Could you pay someone off at Unca Joe for a better bunk? Certainly not Rousseau. No matter, I liked my top-corner bunk. Going to sea sounded a lot like den life: close quarters, competition for resources, a world of storms and deep water outside.

Where was Fort Diamond . . . if it still existed? The yawns were catching up with me. The antique sentences were as good as a lullaby. Tomorrow was soon enough for the showers, especially with the water used up. Barely remembered to hide the book away in my wallet. One fleeting thought about what I’d do to Peeto, and I tumbled into sleep.

SEVEN

“Rise and shine, dudes!”

The call rang down the tier. Night shift wake-up, 4 p.m. by the wind-up clock in the hallway, and a lot of us dragging hard out of our bunks that afternoon. I heard Rubio coughing, and knocked at his bunk on the way by.

“Already?” He stuck his head around his drape, yawning.

“Don’t you just look like hell.”

He groaned. “Does watered beer make you piss more?”

“Not a clue. Listen, you hear Peeto go by?”

Best to catch the little creep before he went down to the Mess. Wasn’t sure how to come at him. A straight-out accusation would only net a denial—but I’d figure something out once I clamped hands on him.

“Why would I want to?” Rubio considered vaguely. “Why would you?”

“Never mind. See you down.”

I washed every day, almost a compulsion. I hated feeling the way Peeto’s hands always looked, so I knew it was a habit laid down long ago, a shard of my past. I honored it. But not everyone did. Direct orders were not Rousseau’s style, but on shut-in days, the den got so ripe, he’d send someone around to make pointed suggestions.

Pausing outside the women’s showers, I weighed my options. It was a mob scene inside. Big Gracie was holding court under the center LED cluster, her blow-by-blow of her teller-tussle ricocheting off the concrete and repurposed subway tile at high volume. A few of the younger girls cheered her on, pulling on work clothes, crowding around the single mirror to braid up their hair for the shift. Didn’t know any of them too well—they bunked in Grace’s tier. I could get in and out pretty quick. I went in and grabbed my scrap of towel off its hook.

“Any word on Rivera?” I called over the gurgle of water and the slap of wet feet.

Gracie paused mid-story. “Yeah, she got cut up bad, but she’ll make it okay.”

“Good news.” So Peeto hadn’t ramped up the incident to suit his purpose. Getting chased on the streets or even busted up some was one thing. But getting sliced and diced? That made me shiver.