On Discord Isle Read Online Free PDF

food wouldn’t go amiss either.”
    He did not respond.
    Natasha whirled back to the bunk. “Didn’t you hear me? I said—”
    The bunk was empty. The blankets and pillows were all tangled up on his side into a mass that she’d dimly, groggily mistook for her oh-so-obnoxious husband. She glanced over at the pile of gear near the door and it came back to her, yesterday’s raid and their hours-long fight afterwards. How that fight had ended was buried in a haze of rum, but it was obvious that he’d given up and gone to sleep somewhere else.
    The thought was vaguely infuriating.
    Her mood plunged. Snarling, Natasha grabbed up her boots, belt and a pair of pistols from a cabinet. She unlatched the door to the cabin and stalked out into the hall beyond.
    Right, then. As usual, there’s only one person on this damned boat that I can count upon, and that’s me. Things have probably gone to the Realms Below while I’ve been asleep. Time to get to work. Breakfast, then to put some order into those sots and wastrels that I let crew this vessel. First, though....
    She passed three store-room doors and reached the privy. The door was shut and rattled when she tried to open it.
    “Occupied,” came a voice.
    Natasha drew a pistol, placed its barrel against the door where the latch would be, and fired. Thunder erupted in the space, echoing up and down the corridor. Splinters flew from the wood of the door and its frame, showering her slightly, their tiny pinpricks angering her further. Natasha grabbed the wooden handle of the door and yanked it open.
    One of Fengel’s flunkies sat on the wooden toilet, the ratty little man, Oscar Pleasant. His trousers were down and his hands were clasped over his ears. He looked up at her, eyes wide in shock.
    “Blood of the Goddess!” he yelled.
    Natasha reached in and yanked him by his hair out into the corridor. The sky pirate toppled to the floor of the deck. She stepped into the privy, closed the door, and tended to her business. A few moments later, Natasha left the small closet and stalked down toward the mess in search of food, while a terrified Oscar was still sobbing on the floor.
    The stern stairwell led down to the quarterdeck and the mess hall. Natasha stalked into the former, where the night-watch was sleeping in their hammocks. Or at least, should have been. She paused as she realized that the room was almost empty, with only a few people currently unconscious within. Probably dicing when they should be resting. She frowned and made a note to be particularly harsh today. The counting house raid was coming up soon, and there wasn’t any room for slack on that job. Natasha tromped up to the door to the mess, not caring a whit for the noise she made.
     The benches of the mess weren’t quite empty. A lone figure sat at a table near a porthole, several large tomes open before him, along with paper and charcoal. Natasha vaguely recognized the younger of the two Mechanists, the one she’d effectively impressed into service upon the old Copper Queen . For the life of her she couldn’t remember his name.
    He’d have to do.
    “You,” she growled.
    The youth started. He looked up at her, face covered in coal dust. “Ma’am?” he said.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Al-Allen, ma’am.”
    “Well, Allen, get back in the kitchen and get me something to eat.”
    Allen the Mechanist looked at her, then back at the kitchens, then back to her again. “Ma’am, I think Geoffrey Lords just stepped out for a smoke. He’ll be back in a minute—”
    “You’re here, he’s not. Go cook me something.”
    “But ma’am, I’m just the Mechanist, and the younger one at that. I can’t cook—”
    Natasha leveled a gaze that shut him up. “Look,” she said sweetly. “It’s morning—”
    “Midafternoon, ma’am.”
    “Midafternoon, then. I require drink. Failing that, food. Since I’m apparently out of drink, I need food. Now, since I can’t be arsed to cook it myself, that means