by Paul Collins
It was evening on the first day of month ten 2132. The lone figure walked along the creaking pier, looking at the ships. Nobody paid any attention, as boys from poor families often started very young aboard the ships, and were a common enough sight. Despite her age, however, Jelindel dek Mediesar was no youth.
Jelindel stood by a rotting wooden derrick and tapped her fingers against the blistered frame. Night in the docklands was always the time of departure. During the day dockers loaded and unloaded, vendors sold, and carpenters repaired, but at night work ceased. And when the night tide turned, the ships did the only profitable thing that they could: they sailed.
The dockland’s clock clanged the twentieth hour. Jelindel pushed away from the derrick. The cold wind bit hard, leaching any warmth from her body, but she seemed not to notice. Her mind was preoccupied.
She had idled away several hours of the previous night in a tavern. The taverners had seemed amiable enough, she thought while sipping limewater. By the stone hearth had been two Hamarians, with their telltale axes hanging loosely from their waist clips. By the bar, in twos and threes, and dotted around the bustling tavern, were the suntanned Bravens, southern Nerrissians and Baltorians, from that newly besieged kingdom.
At odds with the forlorn foreigners, the locals, retired ship-wrights and longshoremen, ruddy faced seamen and fishermen gone to seed, were revelling in past glories and boasting of fresh conquests.
The hearth had been well fuelled and half a pig was being turned on a spit, awaiting the carve master. None paid Jelindel any attention, for she had been suitably attired in dowdy wool-lens of close weave. She had also tied back her hair as experience had taught her when visiting men’s lairs. She was as much a man as any, in strength and courage if not stature.
Perhaps it had been the cloying tobacco smoke that had made her drowsy, or perhaps someone had spiked her drink, hoping to press-gang her. Whatever the case, Jelindel’s mind had wandered. A dangerous lapse under the circumstances.
She thought of D’loom’s past. It had once been an important port, visited by every merchantman plying the Skelt coast. But the former King’s navy had been too ill equipped, or too corrupt, to stem the tide of brigands who more often than not looted and pillaged at will. Soon, the merchants began blazing new trails in camel trains – some even braving Dragonfrost Plain rather than risk the high seas and the brazen pirates. Such were the fortunes of seaports, she thought drowsily as the merriment washed over her.
A disturbance had broken out beyond the smoke haze. Indiscernible at first, Jelindel paid it little mind. It was this detachment that saved her life. While tables were upturned and patrons rushed to harry and encourage the fighters, two men held back. It was no coincidence that the two Hamarians she had spotted now flanked her.
Jelindel pushed away from the mead-soaked table. The two bounty hunters launched themselves at her. Jelindel spoke a minor word of binding, and a blue ribbon of energy entangled the nearest man’s legs. He fell with a yelp. The other hurdled a fallen chair and kept coming. His hand drove down past his knee for an underhand throw and Jelindel instinctively wove her hips aside as the man’s axe left his hand. The axehead slammed into a barrel a nose-length from her ribs.
A second later his momentum carried him into her. All Zimak’s kick-fist training came to her rescue. Her right hand grasped the man’s crotch while her left his jerkin, then she rolled him over herself and sent him flying into the wall.
Jelindel stepped back in fighting pose: right hand extended, left knife hand several inches from her hip, right leg forward and body weight resting on her left leg. A glance told her that no one had even witnessed her own fracas. The tavern’s patrons were still enjoying the main fight. The town constables would arrive at any moment, and taverns in the throes of a brawl were not a good place to be when the constabulary arrived.
Jelindel looked down at the crumpled body beside her, then at the man she had ensnared. The spell would keep him bound for at least a hundred heartbeats.
She made good her escape among the slimy cobbled alleyways of D’loom. And knew her life here, at least for the time being, was at an end. She spent the rest of the night and much of the next day on watch in a disused warehouse overlooking the docklands.
Now she watched several sailors who were in turn watching a group of women fussing around a boy who was carrying a rollpack almost as big as himself. First time at sea, she thought. He will return as an adult, and tell his mother, brothers and sisters of adventures and wonders, and some may even be true. Other things he will not tell them, tales of picking weevils out of biscuits, scurvy, beatings for the slightest mistake, smashed bodies of men fallen from the rigging, and sharks that gathered as if they could sense an accident.
There was nobody to see Jelindel off. She had been orphaned some time ago, and had found that a boy’s identity made life a lot easier than would be the case for a lone girl. No girl could walk alone in D’loom, and the only women who did not depend on men were either in religious orders or in houses where several women supported each other.
A ship’s bell began to ring, heralding the turn of the tide in a half hour. The boy walked clear of the circle of robes, scented skin, veils and excited, encouraging voices. He waved a last farewell as he strutted along the pier. It was lined with a double row of sailors, but he did not realise that this was a potential problem. The usual crew, Jelindel thought idly, pausing to watch. She had sailed with most of them on previous journeys, and had earned their respect the hard way.
Jelindel quickened her pace, passing the group of women and closing in on the boy. She had cut her hair to collar length that morning. The boy’s hair was longer than hers, and he wore a jacket, tunic and trousers that the girls of his family had probably been sewing for weeks. Oil of roses from some uptown laundry was on the air.
‘Tch, Jenza, I smell perfume,’ bawled a Hamarian, pointing to the approaching boy.
‘No women allowed aboard ship, bad luck it be,’ his companion shouted.
The boy stopped and the sailor named Jenza reached out for him. Jelindel’s brass-topped cane cracked down on his wrist. Before his companion could react, Jelindel thrust her cane into his stomach, then she turned as a huge Baltorian charged her. She held out her cane with both hands seemingly in supplication. Her assailant foolishly seized it whereupon she pulled and fell backwards. Jelindel rammed a foot to his stomach as she went down and he sailed over her, crashing into four Nerrissians and skittling them over the edge of the pier and into the water.
One of the attackers failed to recognise techniques employed by black-band Siluvian kick-fist masters. He slashed a knife at Jelindel’s head as she sprang to her feet, but she ducked, slammed her cane into his stomach, then tapped him on the head with the brass tip as he doubled over. He collapsed.
The regular crew, having foreknowledge of Jelindel’s prowess, stood idly by. Some even clapped or whistled when the scuffle ceased. The rest of the sailors were backing away hurriedly. There was a cry of surprise as one Baltorian backed over the edge of the pier and plunged into the dark water.
Jelindel exhaled and quickly breathed in the tangy salt and iodine air. Out of practice, she chastised herself. But, at least, she hadn’t resorted to sorcery.
‘Just as well none of you managed to strike me,’ she said softly to the gathered men. ‘You know what the penalty for striking a ship’s officer is.’
The penalty was not death, but it was known to be fatal from time to time. There was a stunned silence as the men picked up their gear and moved off. She realised with a start that the initiators of the fracas were the Hamarians from the night before.
‘Uh, sir?’ said a submissive voice behind her.
‘Yes?’ said Jelindel, turning to face the boy she had saved from the purported initiation.
‘That – that was fabulous, sir, my thanks to you,’ he babbled.
‘Lesson one, never show fear, it only encourages them,’ Jelindel said, putting a hand on his s
houlder and gesturing to the shifting gangplank with her cane. She scanned the moorages for hidden assassins. The sudden appearance of the Hamarians had been too coincidental for her liking.
‘What were they going to do?’
Jelindel paused. She decided on the best course of action, and went with it. ‘The crew? Snatch your rollpack, rip off your trousers, drop you off the pier into the water, then vanish aboard the ship, take everything of value from your pack, and divide it among themselves. By the time someone threw you a rope, your trousers would be flying from the top of the mainmast, and your first lesson in climbing the rigging would involve fetching them down. That all assumes you can swim, of course. Can you swim?’
The boy looked worried.
She glanced over at the men as they hauled their friends from the water. ‘It’s not a prerequisite, but it’s best to learn. The previous cabin boy didn’t, and he fell overboard.’
‘Did he drown?’
‘No, sharks ate him before the question of drowning arose – mind the railing – but in case there are no sharks, trust my word and learn to swim. Purely academic if we sink of course. Few mariners survive wrecks, swimmers or not. Welcome aboard the Dark Empress. My name is Jaelin. And you are?’
‘Hargav,’ said the boy. ‘I am the only son in the family, and the youngest. My mother and nine sisters came to see me off. My father went to war before I was born, and never came back.’
‘A familiar enough story – I’m sorry. Mind your head, and down here. This is where the officers sleep, and you will sleep here too. That’s so you can come running all the quicker when they call for you. See that cupboard with the sliding doors?’
‘I – I suppose that’s where I sleep,’ said Hargav humbly.
‘No, it’s where I sleep. You sleep in the locker underneath. Drop your rollpack there now, and I’ll show you around.’
‘Is – is it –’
‘Secure?’ A pang of sympathy swept Jelindel but she pushed it away. ‘Hargav, anything in your rollpack worth more than about ten coppers will be stolen within the first week. Trust my word on this. Got any plum cake?’
‘I – I –’
‘Cabin boys always come aboard with plum cake. Get it out. I’ll help you eat it now, before it’s stolen.’
They went back out on deck, and Hargav took one last, lingering look at D’loom. He noted that a drunken group of men were staggering along the pier, cursing, shouting, smashing bottles, and even fighting among themselves as they went.
‘Who are those unspeakable rowdies?’ he asked Jelindel, with a snort of contempt.
‘Our captain and officers,’ she replied.
‘Uh – oh. Are you, er – ?’
‘An officer? Of a type. Call me Jaelin, though. The navigator drinks rather more than all the others. I do not know a vast amount about navigation, but I keep the charts in order, do his calculations without making errors, write up his logs, take his notes to the duty officer, and clean up his vomit. With luck he will not die of a drunken fit before I learn enough to get a ship from one port to another without getting lost or running into anything. Then I shall take over as navigator and become a real officer.’
‘Er, I see. How many times have you been to sea?’
‘This is my sixth voyage.’
‘You fight like a Baltorian berserker.’
‘I should hope I fight better than that. Actually, I’m seventeen, shorter than most, and I look a bit like a girl. So I’m told. Small hands, soft skin, that sort of thing. I have to compensate by being thoroughly ruthless in a fight, cultivating a short temper, and taking no nonsense from those around me. Here’s a tip, boy. Learn some bad language quickly and be heard using it.’
‘But my mother –’
‘Won’t know. It’s not a clean ship. It’s not a happy ship. It’s not even a very safe ship, but it hasn’t sunk yet. I was going to transfer to the Sea Lily tomorrow, a much hardier ship, and one less inclined to cause me problems. But there you are.’
‘Why did you change your plans?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, Hargav,’ said Jelindel. After a moment’s reflection, she added, ‘Which isn’t an altogether bad thing, I suppose. Someone tried to kill me yesterday, so I thought it wise to leave D’loom early.’
‘Tried to kill you?’ gasped Hargav.
‘That’s right. This is the forecastle. That’s because it’s shaped like a castle and it’s on the front bit of the ship. When you feel the need for the privy, drop your leggings, hold on to this rope, point your blurter over the side and give those fish a hard time. A bit refreshing in a storm, but then we’re sailors so we’re tough. This thing’s an anchor, the thing attached to it is an anchor rope.’
‘You seem very well educated for a sailor,’ said Hargav.
‘Navigator’s mate, boy, big distinction. I spent some time in the Great Temple of Verity –’ Jelindel hesitated, silently cursing her carelessness.
‘That’s a women’s temple.’
‘I became a gardener’s apprentice after I lost my parents in a fire,’ Jelindel said by rote. ‘The priestesses saw that I was pretty bright for a peasant boy, so I was allowed to sit in on lessons. I learned good speech, mathematics, even a little magic – not that it does me much good at sea since magic is diminished over water. Still had to live in a hovel amid all the other town brats, so I learned to fight, too. Don’t touch that, the penalty is five lashes.’
‘They taught you magic?’ Hargav said. ‘What sort of magic? Just tricks and illusions, I bet.’
‘Then you would lose,’ Jelindel said.
‘I’ve tried magic,’ Hargav admitted. ‘You know, saying weird words and that. But nothing’s ever worked.’
‘Anyone can pluck the strings of a lute, Hargav, but few have the ability to make it sing as it should. Discordant noise is just that: noise. Magic’s a bit like that. You need not a little talent to make it work.’
‘Why did you leave the priestesses?’
‘I took a sabbatical. I did in fact “leave” a Nerrissian temple once. But that’s another story,’ Jelindel said. The lies came glibly over time, although they never sat easily with Jelindel. Her life as a girl was by far more preferable to her role as a boy.
‘Can you sew?’ she asked.
‘I –’
‘Can’t? No problem, I’ll teach you. Why did you decide to go to sea? Get away from a house full of girls?’
‘Well, ah, I thought I would never say it, but yes. All that time, with nothing but girls talking about, well, things that concern girls. A lad can get a bit of a reputation in society, ah, it is a little hard to put discreetly, er, as –’
‘A bit of a whoopsie?’
‘No.’ His voice was indignant.
‘Well, I’ve been there, endured that. It’s the small hands and refined accent. Four or five dozen fights, a rackish scar or two, and you’ll have the respect of the crew, though, and the girls will be all over you every time you step ashore. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother and sisters.’
‘I – I see. Ah, so you like it – I mean, life at sea?’
‘Well, yes and no. I could have been a market scribe, or even an enchantment healer, but I decided to go to sea to forget. The trouble is that I can’t quite remember … that’s a joke, boy, get it?’ Jelindel thumped Hargav on the back, causing him to nearly choke on his mouthful of plum cake and to drop the rest over the rail.
‘Oh, sorry about that. Have the rest of mine,’ said Jelindel.
They watched the officers stagger aboard, followed by several dripping wet, glowering sailors. A booking agent hurried down the pier with three passengers, followed by half a dozen labourers carrying their bags.
‘Passengers,’ said Jelindel. ‘Good. The officers behave better when we have landlubbers aboard. You know about setting tables, and how to wait on noble folk?’
‘Oh, yes. Several of my sisters are maidservants, and they practise all the manners and etiquette of the high-bo
rn at home.’
‘Indeed? Excellent. The captain likes a show of refinement. An old friend of mine used to say that perfection is measured in tiny details, Hargav. Remember that at sea and you’ll go far.’
In two hours, the ship was at sea. Hargav was vomiting over the side, and Jelindel was studying a map of the northern coast of D’loom in the chart room, while the navigator was snoring under the table.
Oddly enough, Jelindel really had gone to sea to forget. She had betrayed close friends, and that did not sit well with her. She liked to think of herself as loyal. But, on the other hand, Daretor and Zimak probably had it coming.
Hargav was something else, though. He would depend on her, because having a mentor among the lower ranks of the ship’s officers was vastly preferable to being at the mercy of the sailors of the lower deck. He was younger and smaller than she, and had spent most of his short life in fairly refined female company. Jelindel suspected that he had never even been in a fight. Why, he had probably even changed his name to something rather more masculine sounding than his given name, thought Jelindel. Yes, he would be company for her, and perhaps they would even become friends.
That night Jelindel had a dream. She was speaking to a figure hidden by shadow. Whenever Jelindel tried to catch a glimpse of the silent figure, a swirl of black, eddying smoke wafted from the floor and the figure fragmented, becoming whole again further away. Jelindel kept walking after it, telling the apparition her thoughts and worries, as though under a spell.
‘Yesterday I survived an attempt on my life,’ she said in a monotone. ‘I strongly suspect my assailants were bounty hunters. There is, after all, three hundred gold oriels on my capture. My only solace is that they need me alive. Another possibility is that the Preceptor’s spies have found me. Either way, I begged my way aboard the Dark Empress, and in all modesty, I believe Captain Porterby was only too pleased to have me sail with him again.’
The wraith dissipated, then became whole again at a distance. Now it seemed vaguely familiar.
‘I have decided to take a young man under my wing. He strikes me much the same as I was when I fled home,’ Jelindel continued. ‘My introduction was more brutal than his, of course. Although well educated, my life’s experiences came from books. And nothing, I have learnt, compares to actually doing things instead of reading about them. I knew about swords, but had never had to use one for protection. My arsenal of minor spells and the herbs and ingredients to strengthen them was considerable, but my life had never depended on them. I had seen pictures of faraway Centravian, Bravenhurst and even the aqueducts of the Skeltian Empire. However, nothing could have prepared me for the experience of actually seeing them.