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Back The Abyss Surrounds Us Save as PDF
Chapters (37)
  1. Dedication
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. Acknowledgments
  37. About the Author

If a brand on the back of her neck is how she sees the ship, we have a lot more in common than I first thought.

7

7

Swift’s introduction to the ship is about as half-hearted as I expected. First she leads me up a ladder to the main deck and breezes through the ship’s arsenal, including the two massive guns at the fore and aft. Phobos and Diemos, she calls them, then warns me never to call them that around the captain. I stare up at them, fighting to keep my expression unchanged as I remember their fury, the blaze of the guns pumping as they drove round after round into Durga’s hide. My eyes burn, and I squeeze them shut before anything escapes.

Then it’s on to the Splinters, the needle-like gunboats tucked against the Minnow’s hull by a set of pneumatic braces. Swift introduces them like a tour guide at an art museum, but her boorish accent keeps the impression half-baked.

I lean over the railing to get a good look at the Splinters. I’ve seen ships like this escorting vessels too small to have Reckoners. They’re tiny and terrifyingly fast, and Santa Elena didn’t need to deploy them to take down the Nereid.

I lean a little farther, letting the railing take my full weight as my gaze shifts to the night-dark ocean flying by beneath us. For a moment, I feel weightless. For a moment, I forget.

Then Swift yanks me back by the collar and gives me a warning look.

There’s a beat of awkward silence. She glances around the deck, the wind whipping her hair as she searches for something else to point out to me, then shrugs. “There’s more, I guess,” she says. “But I’m starving, so who cares?”

She leads me back down the ladder and through the maze of lower levels, nodding here and there to indicate heads, bunks, and supply closets. I could complain about how fast she’s breezing through the ship’s layout, but my stomach has other matters on its mind. The promise of food has it grumbling and growling, reminding me that it’s been nearly an entire day since I last ate. Back home, I miss meals left and right when I get caught up with work in the Reckoner pens—I guess I’ve gotten good at suppressing hunger. The idea of a hunger strike flickers into mind, but I brush it aside. If I’m going to survive on this ship, I’ll need all the strength I can get, and something tells me if I refuse to eat, Swift will simply cram the food down my throat.