by Ila Mercer
Lita paused with her hand on the handle of the door. ‘How are we to get through the winter on such a pittance?’ she asked. ‘MaKiki will not be pleased.’
‘The tinker woman? Is that who you belong to?’
Lita nodded.
The putter man’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, as though he was listening to some quiet dialogue. He began nodding thoughtfully and Lita looked around, in search of the silent conversant but there was nobody else in the shop. Just her and the putter man. That’s when she realised, he was having a silent conversation with himself.
After a few moments he nodded his head, as though in agreement, and said, ‘There is another arrangement we could come to, but it requires a degree of secrecy and patience.’
Lita took her hand off the door. ‘What manner of offer are you making?’
‘Let’s say you carry some documents to the putter man in Tanglewood for me. On delivery of such items you would receive fifty silver glems. More than enough to buy as many oats as you wish. And, as a measure of good faith, I will hold your guardian’s ring until next summer solstice so that she may buy it back from me.’
‘What kind of documents?’ Lita asked. Their next stop happened to be Tanglewood. So it would not even be out of their way.
The putter man lowered his voice. ‘But that would be telling. Remember, secrecy is paramount.’
Lita mulled the offer over. Fifty silver glems was a large sum. It was half of what they earned in a year. If she took up the offer, they would be able to purchase all the provisions they needed and replace their stolen savings, and Tanglewood was not so far away either, but the offer sounded a lot like smuggling. She and MaKiki had never done anything intentionally unlawful.
The putter man took out a pocket watch and flipped the lid. ‘You’ll have to give me an answer. The documents will be dispatched tonight, and they need to be in Tanglewood before fortnight’s end. I have two other customers who would cut off their little finger for the offer I just made. So, what will it be?’
‘Won’t you let me go and ask MaKiki?’
The putter man shook his head. ‘If you walk away now, the offer doesn’t stand. Only reason I’m giving you this chance, is because Old Pinkle told me your tinker was a woman of high repute.’
Just then the little bell tinkled and a smartly dressed man stepped into the shop. Fearing that this was her competitor, Lita thrust MaKiki’s ring onto the putter man’s counter. ‘It’s a deal,’ she said.
*
‘How did you get on?’ MaKiki asked, as she hammered a piece of tin.
After leaving Grimm’s, Lita had begun to feel a sense of unease. Would MaKiki think she had been too brash? Too trusting? Now, her insides fluttered. ‘Sellum Pinkle is no longer there. He died, last winter.’
MaKiki paused with her hammering. ‘Oh, what a shame, he was a good man.’
‘But,’ Lita continued, ‘I met another fine putter man a couple of doors down.’
MaKiki raised one brow.
‘And he made us a very interesting proposition.’
‘I told you to come straight back from Pinkle’s shop. Whatever possessed you to go to another?’
Oh, it was not going well, Lita thought. ‘Well, I planned to but then I thought I should at least find out what the other putters might offer,’ she said.
‘But you still have my ring.’
Lita shook her head. ‘Not exactly. Let me explain. It has worked out even better than we expected.’
‘Where’s my ring, Lita?’
‘Grimm, the putter man is holding it until our return next year. And, when we run the errand he has asked of us, we will be given fifty silver glems in exchange. Fifty glems!’
MaKiki shook her head. ‘Do tell me he gave a receipt for my ring. Please tell me you have that.’
Lita bit her lip. ‘He could not show it on his books. He said I had to accept the deal in good faith – that the rewards were high because of that.’
‘So now we have no savings and no ring.’ MaKiki pitched her hammer at the dirt. ‘Lita, have I taught you nothing? How could you be so gullible?’
MaKiki’s words stung, for Lita had to admit it did sound like she had been taken in and yet she had faith, though she could not say why, that it would all work out. ‘He did give me something in exchange,’ she said.
‘What? Where is it?’ MaKiki held out her open palm.
‘It’s an answer.’
‘An answer to what?’
‘Grimm said we are to meet Captain Rachard when he docks after midnight. When we meet him, he will tell us a riddle and I am to answer with silence. That way he will know we are Grimm’s messengers and he’ll hand over the documents.’
MaKiki rattled her head from side to side. ‘I don’t like the sound of this at all. You are to say nothing when you are given a riddle, and this will prove you have the right to collect the documents. That makes no sense at all. Any fool who came along could do that.’
‘That’s what the putter man said,’ Lita replied, feeling quite foolish now that MaKiki put it that way.
‘And did you ask what manner of document we are supposed to carry?’
‘The putter man would not say.’
‘Oh Lita,’ MaKiki sighed. ‘What sort of trouble have you got us into now?’
Ari and the Golden Man
Ari woke to find a different body beside him. The dead boy had been taken away and, in his place, lay a man with deep scars on his chest and arms. Ari turned his head. He had no desire to befriend a Du.
When they were called up for their morning meal, Ari decided he must eat even though he still felt a mild nausea. As he followed the others up the stairwell, each step caused him pain and threatened to re-open the crusted wounds on his back.
On the deck, he once again gave thanks for clean, fresh air. Away from the unrelenting stench in the hold, he felt his senses return. This one small thing lifted his spirits and he found, for that moment at least, he had peace. This was not to last however, as a heavy-handed Drac pushed him into line. ‘You will eat today, or it’s over to the sharks,’ the bare-face said.
Ari submitted, though it went against his instincts. He had no wish to call the Drac’s bluff and besides, the sea air had revived his appetite. So, he shuffled forward, careful not to catch the eye of any sailor.
Ten Dracs, with long kill-sticks ending in knife point, stood guard. At the end of the deck a barricade with a small door separated their part of the ship from the other. Above the barricade there was a higher deck on which several Dracs stood, pointing a great black pipe into the air. It was only when the pipe exploded with thundering violence that Ari understood what it was: a thing to frighten any who might defy or harm the Drac men. He had heard it before, from a great distance, as the ships with tall trunks and harnessed clouds skimmed across the horizon. Now that he was on such a ship, he knew they made their own thunder, and that the harnessed clouds were only white billowing cloth held fast with rope.
He collected his bowl of mush and cast his eyes over his fellow prisoners, hoping to catch sight of his kinsman. But he could not find him and instead shuffled to a sheltered part of the deck. He bent his head and sniffed warily. He could identify nothing in the bowl. It was grey, glutinous, with bubbles of oil dotting the surface that the others wolfed down. He scooped some up with his fingers and swallowed without breathing. Like thick sludge, it slid reluctantly down his throat and he found that the only way to get it down was to swill water after every mouthful. He had a terrible suspicion the sludge contained the milk of an animal, but he dared not risk another beating. Wryly, he noted his Du countrymen had no qualms about wolfing down their food.
Once their meal was over, the slaves’ shackles were removed and the Dracs on the barricade aimed their kill-sticks on them. One of the Dracs began beating the side of the copper urn, and another started playing a whining stringed instrument. The slaves were ordered to dance. Again, Ari baulked at this punishment, u
ntil a whip caught him across the knees. Dancing had always made Ari happy and now they were taking this away from him too. He jumped and jostled his limbs but there was no joy in his actions. While it was good to shake the stiffness from his legs, his back throbbed with pain and he could feel the newly crusted scab begin to split. He wanted to stop but the threat of the whip made him endure the pain.
During their dance time, the whip came out whenever a slave did not lift his feet high enough. Ari wondered what the Dracs thought, as their fingers twitched with the desire to hurt. What did they see when they looked at a slave? Earlier, one of them had called him Beast. But it was not said in the way his people meant. It was not a word of honour for the Drac. More like an insult.
A commotion behind broke Ari’s thoughts and then there was a shot. He spun to see what was happening.
Behind him, a slave had climbed onto the railing of the deck. His naked back was ridged with tension as he balanced. He turned to face them, and Ari recognised the man at once. It was his kinsman, the one from Kinga. Ari’s heart lurched as he watched his kinsman turn back to face the sea and hold his branded hand high as though in greeting. Shots wizzed over Ari’s head and peppered his kinsman’s body. Slowly, the man crumpled at the knees and toppled into the sea below.
A cry of victory rose from the slaves, but Ari did not join them. He found no triumph in the loss of a countryman, even though he was free at last. They had exchanged few words and yet Ari felt the loss keenly. It was as though he had been taken from his people all over again and without his people, who was he?
The great Drac pipe thundered again and the slaves fell silent.
‘Do you all want to die?’ A man on the barricade called to them. Ari lifted his eyes. Above them, stood the man who’d addressed them. He wore a long red coat and was entirely bald, apart from a few tufts of hair above each ear. The voice matched the speaker of the other day – the one whom Ari assumed to be the leader of their floating vessel.
‘Get them below,’ the red coat ordered his subordinates. ‘None of them will be allowed on deck for the rest of the week. Perhaps then they will learn to appreciate their freedoms.’
After that the slaves were shackled and herded back to the hold, back to the stink and squalor of their own waste.
*
That night, the ventilation holes were hooded, and the flow of air was greatly compromised. The moon was on the rise and the Drac did not want to take any chances with their prisoners. It was well they feared the power of their captives, Ari thought. It would have been a simple thing for the slaves to rise against the Drac under the embrace of the moon’s power but without it they were as defenceless as any man.
The conditions below, already bad by any measure, worsened during the night. It became harder to breathe and the temperature climbed until it was almost unbearable. Above and beside him, Ari heard the rasping of laboured breath. His lungs felt sodden and his body seemed to shrivel as the sweat streamed from his pores. He lay listlessly on his shelf, drifting in and out of sleep. It did not help matters that his Du neighbour pissed where he lay. If he had been weak, Ari might have made allowances. But he wasn’t. He was too lazy to trouble himself with getting up. Lazy and stupid, Ari thought. After a few days of pissing on himself, he would probably end up with sores on his legs.
By morning, three were dead. And yet the Dracs did not allow their prisoners onto the deck. Instead they brought stale crusts and water into the hold.
Sometime after the morning meal, a Drac man returned to the hold with a weaponed bare-face in tow. Ari recognised the bare-face at once, he was the one who had thrown the bucket of piss, but the other he had never seen before. This other could not have been more than twenty-five summers, Ari thought. Barely his elder. With their bare faces, it was easier to guess the age of a Drac because their lack of beard displayed every blemish, every line.
Though the other’s face was bare, he wore his golden hair long and loose about his shoulders. All the other Dracs wore theirs short or tied back like the tail of a rat. Neither did he dress like the others, wearing instead a loose shift with ruffled cloth at the neck and sleeves, leggings made of supple animal hide, and a locket on a silver chain hung around his neck. The man moved among the prisoners with a different eye. He paused to hold someone’s wrist; he held a light to another’s eyes; he knelt to examine a boy’s weeping sores. He told the bare-face who accompanied him to fetch clean water and cloths. When the bare-face did not budge, the golden man repeated his request, without the slightest hint of annoyance.
‘Captain said I’m not to leave you down here alone,’ the bare-face said.
‘And my family are the ones who pay your Captain, so I ask that you go.’
‘Captain’s law on the ship,’ the bare-face said with a stubborn set to his shoulders.
The other sighed. ‘Very well. I shall get them myself and we need more ventilation down here. These men will expire if they do not have fresh air.’
Ari realised he had heard the golden man’s voice before and then he remembered. It was the same one who had washed his wounds. With the memory of his whipping, his back twitched.
When the golden man returned with cloth and water, he began tending the sickest amongst the slaves. He applied salve to sores and made each man drink a full cup of water. When his bucket was dry, he went back for more. All morning he moved among the slaves, tending them with gentle words. If Ari had not known better, he might have been fooled but he had heard the man, he cared only that his family made a profit at journeys end.
By the time the man appeared before him, Ari had hardened his heart. He did not even acknowledge the man when he spoke but the other remembered Ari.
‘How is the wound on your back?’ he asked.
Ari stared, mute, at the shelving above.
‘They were wrong to whip you as they did,’ he continued. ‘I doubt if I could swallow that swill either, especially if it was forced.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘I have some water for you. I cannot make you drink but I hope that you will. The temperature will rise during the day. Without extra water, you’re likely to sicken.’
Despite his instinct to ignore the man, Ari could see the sense of it. He put out his hand to accept the mug but would not meet the other’s eyes.
‘Perhaps you do understand more than we give you credit,’ the golden man said.
*
Over the following days, the golden man spent nearly every daylight hour in the hold, tending those that were sick, bringing water, and even fruit on a few occasions. Though the ventilation shafts remained hooded when the moon rose, further shafts were cut into the deck, allowing the exchange of foul air for fresh.
Ari studied the man with great interest, and while his suspicion of the other’s motives did not lessen, he had to admit that the man had a certain kindness.
On the fifth day of their confinement, most of the slaves had developed a case of the squitters. Once again, the air in the hold grew fetid and many of them weakened with fever. Through the shaft, Ari could hear the golden man argue for the slaves to be brought on deck. Eventually the captain made a compromise. He agreed that ten slaves at a time could be brought up – on condition they were shackled at ankle and wrist.
When the golden man climbed down into the hold, he selected ten of those most severely affected. They were so weak the bare-faces had to carry them up to the deck.
Though the Du man beside Ari had not uttered a word before, he did so now. ‘Why waste their efforts,’ he muttered.
‘And who would you send up? Yourself?’ Ari said.
‘They will die anyway,’ the Du replied, curling his lip. ‘It is better to look after the strong.’
Ari turned his back on the Du.
Later, when the golden man returned to the hold, Ari rose from his shelf. He wove through the mass of bodies and joined the other. The golden man knelt beside a young slave who had lesions on his arms and legs. Beside him were two pails – one with fresh water
and a sponge, the other with bandages. Ari knelt too and reached into the pail for the sponge. He wrung it slightly and began cleaning the boy’s wounds. The golden man turned and caught Ari’s eye. No words were exchanged but an understanding was reached in that moment. From then on, Ari joined the man whenever he came to tend to the slaves and, as a reward for his selflessness, Ari’s shackles were removed. Had this privilege been granted to anyone else, it would have caused outrage and jealousy, but Ari’s fellow captives seemed to accept the justice of it.
Despite the weariness this daily sacrifice caused Ari, he realised it had saved him too. Had he stayed on his shelf, nursing his homesickness, he was sure his desperation would have killed him.
*
By the thirty fifth day of their journey, Ari knew nearly every slave in the hold by name. There were one hundred and forty of them in total, mostly Bemani, nineteen Hurras and five Du. Ari was the only Ertu on the vessel. During their voyage twenty-one perished and were expediently thrown overboard. The sharks that trailed their ship were growing fatter by the day.
When Ari woke on the thirty sixth day, he felt a subtle difference in the air. All his countrymen felt the lifting but by mid-afternoon the feeling had changed again. It was as if two hands pressed the air of the sky together, making it heavy and thick. On the horizon, grey clouds gathered, the wind dropped, the sails grew flaccid, the sharks disappeared and the gulls that sometimes followed them took to the south.
All the slaves grew edgy, a couple of fights broke out between the Du warriors and the Bemani, and the Captain ordered everyone below deck. Ari turned to study the horizon before he too was herded into the hold. He did not like the look of those clouds. Having lived on the coast all his life, he understood the faces of the sea and he knew this face was bound to give them trouble.
A squall struck late in the afternoon. At first, the sea churned like a restless serpent and rain pummelled the deck. By nightfall however, the water roiled and bucked like something in its final death throes. Down in the hold, the lamps swung from side to side, spilling their oil. One by one they extinguished until it soon became as dark as the bottom of a pit on a moonless night. And still the swells grew. Every time the ship crested a wave and plummeted into a trough, the hull groaned.