The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 37

A cold wind flutters through Gudgeon Docks so early in the morning, forcing me to pull my gambeson tighter around my body. As if I could. The buttons reach my throat and tighten my airways already; the next best thing I can do is put on another coat to keep myself from freezing. Even the wool-lined gloves on my hands aren't enough to keep away the most difficult weather of the year.

Today is pairday. A few days out of the year, Ocanthio grants us the ability to work with another member of the docks, whether someone in the same line of work or another entirely. Chaska and I quickly grabbed a large iron tub and scurried over to the edge of the docks. She grips tightly onto the rusted handle and tucks her chin into the fur-lined coat I managed to snatch from the palace—included in my own selection.

The slide of fish hitting the deck from nets thumps against the side of ships. Crewmen call out, shouting orders to their fellow fishermen or to us, the cleaners, who wait by impatiently. The sooner we start cleaning fish, the warmer it'll become. Tearing a fish apart, piece by piece, isn't exactly the easiest chore.

I glance down the line of shuffling cleaners and others I don't recognize, searching underneath the awnings of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Most of them are foreman offices, but the cooper's workshop and the dispensary for brewed goods are the most-esteemed locations out of many in this village. Their wares are not what I search.

Rylan had already left by the time I woke, my arms tucked underneath my bare body. His clothes were gone, as was a set of light armor and a familiar sword I've cleaned on many days after long work hours. No breakfast, no kiss goodbye—nothing. I immediately woke with regret, wondering whether I did something wrong, but my heart is fulfilled. The longing withered away, only to be replaced with something much worse. Guilt.

I could've visited my family instead of distracting myself with Rylan. Our flame has withered and died, leaving only a release that happens months separate of each other. Not to say our intimacy is terrible, but I can say I've had better with the same man.

He's not here. I turn back around, trying to hide my disappointment, but Chaska catches onto my flat frown. "What's wrong?" she questions. Her eyes widen. "They're not coming for you today, are you? Not on pair day, I—"

"Chaska, that's not it," I interrupt. "I was just seeing if Rylan was anywhere nearby."

She scrunches up her nose in hatred. "Did you two fight last night?"

I rock back and forth on my heels, staring at the ground to avoid her sweltering gaze. "Not exactly."

"Step up, step up!" a fisherman with two missing front teeth shouts, waving us over. The grey spindled hairs on his head stick out in all directions except towards the top. A sheen of bald catches the morning sun drifting higher into the sky. Like the many that spend the majority of their days on the ocean waters, the skin of his face is cracked and withered from years of work and worry underneath the sun and surrounded only by mead and saltwater. He resembles the leather bindings of a dusty book.

Chaska and I ease our empty trough onto the wooden dock. The fishermen hardly notice our presence. They dump herring, cod, turbot, and plaice without regard for neatness. Wrapping my fingers around gills and through the lip of many fish, I place them back in the trough from where they slid out, like butter, onto the docks.

"On with ya," the old fisherman declares, batting us away like flies.

We combine our strength and lift, using both our hands to grip the handles and scurry away with close, too calculated steps. The line of cleaners waiting for their selection steps aside to allow us a clear route of passage, but Eligius does not provide the same luxury. The same thought runs through Chaska's mind and she eases the trough full of sloshing fish onto the deck, brushing off her gloves onto her coat until she realizes exactly where it comes from.