Festa let the unfortunate sailor go and turned to Thom, frowning. “Well shit. That’s good then.”
“Yes sir,” Thom said, bowing his head.
Festa seemed to deflate, his expression one of something like disappointment as he glanced around the ship, his hands on his hips. “Alright then,” he said, “that’s that then. Now,” he turned to Aaron and the others, “I think you’d all best follow me back to the cabin and tell me what it is you want of me. Thom, keep an eye on the docks, make sure no more bastards set foot on this ship without I give the okay.”
“Yes sir, captain,” Thom said, “no more bastard feet on deck.”
Festa frowned, studying Thom for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not the first mate was mocking him. Then, finally, he grunted and headed back down the steps, motioning for Aaron and the others to follow.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Back in the captain’s cabin, Festa sat down at the head of the table, the effect of his scowl diminished somewhat by the obvious concentration it took to keep from falling out of the wobbling chair. “Now then, why don’t you all just tell me who in the Pit you are and what in the Pit you’re doing on my ship?”
Aaron glanced at his companions and saw that they were looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He sighed and turned back to Festa. He considered lying to the man but decided against it and, before he knew it, he was recounting the events of the last few weeks to the scowling captain, leaving out anything about Co and the other Virtues. The captain listened without interruption until he was finished. Then Festa let out a whistle and rocked back in his chair—a move that very nearly caused him to spill out of it and onto the floor of the cabin—“Well, shit,” he said.
Aaron nodded, “Yeah.”
Festa shook his head in wonder, glancing at Adina, “A princess, huh? In my cabin?”
Adina nodded her head to him, “Yes, captain.”
“Well,” Festa said, pausing to clear his throat, “ain’t that something. And I suppose Belgarin’s got quite a big sack of coin for any who brings you all in to him.”
Aaron glanced at the others, met their anxious stares, then turned back to Festa, “No doubt.”
“Belgarin,” the captain went on, “who’s, more likely than not, going to be the next king of Telrear, a man who—everyone knows—isn’t exactly kind to those who go against him.” He gestured to Adina, “Some of your royal sisters and brothers would no doubt say as much, were they able to speak. I suspect Prince Eladen would have a thing or two to say on the subject, if worm food could talk.”
Adina’s face turned crimson at that, “My brother was the noblest, kindest person I’ve ever known. He would have done anything for his people, for what was right and—”
“No doubt, no doubt,” Festa said, interrupting, “and considering he died for them, I suppose he has. Still, there’s nothin’ evil in the saying of it, princess. Men die, after all. It’s the one thing even a fool can’t fail at. A task made all the easier when you piss off a man like Belgarin. And by helping you, a man is pretty much volunteering his head to be next on the chopping block, ain’t he? So a man is left to ask himself—does he cast his lot on the side that, so far as I can see, has already won? Or does he send his ship hurtling into a storm and hope the gods are kind—though I’ve never known them to be—on an errand that’ll likely as not see him and his crew dead and, if by some miracle it doesn’t, even if by some luck that’s more than Inaden himself could provide, were he so inclined—and only a fool puts his trust on the God of Luck’s whims—even then what could I expect in return?”
“Sir,” Gryle spoke, his voice thready with anxiety, “My Lady is quite kind and generous. For a man who would help her back to her rightful place, I’m sure—”
Festa waved his hand, dismissing it, “Oh, you can stow it, chamberlain,” he said, not unkindly. “The gods know I’ve told my wife a lie or two when we’re in the sack and I’m after a husband’s wants—such lies were how my first son, Wellum, was born, after all. Aye, and the words are pretty enough, I’d say. Shit, when the mood’s on me, I guess I’m just about the most poetic son of a bitch alive, as is every husband. Still, when we wake up the next day, our house still ain’t a palace, and when washin’ needs done, my wife still ain’t got no servants to see to it, do you catch my meanin?”
Aaron frowned. The direction of the captain’s thoughts seemed clear enough, and he didn’t relish the idea of having to fight his way through a crew of sailors to make it back onto the dock. Such a battle would only end one way. Still, the alternative was letting him and the others be captured by Belgarin and what hope was there in that? No, Belgarin would kill them, though perhaps not right away. No, there would be the torture first, pain and humiliation. He glanced over and saw Adina staring at the captain with worried eyes.
No, he thought, better to die here. Better for us all.
He started to take a step toward the captain but hesitated as Co spoke in his mind. Aaron, wait.
There’s no time to wait, firefly, he thought back, I won’t let him take the others, take Adina. You know what Belgarin will do.
I know, the Virtue said, a quiet confidence in her tone, but wait.
Aaron reluctantly subsided, watching the captain.
Festa glanced at him and winked, as if he knew the direction of his thoughts. “Anyway,” the captain went on, “it seems to me that only a fool would put himself against Belgarin, seems to me that what the prince don’t already own, he will soon. What hope is there, really? I don’t mean to be rude, princess,” he said, glancing at Adina, “but your family tree’s disappearin’ so fast you’d think there was a team of woodcutters hired on for the job. You’ve got, what, two siblings left besides the one bent on murderin’ ya? Prince Ellemont and Princess Isabelle, ain’t it? Not exactly the pick of the litter, anyway, are they? Ellemont’s a craven, spends his time hiding in his mountain castle like a mole. As for Isabelle … well, her army’s pretty enough, I’ll grant you. If war was won by the soldiers whose armor shined the most in the sunlight then Belgarin would have been defeated before he’d really even begun. Battles aren’t fought with ornamentation and gilded helmets though, alas. They’re fought with steel and arrow, and they’re won with blood and pain. I wonder how pretty those legions of hers will be after Belgarin’s troops start hacking into them. Not very, I expect.”
Adina’s hands knotted into fists at her side, “That is your prince and your princess that you speak of, captain.”
Festa grinned, “Not mine, princess. Sheza is the only ruler I claim, and it don’t stop me from knowin’ that the Sea Goddess is a real bitch, anyway. Her storms kill those that follow her like anyone else, and I’ve never heard tell of a shark keeping his teeth in check for one of her own. The water takes what the water will, after all. It always has. She’s much like mortal rulers, in that way, the old sea hag, but at least she’s honest about it.”
Adina met the man’s eyes, and Aaron saw the courage there that was one of the many things he’d grown to love about her. “So you’re saying you won’t help us.”
Festa barked a laugh, “Now, I didn’t say that, did I? Oh, I’ll you give what help I can. The Lady’s seen better days, it’s true, but she’s still got some sailing in her ‘fore she’s done. She and I are one and the same in that. I’ll help, alright—the gods know I’m a fool, and my wife’d tell you as much if you but asked—but I don’t expect to see nothin’ out of it in the end but a headman’s axe.”
Adina frowned, curiosity and surprise mixing in her expression, “Surely, you would want something for your help, though. Lands, of course. Some form of pay—”
The captain barked another harsh laugh, “Lands? And just what in the Pit do I know about tending lands, with peasants and the like? Shit, better that Salen take me to the Fields of the Dead than I end up cursed to watch turnips grow, or maybe listen to the fuckin’ baying of sheep all day. No, princess, don’t do me any favors, thanks. The
sea’s my home, and not you nor anybody else can grant a piece of that. It’s the one wild thing left to us, thank the gods, a wildness no man or woman can tame, nor should, even if they had the means.” He grinned, “Maybe a gold statue then?” He grunted, “Gods, my wife would never let me hear the end of it. ‘Course, I always told her I had a golden c—” he hesitated, glancing at the princess and May. “Well, enough to say I don’t need any reward—or none that you’d give, anyway. Enough to say that I’ll help you.”
Aaron frowned, “But why?”
Festa seemed to consider that for a moment then he shrugged, “Because fuck Belgarin, that’s all. Fuck him and that sniveling, shit-sucking advisor of his too—what, Caldwell’s his name, isn’t it? All of this killin’ and all of this trouble and for what? So that one man’s ass can sit in a chair instead of another? So he can look at a map and say, ‘that’s mine?’ I’ve traveled a lot, me and my crew. Been to Belgarin’s lands, been just about anywhere you can find on a map and plenty of places you can’t, and one thing I can tell you. When royals fight, it’s the people that suffer.”
His eyes took on a faraway cast then, as if seeing into the past, “People who, for those like Belgarin, are no more than figures on a map, their deaths as simple as removing a mark or two, an equation of blood and death and the smell of shit while royals look at their maps and play their games. No, I’ve got no use for the lot of it and him least of all. I’ve seen his people, seen the people here, in this city. Oh, they smile quick enough, make all the right faces and all the right noises. But their smiles are smiles of porcelain, ready to crack at any moment, their laughs too close to screams for my taste.” He shook his head as if waking from a dream then grunted, “Anyway, you’ve my help—you would’ve anyway, had you but mentioned Leomin. That Parnen is one crazy bastard, but fact is I owe him. Now,” he said, turning to Aaron, “what, exactly, do you need of me?”
Aaron glanced at the others, preparing himself for the tirade of disagreements that was no doubt coming and sighed. “I’d ask for safe passage for four people to Avarest.”
Festa smiled widely, “Ah, Avarest. A city after my own heart—very well. We’ll leave immediately.”
“Four?” May asked, her tone dark and threatening, “just wait a damned minute, Aaron—”
“What do you mean,” Adina said, “only four? There are five of us—”
“Aye, lad,” Balen began, “surely you don’t mean—”
Aaron held up a hand, silencing them, “I won’t be going with you.”
May scoffed, “Don’t be foolish. Of course, you’ll be going with us. You said yourself, staying in Baresh is suicide. Belgarin’s troops—”
“Will be looking for a group of people, not one man,” Aaron interrupted, “Besides, May, Avarest has to be ready. I’ve got a feeling that Belgarin won’t care much for claims of neutrality, once the real fighting starts. Anyway, your club--”
May scoffed again, “Celes can look after the club just fine, Aaron, and you know as well as I that Avarest’s strength lies with the criminals, not with its rulers. And those pig-headed bastards Hale and Grinner won’t listen to a thing I’ve got to say. Now, enough with this foolishness. You’re coming back with us, and we can plan our next move together.”
“There is no next move, May,” Aaron said, and was surprised to find the words coming out in a shout that made the club owner recoil, “the next move is doing what we can to survive, to save as many as we can. I’m not asking you for permission—I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”
May opened her mouth to speak, but she must have seen something in his eyes for she hesitated. Then, “Aaron … they won’t listen…”
“Then you’ll have to make them listen,” he said, his tone ringing with finality, “there’s no one else who can.”
The club owner grew silent at that, her gaze veiled in thought, and Balen spoke, “That’s all well enough for her, lad, but I don’t intend on leavin’ the captain to torture and torment, no matter what pretty words you say.”
Aaron met the man’s eyes, and through his bond with Co, he felt something of the man’s own shame, his guilt in not being with his captain, in not suffering with him in whatever fate had found him. He grieves already, Co said, that poor, poor man. He loves him, you know. Loves him the way one might love his brother.
I know, Aaron said, hating that he was about to have to make that guilt worse. It would help the man, save him, but Aaron doubted he’d thank him for it. “You won’t do your captain any favors by staying here, Balen,” he said. “Look at yourself,” he said, motioning to the man’s wounded arm, “what good would you be? Besides, with your accent, you’d be picked out of a crowd in no time. I will get the captain back myself. If you stay, you’ll only damn us both and damn your captain in the bargain.”
The first mate’s face went pale at that, his mouth working with emotion, but Aaron only stared at him, his eyes hard, his expression unyielding. He’d seen a chink in the man’s armor, the man’s will, and he’d exploited it. Finally, Balen sighed, a quavering, watery thing. “You’ll … you’ll help him, though?” He asked, meeting Aaron’s eyes.
Aaron nodded once, “I will. I’ll save your captain, Balen, or I’ll die trying.”
“Then you’ll die.” Aaron turned to Adina and saw the anger flashing in her blue eyes, a storm in her gaze that spoke of powerful emotion. “And just when were you planning on telling us all that you intended to abandon us?”
“Abandon, you?” Aaron asked, recoiling as if slapped, “Adina, I’d never abandon—”
“Wouldn’t you?” She asked, “And for what, so you can commit suicide? I mean, that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? Surely, you don’t think you’ll be able to storm a castle and make your way to its dungeons alone. I guess the guards will just sit back and watch.”
Aaron winced, “I’ll figure out something. I’ll save Parnen and Darrell both, if I can.”
Adina hissed, “Then you’ll die, Aaron. Do you hate your life so much that you wish to throw it all away and for nothing?” She said, her voice breaking, “Does nothing else mean anything to you? Do I mean nothing—”
“Stop, please,” Aaron said, emotions roiling in him like a storm as he moved toward her and grabbed her arms, “Adina, please. It’s not like that,” he said in a whisper only loud enough for them to hear, “Of course you mean something to me.”
“Not enough, apparently,” she said meeting his gaze with challenge in her eyes, “not enough to keep you from killing yourself.”
“Damnit,” he said, forgetting to keep his voice low in his anger, “don’t you get it? Don’t you? You mean everything to me! I’m okay with dying, if that’s what it takes—I’ve been okay with it for some time, I think. But not you,” he said, his own voice raw and aching, “not you. I can’t … I won’t let anything happen to you. There’s nothing else for me, if it does, don’t you understand that? Don’t you?”
He only realized he’d been yelling when he finished and the final notes of his words hung in the silence of the cabin, the others staring at him with wide eyes. For her part, Adina studied him with tears winding their way down her cheeks, and he wanted nothing more but to reach out and wipe them away, to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But, then, it was not the time for it, and besides, he’d never been much of a liar. “Words,” she finally hissed, “that’s all. The words of a dead man.” She turned to Festa, “what cabin will I be staying in?” She demanded, and even the gruff captain looked taken aback.
“Third room on the left out of this cabin,” he said, “It’s the best—”
But Adina was swinging the door open. She paused in the doorway, turning to meet Aaron’s eyes. For all her anger and rage, Aaron could not avoid noticing the beauty of her standing there, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders, her blue eyes dancing with fury. A woman to put even the gods to shame, he thought. He wanted to say something, to make it okay between th
em, but there was nothing he might say to fix it, and so he said nothing, only watched as she wiped angrily at her tears and turned and walked away. He’d never been a praying man, but he said a prayer then, that he would see her again. Still, he didn’t think it likely. The gods, like men, loved their tragedies.
Gryle stepped up to him, his head and shoulders scrunched like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. He took a deep breath as if to steady himself, “Mr. Envelar,” he said, meeting Aaron’s eyes with a visible effort, “are you quite sure—”
“I’m sure, chamberlain.”
Gryle paused then sighed, nodding slowly. “Very well. But please, be careful, I….” the man broke off, rubbing at his own eyes, unable to get the words out.
Aaron put a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t have many friends, Gryle, but I would consider you one of them, for what it’s worth. It’s been my pleasure to know you.”
The chamberlain’s eyes went wide at that, and his lip started to quiver even more. “T-t-thank you, Mr. Envelar,” he said. “It has been an honor.”
The man still hesitated, and Aaron forced a smile past the lump in his throat, “Go on now, will you? Before we both start bawling.”
The chamberlain nodded, wiping at his eyes with a handkerchief that he seemed to produce from nowhere then turned and headed for the door. “And Gryle?” Aaron said.
The man turned back, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Take care of her.”
The chamberlain nodded, squaring his shoulders, “If anyone wants to harm the princess, they will have to come through me first.” He said, then he seemed to deflate in another moment before vanishing out the door.
Aaron sighed once the man had gone and turned back to Festa, offering his hand, “Thank you, captain. For everything.”
The man squirmed, obviously uncomfortable with gratitude, but he took Aaron’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Ah, shit, it’s fine. I’ve tired of Baresh anyway. I’ll be happy for the excuse to get back to somewhere where I’m not waiting for some piece of me to fall off from the cold.”
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