They turn the dredge in time, bringing it broadside near the western sandbar. I can’t hear the raiders anymore, but I can see them well enough. Waving and signaling to one another, those on the dredge and those onshore.

  How do we defeat so many of them?

  We don’t. We’ll have to distract them. And we need to mitigate their numbers. I need an idea that can do both.

  Lights still flicker up in the trees. Some of the raiders must have stayed behind in their houses while the others came down to see the ship on the move. I wonder again how they manage to have lamps without electricity, near so much wood.

  And then, like a match to kindling, I have an idea of how I’ll get my ship back. It might be that Naomi gave me the spark of the idea last night, when I overheard her talking about me.

  Some people always burn.

  I have torn them into bits. Now I will light them up like candles.

  CHAPTER 19

  ON MY WAY BACK TO OUR CAMP, I notice that someone has cut words and names into the trees. The words stand out, scarred-black against the white of the bark. The wounds are old; they have had time to heal over, to blur with lichen. Still, I can read them.

  Names, mostly. A few dates.

  Sometimes there are two names, with a heart in between them.

  I shouldn’t carve anything. It might give us away, if anyone else passed through here. They’d notice the newness of the cuts. But if I did, what word would I choose?

  Revenge.

  Brig appears around the side of one of the trees. I didn’t realize I was so close to the clearing. He has his knife out, too. Neither of us makes any move to put ours away. His eyes are hollowed and alert.

  Tendrils of hair have escaped my braid and fall into my eyes; I push them back with the heel of my hand. “We’re going to need to move.”

  “The ship’s moving again, then?”

  “It is,” I say, “But the armor still isn’t working.” I hold out my hand for Brig to give me the knife. He returns it carefully, the blade pointing away from me. My fingers close over his on the handle. There’s no way around it. Our eyes meet briefly, then he drops his hand and we head back to the clearing.

  The others are awake, waiting for us. Naomi cradles her arm. Eira stands next to her. I notice she has her pen and pencil in her shirt pocket. I should have taken those away, too. You could stab someone with one, run the point of a pencil right into their eardrum, their eyes, while they were sleeping, awake.

  I keep walking, toward Tam. He’s sitting near one of the logs, his back braced against it.

  “Good news, Tam,” I say. “You brought us exactly what we need.” I’m so close that the toes of my boots touch his. If he stands up, we’ll be eye to eye. He leans back slightly, resting his elbows on the log behind him. A nonchalant gesture, but he’s putting distance between us.

  I do intimidate him, at least slightly. Good. I don’t like needing people. But I do. For this.

  “Food,” Tam says, shrugging. “Everyone needs it. Not hard to figure out.”

  “Not just food,” I say. “You brought more than that. This, for example.” I flick open Tam’s knife. I think the handle is made of some kind of animal horn, thick and dappled dark brown and gold but almost translucent in places. I know the material because the Admiral has a knife like this, but bigger. Much bigger. He told me it came from a bison, an animal that went extinct long ago. I turn Tam’s knife in the light sifting through the trees. Everyone else is silent. Do they think I’ll strike? Tam keeps his eyes on my hands as he stands.

  I sense Brig moving closer to me. Again, I wonder: to protect or attack? Are Brig and Tam working together? What combinations are in league against me in our leftover, skeleton crew? There are so many possibilities. Brig and Tam. Naomi and Tam. Eira and Tam. Brig and Naomi. Naomi and Eira. Eira and Brig.

  Or four against one.

  The five of us, a small circle, all of our eyes darting back and forth, asking one another: Who are you?

  “Thanks to you,” I say, “we can take back the ship.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I have Eira draft us a map of the raiders’ village as it is now. We pack the dirt down wet and she uses her pencil to score lines in the mud. Her memory is precise and exceptional and her hand steady. Even in these less-than-ideal circumstances, she renders the village neat and clear. Brig kneels to get a closer look.

  I point at the map Eira’s drawn in the dirt. “We have to take them down before they figure out how to get the armor running. Otherwise our chances of getting back on are almost zero.”

  “Agreed,” says Naomi. She’s holding her arm very carefully. Does her voice sound weaker than it did yesterday?

  “They outnumber us,” I say. “And they have better weapons.”

  “We have two knives,” Tam says drily. “And a pencil and pen. Also a cooking pot.”

  “What we need is a distraction to get them off the ship,” I say. “Make them focus on something else.”

  “But why would they do that?” Naomi asks. “They’re sitting pretty. They’ve got the ship and the gold, everything they care about.”

  “No,” I say. “They care about their village. And the people onshore.”

  Eira catches her breath. Tam presses his lips together.

  Can my crew handle this? Brig’s been in the militia. Naomi’s been on the dredge and seen violence. But Eira’s a mapmaker, an artist. And Tam’s a cook. Will he be able to kill?

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, Tam meets my eyes. “I’ve seen blood,” he says. “I’ve sawed through bone.”

  But were the animals alive or dead when you did it? I want to ask. Instead I reach around Tam for his bag. “With any luck,” I say, “and thanks to you, we won’t have to see too much blood or bone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like I said earlier.” I pull out the kerosene tank. It’s small, but with kindling and flame and the right planning, it should be sufficient to get things started. And once fires get big enough, they’re hard to stop. “You brought us exactly what we need.”

  Brig inhales deeply. “We’re going to set their houses on fire.”

  “Right,” I say. “We go upriver, close to their new village. We gather kindling.” I tap Eira’s drawing. “At night, when they’re less likely to catch us, we sneak in and stack the kindling at the bottom of the trees. We douse as much as we can with Tam’s kerosene and set it all on fire. Hopefully, the wood and canvas go up fast, and the fire’s likely to spread to the trees and the houses. The other raiders will see it from the dredge.” A flare of relief sparks in my heart. This is a real, workable plan for getting the ship back. We don’t have much, but we have something.

  It will be a perfect distraction. The raiders will have to leave the dredge to help. If we get enough of a blaze going, it might diminish their numbers. Permanently.

  And after all, the raiders burned us first.

  “It hasn’t rained,” Naomi says. “Everything’s dry. The fire might leap where we don’t expect it.”

  She’s right. We might get caught in the fire ourselves. We’ll have to run straight to the river, or a stream, if we can find one nearby.

  And the raiders know some of us are out here. They’ll have people keeping watch.

  “If they catch us, they’ll shoot us,” Tam says.

  “So we have to be careful,” I say. “And quiet.”

  “How do we start the fires?” Eira asks. “We don’t have matches.”

  “That’s why Tam is so perfect,” I say. “He didn’t just bring the kerosene. He also brought the cookstove. We use the stove’s lighting mechanism to start the fires.”

  “What if people die?” Eira’s face is ashen.

  “It’s a terrible way to go,” says Tam, his voice grim. “I’ve seen kitchen accidents. Even an injury from fire is awful.”

  Naomi bows her head.

  Brig’s jaw is clenched. “What other choice do we have?” he asks through gritted teeth.

  Maybe it’s good Naomi told them the story about Call. So they know what the raiders do.

  “I wouldn’t do this if they hadn’t taken our ship,” I say.

  I wouldn’t do this if they hadn’t killed Call.

  But.

  They did.

  “We could walk back to the Outpost,” says Eira, after a moment’s pause.

  “Poe’s not going to do that.” Tam’s watching me.

  “I’m the captain of the ship,” I say. “It’s my job to get it home.”

  “What about us?” Eira asks. “Is it your job to get us home, too?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I want to bring back as many of the crew as possible.”

  Eira laughs. “That was convincing.”

  I’m taken aback. I meant it. Didn’t I say it right?

  “If we return without the ship and the gold, the Admiral will kill us,” says Naomi, low. “He almost did last time. Poe’s invention is what saved our first crew. Every one of us.”

  “If any of you want to run, you can.” My voice drips with scorn. As if that’s the most spineless, small, stupid idea I’ve ever heard.

  The crew is quiet. The dredge is not. It reminds us that it’s working again, moving inexorably away up the river.

  Without us.

  “Does anyone have a better idea?” I ask.

  A pause. Eira is the first to speak. “I don’t.”

  “Neither do I,” Naomi says.

  Brig shakes his head.

  Tam sighs. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Then let’s take a vote,” I say. “All in favor of striking against the raiders tonight, raise your hand.”

  Brig and Naomi raise their hands. After a second, Eira does the same. Tam is the last to lift his hand, the motion reluctant.

  “Then it’s settled.” I level my gaze at them. “No one runs.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “ALL RIGHT,” I say. “We’ll need to gather kindling later, but first we should split up again and take one more look at what the raiders are doing. Tam, you come with Brig and me to scout out where the dredge is now. Eira and Naomi—”

  Eira exhales, visibly frustrated.

  “Eira had to stay with me last time,” says Naomi, with a flash in her eyes that disappears quickly. “I’m not as fast as the rest of you, not with this injury.”

  But I want us divided along these lines for several reasons. Brig and I are the strongest physically, so we should take Tam with us because he’s the least-known factor. I still trust Naomi the most, so it makes sense for her to lead the other party.

  “It’s not that,” says Eira, sounding contrite. “I’m just tired of watching the raiders’ village.”

  “We need you there, Eira,” I say. “I want you to notice any changes and draw us an updated version of the map when you get back. When the sun’s in the middle of the sky, at noon, we’ll meet here, go over the map, and gather kindling.”

  “I think the three of you should watch the village,” Eira says. “Maybe you’ll notice something we’ve missed.” Her arms are folded, her eyes spark. “And you know how to draw blueprints and schematics. I’m sure you can help us update the map.”

  She’s challenging me.

  But she’s right. I might see something she missed.

  And vice versa. I wouldn’t mind having Naomi’s eyes on the dredge.

  “Very well,” I say. The dredge can run without me for a few hours.

  Can’t it?

  * * *

  • • •

  Tam and I are up to our elbows in garbage, in the refuse of the raiders. It’s smelly, squishy, disgusting, rank, and very, very interesting. Because I’m not as hungry, I can pay better attention to what the scraps reveal. Brig’s keeping watch for us while we pilfer their garbage.

  “Keep an eye on him,” I say to Tam. “Let me know if you see him sneaking back to murder us.” Tam laughs. I wasn’t trying to be funny.

  In the morning, the raiders cooked, cleaned up, and met together in smaller groups. To my frustration, we couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying. They climbed up in the tree houses, and from the movements we were able to make out, it seemed that they were packing some of their things again. Which surprises me. I thought they’d stay a few days in that spot, since the dredge is so slow.

  Not long ago, they all headed in the direction of the river.

  What are they doing there? I wonder. It’s good they left, so we can take a look at things in the village, but it unsettles me that they all went together. What do they have planned?

  “Look at this.” Tam holds up a scrap of bread. Flat, not light and fluffy like the kind he made on board the dredge, but still. Bread. The type that would require grain to bake, and ovens to cook.

  “Where do you think they got it?” I ask.

  Tam takes a tentative bite out of the edge of the bread. “It’s wheat,” he says, “but different from ours.”

  I take a piece of it from him and chew, thinking and counting. There are seventeen houses in the village, each with a group living inside. The groups seem to range from three to four people up to seven or eight. These houses are light and portable, but they’re not heavy-duty. They wouldn’t stand up to harsh winter snows—there’s not enough insulation. They don’t allow for ovens or for staying in one place for a long time, which would have to be necessary at some point, for wintering or illness or gathering food.

  I was so struck with admiration at the beauty of their engineering, by the houses that fold into boats and out again, that I didn’t think far and hard enough.

  This isn’t how the raiders usually live.

  “Wheat isn’t the kind of thing you grow on the run,” Tam says. “They must have long-term crops somewhere.”

  “So there must be more than just this group,” I say. “Somewhere, some of them are farming or cultivating.”

  “Or they trade with people who do.”

  All of this dovetails with what Brig noticed earlier: the lack of children. It makes sense now. Of course they wouldn’t bring their kids on a raiding journey if they had a safe place they could leave them.

  “And it’s not the Outpost,” I say. “They don’t trade with us.”

  “It’s kind of exciting,” Tam says. The curve of his cheek makes it look like he’s smiling, even when he isn’t. He has a turned-up nose and freckles and his sandy hair is a tangled mess. He’s too young and he shouldn’t be out here.

  “How do you figure?” I ask.

  “You know. That there are probably more people out here. Not only the raiders.”

  “That’s not exciting,” I say. Other groups add variables to our mission. More and more, I’m certain that we have to do this fast. “It’s problematic.”

  “But haven’t you wondered?” Tam asks. “The world is big. I know a lot of people died during the Desertion when the Union withdrew from the Territory. But if the raiders found a way to live out here, maybe others did, too.”

  Flies buzz around the compost. My eyes meet Tam’s across the scrap pile.

  “The sooner we get done with this, the better,” I say. “They’re going to come back.”

  I glance in the direction where Brig is hiding. I told him to stay where I can see him and I didn’t give him a knife. There he is, crouched low in the grass a dozen yards away. He’s watching us. I jerk my head at him and he lifts his chin in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the path the villagers used when they went toward the river.

  “Do you know who your parents are?” Tam asks.

  “That’s a strange question,” I say. I’ve found a bit of cloth, soaked through with some kind of grease. From meat? Cooking? It might be good for setting fires, and I don’t think the raiders will miss it. I tuck it in my shirt pocket, where it sticks out like a filthy pocket square. At this point, I’ve been sleeping in dirt and digging through garbage. What does it matter?

  “They’re going to smell us before they see us,” Tam says, and I snort—not quite in laughter at his joke, but more in acknowledgment of the fact.

  “What kind of meat is this?” I pick up a piece of bone and gristle and hand it to Tam. “Is it an animal you can find around here, or do you think they packed it in?”

  “Looks like chicken.” Tam takes a small bite. “Tastes gamey,” he says, making a face. “Some kind of bird. They probably could have caught it out here. Quail, maybe? I don’t know.”

  We’re almost at the bottom of the compost pile. With so many people to feed and support, the raiders don’t waste much.

  “So I guess you don’t know who your parents are,” Tam says.

  “Actually, I do,” I tell him, investigating a small carcass that I am almost sure is a squirrel. “I remember my mother.” I don’t bother telling Tam that she’s dead. He probably already guessed that. “What about you?”

  Tam shakes vegetable peelings from his hands and takes a deep breath. “There’s something I should tell you,” he says.

  “What?” I ask. Not now, I think. All we need to worry about is getting the ship back.

  And then Brig is upon us. I didn’t even see him coming. “The raiders are on their way,” he says. “We have to go.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We beat Naomi and Eira back to the clearing, which makes sense as they had farther to go to get to the dredge and we came back earlier than planned. But, as the sun turns the bend at the top of the sky and begins to slope down, I start to worry. Is Naomi all right?

  This is why I wanted them to stay near the village, I fume. Why did Eira challenge me? Why did I let her?