Warbreaker

Chapter 53

No bodies tonight, though. Too bad. That meant fish. Free fish he didn’t have to pay tariffs on. And free fish were good fish.

No . . . a voice said to him. A little bit more to your right.

The sea talked to him sometimes. Coaxed him this way or that. He happily made his way in the direction indicated. He was out on the waters almost every night. They should know him pretty well by now.

Good. Drop the net.

He did so. It wasn’t too deep in this part of the bay. He could drag the net behind his boat, pulling the weighted edges along the bottom, catching the smaller fish that came up into the shallows to feed. Not the best fish, but the sky was looking too dangerous to be out far from the shore. A storm brewing?

His net struck something. He grumbled, yanking it. Sometimes it got caught on debris or coral. It was heavy. Too heavy. He pulled the net back up over the side, then opened the shield on his lantern, risking a bit of light.

Tangled in the net, a sword lay in the bottom of his boat. Silvery, with a black handle.

Lap, lap, lap.

Ah, very nice, the voice said, much clearer now. I hate the water. So wet and icky down there.

Transfixed, Old Chapps reached out, picking up the weapon. It felt heavy in his hand.

I don’t suppose you’d want to go destroy some evil, would you? the voice said. I’m not really sure what that means, to be honest. I’ll just trust you to decide.

Old Chapps smiled.

Oh, all right, the sword said. You can admire me a little bit longer, if you must. After that, though, we really need to get back to shore.

Vasher awoke groggily.

He was tied by his wrists to a hook in the ceiling of a stone room. The rope that had been used to tie him, he noticed, was the same one he’d used to tie up the maid. It had been completely drained of color.

In fact, everything around him was a uniform grey. He had been stripped save for his short, white underbreeches. He groaned, his arms feeling numb from the awkward angle of being hung by his wrists.

He wasn’t gagged, but he had no Breath left—he’d used the last of it in the fight, to Awaken the cloak of the fallen man. He groaned.

A lantern burned in the corner. A figure stood next to it. “And so we both return,” Denth said quietly.

Vasher didn’t reply.

“I still owe you for Arsteel’s death, too,” Denth said quietly. “I want to know how you killed him.”

“In a duel,” Vasher said in a croaking voice.

“You didn’t beat him in a duel, Vasher,” Denth said, stepping forward. “I know it.”

“Then maybe I snuck up and stabbed him from behind,” Vasher said. “It’s what he deserved.”

Denth backhanded him across the face, causing him to swing from the hook. “Arsteel was a good man!”

“Once,” Vasher said, tasting blood. “Once, we were all good men, Denth. Once.”

Denth was quiet. “You think your little quest here will undo what you’ve done?”

“Better than becoming a mercenary,” Vasher said. “Working for whoever will pay.”

“I am what you made me,” Denth said quietly.