Gerard smiled faintly and put an arm around Thessalyn, who snuggled against him. The wind had grown cold.
“Have some faun pie,” continued Silveo. “It’s not Gwain, but we can pretend.”
“Thank you,” said Gerard. “I’m not hungry.”
Silveo looked at him narrowly. “Sick already? These waves will get worse.”
Gerard glanced at the bank of black clouds approaching from the south. “Is the Priestess up here?”
“No… Why do you ask?”
“Because I saw her a little while ago below deck. She spoke to me.”
“Ah,” Silveo looked at him even more closely, and Gerard couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “She does that sometimes. It’s always startling. We didn’t see her up here.”
“She’s done it before?” asked Gerard. “To you?”
Silveo pursed his lips. “She’s turned up unexpectedly, yes. I’ve always assumed she came on a wyvern. The gods are swift and secretive.”
“What did she say to you, Gerard?” asked Thessalyn, real concern in her voice. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”
Gerard sighed. She can read me even without eyes. “She just asked about what happened on Sern.”
It began to rain at that moment. Silveo looked at Thessalyn. “Lady, I think you’d better go below deck. Gerard, I want to talk to you in my office.”
A short time later, Gerard was back in Silveo’s outer office. Everything had gotten a lot neater since his last visit. Silveo had a single map on the desk, along with a compass and several other instruments. “Am I in trouble, sir?” asked Gerard.
Silveo looked up. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Gerard said nothing. He felt sick again.
Silveo sighed. “I’m going to give you some more of that useful advice you never listen to: be careful of our mistress. I’ve survived by doing several things. One of them is staying well away from the Police. Another is making sure that I am liked, but not loved, by Morchella. I’m her pet—a vicious little pet that bites every hand but hers, and she likes that. You don’t want to be more than a pet, Gerard.”
Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you—?”
“She was extremely fond of Arundel,” continued Silveo, “but she devours things she loves. She can’t help it; it’s her nature, like the wyverns. She ate him up inside. He should have been put out of his misery after that, but instead she gave him to me. He always had a cruel streak, but now…” Silveo shrugged. “There’s practical-mean—that’s me. And then there’s sadistic—that’s Arundel. I’m not saying I’ve never been there, but I don’t live there, and he does.”
Gerard stared at the floor. “Why are you telling me this? I thought you wanted me killed, Silveo.”
“Killed, sure, but I don’t want to deal with you in that condition. You’d be worse than Arundel. Now stop acting like a wounded animal. Whatever she did to you, it can’t have been worse than what was done to me when I was no bigger than that foxling you rescued. Go get some sleep. I’m sure we’ll need you to haul on a rope soon enough.”
Chapter 20. A Knife and a Rope
Foxlings are born with a loose scruff, much like that of a fox kit, by which they may be carried. Many retain a remnant of this scruff into adulthood. However, no foxling beyond the age of two would appreciate being lifted in this way.
—Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain
They did need him. By midnight, the waves were as high as Gerard had ever seen them in the crescent. Thessalyn kept an admirable calm, in spite of the fact that they were being more or less flung about their cabin. She and Gerard had both been raised to the sea, and although Thessalyn threw up her supper, she did not stay sick for long. Gerard had not been seasick since he was a small child. He was not surprised when a beating on their door turned out to be a sailor, saying that the boatswain was asking for help.
Gerard put on sealskin breeches and coat. He did not wear his boots, preferring to have his claws free to grip the deck. He saw that Silveo had wisely put up the smallest possible scrap of sail, and they were running before the wind. Gerard could not see any islands in the driving rain, nor could he hear breakers. That was a good sign. Their worst danger would be running aground on one of the innumerable reefs, rocks, and sandbars that surrounded the smaller islands.
Gerard helped babysit the sail. He was bigger and heavier than most of the other sailors, and he’d had plenty of experience in storms, as Holovarus was near the mouth of the crescent. He glanced at Silveo and Farell up on the quarterdeck and shook his head. Sailing without griffins in these conditions is just foolish, Silveo.
Morning brought a measure of relief. In spite of the driving rain, they could see an island off to their left and were able to ascertain with fair certainty that it was Mirmouth—one of Lecklock’s distant holdings. The gray seas were as high as ever and the wind fierce. Gerard took turns with everyone else on deck, tied with a long rope to the mainmast. Thessalyn insisted on coming out briefly, and Gerard made her tie a lifeline around her waist as well. He was surprised at how the sailors welcomed her and how respectfully they spoke to her. Although the Sea Watch enjoyed the company of women as much as any sailor did, they believed that a woman aboard ship was bad luck.
In spite of this, Gerard knew that Silveo had managed to keep a number of girls at various times over the past nine years—the last being a gazumelle, who had apparently sailed with them for about half a year and then run off one day on Haplag. The rumor was that several of the sailors had encouraged her departure with rocks while the admiral was away. This story, combined with Silveo’s enmity, was the reason Gerard had never even tried to bring Thessalyn aboard during his days as a watch master.
Now, however, he sensed an undercurrent of awe in the way the sailors spoke to her. After asking some questions, he discovered that the lower deck thought Thessalyn nearly as lucky as a cured selkie tail hanging from the mizzen. The idea had blossomed the day she charmed the admiral out of his black humor, and when word circulated that she had predicted the storm without a cloud in the sky, they had all become convinced that she was a seer. Her blindness and white minstrel’s clothes only added to her mystery and appeal.
Gerard told her all this as they lay lashed in a hammock during one of his breaks. She giggled against his chest. “Sailors are silly, aren’t they? Like children.”
“They’re only honest,” said Gerard with gravity, and she punched him in the shoulder. “If you’re not good luck,” he continued, “then nothing is.”
“I was talking to Silveo while you were away,” she continued.
“I saw that,” said Gerard. “Has he told you all his troubles yet?” Sympathetic minstrels made good counselors for many reasons. Because they traveled widely, they were viewed as impartial and experienced. Any passing minstrel might be asked for confidential advice about marriage, investment, or children. Thessalyn was special, though. Shelts who would not normally trust their own mothers would find themselves telling her their life stories after only a brief meeting. Gerard doubted that even Silveo was immune.
Thessalyn shook her head. “Nothing like that. I told him you were really sorry about what Alsair did on Sern. I told him you’d been fretting about it for days.”
Gerard squirmed. “Thess, that wasn’t—”
Thessalyn laid a finger on his lips. “He said he knew. He said to forget about it. I asked him whether he would let Alsair back on the ship if Alsair apologized.”
Gerard opened his eyes in the darkness. “What did he say to that?”
Thessalyn frowned. “He changed the subject, made a lot of jokes. A few minutes later, he said, ‘I don’t like griffins. I just don’t. No Holovar is going to change that.’ I asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. I think he might eventually, but I’m not sure it will help.”
Gerard ran his fingers through her hair. “Thess, you are amazing.”
“Not really,” she said sadly. “I didn’t get permission for Alsair to
come back.”
“I haven’t given permission for Alsair to come back,” growled Gerard. “He has a lot of explaining to do.”
They tried to make the port in Pyrnon that day, but the wind and waves were too wild. They could not get into the lee of the island, and the opportunity was lost. Night fell again, and they proceeded on their frightening journey through the darkness. Gerard knew that Silveo had been able to take fairly accurate readings of their location, so in theory they should be headed in a safe direction. However, the wind veered several times that night. The waves actually grew higher and rougher, crashing over the bow each time the ship plummeted into a trough. By the time the gray dawn broke, Gerard was sure that no one had the slightest idea where they were. The day was very dark. Everyone strained for sight of an island—anything to identify their location.
The sailors' shifts grew longer as crews worked to pump out the water accumulating in the hold. The ceiling of Gerard and Thessalyn’s cabin also began to leak. Gerard mentioned it to Silveo—not as a complaint, but as a statement about the condition of the ship. Silveo immediately moved them into his own cabin and moved himself in with Farell—not that Silveo slept much. Gerard didn’t think he left the deck all day.
By the third night, everyone was exhausted, and still they had no idea where they were. Gerard heard some of the sailors whispering that they weren’t in the crescent at all, that they’d been driven into the open sea to be lost forever in its vastness. Gerard knew that wasn’t true. In fact, they had to be getting close to the center of the crescent, into the region of the Small Kingdoms. These were his home waters. He knew them well, and this did not ease his mind. The thick sprinkling of islands near the center of Wefrivain were laced with deadly reefs.
The morning of the fourth day dawned darker still. Just as the gray light began to illuminate the mountains of water around them, lightning struck a spar and sent it crashing down on deck, hanging half over the side of the ship. Everyone ran to cut the trailing pieces. The ship had just started up a wave, and the deck was sloping steeply. Several sailors slipped in their hurry, but they were clipped into the lifeline, so they weren’t in much danger. Silveo, who had been below decks only moments before, had not yet tied his rope, and he went bounding up the deck without one. Gerard came up beside him just as the fallen spar slipped completely into the sea and caught the pull of the wave. The ship jerked almost broadside to the swell. Suddenly they were nearly sideways on an almost vertical slope. The wave crested over the side of the ship and crashed waist-deep across the deck. We’re going to broach, thought Gerard. We’re going to die.
He slipped, but his claws splayed and caught him, gouging deep furrows in the wood. He looked to his right and saw the flash of Silveo’s hair beneath the water. Without even thinking, Gerard reached out, caught Silveo by the scruff, and dragged him to his feet just as they started down the far side of the wave.
Gerard yelped as something sliced into his forearm. He dropped Silveo and they stared at each other, the deck now free of water and sloping crazily in the opposite direction. A knife flashed briefly as it toppled away across the deck and over the side. You cut me! thought Gerard, too amazed to be angry. You actually cut me!
Silveo bounced up again and launched himself across the deck towards the trailing spar. Gerard followed him. There was no time to think about what had just happened. The ship would not survive another wave in its present state. Three other sailors had already reached the spar and were hacking desperately at it with axes. Gerard took an ax and with three blows he managed to sever the main mass of the spar. Still it clung to the ship by its ropes, attached to the upper rigging. Looking up, Gerard saw that Silveo had climbed up and out onto the perilously splintered section. He was probably the only person other than a ship’s boy light enough to do what had to be done, but it was still a near suicidal act without a lifeline. They were hurtling sideways towards the trough of the wave now, and Gerard didn’t know if the ship would have time to turn, even if the spar could be freed.
Then Silveo sliced through the last of the ropes, the spar fell away, and Farell was leaning on the rudder, and they were turning…turning… Then they crashed into the trough of the wave—not completely broadside, but near enough. Gerard was thrown through the splintered railing and over the side of the ship. He yelped as the lifeline bit into his ribs, and then he was under water in darkness and terror, clawing for air. The rope wrenched him out of the water again, and his ribs were on fire, but he was clawing his way over the side of the ship.
Gerard saw with relief that they were straightening out, preparing to take the next wave head on. He looked up to see Silveo standing over him. Gerard thought he might have been pulling on the rope, but couldn’t be sure. Silveo was shouting orders to trim the sail, but he paused to crouch down and bellow in Gerard’s ear. “Ship’s healer! Now!” Gerard looked down and saw the blood streaming over his arm from the knife wound. In his excitement, he’d hardly felt it, but the cut was deep.
“Now!” repeated Silveo. He walked with Gerard to the head of the stairs and took his lifeline when he removed it. Gerard watched him tie the rope. All you had to do was cut it, he thought, and you would have been rid of me.
Chapter 21. Home Waters
Panamindorah’s three moons play a complex role in sailing and in the life of the inhabitants of Wefrivain. The temple festivals are centered around lunar events. Most islands use red moon, with its predictable sixty-day cycle, to measure the months. However, some islands and many hunti still use fifteen-day yellow months. Blue moon is sometimes called Sailor’s Plague, because of its unpredictable behavior. It can influence the tides in unexpected ways, and a great deal of ink is expended each year on almanacs that claim to predict the patterns of blue moon. Most of them are useless.
—Gwain, A Guide to Wefrivain
The ship’s healer was a smallish grishnard of about sixty—a sour creature, overfond of sweet leaf. He washed Gerard’s wound in stinging salt water, smeared nettle paste on it, and bound it up tight in boiled linen. By this time, Gerard’s ribs were aching worse than the knife wound. He knew he was going to be black and blue where the rope had caught him and wondered if he’d broken ribs. He was swaying in a hammock, watching the healer finish the bandage, when his eyes fluttered closed.
Gerard awoke to the sound of voices. The lantern on its chain in the ceiling was still swinging crazily, but Gerard thought the motion had diminished a bit. Several other sailors had crowded into the room. One was the youngest of his wardens, whimpering as he leaned against the wall. He appeared to have a dislocated shoulder. Silveo was talking to the healer. When he saw Gerard stir, he gave a brisk motion with his hand. “Come.”
Gerard struggled to his feet and followed Silveo unsteadily out the door and along the dark passage. “How’s your arm?” asked Silveo over his shoulder.
“Alright, I suppose,” said Gerard.
“Don’t ever do that again,” said Silveo.
“Don’t ever do what again?”
“Pick me up like that!” They had reached the hatch to the upper deck, and Silveo climbed into the dusky light.
Gerard saw that it was almost dark again. “I thought you were going overboard! You didn’t have a lifeline! Why did you stab me?”
Silveo turned to glare at him. “I…panicked.” He spat out the word as though he hated it, but couldn’t think of any more appropriate. “Just don’t do it again.”
Gerard nodded. You never say ‘thank you,’ do you? Or ‘I’m sorry.’ “My ribs hurt worse than where you cut me.”
Silveo grunted. He was scanning the dark sky.
“You could have cut my lifeline,” said Gerard.
“Ran out of knives,” said Silveo, who was famously never without a sharp object. “Besides, I think you’re about to be useful. There it is. Look.”
He was pointing at something in the sky. Gerard squinted. A griffin! He skidded down to the main deck. The rain had slackened, but they were still
running before a strong wind in heavy seas.
Gerard ran up and down the deck, waving his arms. The circling griffin dropped at once, struggling to control his descent in the high winds. Gerard knew well before he hit the deck that it was Alsair. He was soaking wet and shivering. He looked thinner, and Gerard’s heart lurched at the sight. He was angry, too, but he kept his face neutral. This was not the time to discuss what had happened on Sern.
“Where are we?” demanded Gerard.
“Almost home,” shouted Alsair. “I lost you three days ago. I’ve been looking and looking.”
Gerard knew Alsair would have been following the ship, and he had suspected that the storm had separated them. He nodded. “Where is ‘almost home’?”
Alsair ducked his head to their right. “Malabar is off that way. Scorp is back behind you.”
Gerard’s eyes opened wide. “That means we’re headed straight between Malabar-3 and Malabar-5!”
Alsair nodded. “That’s what I came to tell you.”
Gerard drew a deep breath. “There’s still time. Get out there and look for the buoys. You can guide us through.”
Alsair didn’t argue. He turned, ran along the ship, and launched himself into the air. For one moment, it looked like he might be driven into the sea, but then he gained height, beating madly, jerking this way and that in the high winds.
Gerard turned and ran back towards Silveo. “We’re near Holovarus,” he began when he reached the quarterdeck.
“I guessed that,” said Silveo impatiently. “We need a port. We’re leaking badly, and we’ve lost so many spars and so much rigging that we’d be crippled even in a calm sea. We’re on our third and last sea anchor. Maps of the Small Kingdoms are abysmal. I’ve never sailed here without a local guide. Also, my coxswain seems to have gotten himself swept overboard. No one can find him.”
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