Her grandmother sighs exaggeratedly, tugging the blankets tighter around her. I don’t know how she can stand it in the sticky heat that swamps this house, but I guess this particular woman has managed to become part lizard in the face of her hardships. She narrows her eyes at me. “Did your crew become slavers? That thing’s far too skinny to sell on this raft. She looks like she’d snap if you asked her to bend.”

“Santa Elena’s taken a prisoner, and it’s my job to guard her while we’re on shore. Captain wanted her secure, so she cuffed me to her.”

“Doesn’t look like it’d do you much good. She could slip right out of those things.”

“Hush, Oma. Go back to sleep. Dream about that Islander prince who’s going to take you away from this wretched life.”

Swift’s grandmother mutters under her breath. I catch something about horrible girls and mothers, and then she’s burrowed back under her blankets and seemingly out like a light.

“Dad, do you need me to do anything?” Swift asks, moving toward the stack of money on the table. I trail her, nearly tripping over the little boy as he tries to dart between us. “Watch it, Rory!” Swift yelps, taking a gentle swipe at his wild red curls, but he dodges her and slips out the door.

“You go ahead and relax. I’ll take care of everything.” Saul nudges her gently to the side. He’s got Pima slung against his chest again. She nurses greedily from the bottle as he reaches over to the notes from the sack and takes a bundle. “Go see a show or something. Make the most of your shore leave—don’t waste it on little old me.”

“I want to waste it on little old you,” Swift whines, but he gives her another nudge toward the door.

“Show your captive the sights. The SRC’s got nothing on this place, you know?”

“Dinner’s at the usual?”

“As always.”

When his back is turned, Swift sweeps a handful of cash into her pocket and tugs me insistently toward the door. We burst out into the bright sunlight, and for a moment I swear I see a tear in her eye. She stops a moment to take in the view, so I share it with her.

As I take in the Flotilla’s sprawling jumble, I squint against the light and pick out the shapes of people on the farthest docks bringing in the fishing haul for the day. Seagulls glide through the network of bridges beneath us, their beady eyes fixed on the fresh catch coming in. This whole place is like a giant organism, an ecosystem that thrives on sheer willpower and the strength of the people who hold it all together.