better day than me, friend, although you certainly don’t look it.”

Padmay was too surprised to respond. Grishnards did not usually speak to unknown hunti unless they were telling them to clear out. She peered at her seatmate out of the corner of her eye. No direct eye contact. Not here. This was not her territory. She was alone. Definitely no direct eye contact.

The stranger was a big, broad-shouldered mountain grishnard with dark wavy hair and a pleasant face. Padmay thought that other grishnards probably considered him handsome, although it was difficult for her to tell grishnards apart, let alone have an opinion of their relative appearances. She did find things a little easier with mountain grishnards. They were less delicate than their lowland counterparts and physically powerful in a way that Padmay admired.

The stranger drummed his fingers while waiting for his drink. He continued talking in a cheerfully annoyed tone. “Can I tell you a story? You won’t tell anyone else, I’m sure.” He wasn’t looking directly at Padmay, and she realized that he was doing this on purpose. Because he was aware that hunti considered direct eye contact from strangers either threatening or overly familiar? How refreshingly perceptive from a grishnard.

Padmay surprised herself by saying, “Only if I can tell you one.” Gods, the alcohol must be having an effect. Shut up, Padmay.

The grishnard slapped the bar and cackled. “Deal.” His drink had arrived. He took a gulp and said, “My captain is my best friend. Truly. Dinner every night, cards, books. I think I might be his only friend. I’d get between him and a charging griffin.”

Padmay smirked into her drink. “I sense a ‘but.’”

“But,” continued the stranger, “if I don’t get away from him for a day, I am going to kill him. I swear I’d like to turn him over his desk and spank him right now, and not in a sexy way.”

Padmay nearly choked on her ale. She hadn’t laughed so hard in a while.

“I mean,” continued the stranger, enjoying her amusement, “I’m not saying it couldn’t be sexy. What I’m saying is, he is being an arse, and I’d like to throttle him.”

“Hunti might settle that with a spanking.”

“I know,” said the grishnard. “It is really too bad that he is not a hunti.”

“What did he do?”

“Oh, he got us involved in a bidding war over a cargo that is not worth what we’re going to end up paying for it. We’ll have to do part of the Harcover Run at night, and I know he loves a challenge, but this isn’t even about that. He’s got some private feud with the other captain and he hates to lose! He simply must win every godsdamned thing if it kills him. If it kills us!”

Padmay rolled her eyes. “My captain was also engaged in a bidding war recently. He did not win, but he has consoled himself by taking a troop of actors aboard. Actors, for all love.” She used the phrase, not because it was common among hunti, but because she thought it would make the grishnard laugh, coming from her. She was correct. He had a pleasant laugh.

Padmay continued speculatively. “I’m sure he’s fucking one of them. I don’t know which, nor do I care. They all look the same to me. But I am sure they will all be a tremendous nuisance. Have you ever heard of such a thing aboard ship? Actors!” She drank her ale and listened to the grishnard chuckle.

He held up a hand. “Wait, wait, I can top that. My captain will not simply fuck an actor like any reasonable person. Instead, he has taken up insect collecting.”

Padmay raised one eyebrow. She was looking at him now—not head-on, but with both eyes. He was glancing at her between sentences, matching her degree of eye-contact. He has definitely spent some time around hunti. He could teach Layjen a thing or two. “Insect collecting?” she said aloud.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ve never heard of such a thing. I know I hadn’t. Last yellow month, we anchored on Maijha-184 in the dead of night. Because why? Because there is a green beetle that flies at dawn. He spent a quarter watch down there. My captain, in his shirt sleeves, running around a numerary in the mud with a glass jar. A quarter watch! For three beetles!”

Padmay was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Well,” she gasped, “at least as soon as you got into port, I bet you didn’t—”

“Oh, but we did!” said the stranger.

At the same time, each trying to be a little louder, they said, “spend half a day looking for coffee beans!”

Their laughter stopped abruptly. Coffee was a rarified beverage in Wefrivain—a drink favored by the elite, much less common than tea. Ships who went looking for it frequently ran into each other on a recurring basis. Suspicion crept into Padmay’s voice as she said, “What’s your ship?”

“Scarlet Albatross,” said the grishnard. “Yours?”

Padmay looked directly at him. She did this instinctively, because she’d just realized she was facing an enemy. “The Ray.” Both of them scooted back a fraction. “You’re right about one thing,” spat Padmay, “Silas Ackleby is certainly an arse!”

“Silas?!” snarled the grishnard, suddenly bristling to his tail tip. “He didn’t even start it this time! I swear Percy follows him around bidding on our cargoes just because he knows Silas can’t resist!”

“Good luck with that night run to Harcover,” snapped Padmay. “I hope the downdraft sends you right into the canyon.”

“Fuck you!”

Padmay was dimly aware that they were shouting at each other, that she was too drunk to be doing this, that she was alone, that she should not call attention to herself.

“Hey!”

Padmay looked up to see a new bartender—probably the kid’s father—looking a lot less bored, a lot less friendly. The bar had gotten fuller and noisier since she’d sat down, but not full enough or noisy enough to drown the argument between Padmay and her seatmate. The bartender’s eyes skipped over Padmay’s mottled hands, face, and hair. You couldn’t hide as a hunti, couldn’t pretend to be anything else. “We don’t serve mud skins in here.”

“Well, you did an eighth watch ago,” snapped Padmay. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Get out,” growled the bartender. He slapped her bill down on the counter, and Padmay saw, with a sinking feeling, that is was three times what it should have been. She also sensed, more than saw, a couple of hired peace-keepers edging around behind her—grishnards as big as the one from the Albatross.

Well, this evening is certainly going to take my mind off my troubles. Perhaps permanently.

Padmay put the correct amount of money on the counter and stood up.

The bartender didn’t miss a beat. “That’s not even half your bill, Mud.”

“It is my entire bill,” snapped Padmay. The peace-keepers were right behind her. They were taller. They were bigger. This is going to be ugly.

She forced herself not to look at the grishnard from the Albatross. He’ll have a great story when he gets back to his ship—how he got one of the Rays nearly beaten to death. And all he had to do in order to win was sit there and be a grishnard.

Padmay couldn’t have paid the bartender’s outrageous bill even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t have that much money in her pockets. She concentrated on what she could see of the peace-keepers out of the corners of her eyes. They’ll drag me outside before they really lay into me. If I elbow the one on the right and break the other one’s nose, I might get to the door first.

“Excuse me.” The grishnard from the Albatross spoke in a carrying, on-deck voice. Padmay finally glanced at him. He was glaring at the bartender. “Do I look like a maiden in distress to you?”

“No, sir,” said the bartender guardedly. “You look like a patron.”

“Are you planning to charge me three times what my drinks are supposed to cost?”

The bartender crossed his arms. “No, sir. You don’t incur a mud skin tax.”

“A mud—skin—tax?” The grishnard repeated the words slowly, as though each one had a different flavor of feces.

The bartender rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk, sir.” He jerked his head at the peace-keepers, and they pinned Padmay’s arms. Too late, Padmay realized she’d become distracted by the grishnard’s display. She’d missed her chance to bolt. She also realized that there were more than two peace-keepers. Three at least, maybe four. They were going to pick her up bodily, carry her outside, and beat her until no one could see her mottled skin past her bruises.

I should go limp. They’ll get bored sooner. She wouldn’t though. Padmay wasn’t a hunti pack leader for nothing. I am going to break a few heads. I am too drunk for this. They may kill me. Ursul and Layjen will just have to sort it out.

She looked up in time to see a fist coming at her. No, not at her. Past her.

The grishnard from the Albatross hit the peace-keeper behind Padmay so hard that he stumbled backwards and fell across a table full of drinks and cards. The party at the table gave a roar of outrage. They began shouting at the bartender, at the peace-keeper, at the grishnard from the Albatross.

Padmay took the opportunity to ram her elbow into one of the goons behind her, following it with a toss of her head that caught another in the face. She felt his teeth tear into her scalp, but as she ducked and spun away, she had the satisfaction of seeing him careen into one of the already angry patrons from the interrupted card game.

Padmay vaulted over a table, knocking drinks everywhere, and reached the door in another bound. She whirled to look back and saw that one of the peace-keepers had tossed her former seatmate down across a table and pulled out a dagger. Oh for fuck’s sake.

Padmay knew she should just run. They won’t hurt him. He’s a grishnard.

He started a bar fight, argued another voice in her head. For you.

Fuck.

Padmay glanced around and saw a broom beside the door. She picked it up and hurled it handle first like a javelin. Padmay was fairly good with javelins. The handle hit the attacking peace-keeper in the face. He reeled back with a screech, and her seatmate shot out from under him. He caught sight of her as he bounded for the door and gave her a dazzling grin. Padmay rolled her eyes. They both hurtled through the entrance, along with every other patron who didn’t want to lose an eyeball or a kidney.

Padmay didn’t know this port well. When she started to go left, the stranger grabbed her arm, and said, “No, this way.”

They ran for at least four blocks before he stopped and ducked into an alley. They stood there, catching their breaths. The grishnard was laughing as he panted. Padmay was not laughing, but she did feel a little giddy. The grishnard stuck out his hand. “Gus Creevy.”

Padmay looked at him. She looked at his hand, but did not take it. “Padmay.”

“Can I buy you a drink in a better pub, Padmay?”

She said nothing. We compete with the Scarlet Albatross more than any other airship. There’s bad blood between Bellwater and Ackleby. I should walk away.

“Come on,” said Gus gently. “I shouldn’t have started yelling back there. That pub isn’t friendly to non-grishnards; I should have known better. Let me show you a place to get a drink that isn’t run by assholes.” He smiled. “You can complain to me about actors if I can complain to you about beetles. And maybe you can tell me where to find the good coffee, because I have looked and looked.”

Padmay could feel the corners of her mouth tugging up. Fuck it. Bellwater and Ackleby could feud all they liked, and Layjen could go along for the ride. It wasn’t her fight. Padmay shook Gus’s hand. “We found good coffee across the river. Nothing on this side is drinkable according to Bellwater. The actors are worse than ocelot kittens. Where on earth does Ackleby keep all these beetles?”