“It’s black market fuel,” Tool rumbled. “Banned by convention, if not in fact. The only thing that would be more profitable is shipping half-men, but that of course is legal. And this isn’t at all. Is it, Lucky Girl?”

Nita nodded unwillingly. “Pyce is avoiding carbon taxation because of territory disputes in the Arctic, and then when it goes to China, it’s easy to sell it untraceably. It’s risky, and it’s illegal, and my father found out about it. He was going to force Pyce out of the family, but Pyce moved against him first.”

“Billions in Chinese red cash,” Nailer said. “It’s worth that much?”

She nodded.

“Your father’s crazy, then. He should’ve done the business.”

Nita looked at him with disgust. “Don’t we already have enough drowned cities? Enough people dying from drought? My family is a clean company. Just because a market exists doesn’t mean we have to serve it.”

Nailer laughed. “You trying to tell me you blood buyers got some kind of clean conscience? Like making some petrol is different than buying our blood and rust out on the wrecks for your recycling?”

“It is!”

“It’s all money in the end. And you’re worth a lot more of it than I thought.” He looked at her speculatively. “Good thing you didn’t tell me this before I burned the boat with my dad.” He shook his head. “I might have let him sell you after all. Your uncle Pyce would have paid a fortune.”

Nita smiled uncertainly. “You’re serious?”

Nailer wasn’t sure how he was feeling. “It’s a lot of damn money,” he said. “The only reason you think you’ve got morals is because you don’t need money the way regular people do.” He forced down a feeling of despair over a choice that was made and couldn’t be gone back on.

You want to be like Sloth? he asked himself. Do anything just to make a little more cash?

Sloth had been both a traitor and a fool, but Nailer couldn’t help thinking the Fates had handed him the biggest Lucky Strike in the world and he’d thrown it away. “So how’d you end up in the storm, if you’re so valuable?”

“My father sent me south, to keep me out of reach if there was violence. No one was supposed to know where I was.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “We didn’t know they were coming. We didn’t suspect-” She corrected herself. “Captain Arensman said we needed to run. He knew. I don’t know how. Maybe he was one of them and changed his mind. Maybe he had a feel for the Fates.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll never know now. But I didn’t believe him, and so I delayed. And our people died because I didn’t believe I was at risk.” Her face hardened. “We barely got out of port, and even then they were after us, chasing us all day and all night.

“When the storm came, we didn’t have any choice. It was either try to run the storm, or surrender. Captain Arensman gave me the choice.”

“You couldn’t make a deal?” Nailer asked.

“Not with Pyce. That man doesn’t negotiate when he’s already won. So I told Arensman to head into the storm. I don’t know why he agreed. The sea was already high.” She made a motion with her hands. “Waves coming over the decks, almost impossible to walk, and no clear winds, just a storm howl, all around us, tearing us to pieces. I was sure I was going to die, but if we surrendered to Pyce it would have been the same.”

She shrugged. “So we turned into the storm and the waves kept coming and our sails snapped and we lost our masts and the waves came in through the windows.” She took a shuddering breath. “But Pyce’s people turned back.”

“You risked everything,” Tool rumbled.

“I’m a chess piece. A pawn,” she said. “I can be sacrificed, but I cannot be captured. To be captured would be the end of the game.” She stared out at the greenery. “I have to escape, or die, because if I’m captured they will have my father, and they will make him do terrible things.”

“If your father wishes to sacrifice himself for you,” Tool said, “perhaps he knows best.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that you sacrificed an entire crew to a storm.”

Nita stared at him, then looked away. “If there had been another choice, I would have taken it.”

“You have loyal people, then.”

“Not like you.” She said it with surprising venom.

Tool blinked once, slowly, yellow eyes bright. “You wish that I was a good dog-man? That I had kept allegiance to Nailer’s father, maybe?” He blinked again. “You wish that I was a good beast like the ones on your clipper ships?” He smiled slightly, showing sharp teeth. “Richard Lopez thought your clean blood and clear eyes and strong heart would fetch an excellent price from the Harvesters. You wish I had stayed loyal to that?”

Nita gave Tool a dirty look, but her knuckles were pale as she clenched her fists. “Don’t try to scare me.”

Tool’s teeth showed bright and sharp. “If I wished to scare a spoiled rich protected creature, I would not have to try very hard.”

Nailer interrupted. “Cut it out, you two.” He touched Tool’s shoulder. “We’re glad you came with us. We owe you.”

“I didn’t do it for your debt,” Tool said. “I did it for Sadna.” He looked at Nita. “That woman is worth ten times whatever your wealthy father is worth. A thousand times what you are, whatever your enemies may foolishly think.”

“Don’t tell me about worth,” Nita said. “My father commands fleets.”

“The wealthy measure everything with the weight of their money.” Tool leaned close. “Sadna once risked herself and the rest of her crew to help me escape from an oil fire. She did not have to return, and she did not have to help lift an iron girder that I could not lift alone. Others urged her not to. It was foolhardy. And I, after all, was only half of a man.” Tool regarded Nita steadily. “Your father commands fleets. And thousands of half-men, I am sure. But would he risk himself to save a single one?”

Nita scowled at him, but she didn’t reply. Silence stretched between them. Eventually everyone settled down to sleep as well as they could in the creak and jolt of the train.

The great drowned city of New Orleans didn’t come all at once, it came in portions: the sagging backs of shacks ripped open by banyan trees and cypress. Crumbling edges of concrete and brick undermined by sinkholes. Kudzu-swamped clusters of old abandoned buildings shadowed under the loom of swamp trees.

The train rose into the air, rail pilings lifting it over the swamps below. They passed over cool green pools full of algae and lily pads, the white flash of egrets and the whir of flies and mosquitoes. The entire elevated track system was reinforced against the city killer storms that rolled into the coast with such astonishing regularity, but it was the only evidence that any people successfully inhabited the jungle swamplands now.

They sped above the mossy broke-back structures of a dead city. A whole waterlogged world of optimism, torn down by the patient work of changing nature. Nailer wondered at the people who had inhabited those collapsing buildings. Wondered where they had gone. Their buildings were huge, larger than anything in his experience at the ship-breaking yards. The good ones were built with glass and concrete and they’d died just the same as the bad ones that seemed to have simply melted in on themselves, leaving rotting timbers and boards that were warped and molded and sagging.

“Is this it?” Nailer asked. “Is this the Orleans?”

Nita shook her head. “These were just towns outside the city. Support suburbs. They’re everywhere. Stuff like this goes for miles. From when everyone had cars.”

“Everyone?” Nailer tested the theory. It seemed unlikely. How could so many people be so rich? It was as absurd as everyone owning clipper ships. “How could they do that? There’s no roads.”

“They’re there.” She pointed. “Look.”

And indeed, if Nailer scrutinized the jungle carefully, he could make out the boulevards that had been, before trees punctured their medians and encroached. Now, the roads were more like flat fern and moss-choked paths. You had to imagine none of the trees sprouting up in the center, but they were there.