Corvus (Stars and Sails, Book 1)

Thirteen

Sabik pushed his thin linen sheet away and sat up in his bed. Something awful had woken him up—some tinny, mechanical trilling. Light was filtering through the wooden slats in his window. He pulled open the shutters and winced at the gray light. A bird of paradise jumped up on the wooden windowsill and turned to him, still trilling along. It shook its fluffy orange tail about and opened its wings. Sabik bit down on a smile and tapped his fingers against the windowsill. The bird jumped back, shook out its wings and flew away into the banyan trees.

Sabik reached out his hand. "Oh, chuuk! Come back, silly bird!"

It was merely warm in the morning, but the humidity felt oppressive. There had been a rainstorm the night before. Sabik had come to expect nightly rain in New Jhatari. He had missed it all the time while he was away at university on the mainland. Now, he would miss it again.

He walked over to the chest beside his bed and dressed in his nicest kurta. It was dark with golden embroidery around the neckline. He found his formal trousers buried in the bottom of the chest, often because he was too afraid to wear them and accidentally get them dirty. The last time that he was in the Durantan Federation, his clothing had attracted some odd looks. One naturally had to be a bit brash to retain any sense of cultural identity while in Duranta. He had gotten a button-up shirt during his travels, but it was gauzy and nearly see-through. He would feel naked if he walked out of his cabin in that. Nevertheless, he stuffed all his clothing in a haversack, see-through shirt and all. With his fingers, he untangled his dark wavy hair. He pushed it out of his face, but as soon as he moved his head, it fell back around his jaw and neck.

He pulled the sheet up on his bed, closed the shutters and grabbed his medical kit off his rickety desk. If he had been younger, he would have lingered on the last view of his cabin for what might be years, but he didn't like to linger anymore. Maybe Sabik was a fatalist, but if he imagined that things were already broken and destroyed, then he had an easier time letting go. Because his cabin wouldn't last forever and neither would he.

Outside on the raised porch of his treehouse, Sabik was greeted by an Orangutan squeaking high in the trees. His grandfather had often said that call was a warning of an approaching storm. Sabik has always believed it on account of also believing his grandfather to be the wisest man who had ever lived.

He looked out into the gardens. The jambu trees and bamboo stalks lined the mosaic tiled paths. Flowers grew around fountains. Just ahead, past a few treehouses, was a main square dedicated to a statue of a tiger. Women sang and played bamboo flutes and tapped their fingers on drums. Maybe he was making a mistake leaving. He fumbled around the pocket of his haversack and took out a letter he'd been keeping.

Sabik Nejem, May 28th, 1822

I'm sorry to inform you—especially by mail—that Captain Leon Harris' vessel was boarded by pirates on May 18th of this year. He did not survive the attack. The Coronis has been surrendered to the Durantan Navy for repairs in exchange for temporary use.

My name is Silas Noble. I heard of Captain Harris through Minkar—it was I who rescued her all those years ago from the Firefish Islands. My job with the Coronis is to find Captain Tobias Zelley, but it seems Leon Harris still needs you to finish his work, and I'm in need of a qualified doctor. Mail me if you'll be interested in joining us in Longport.

Sabik folded the paper over and put it back into his bag. He swallowed hard and climbed down the ladder of his tree house and set his feet on the distended ground. It was almost impossible to believe when he first heard it. Leon Harris couldn't be dead. He'd mailed him not so long ago. Sabik already planned on joining the crew of the Coronis, but that was under Captain Harris and his quartermaster Niro, not under dominion of the Navy. But he had to go, no matter how uneasy it made him.