Red Seas Under Red Skies gb-2

by Scott Lynch 2007

  “When you go to sea, there’s two necessities, for luck. First, you’re courting an awful fate if you take a ship to sea without at least one woman officer. It’s the law of the Lord of the Grasping Waters. His mandate. He’s got a fixation for the daughters of the land; he’ll smash any ship that puts to sea without at least one aboard. Plus, it’s plain common sense. They” re good officers. Decent plain sailors, but finer officers than you or me. Just the way the gods made “em.

  “Second, it’s powerful bad luck to put out without cats on board. Not only as they kill the rats, but as they’re the proudest creatures anywhere, wet or dry. Iono admires the little fuckers. Got a ship with women and cats aboard, you’ll have the finest luck you can hope for. Now, our little boat’s so small I reckon we’re fine without no woman. Fishers and harbour boats go out all the time, no worries. But with the pair of you aboard, I’ll be damned if I’m not bringing a cat. A little one suits a little vessel.”

  “So… we have to tend this kitten while we’re out there risking our fives?”

  “I’ll throw you overboard before I’ll lose her, Kosta.” Caldris chuckled. “You think I’m lying, you just test me. But keep your breeches on; she’ll be in the covered basket.”

  Speaking of the basket seemed to recall it to his mind. He reached into it again and drew out a small loaf of bread and a silver knife. Locke saw that the loaf had many small marks upon it, about the size of the muzzle of the little creature trying to slip out of his arms. Caldris didn’t seem to care. “Master de Ferra, hold out your right hand and don’t whine.”

  Jean extended his right hand toward Caldris. Without hesitation, the sailing master slashed the knife across Jean’s palm. The big man said nothing, and Caldris grunted as though pleasantly surprised. He turned Jean’s palm upside-down and smeared the bread with the blood trickling from the cut.

  “Now you, Master Kosta. Keep that kitten still. Vile luck to cut her by accident. Plus she’s armed, fore and aft.”

  A moment later, Caldris had made a shallow, stinging cut across Locke’s right palm and was pressing the loaf of bread up against it as though to stanch the wound. When he decided that Locke had bled sufficiently, he smiled and moved to the edge of the stone plaza, overlooking the water.

  “I know you both been passengers on ships,” he said, “but passengers don’t signify. Passengers ain’t involved. Now you’re gonna be involved, proper, so I got to make things right for us first.”

  He cleared his throat, knelt at the edge of the water and held up his arms. In one hand he held the loaf of bread; in the other, the silver knife. “Iono! Iono Stormbringer! Lord of the Grasping Waters! Your servant Caldris bal Comar calls. Long you been pleased to show your servant mercy, and your servant kneels to show his devotion. Surely you know a mighty fuckin” mess waits over the horizon for him.”

  He tossed the bloody knife into the bay, and said: “This is the blood of landsmen. All blood is water. All blood is yours. This is a knife of silver, metal of the sky, sky that touches water. Your servant gives you blood and silver to show his devotion.”

  He took the loaf of bread in both hands, tore it in half and threw both halves into the water. “This is the bread of landsmen, that landsmen need to live! At sea, all fife is yours. At sea, yours is the only mercy. Give your servant strong winds and open waters, Lord. Show him mercy in his passage. Show him the might of your will within the waves and send him safe home again. Hail Iono! Lord of the Grasping Waters!”

  Caldris rose from his knees, groaning, and wiped a few smears of blood on his tunic. “Right. If that can’t help, we never had a fuckin” chance.”

  “Beg pardon,” said Jean, “but it seems to me you could possibly have mentioned us along with yourself—”

  “Don’t think nothing of it, de Ferra. I prosper, you prosper. I cop it, you’re screwed. Praying for my health works to your full advantage. Now, put the cat in the basket, Kosta, and let’s do some business.”

  A few minutes later, Caldris had Locke and Jean seated beside one another at the rear of the dinghy, which was still lashed firmly to several iron rings set into the stone of the plaza. The covered basket was sitting on the tiny deck of the dinghy at Locke’s feet, occasionally emitting bumping and scratching noises.

  “Right,” said Caldris, “far as the basics go, a boat is just a little ship and a ship is just a bigger boat. Hull goes in the water, mast points toward the sky.” “Of course,” said Locke, as Jean nodded vigorously.

  “The nose of your boat is called the bow, the arse is called the stern. Ain’t no right and left at sea. Right is starboard, left is larboard. Say right or left and you’re liable to get whipped. And remember, when you’re directing someone else, it’s the ship’s starboard and larboard you’re talking about, not your own.”

  “Look, little as we know, Caldris, I daresay we know that much,” said Locke.

  “Well, far be it from me to correct the young master,” said Caldris, “but as this venture is somewhat in the way of completely fuckin” mad, and since all our lives are looking mighty cheap, I’m gonna start by presuming that you don’t know water from weasel piss. Is that suitable by you, gentlemen?”

  Locke opened his mouth to say something ill-advised, but Caldris went on.

  “Now, unrack the oars. Slide “em in the rowlocks. Kosta, you’re starboard oar. De Ferra, you’re larboard.” Caldris unlashed the dinghy from the iron rings, threw the ropes into the bottom of the boat and hopped down into it, landing just before the mast. He settled down onto his backside and grinned as the boat swayed. “I” ve locked the rudder tight for now. You two will do all our steering, gods help us.

  “De Ferra, push us off from the quay. That’s right. Nice and easy. Can’t fly sails straight from the dockside; got to get some sea room first. Plus there’s no breeze behind these walls for us to use anyway. Row gently. Pay attention as I move around… look how I’m making us wobble. Don’t like that, do you? You’re turning green, Kosta.” “Hardly,” muttered Locke.

  “This is important. What I’m trying to tell you about now is called trim. Weight needs to be distributed sensible in a boat or a ship. I move to starboard, we heel over on Kosta’s side. I move to larboard, we heel over even worse on de Ferra’s side. Can’t have that. That’s why stowing cargo proper is so important on a ship. Gotta have balance fore and aft, starboard and larboard. Can’t have the bow in the air or the stern r i higher than the mast. Looks silly, then you sink and die. That’s basically what I mean when I says “trim”. Now, time to learn how to row.” “We already know how to—”

  “I don’t care what you think you know, Kosta. Until further notice, we’re gonna presume that you’re too dumb to count to one.”

  Locke would later swear that they must have spent two or three hours rowing around in circles on that artificial bay, with Caldris crying out, “Hard a-larboard! Back water! Hard a-starboard!” and a dozen other commands, seemingly at random. The sailing master constantly shifted his weight, left and right, forward and centre, to force them to fight for stability. To make things even more interesting, there was an obvious difference between the power of Jean’s strokes and the power of Locke’s, and they had to concentrate to avoid constantly turning to starboard. They were at it so long that Locke started in surprise when Caldris finally called for a halt to their labour.

  “Vast rowing, you fuckin” toddlers.” Caldris stretched and yawned. The sun was approaching the centre of the sky. Locke’s arms felt wrung-out, his tunic was soaked through with sweat and he fervently wished that he’d had less coffee and more actual food for breakfast. “Better than you was two hours ago, I’ll give you that. That and not much else. You gotta know your starboard and larboard, fore and aft, boats and oars like you know the width of your own cocks. Ain’t no such thing as a calm or convenient emergency out on the blue.”

  The sailing master produced lunch from a leather sack at the bow of the dinghy, and they floated relaxingly in the middle of the e
nclosed square bay while they ate. The men shared black bread and hard cheese, while the kitten was let out to make quick work of a pat of butter in a stone crock. The skin that Caldris passed around was full of” pinkwater”, warm rainwater mixed with just enough cheap red wine to partly conceal its stale, leathery taste. Caldris took only a few sips, but the two thieves rapidly finished it off.

  “So, our ship is waiting for us somewhere around here,” said Locke when his thirst was temporarily beaten down, “but where are we going to get a crew?”

  “A fine question, Kosta. I wish I knew the answer. The Archon said the matter is being attended to, that’s all.” “I suspected you” d say something like that.”

  “No sense in dwelling on what’s beyond our power at the moment,” said Caldris. The sailing master lifted the kitten, who was still licking her greasy nose and paws, and stuck her back into the basket with surprising tenderness. “So, you” ve done some rowing. I’ll get those men up top to open the gate, take the rudder and we’re gonna head out and see if we can catch enough breeze to hoist some canvas. You two have any money in the things you left ashore?” “Some,” said Locke. “Maybe twenty volani. Why?” “Then I’ll bet you twenty volani that you two are gonna capsize us at least once before the sun goes down.” “I thought you were here to teach us how to do things the right way?” “I am. And I damn well will! It’s just that I know first-time sailors too well. Make the bet and the money’s as good as mine. Hell, I’ll pay up a full solari against your twenty silvers if I’m wrong.” “I’m in,” said Locke. “Jerome?”

  “We’ve got the kitten and a blood blessing on our side,” said Jean. “Underestimate us at your peril, Sailing Master.”

  3

  It had been refreshing, at first, to work for a while in completely soaked tunic and breeches. After thed’r righted the dinghy and rescued the kitten, of course.

  But now the sun was lowering in the west, casting a golden halo around the dark outlines of the battlements and towers above the Sword Marina, and the gentle harbour breeze had begun to chill Locke despite the fingering heat of the summer air.

  He and Jean were rowing the dinghy toward the open gate to their private bay; Caldris had been happy to earn his twenty volani, but not happy enough that he was willing to trust them with the sails again.

  “Vast rowing,” said Caldris as they finally drifted near the edge of the stone plaza. Caldris tended to the business of tying them up again, while Locke stowed his oar and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Every muscle in his back slid painfully against those surrounding it, as though — someone had thrown grit in between them. He had a headache from the glare of sun on water, and the old wound in his left shoulder was demanding attention above and beyond his other aches.

  Locke and Jean clambered stiffly out of the boat and stretched while Caldris, clearly amused, uncovered the basket and plucked the bedraggled kitten out of it. “There, there,” he said, allowing it to nestle within his crossed arms. “The young masters didn’t mean anything by that soaking they gave you. They got it just as bad.” “Mrrrrrrrrreeeeew,” it said.

  “I fancy that means “fuck you”,” said Caldris, “but at least we’ve got our lives. So what do you think, sirs? An educational day?”

  “I hope we’ve shown some aptitude, at least,” groaned Locke, kneading a knot in the small of his back.

  “Baby steps, Kosta. As far as sailors go, you haven’t even learned to suck milk from a tit yet. But now you know starboard from larboard, and I’m twenty volani richer.”

  “Indeed,” sighed Locke as he fetched his coat, vest, neckcloths and shoes from the ground. He tossed a small leather purse to the sailing master, who dangled it in front of the kitten and cooed as though to a small child.

  Locke happened to glance over at the gate while he was throwing his coat on over his damp tunic, and he saw Merrain’s gig slip into the artificial bay. She was seated at the bow again, looking as though they had parted ten minutes rather than ten hours before.

  “Your ride back to civilization, gents.” Caldris raised Locke’s coin-purse in a salute. “See you bright and early tomorrow. Only gets worse from here, so mind yourselves. Enjoy those nice beds while they’re still available.”

  Merrain was completely unwilling to answer questions as the team of ten soldiers rowed them back to the docks beneath the Savrola, which suited Locke’s mood. He and Jean commiserated over their aches and pains while lounging, as best the space allowed, in the rear gallery. “I could sleep for about three days, I think,” said Locke.

  “Let’s order a big dinner when we get back, and some baths to take the knots out. After that, I’ll race you to unconsciousness.”

  “Can’t,” Locke sighed. “Can’t. I have to go and see Requin tonight. By now, he probably knows Stragos pulled us in again a few nights ago. I need to talk to him before he gets annoyed. And I need to give him the chairs. And I need to somehow tell him about all of this, and convince him not to strangle us with our own intestines if we leave for a few months.”

  “Gods,” said Jean. “I” ve been trying not to think about that. You just barely convinced him that we’ve been assigned to the Sinspire to go after his vault; what can you say that will make this whole out-to-sea thing plausible?”

  “I have no idea.” Locke massaged the aching vicinity of his old shoulder wound. “Hopefully the chairs will put him in a forgiving mood. If not, you’ll get the bill for cleaning my brains off his plaza stones.”

  When the rowers finally pulled the boat up alongside the Savrola docks, where a carriage was waiting with several guards, Merrain left the bow and made her way back to where Locke and Jean were sitting.

  “Seventh hour of the morning tomorrow,” she said, Til have a carriage at the Villa Candessa. We’ll vary your movement for a few mornings for safety’s sake. Stay at your inn this evening.”

  “Out of the question,” said Locke. “I have business on the Golden Steps tonight.” “Cancel it.” “Go to hell. How do you propose to stop me?”

  “You might be surprised.” Merrain rubbed her temples as though she felt a headache coming on, then sighed. “You’re sure you can’t cancel it?”

  “If I cancel my business tonight, you-know-who at the Sinspire is likely to cancel us,” said Locke.

  “If you’re worried about Requin,” she said, “I could simply arrange for quarters to be found in the Sword Marina. He” d never be able to reach you there; you” d be safe until your training was finished.”

  “Jerome and I have sunk two years in this bloody city into our plans for Requin,” said Locke. “We intend to finish them. Tonight is critical.”

  “On your head be it, then. I can send a carriage with some of my men. Can it wait two hours?”

  “If that’s what it takes, fine.” Locke smiled. “In fact, send two. One for me, one for cargo.” “Don’t push your—”

  “Excuse me,” said Locke, “but is the money coming out of your pocket? You want to protect me, surround me with your agents, fine — I accept. Just send two carriages. I’ll be on my best behaviour.” “So be it,” she said. “Two hours. No sooner.”

  4

  The western horizon had swallowed the sun and the two moons visible in the cloudless sky were soft red, like silver coins dipped in wine. The driver of the carriage rapped three times on the roof to announce their arrival at the Sinspire, and Locke moved the window curtain back over the corner he’d been peeking out of.

  It had taken time for the pair of carriages to thread their way out of the Savrola, across the Great Gallery and through the bustling traffic of the Golden Steps. Locke had found himself alternately stifling yawns and cursing the bumpy ride. His companion, a slender swordswoman with a well-used rapier resting across her legs, had steadfastly ignored him from her position on the opposite seat.

  Now, as the carriage jostled to a halt, she preceded him out through the door, tucking her weapon under a long blue coat that hung to her calves. After she’d scanned
the warm night for trouble, she beckoned wordlessly for Locke to follow.

  As per Locke’s instructions, the carriage-driver had turned onto the cobbled drive that led to a courtyard behind the Sinspire. Here, a pair of converted stone houses held the tower’s primary kitchens and food-storage areas. By the light of red and gold lanterns bobbing on unseen lines, Sinspire attendants were coming and going in squads — carrying forth elaborate meals and returning with empty platters. The smell of richly seasoned meat filled the air.

  Locke’s bodyguard continued to look around, as did the two soldiers atop the carriage, each dressed in nondescript coachman’s uniforms. The second carriage, the one carrying Locke’s suite of chairs, rattled to a halt behind the first. Its team of grey horses stamped their feet and snorted, as though the scent of the kitchens was not to their taste. A heavyset Sinspire attendant with thinning hair hurried over to Locke and bowed.

  “Master Kosta,” he said, “apologies, sir, but this is the service courtyard. We simply cannot receive you in the accustomed style here; the front doors are far more suited to—”

  “I’m in the right place.” Locke put one hand on the attendant’s shoulder and slipped five silver volani into the man’s vest pocket, letting the coins clink against one another as they slipped from his hand. “Find Selendri, as quickly as you can.” “Find… uh… well—” “Selendri. She stands out in a crowd. Fetch her now.” “Uh… yes, sir. Of course!”

  Locke spent the next five minutes pacing in front of his carriage while the swordswoman tried to look casual and keep him within a few steps at the same time. Surely nobody would be foolish enough to try anything, he thought — not with five people at his beck and call, not here in the very heart of Requin’s domain. Nonetheless, he was relieved to finally see Selendri step out through the service door, wearing a flame-coloured evening gown that made the brass of her artificial hand look molten where it reflected orange. “Kosta,” she said. “To what do I owe the distraction?” “I need to see Requin.” “Ah, but does Requin need to see^yow?”