It didn’t take Alinyaln long to find the person who had sold the most slaves. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the barkeep, but he wanted to check over the information that he had been given by the woman. The thought of her made him shudder.

  Urisino was her name. Alinyaln had asked around, and surprisingly she hadn’t been indulging in the rum like her compatriots were. She was, instead, cleaning her slave quarters. True to her name, she was of Rythmin descent, her brown skin warm even in the darkness of the quarters. Alinyaln could see her eyes and they weren’t the catlike eyes of some Rythmin people, so that was a comfort.

  Those eyes unnerved him, but they were one of the only true ways to determine someone’s origins as hundreds of years of intermingling have led most of the world to be fairly homogenous. Likely the people in Arsin were the least similar due to their more land focused nature, them and the Orsin who were a different species of man altogether.

  The woman made no attempt to acknowledge the presence of either Alinyaln nor Ninia. She was knelt down, scrubbing at the floorboards of the quarters with a brush and a bucket of water, and ignoring everything surrounding her.

  Alinyaln stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I’m looking for—”

  “Don’t know,” she said gruffly, “Don’t care.”

  Alinyaln’s lips twisted into a frown. “I see. Are you Urisino, then? Or just one of the help?”

  The woman stood up, dropping her brush in the process. “I expect that you know how to talk to a person, sir.”

  “I’m sorry, I have no real sympathy for people that struggle with determining whether or not someone is a person.” Alinyaln retorted. “I’m looking for information and I’m willing to pay for it. After that, I will leave you alone.”

  Ninia snickered at the comment but Alinyaln ignored her.

  Urisino glared at Alinyaln, her face turning red. “You have some cannons to come in here and talk to me like that. And then you demand for my help? Please, go away before I call on the guards to escort you out.”

  What guards? Alinyaln thought. He hadn’t seen any guards within five miles of this place.

  Instead, Alinyaln took a deep breath, then steadied himself. “Listen,” He said, deliberately sounding calm, “I just need to know the name of the man who bought all of your slaves.”

  “Two men.” Urisino said, waving her hand. “And I assume they were using false names anyways.”

  “What makes you say that?” Alinyaln asked the slaver.

  “The name Yamadeon,” She explained. “Mean something to you? Well, I knew Yamadeon from years back and I know that neither of the men who came here were him.”

  “You knew Yamadeon?” Ninia asked just before Alinyaln could work the thought out.

  “Worked with him now and again, gave me a loan to start up my business.”

  “Did he know that you were going to become a slaver?” Alinyaln asked. He knew that Yamadeon didn’t have as rigid of a moral compass as Alinyaln now had, but to think that Yamadeon would condone such a thing was outrageous, surely—

  “Course he knew!” The woman said, waving her hands in the air. “The man even gave me a few ideas to try!”

  Alinyaln’s hands grew cold despite the warm day. “How?”

  Urisina gestured to her sides. “Look around. Does this look like a normal slave quarter to you?” She asked Alinyaln.

  Alinyaln hadn’t considered the condition of the housings. The building itself was far nicer than most of the other buildings here in Hrinili, solid stone walls built to keep the wind and weather out. Nice beds, water pumps to bring the water into the quarters, even a fireplace in the corner for those uncommonly cold days, one with a metal platform on top which could also be used to cook. “The grounds outside are gardens where they grow their own food that isn’t used for trade,” Urisino said pointing out the window to the grounds in question. “Two slaves per unit were used to tend their personal farms while the others tended to external duties. More if there wasn’t enough work to do.”

  Turning back to the woman, he could see grit in her eyes. “Question my ethics all you want, sailor, but as a result of my planning my slaves were well fed, fit, and beyond all else, healthy. Families were kept together as best as possible, and some were even given wages to allow them to buy their own freedoms.”

  Alinyaln glared at the woman, but then sighed. “Why would Yamadeon work with you?” He asked the woman. He didn’t like most of what she said, but he needed to reflect on what she was telling him. Was she treating her slaves better than he treated his own Yishks? That thought troubled him deeply.

  He had never enjoyed the tradition of Yishks aboard his ships, but he always felt the desire to help common folk in need, and that was primarily what the Yishks were, people in need. But he knew he didn’t need to put them into indentured service to achieve that, but they insisted. Too many years of tradition meant that when people became desperate they stuck to what they knew instead of a better solution.

  The second brand that Alinyaln had on his chest was itching now that he was thinking about it. It was his link to all of his Yishks, it helped ensure that no one could steal them from him. But was that worse than slavery?

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  “I helped him track down some books on summat, I don’t remember what about. I think the Ice Wall?” The woman shrugged. “Once we found what he needed, he gave me a substantial loan after I told him my idea for a business under the stipulation that I sell him some slaves at a discount once I was able to afford the loss.”

  Looking away, Alinyaln looked around at the quarters again. He… would need to do some thinking on what he just learned about Yamadeon. But now wasn’t the time. “Got a description of who bought your slaves?”

  *

  Alinyaln stared down into his bowl of stew. The tavern they had found that served food was cramped and small, a dozen tables laid out in a small room with a fire pit in the corner, a pot of stew bubbling in above it.

  His hesitance to eat had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn’t sure of anything in the stew itself. Well, that was a part of it, the stew having been kept hot and ingredients added to it over the course of untold years, but everything within should be safe to eat, even if the combination of ingredients might be enough to make even the Triplets sick.

  No, he was uneasy due to the woman slaver’s words. He hadn’t known Yamadeon terribly long compared to some, but long enough to know that he never would have started buying slaves. In the ten years Alinyaln worked with him, Yamadeon had been a paragon of decency when it came to the lives of others who were doing no wrong. The thought of Yamadeon even entertaining the idea of assisting a slaver made Alinyaln’s stomach churn.

  Ninia sat across from Alinyaln, digging into her stew without breathing. “Surely Higlim’s cooking isn’t that bad.” He said quietly, giving her a forced smile.

  “No, Captain, but it’s a nice change.” Ninia said when she resrufaced. “Can we… Not tell Higlim we’re eating something else? I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  Alinyaln chuckled at this. “Doesn’t he always poke fun at you?”

  “Yeah, he does,” Ninia said, eyes dropping low. “But he’s kind to me, poking fun back is one thing but I really don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  Alinyaln looked at her and considered. “Very well,” He said, nodding. “I won’t tell if you don’t, lass.” He took a bite of his stew finally, it having grown cold long ago. “Tastes like apples. Who in tarnation put apples in a stew?”

  “It’s mango, I think.” Ninia said, unsure of herself.

  “It is?” He looked and tried to dig out a portion of fruit with his spoon. He gave up after a minute and pushed the bowl aside. “Of course it would be mango with my luck. Either way, fruit doesn’t belong in stews.” Despite his words he knew he would eat the rest of his stew before leaving, he spent a full Gin on both of their bowls.

  “Do you think it’s strange that the deckmaster said there were twenty men buying the slaves, but then both of the women we talked two only said there were two men?” Ninia asked, her mouth full of food.

  Nodding, Alinyaln took a drink from his cup of water. “Aye, that is strange, but the deckmaster is likely counting the boats that arrived to pick up all of the slaves, it’s likely just the two men in charge of the purchasing.”

  Ninia’s head tilted in thought. “It’s just strange to me. And one of them is the Tyrnarm that you’ve been hunting? Because he used the name of your old Captain?”

  “It’s too unlikely for anyone else to use Yamadeon’s name.” Alinyaln explained to Ninia. “He was fairly well known as a Pirate, yes, but there’s a taboo against using another Captain’s name instead of your own. As someone who sailed with him, apprenticed under him, you could argue that Tyrnarm has some right to his name, as would I. But it’s just not done.”

  “Could it be anyone else that had sailed with Yamadeon? Maybe Bloodcoat? He sailed with Yamadeon for a while, right?” Ninia thought aloud.

  Alinyaln winced at the name but then he shrugged and leaned back in his chair trying to project an air of calm, the wood creaking beneath him. “Not impossible.” He said. “But unlikely, still. Most of his crew retired after Yamadeon disappeared. At least, the ones who didn’t go with him retired.”

  “I didn’t realize retirement was something many sailors did.” Ninia said, scraping the last of her stew into one section of the bowl. “I figured it was more of a ‘do ‘till you die’ profession.” She then ate the last of the stew in a spoonful that Alinyaln had expected to be too large for her. “Are you gonna finish that, Captain?”

  Alinyaln’s eyes grew wide. “Ye had two helpings already!” But before Ninia could defend herself Alinyaln pushed the bowl across the table at her. “Take it.”

  Sighing deeply, Alinyaln leaned back in his chair. “Usually, people like to retire by the time they turn fifty years, sometimes sooner if they can afford it. Yamadeon was particularly generous to his crewmates, and in return they were loyal to him. So long as he was sailing, the crew would stick by him.” He drummed his fingers on the rough wood of the table. “I cannot say what Yamadeon was doing when he vanished, but he only took a few of his best men.”

  “You didn’t go with him?” Ninia asked, digging into the third bowl of stew.

  “This was after I left his service.” Alinyaln explained. “Traditionally, a wealthy privateer will gift a protégé with a vessel of their own. Yamadeon was actually able to afford one for both myself and…. And Tyrnarm.” His heart hurt as he said the words. “And many other crew members who wanted to strike out on their own.”

  “That’s an expensive tradition.”

  “Aye, lass.” Alinyaln said with a nod. “But it’s there for the Captain to be able to retire easily. If a Captain cannae afford a vessel for their successor, then they have the choice to offer up their own ship in return.” He paused for a moment. “That’s what Kiara is hoping will happen.”

  Ninia tilted her head, eyes wide. “She wants the Mercy to herself?”

  Her expression made Alinyaln chuckle. “Aye, but she wouldn’t get very far trying to off me before I give the ship away, lass. You shouldn’t think she would do something as nefarious as that just to become Captain. Anyways, I think Drags would take care of her in that event.”

  “So would I.” Ninia said, eyes harsh.

  Alinyaln inspected Ninia’s face. For a moment he could almost see her pupil quiver, like her eyes were going to constrict in a catlike manner. Perhaps the girl had some of the right stuff in her for the trait to pass down, but she hadn’t quite inherited it.

  “I believe you, lass.” He said to her, nodding. “And I appreciate the dedication.”

  As Ninia took another bite of stew, Alinyaln’s ears twitched as he heard a strange sound. Was that shouting?