There was a burst of realization in the poor idiot’s eyes as his heel dropped off the edge of the deck. At first, it was simply surprise. Then, it was the look of confidence shattered, of resignation. After the morning she’d had, Grey basked in it.

  The surprise was easy to explain. The Paso Fino was a new ship to the crew, but after months at sea, they had grown accustomed to every inch. They could pass from one area of her to the next blindfolded. While this was useful to the sailors in almost every sense, She had discovered the one instance where it was not. She planned on using it to her advantage today.

  Where Nile expected a rail to be, there was nothing but thick ocean air.

  The logistics of buying and selling on a small island like Eel Cay always took time, and the crew was restless. In an effort to hurry the process along, the Captain had ordered the railing on the docked side of the ship removed to accommodate a larger cargo ramp, but the ramp itself had not been installed yet.

  It was a necessary effort. If all went well, the larger ramp would help them speed their progress through the Cay, and on to their next job. If the town’s dusk madames and tavernkeeps weren’t already bitching about the sailors of the Paso Fino, they would be soon. That would surely lead to the local authorities getting involved in the ship’s business, and that never went well. Sailors like Nile were exactly why.

  Grey kicked off extravagantly. Even tied as it was, her slate-hued hair whipped behind her as she planted a large, tanned boot squarely on his chest. Ordinarily, she would be wary of trying to move a much larger opponent in such a high-risk manner, but Nile was already off balance. He had nothing but the shallow reef to catch him.

  Grey was a hardened riptide, who had been a grounder before that, and aware of the intricacies of hand-to-hand combat. She knew how to discreetly extend her hips and snap her leg forward for an effective sternum-bruising kick, a safe option that wouldn’t throw her out of a balanced stance. That is to say, she knew how to cause damage without overcommitting. That’s not what she was going for today.

  It never hurt to be a showman when trying to make a point. Actually, in Grey’s opinion, it almost never hurt to add a little flourish when it was safe to do so. Many folk didn’t put enough weight in their reputation, and as a sailor on the Myriad Sea, hers was very important to her.

  The defeated nature of his expression was a little more nuanced than the surprise. This altercation had clearly not gone the way he had thought it would. Simplified, he needed to watch his mouth, and he would learn that lesson today.

  Grey was an infinitely patient person, but there were only about five people in the world who knew that. To the crew, her enemies, most of her lovers, and the majority of the islands of Etos, she was known for a short fuse. She’d always found an advantage to the impression of a radiant temper and the reality of a cool head.

  Her opponent, Nile, was relatively new to the crew, hired on when the Paso Fino was purchased. When Grey met him, she had assumed he was as dumb as he was ugly. It had made plenty of sense when the captain assigned him to grounder.

  On a ship in the Myriad and much of the world, grounders were the first combatants in a skirmish, the first to hit the ground. Whether you were more than just sword and arrow fodder relied completely on your brain, guts, and skill. While being a grounder had sharpened Grey into the riptide she was now, the majority fell to a wound during combat or, more often, a nasty infection after.

  She expected the same for Nile and had not put much more thought into it until today. But, here she was, and here he was, flying overboard and into the sticky open air.

  If Grey had to put gold on it, she would bet that Nile had been trying to skip rank.

  Grounders were a pipeline to the more important and more protected positions on the ship. Even some Navigators had made it through a few trying years as grounders until they were recognized for a developing specialized skill.

  As for riptides, it was an unspoken requirement that they came from grounder ranks. While combat was still her primary function as a ripper, her responsibilities were more intricate. She may be called to lead a combat party, negotiate a hostile situation in lieu of the captain, or dispatch an enemy without the fuss of involving the rest of the crew.

  That morning had started out as they usually did. Grey had returned to the Paso Fino to lead dawn muster with the grounders. The quartermaster, navigator, purser, sages, and the rest of the officers were responsible for their own divisions, but the grounders needed a stronger hand. That job always fell to a riptide.

  That landed Grey on the Paso Fino at the ass-crack many mornings, often hungover, always pissed off. Fortunately, the other ripper on the ship, Callum, took on an equal share of the musters, training, and overall maintenance of their team. It was a relief for Grey. When she had been a solo riptide all of her days had been consumed by nursemaiding.

  The men and women who had rushed sloppily from below deck were a still-drunk mess. The grounders that were too poor–or too hated–by the local guard to lodge in the town stayed in the hammocked sleeping quarters below deck. The majority of grounders fit the description, some even in debt to the ship itself.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The slightly more senior and well-off grounders that filtered onto the top deck from their lodgings on Eel Cay were still sporting muddy heads and sour looks. Grey started up her roll call just a touch early, causing a few of the stragglers to panic and run to make the formation. It added a little spice to Grey’s morning to call it early, and what was life without a little spice?

  At first, Grey had bought Nile’s show. He was the last to arrive and had legitimately appeared hungover. After roll-call, he started bellowing about the delay in port. He played the part of a stone-headed mule, loud and ignorant.

  Normally, Grey would never have tolerated the interruption. However, he was complaining about items she knew were on the rest of their minds. She thought to use the opportunity to guage their reactions, to check on moral.

  Most of the sailors couldn’t afford to stay here this long, he said. They needed their pay from this haul now, and they wanted a front from the captain. It wasn’t unheard of for captains to front their crew after a long trip at sea. Was Captain Akula not kind? Was he not fair?

  Grey had stared at him patiently, waiting for an opportunity to carve out his words and turn them on him. There was always an opportunity for positioning as a leader, especially in dissent.

  His rant certainly fit his story; he hadn’t been paid a dime since he was hired on. Goods wouldn’t have been sold under his name until this haul. The quartermaster was providing him, along with the rest of the crew, food and supplies, but that wasn’t money for the taverns.

  But.. something about the way he stared at her as he yelled was off. He had wanted her to jump in too early, for the dispute to escalate. His words made him seem like a drunken fool, but his eyes gave him away. He was too interested in her response.

  As he launched into the climax of his rant, his game became clear to her. He claimed that she was stuck too far up the captain’s ass to advocate for them. It was his opinion that there should be a new ripper assigned to look after the grounders. He thought that it was only right for Grey to be assigned a different responsibility or, better yet, demoted for being negligent. These were heavy statements, and the rest of the grounders shifted around him uncomfortably.

  Whatever alliances he had made, and Grey assumed he had, were not coming to his aid now.

  Of course, he wasn’t recommending himself outright to take her spot. That was a long shot, anyway. He hadn’t been with the crew long enough, and the suggestion would have made it clear that the rest was just a power grab. It turned out Nile was smart enough to play a long game, though a pretty common one to someone who had been on ships for as long as Grey had. He intended to jump rank, even if just among the grounders.

  She was sure he thought he was being original, as any over-confident man thinks, but Grey had recognized the play for what it was. Unfortunately for him, this problem could not be handled with grace and strategy. Attacking the captain, her position, and her character were too many aggressions for any response other than violence.

  Surely, he had expected as much. Were he to beat her in a physical altercation, he would begin to pick at the thread of her leadership. So, the gauntlet had been thrown, and Grey had found she was excited for the action.

  Grey was careful to mold her face as though her temper was rising. She let her amber eyes harden and her jaw muscles tense. This would give Nile a slight warning to her actions, but it was necessary to paint the right picture for her team. Additionally, she may never suss out who his accomplices were, if he had them, but they could have front-row seats to the consequences of jumping rank on her ship.

  From five feet away, Grey needed a distraction to close the distance. She deftly threaded a finger through a pull string tucked in the interior straps of a forearm bracer and tugged. The twine was attached to the end of a small pouch carefully sewn out of the way, and pulling it allowed the contents inside to release.

  She swung the arm diagonally in front of her, spraying the dust of the pouch in an arc. When the powder hit the sea air, a thick grey cloud filled the space between her and Nile. The average sailor would find it difficult to see through the haze, but Grey was not the average sailor.

  A riptide’s gear was tailored to their strengths, and it often gave them an edge that their opponent couldn’t match. There were not many fighters that could stand toe to toe with an experienced and geared ripper, even across the other continents. Nile was not only out-classed, but out-matched.

  Grey saw Nile charge forward in a brutal takedown through the smoke. She slid easily past his leading leg. As he lunged, he prioritized staying tight and balanced over a wide grab. In most circumstances, this was a smart move; he was more calculating than she had given him credit for, but she had launched herself so far to his left that it caused him to miss her completely.

  One of the first things she memorized about anyone she met was their dominant hand. Whether she could tell you their name or not was a gamble, but she could usually tell you which hand their power shot came from, and what stance would facilitate that. Had she not known this fact about Nile, she could have potentially sent herself in the wrong direction.

  As she caught the correct angle, there was an opportunity to crash a downward elbow into the back of his lowered head. This would have most definitely knocked him out, but could have potentially paralyzed or killed him. There was no need to ruin her day with Ironcloaks or, Chaos forbid, Seawardens.

  Instead, she used the back of the same arm to drive his head into her knee. When the top of her knee connected, his head snapped upward, spraying a wave of blood from a freshly smashed nose. She toke the opportunity to turn towards him and drive her free elbow across his cheek, slicing it open.

  As he turned up and stumbled away from her, she launched a loaded hook on the opposite cheek. He backed up further, and Grey followed with a quick jab back to the nose. After, a strong cross had steered him in front of the missing railing. As he finally raised his hands to protect his face, the smoke cleared. She would have her finale, launching the flashy front kick.

  The tall, wiry man crashed off the side of the Paso Fino. The grey cloud began to whiten and settle, and the crew looked like they were shaking off their hangovers. She glanced over the side, hoping he wasn’t knocked out and drowning, or worse, impaled by a broken pier column. She was pleased to see him unceremoniously swimming to shore.

  Grey turned to the grounders. “Does anyone else need help getting the fuck off my ship?”

  The muster funneled quickly down the installed loading planks, only sparing a moment to glance at the struggling swimmer in the emerald Myriadian waters.