Page 95 of Immortal Rose

Carrington straightened from where he’d been leaning against a post to have a better look at me, but his hands never stopped their oddly hypnotizing knitting. He flashed his brown teeth in what I assumed was meant to be a smile.

“I fear that to be true, yer ladyship,” he said with a wheezing laugh. His scent, however, had turned tart, like sour cherries, with curiosity. “Though it’s also said a sailor may change ’is whims with the wind.”

I lined up my cannons again, knowing exactly where to strike his pride. With a look to Reddy, I added in an airy tone, “We will have to speak to the other captain tomorrow. He may be more accommodating.”

“Now, now, let us not be hasty,” Carrington said, finishing another row. The tart scent sharpened. “Tell me more of this cargo.”

Within the shadow of my hood, I fought a smirk. Reddy began to answer, but Carrington shot him down with a look. “The lady can speak for ’erself, as we’ve established.”

“I most certainly can,” I told him. “The cargo is objects of a”—I paused dramatically—“a peculiar and illicit magical origin, if you take my meaning.”

“I do indeed, m’lady,” Carrington said, his needles click-click-clacking.

“My husband had procured a great quantity of such relics before his untimely death,” I said, bowing my head. “God rest his soul.”

Carrington made a half-hearted symbol of the wheel with his knitting needles. “I perceive yer dilemma.”

I nodded. “I fear that, should the ship be intercepted, such objects will be destroyed.”

“Mm,” Carrington agreed.

We were not going to be able to extend this conversation to an hour if the dratted man couldn’t be bothered to muster more than a few words of reply.

“Do you have experience transporting such delicate materials, Captain?” I asked.

“I do,” he said, and it was the truth, by the smell of it.

“To be frank with you, Captain, the material in question is extremely rare—preserved flora and herbs that many would be desperate to get their hands on, for their healing properties,” I said. “Some have been distilled into oils, but others remain in their raw form.”

“I may be familiar with such cargo, yes,” Carrington said, too stubborn and too wise to be completely led. The sun hadn’t melted his mind yet, it seemed.

“Am I to know how you mean to go about hiding it on your ship,” I began, “or am I to pay you and merely hope for the best?”

The captain lowered his knitting needles.

Reddy let out a pained laugh. “Of course he’s to be trusted. I wouldn’t have recommended him otherwise. A captain must be allowed his secrets.”

Now it was my turn to glare at him. Unhelpful, to say the least.

“I’ve a method for slipping them into the kingdom,” Carrington said after a moment. “’Asn’t failed me yet. Made a dozen runs over the years with the likes of what ye speak. Ground plants, oils, all of a—how did ye put it?—peculiar and illicit nature.”

“For whom?” I pressed. “I would like the name of whoever is importing such materials.”

Carrington had walked right into it and, by the looks of it, resented me for it immensely.

“Come now, Captain,” I cajoled. “I’ve the mind to establish a partnership that will stretch for years and keep you and your grandson in many knitted sweaters. I must have assurances from someone who has worked with you in the past.”

Carrington let out a noise that could only be described as a growl.

“Well!” Reddy said with forced brightness. “I told you she’s persistent, did I not?”

“Persistent would be one word for it,” Carrington groused. “I cannot give you a name, as I would not give yours. I swear on the heart of the sea and God’s own teeth.”

A plan unfurled like a sail in my mind. And as surely as if it had caught a healthy gust of wind, I knew at once how to get the answer we needed and buy Foxcourt time for his search.

“But you would have to give me a name, wouldn’t you,” I heard myself say before I could stop myself, “if I challenged you to the Drink of the Deep and bested you?”

The captain stared at me in utter astonishment, which seemed to be a novel emotion for him. “You . . . would . . .”