On Discord Isle by Jonathon Burgess Page B

and looked back to the parrot, invoking a prayer of pain and spite as she threw.
    She missed. She could almost hear the voice of old Euron, her father, berating her for it. The parrot ignored her missile and puffed itself up into a riotous ball of color. Then it shrieked in indignation. Natasha winced at the sound. A small lizard fell from some upper branch to land in the dirt, stunned.
    Goddess on high, I need a drink . Natasha cursed the bird silently, then pulled herself up to sit cross-legged. Her tongue felt swollen. It tasted like something had crawled down her throat and died. Her neck was still sore from yesterday’s argument with Fengel. Every inch of her back ached from sleeping on the ground. The leaves and dirt in her hair made it a tangled mass.
    Sitting up hadn’t helped. A dull throbbing began at her temples and it grew with every passing moment. Natasha pulled up a hand to rub the headache away, then stopped. Her whole arm shook with a slight tremor.
    Natasha closed her eyes. I just need a drink.
    The parrot screamed again.
    “Would you just shut up and die?” she snarled.
    It stopped and looked around. Then it squawked and flew off. Natasha blinked in surprise, then sighed in relief. Now maybe she could get some peace.
    Another sound broke the silence. Something crashed through the jungle underbrush. It was large and getting closer, no mere parrot. Natasha looked about for a stray branch to use as a weapon. She found nothing; all of the deadfall had been burned last night in that bonfire. Instead, she took a breath and scrabbled to her feet. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t find her unawares. Her father always said to meet trouble standing. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.
    Fengel pushed out into the clearing. He stumbled a bit at the sudden lack of foliage and staggered to a halt. Regaining his balance, he glanced up and around. His eyes landed on Natasha.
    He gave a disappointed sigh.
    “I was afraid that was you,” he said tartly. “Even on a deserted jungle island, your screech could wake the dead.”
    They’d only had their... discussion... on the beach yesterday afternoon, but Fengel looked far worse for wear than he should have. His clothing was torn in places, and there was a scratch on his monocle.
    Of course. This is all I need today. Their most recent argument had not been the worst they’d ever had, or the most violent. She still did not want to have to deal with him right now, though. “That was a bird,” she hissed. The pounding at her temples grew stronger. What was he even doing here?
    “Yes, yes,” Fengel replied with disinterest. He glanced around the clearing. “Goddess above. What happened here?”
    Embarrassment encroached on her irritation. I’m a pirate captain, not a damned woodsman . “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She folded her arms.
    Fengel gave her a vicious, mocking smile. “What I’m talking about is the utter devastation of this patch of woodlands. Almost like someone started a bonfire underneath a tree and didn’t think it through.”
    “Like you could have done any better,” she replied through gritted teeth.
    “I did just fine last night,” said Fengel. “Thank you very much.” Her husband straightened a little, tilting his head back.
    She recognized the mannerism. He was lying. “Horseshit,” she said, breaking out into a wicked smile of her own. “You never could rub two sticks together to save your life, no matter how many times Lucian showed you.” Folding her arms, she rocked back on one heel. “Tell me, when did you slink back to the beach for the supplies you thought I’d have missed?”
    Fengel flushed and looked away. “I was only going to watch you go through rum withdrawals, but it turns out you’d left. Along with pretty much everything that wasn’t ruined.” He looked pointedly around the clearing. “The tinderbox, at the very least, you found.” Fengel stared abruptly at something behind her. “Oh my