Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 37

It was almost impossible to resist teasing Crynia when Jack had the time in the next few days. All he had to do was catch her eye and mouth "whales," with a grin or whisper the same to her in passing, and she'd crack up. He'd successfully managed to make her choke on a glass of water twice in one afternoon already. It was, upon his assessment, one of his finer achievements of the day.

The teasing was not without its price. The pain got a little worse every time, knees or elbows or sometimes ankles and wrists aching fiercely. Mick was giving him more and more concerned glances when it happened; Jack schooled his features into a tightly controlled mask more than once to hide how much it hurt. Mick probably caught the stiffness of his gait anyways, but Jack let himself pretend.

They stayed in the port a full week to restock their supplies and get their fill of earth and forest before heading back out to sea. Jack and Crynia made the short trip down the coast twice to visit her dad; Karlon was always busy and delighted to see her. The townspeople were already welcoming him, though whether it was his charm or their need for a blacksmith that prompted the hospitality was unclear. Knowing them as Jack did, he suspected it was a happy mixture of both.

The note kept them longer than planned, but the delay was taken without complaint from the crew. Rook had picked it up from Dreail's temple, and he handed it to Jack. "From Red," he said.

Jack frowned and unfolded it. She didn't usually leave notes; he almost always scheduled the meetings. I need a favor, it read. Meet me tonight for an explanation.

"How wonderfully uncryptic," Jack muttered to himself, tucking the note in his pocket and glancing at the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the Zalviore in red-gold light. "Oi, Mick!"

His first mate looked over his bare shoulder and paused in winding a thick rope.

"Mind the ship for a few hours, yeah?" Jack said, swinging himself up on the side of the ship beside the rigging, holding the ropes for balance. "I have to meet someone."

Mick saluted sharply, and Jack dropped into a dead fall towards the dock, shifted, and made for the temple.

***

Mick was waiting for him when he returned. It was nearly midnight, and the moon was high, turning the ship into a ghostly craft of silvery purple. Mick was leaning on the railing by the gangplank, skin smooth and made unblemished by the darkness, long hair loose around his shoulders. He chewing on a stalk of something--siren's spice, probably. He put a hand on Jack's chest when Jack tried his best to avoid his eyes and slip past.

"Sit down," Mick said quietly, offering another stalk.

"Mick--"

The seriousness in the older man's face sobered him. Knowing him so many years had given Jack enough sense to know when crossing a line would end poorly. Taking the stalk, he stuck it between his lips and sank down against the rail with his back to it. "What's this about, then?"

Mick huffed a laugh. "You know what it's about, mate. How long're you going to lie to yourself and me about Crynia, then? I've marked three weeks you've been wincing enough for me to notice when she's around."

"My hip's been bugging me again." At Mick's look of deadpan unbelief, Jack cracked a grin that was a little sheepish, pinching the stalk between his teeth so it cracked and leaked juice into his mouth. It was tangy and slightly sweet, and he caught a hint of salt on the back of his tongue from the sea marshes it grew in. "Couldn't resist, sorry."

"Liar," Mick said lightly, and Jack stifled the little pang the humor gave him. He hadn't been noticing those as much lately, what with the aching in his elbows and knees and recently his knuckles. Maybe he'd been in more pain than he thought.