Ship Breaker Page 11

  When they were out and collected on the clipper ship, the men and women gathered around.

  “You have scavenge for us?” the huge half-man asked. He lifted Nita up as though she weighed nothing at all, bringing her face close to his own blunt, doglike features. He studied her jeweled nose ring with his yellow eyes.

  “It’s a diamond,” he announced. Everyone laughed. One huge finger touched the jewel. “Do you want to give it to me? Or should I rip it off your pretty face?”

  Nita’s eyes widened. She reached up and unclasped her jewelry.

  “Damn,” Richard said. “Look at all that gold.”

  While the half-man held her, he and Blue Eyes ripped the rest of the rings off Nita’s fingers. Nita cried out, but Nailer’s father held his knife to her neck and she held still as Blue Eyes ripped the gold off, leaving bloody streaks. They all whistled at the amount of blinding metal. More than a year’s profit in one of the rings, let alone all of them. The adults were rich, and they were drunk on it.

  Nailer crouched, shivering on the deck, watching as they tore away Nita’s wealth. Even with the sun burning down from overhead, he was freezing. And now he was almost uncontrollably thirsty as well. The last of the rain and storm water had evaporated and if there was more water in the bowels of the ship, he couldn’t stand to find it, and none of his father’s crew was likely to let Pima or Nita go look. All of the adults hunkered on the vessel, calculating their scavenge and scheming how to ensure their claim.

  “We’ll have to cut Lucky Strike in,” his father announced finally. “We get half, but we don’t end up bloody, and he can move the scavenge out on the train.”

  The rest of the crew nodded. Blue Eyes glanced over at Nailer and Pima and Nita. “What about the swank?”

  “Our little girlie?” His father looked over at Nita. “You going to fight us for scavenge, sweetheart?”

  “No.” Nita shook her head. “It’s all yours.”

  Nailer’s father laughed. “Maybe you say so now, and maybe you change your mind later.” His knife flashed in his hand. He came over and crouched beside her, the big knife gleaming over his knuckles, ready to slit her open the way he gutted fish. No big thing to dump her intestines on the ground. Just a way to get food. Not even personal.

  “I won’t stop you,” Nita whispered, her eyes dilating in terror.

  “No.” Nailer’s father shook his head. “You’re right about that. Because your guts are going to be feeding the sharks and no one’s going to care what you say, yes or no. Maybe in your big boss house people care what happens to you.” He shrugged. “Here, you’re nothing at all.”

  Through his delirium, Nailer could see his father’s building willingness to do violence. He recognized the signs from when his father would strike, quick as a cobra, and slap Nailer upside the head or yank him close to sink a fist into his stomach.

  The gutting knife gleamed bright in the high sun. His father dragged Nita close. Nailer tried to speak, tried to say something that would save her, but he couldn’t get the words out. The chills were coming so fast now.

  Out of nowhere Pima lunged, her knife flashing.

  Nailer tried to cry out, to warn her, but his father beat him to it. He slammed Pima aside. She sprawled on the decking. Her knife skittered across the carbon fiber and disappeared over the side. Pima was bigger than most of the light crew, but she was nothing against his father’s crystallized speed. The man grappled with her for a moment, then twisted her into a choke hold. His crew rushed over, shouting. Tool got to her first and yanked her upright, lifting her from the deck entirely. He pinned Pima’s arms behind her, leaving her writhing and struggling fruitlessly.

  A necklace of blood beads glinted ruby on his father’s neck.

  “Damn girl, you nicked me.” He grinned and ran his fingers down the wound. Held up his hand slicked with blood. Nailer was amazed that Pima had come so close. She’d been so fast. His father inspected the red smear thoughtfully, then showed it to her. “Close.” He laughed. “You should fight in the ring, sweetheart.”

  Pima struggled against the restraining hands. Nailer’s father slipped close. “You almost got lucky, girl.” He gripped Pima’s face with his bloody fingers. “So damn close.” He held up his knife in front of her eyes.

  “My turn now, right?”

  “Cut her,” someone in the gang whispered. “Open her wide,” Blue Eyes urged. “We’ll scavenge her blood for an offering.”

  Pima shuddered in Tool’s grip, but she didn’t flinch as Richard touched her cheek with his blade. She’d gone away already, Nailer guessed. She knew she was dead. He could recognize it, her acceptance of the Fates.

  “Dad.” Nailer coughed. “She’s Sadna’s girl. She saved you in the storm.”

  His father hesitated, holding the knife to Pima’s face. He traced it across the girl’s jaw.

  “She tried to kill me.”

  Nailer tried again. “Even up with Sadna. Life for life. Balance the scales.”

  His father scowled. “You always were the smart boy, weren’t you? Always trying to tell your dad what to do. Always full of yourself.” He let his knife slide down between Pima’s breasts to her stomach. He looked over at Nailer. “You trying to tell me what to do now? You telling me I can’t put her guts on the ground? Think I can’t open her if I want?”

  Nailer shook his head violently. “You want to gut her, that’s your right. She d-drew b-b-blood.” His teeth chattered. It was a fight just to stay conscious. Pima and Nita were staring at him. Nailer continued. “Y-y-you want her b-blood, it’s yours. It’s your r-r-r-right.” He was feeling worse, feeling more and more dizzy. He took a breath, trying to remember even what he wanted to say. Forced the words out, carefully enunciating. “Pima’s mom helped me pull you out when the storm came. No one else would have helped me. No one else could have.” He shrugged helplessly. “We owe Sadna.”

  “Damn, boy.” Richard cocked his head. “It still sounds to me like you’re trying to tell me what to do.”

  Tool’s voice rumbled. “Perhaps a lesson for the girl, instead of a death. A gift of wisdom to the young.”

  Nailer looked up at the half-man, surprised, and tried to press his advantage. “I’m just saying we owe her mom a blood quota, and everyone knows it. It’s bad karma if people think we don’t pay back.”

  “Bad karma.” Nailer’s father scowled at him. “You think I care?”

  “Balancing a blood quota shows no weakness,” Tool rumbled.

  Richard looked from Nailer to Tool. “Well, look at this. I guess everyone wants the girl alive.” He smirked, then lifted his knife and drove it for her gut.

  Pima cried out, but Richard stopped short of spilling blood. He grinned as he withdrew the blade’s point from where it dented her skin. “Looks like you get a free one, girlie.”

  He took one of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “We’re balancing the scale, ’cause of your mom,” he said. “But if you put a knife on me again I’ll strangle you with your guts. Got it?”

  Pima nodded slowly, not blinking, eye to eye. “Got it.”

  “Good.” Richard smiled and pried open her hand.

  Pima gasped as he grabbed her pinky. Bone crackled. Nailer flinched at the sound. Pima screamed and then choked off her pain, whimpering. Richard took her ring finger. Pima’s breath came in ragged gasps. He smiled, getting his head down so they were eye to eye again. “Now you know better, don’t you?”

  Pima nodded frantically, but still he wrenched her finger. Another bone snapped and she cried out.

  “Learn your lesson yet?” he asked.

  Pima was shaking, but she managed to nod.

  Nailer’s father grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “Glad to know you won’t forget.” He examined her broken fingers, then got into her face again, his voice low with promise. “I was nice to you. I could have taken every finger you got and no one would have said I was wrong, even with a blood debt.” His eyes were cold. “Remember that I di
dn’t take as much as I could have.”

  He stepped away and nodded at the half-man. “Let her go, Tool.”

  Pima collapsed to the deck, whimpering and cradling her hand. Nailer forced himself not to go to her, not to try to comfort her. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the hot deck and close his eyes, but he couldn’t; he wasn’t done yet. “Y-y-you going to gut the swank now?” The shivering was uncontrollable.

  His father glanced over at the bound girl. “You got something to say about that, too?”

  “She’s damn r-r-rich,” Nailer stuttered. “If her people are looking for her, she’s worth something.” A wave of shivering overtook him. “M-m-maybe worth a lot. Maybe more than the sh-ship.”

  His father evaluated the girl, considering. “You worth a reward?” he asked.

  Nita nodded. “My father will be looking for me. He’ll pay to keep me safe.”

  “That right? A lot?”

  “This was my personal clipper. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve got an attitude.” Nailer’s father smiled, feral and pleased. “But you just bought your guts back, girlie.” He showed her his knife. “And if your dad won’t pay enough, we’ll pig-open you and see how you squeal.”

  He turned to his crew. “All right, boys and girls. Let’s get the scavenge off. I don’t want to share too much with Lucky Strike. Everything light and valuable, off the ship.”

  He turned and looked out at the sea. “And hurry. Tides and the Scavenge God don’t wait for anyone.” He laughed.

  Nailer let himself lie back on the deck. The sun blazed overhead. He was freezing. His father crouched beside him. When he touched Nailer’s shoulder, Nailer cried out. Richard shook his head.

  “Damn, Lucky Boy, looks like you’re going to need some medicine.” He looked out across the bay to the ship-breaking yards. “As soon as we get some of this scavenge off, we’ll go make a deal with Lucky Strike. He should have a ’cillin. Maybe even a suppressor cocktail.”

  “I n-n-n-eed it s-s-soon,” Nailer whispered.

  His father nodded. “I know, son. I know that. But when we show up, we’re going to have to explain how we can pay for your meds, and then there’ll be questions about how your old man got so much silver and gold.” One of Nita’s rings flashed in his hand. “Look at this here.” He held it up to the light. “Diamonds. Rubies probably. You found a swanky girl, all right.” He shoved the ring into his pocket. “But we can’t sell until we’ve got the muscle in place. Otherwise they’ll try and pull it all out from under us.”

  He looked at Nailer seriously. “This was a lucky find, boy. We got to play it smart though, or we’ll lose it all.”

  “Yeah,” Nailer said, but he was losing interest in the conversation. He was tired. Cold and tired. Another wave of shaking swept over him. His father yelled at his men to bring some blankets.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “Soon as we have the score secure, we’ll get your meds.” He stroked Nailer on the cheek; his pale eyes looked as bright and crazed as Nailer felt his own must be.

  “I won’t let you die, son. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you taken care of. You’re my blood and I’ll take good care of you.”

  And then he was gone and Nailer sank into fever.

  13

  “SO THAT’S YOUR DAD, huh?”

  Nailer opened his eyes to find Nita kneeling beside him. He was lying on solid ground, the sound of the ocean far distant. A rough blanket covered him. It was nighttime. A small fire crackled beside them. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder hurt and he lay back again. Felt bandages, new ones, different from the ones Sadna had given him a lifetime before.

  “Where’s Pima?”

  Nita shrugged. “They’ve got her fetching food.”

  “Who?”

  She nodded over at two shadows who sat not far away, smoking cigarettes and passing a bottle of booze back and forth, their gang piercings twinkling in the darkness, rings running along the ridges of their eyebrows and studding down the bridges of their noses. One, Moby, pale as a ghost, stringy and angular from sliding crystal. The other, that huge loom of shadow and muscle, the half-man Tool. They smiled at Nailer as he moved.

  “Hey, hey, looks like Nailer’s gonna live.” Moby waved his liquor bottle at Nailer in a sort of toast. “Your dad said you were a tough little rat. Didn’t think you were going to make it, though.”

  “How long have I been down?”

  Nita studied him. “I’m not sure you’re really up.”

  “I’m up.”

  “Three days, then, so far.”

  Nailer tried to open his memories, seeking any recollection of the last three days. There were dreams, nightmares, but nothing solid, periods of heat and cold and shaking images of his father peering into his eyes…

  Nita glanced back at the two men. “They were betting on whether you’d live.”

  “Yeah?” Nailer grimaced and tried to sit up. “What were the stakes?”

  “Fifty Red Chinese.”

  Nailer looked at her, surprised. Those were big stakes. More than a month’s wages on heavy crew. The scavenging of her ship must have been successful. “Who bet on me living?”

  “The skinny one. The half-man was sure you were dead.” She helped him sit up. He didn’t feel like he had a fever anymore. Nita pointed at a bottle of pills, swank pills by the lettering on the side. “We’ve been grinding those up and putting them in water. The other guy”—she paused, hunting for a name—“Lucky Strike. He sent a doctor.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re supposed to keep taking the pills, four a day for another ten days.”

  Nailer eyed the pills without enthusiasm. Three days unconscious. “Your people haven’t showed up yet?” he asked. It seemed obvious that they hadn’t.

  Nita glanced over at the men, suddenly nervous, then shrugged. “Not yet. Soon I think.”

  “Better hope so.”

  She gave him a dirty look. As she turned away from him, he spied the manacle that connected her ankle to one of the big cypress trees. She caught the direction of his gaze. “They’re not taking any chances.”

  Nailer nodded. A minute later Pima appeared, chaperoned by a third adult. Blue Eyes. The woman had scars carved into her arms and legs, bits of scrap steel embedded in her face and necklaces of scavenge twined around her throat. A long zipper of scar tissue in her side showed where she had made a devotional sacrifice to the Harvesters and the Life Cult. She shoved Pima forward.

  Moby glanced over. “Hey, careful with the kid. She’s got my dinner.”

  Blue Eyes ignored him, instead looked at Nailer. “He’s alive?”

  “What’s it look like?” Moby answered. “ ’Course he’s alive. Unless he’s a zombie, walking dead. Woooooooo.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Pima distributed metal tins to the adults, rice and red beans and ground sausage spiced. Nailer watched the food as it was passed around, entranced. It was astonishingly good eating. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much meat passed around so casually. As the food was handed to Moby and Tool, Nailer found himself salivating. Moby started to eat even as Blue Eyes watched him. “You tell Lopez his kid is alive?” she asked.

  Moby shook his head between mouthfuls of rice and beans that he shoveled in with his hand.

  “What the hell does he pay you for?” Blue Eyes asked.

  “He just woke up,” Moby protested. “Two minutes back in the world of the living, if that.” He elbowed Tool. “Back me up. The little rat just woke up.”

  Tool shrugged, scooped up a handful of rice and meat chunks. “Moby isn’t lying this time,” he rumbled. “As he says, the little rat just woke up.” He smiled, showing sharp canine teeth. “Just woke up in time for dinner.” He popped the mass of food into his mouth.

  Blue Eyes made a face. She took Moby’s tin away and handed it to Nailer. “Go get your own feed, then. Boss man’s kid eats first. And tell the boss he’s awake.”

  Moby scowled
at her, but he didn’t protest. Just got up and headed out. Pima crouched beside Nailer, spoke in a low voice. “How you doing?”

  Nailer made himself smile even though he was already feeling tired again. “Not dead yet.”

  “Must be a good day, then.”

  “Yeah.” He dug into the food.

  Pima jerked her head at Nita. “We need to talk. Lucky Girl’s people haven’t showed up yet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your dad’s starting to get jittery.”

  Nailer glanced at the guards. “Jittery how?”

  “He’s got his eye on her. Maybe like he wants to hand her over to Blue Eyes and the Life Cult. Keeps talking about how much copper he could make off her pretty eyes.”

  “She know what he’s planning?”

  “She’s not stupid. Even a swank like her can figure it out.”

  Blue Eyes interrupted their conversation, squatting down beside them. “Having a nice chat?”

  Nailer shook his head. “She’s just checking on me.”

  “Good.” Blue Eyes smiled, hard and cold. “Then shut up and finish your food.”

  Tool showed his teeth from where he sat on his stump. “Good advice,” he rumbled.

  Pima nodded and slipped away without protest.

  That was more telling than anything else. She was afraid. Nailer glanced at her hand, saw that her broken fingers were splinted on a bit of driftwood. Nailer wondered if it was their breaking or something else that had happened in the last three days that made Pima so wary.

  Nita finished her food, said to no one in particular, “I’m getting pretty good at eating with my hands.”

  Nailer glanced over. “What else would you eat with?”

  “Knife, fork, spoon?” She almost smiled and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “What?” Nailer pressed. “You making fun of us, Lucky Girl?”

  Nita’s face turned careful, almost fearful, and he was glad about that. He scowled at her. “Don’t go looking down on us ’cause we don’t have your swank ways. We could have cut your fingers off and your damn knife and fork and spoon wouldn’t have been much good then, would they?”