Child of a Hidden Sea by A.M. Dellamonica Page B

of horse breeders whose prize stallion had recently retired from an inter-island racing circuit.
    â€œWe mean to put him out to stud, of course. I’d set up his first pairing with a very exalted mare. But he’s suddenly grown…” His eye wandered to Captain Dracy. “Docile.”
    â€œLike a gelding?”
    â€œLike a lamb.”
    â€œI don’t suppose maybe he’s having trouble adjusting to retirement?”
    â€œWe got a ransom note two weeks ago,” Lais said. “Silesian has been scripped infertile.”
    â€œScripped. Someone learned the horse’s name, then wrote up a magical … intention, was it?”
    â€œIntention, yes,” Lais said.
    â€œAnd now Silesian can’t get it up?”
    â€œBetter him than me,” Lais said.
    Dracy clattered a salt shaker and cleared her throat. The message was clear: No flirting .
    They were finishing off the remains of a cod and mussel stew and a dish of roasted, buttery fava beans, wiping up their plates with the remains of a hearty rye bread. Every bite had lifted Sophie’s spirits. She felt like her best self again: calm, optimistic, able to deal with whatever came her way. “The bad guys are holed up in this Zunbrit Passage?”
    â€œNo, they’re long gone. We paid the ransom and they gave me the scrip’s location. It’s sunk near one of the Zunbrit sea mounts.”
    â€œYou paid, just like that?”
    â€œSilesian’s appointment with Balletic is soon.”
    â€œBalletic’s the mare?”
    He nodded. “We didn’t want to lose face by breaking contract, so paying the ransom seemed expedient. The more so because I wanted the issue resolved quickly. Horses are the family business, but I have a side project.”
    â€œProblem is, I loaned my diver to Stele,” Dracy said.
    â€œDracy says you can countermand the diversion,” Lais said. “And if you can, as you say, free-dive…”
    â€œI do have to go home,” Sophie said, trying to deploy her nonexistent poker face. “My brother’ll notice I’m gone eventually. But…”
    â€œYes?” Lais slid a tray of what looked like cream puffs across the table at her.
    â€œNot to be rude, but you’re rich, right?”
    They both seemed taken aback, but she pressed on. “You paid this ransom, you’ve commissioned Dracy, and you’re in a hurry. This is kind of a big deal for you.”
    â€œTrue.”
    â€œIf I get this scrip back for your horse,” Sophie said, “could you buy some food for those islanders, once I’ve gone home? I’m not asking you to beggar yourself, just to do whatever you can. The storm … Someone was after my aunt; their harvest is lost and it’s our fault.”
    Whatever breach of etiquette she’d committed, the request seemed to amend it: Both Lais and Dracy relaxed.
    â€œMy word on it, Kir,” he said. “Whether you succeed or not.”
    â€œI’ll pull it off.” She accepted the cream puff at last, raising it in a mock toast. “Let’s divert the ship.”
    That night, she lay in the confines of her small cabin, swinging in the hammock—which was vastly more comfortable than the pallet she’d borrowed on Stele Island—and trying to will her camera battery back to life. She’d used the last of her juice shooting a dusky gray-purple seabird, and a spidery crab the crew had hauled up from the depths. Now she’d been reduced to taking bad pictures with Gale’s phone, queuing them up to send to her e-mail account at home. She was still firing off the occasional text to Bram, too, just to jolly herself up:
    Bad news, Bro: UR gonna have to maybe rethink some physics.
    Message will be sent when we return to service area, the phone replied.
    OTOH, Good news: I’m not as crazy as initially reported.
    Bram might disagree with that one. He had had enough therapy