The Cavalry is Dead

Chapter 5: It Turns Out My New Companions Are Criminals

Asa leaned against the deck of the ship.

Salt and iron and rust blew off the river. The sky was the colour of week-old vomit, a substance that Asa was unfortunately well acquainted with after a week at sea. Sailors scampered around the deck, hauling ropes and wooden crates. They must be arriving in Exerbury soon, Asa realized. Thank gods for that.

Asa shifted. His metal handcuffs clinked.

A young man was sprawled across the ship deck, staring up at the sky. He was broad and dark-skinned, and Asa could see a tattoo poking out from the collar of his shirt. They were the only two prisoners aboard the ship, as far as Asa knew.

"That's a sword-swallow," the young man said.

Asa blinked. "What?"

"A sword-swallow."

Asa followed the other boy's gaze. A dark grey bird skimmed the waves. "Are you talking about the bird?"

The stranger's gaze was admiring. "It's one of the fastest birds in the world. You can only find them in Exerbury because they need crailfish to survive."

"Doesn't look all that special to me," Asa said, because he was bored and felt like being a dick. The other boy sat up, studying Asa in the same manor that a scientist might examine a strange-looking bug under a microscope.

"What are you in for?" he asked.

Asa's smile was a knife. "Bad behaviour."

The other boy nodded. "Just like the rest of us, then."

Asa leaned back and tried to imagine what this boy could be in for. Theft? Arson? Sending an elderly lady threatening letters demanding that she share her cherry pie recipe? It was like trying to imagine a puppy committing mass murder. His brain couldn't process it.

"I'm Xander, by the way," the stranger said. "Xander Quinn."

Asa watched as the bird speared the water; it emerged with a pink crustacean dangling on the end of its beak. When Xander spoke, his voice was polite. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

The bird gobbled the crustacean. "Asa."

"Asa." Xander's face was thoughtful. "Cestarian in origin. It means 'healer of broken wounds.' You don't have any Cestarian heritage, do you?"

Asa leaned against the railing. Did he? Hard to say. Both his parents were dead, and his younger sister — Sapphy — was fifteen and more likely to cure specklepox than to know their family heritage. Still, Asa thought, it was a possibility; he had dark curly hair and tanned skin, and he had vague memories of his mother singing to him in a different language. So maybe.

Not that it was any of Xander's business.

Asa turned back to the waves. He could hear Xander shifting, his metal handcuffs clinking as he moved. It was a sound that Asa had become familiar with over the years: metal bars, metal handcuffs, metal trays carrying metal cans of beans.

"Why are you being moved to Exerbury?" Xander asked.

He didn't turn. "Why are you?"

"I don't know," Xander said. "They wouldn't tell me. Strange, though. I haven't done anything to warrant a high-security prison." He kicked out his legs. "Well, I did tell a guard that his mole looked like a lopsided elephant, but I meant it as constructive feedback. He ought to get it checked."

"You talk a lot," Asa observed.

Xander shrugged. "Family trait." He frowned at the water, where bits of wood drifted along the surface. Asa thought he might have spotted a bloated arm bobbing beneath the surface. "What happened to that dock?"