Rachel followed her into the store, full of curiosity and questions about the unfamiliar human things piled on the shelves. The danger had passed, and the fear was shaken off like water shaken off fur.

As Jesse warmed up milk for them, she thought the Intuits would be wise to learn that skill, because she had a feeling that the Elders would never again be a danger seen from a safe distance.

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 47

Watersday, Juin 30

Stavros watched the passengers boarding the ocean greyhound. So many of the wealthy HFL supporters were taking the last ship leaving Toland before the storm descended on that part of the coast. They were going to Cel-Romano to see for themselves the triumph their money helped bring about.

Fools.

And there was Nicholas Scratch in a “disguise” that wouldn’t fool a human, let alone one of the terra indigene. Of course, most of the people coming aboard had talked to Scratch—or at least seen him enough times that he couldn’t really believe a disguise would work for the length of the voyage. He had probably told the elite that this was a ruse to escape his “enemies.”

Scratch did have enemies now among the humans. Toland’s elite might still support him, or still believe there would be some reward for that support once they reached Cel-Romano, but those who understood the connection between the human places that were disappearing and the HFL movement were now pointing fingers and calling Scratch a charlatan who had deceived them.

Stavros had found this epiphany quite entertaining since it came in the wake of Scratch’s final speech, in which the man stated he could not be held responsible for actions other people took because they misinterpreted his motivational speeches as a call to commit violence against the terra indigene. Every man should be held accountable for his own actions.

Scratch had slipped away before the stunned crowd could react.

Stavros smiled. Now Nicholas Scratch was here, and so was he. And somewhere in the waters just beyond sight of land, the Sharkgard waited.

•••

Stavros flowed from one shadowy place to another, observing, waiting—and wishing he’d fed before coming on board. Was there no one on this ship who wasn’t inebriated? There was the captain, but the water had turned rough—Ocean’s version of foreplay—and he didn’t want to weaken the man. And he didn’t want to dull his own senses by consuming alcohol thinly disguised as blood.

He’d overheard enough throughout the evening to realize the HFL supporters had some wildly romantic ideas of being hailed as heroes for providing food and steel and whatever else they’d helped Cel-Romano acquire under the table. But now, with a bounty of land newly won by the Cel-Romano armies, those supporters were no longer needed. There was only one human on this ship who would be welcome in Cel-Romano.