Firekeeper could tell that, for Derian, this last was like a blow to the gut. Fox Hair might have spent much of the last two years away from his family, but whenever possible he had written them, often scribbling away even when the letters could not be sent and then sending a large package all at once. Given the choice of lying or of leaving his family to grieve, she knew Derian would lie.
Harjeedian knew this, too. She could tell by the satisfied set of his shoulders, the confident tilt of his chin. He might speak another language with his lips, but the language of his body was not too different from the one that she had already learned. That reminded her of another question.
"How you speak Pellish so well?" she asked, aware of her own deficiencies in that area. "Did you know before?"
Harjeedian shook his head.
"In Waln's account of events, he trimmed a few details. One of these is that among those traveling with him on the ill-fated ship was a minstrel. Barnet had hoped to gather new tales with which to make his fame and perhaps win the favor of Queen Valora's court. He was already multilingual, speaking the tongue of Waterland and something of that of New Kelvin. He found learning our language and teaching yours fairly easy. Although you were not introduced at that time, Barnet was one of the other sailors who accompanied me into Hawk Haven. There, when not serving as local liaison, I had him tutor me. I am, however, a quick learner."
"Very," Firekeeper said with grudging admiration. She hadn't understood much of the long speech, but the very flow of words was proof of Harjeedian's boast.
"You will meet this minstrel before long," Harjeedian said. "He and I will be teaching both of you—but especially Derian Counselor—my language."
Derian shook his head.
"I'll try, but if you had wanted skill with languages, you would have done better to bring Elise or Wendee."
"Goody Wendee remains in the North Woods," Harjeedian said, "and this Elise of whom you speak would be Lady Archer. That title alone is reason why we would not lay hands on her. The baron, her father, has become protective of his chick since her last venture abroad, fearful, I think, that Lady Archer's interest in foreign lands and ways will draw her away from her inheritance."
"How do you know so much?" Derian asked almost angrily.
Harjeedian smiled. "That selfsame minstrel has collected numerous tales. He added to his knowledge while we waited for fit opportunity to take you."
Firekeeper wondered why the minstrel hadn't taken advantage of what had apparently been ample shore time to escape. What hostage had Harjeedian held over the minstrel's actions? Perhaps they could learn, and so turn this stranger into an ally.
Obviously frustrated by his loss of dominance, Waln had been trying to insert himself into the conversation. He managed to do so at this point.
"The immediate question is," Waln sneered, "whether you want to spend the rest of what will be a rather long voyage locked in that cage or whether you will give your parole."
Firekeeper looked at Derian, waiting for translation of this unfamiliar concept. She had heard of parole in another context—Doc had once made her promise not to leave the house when she had been recovering from injuries—but this didn't sound quite the same.
"Waln wants us to promise we won't try to escape or offer harm to any on this vessel," Derian translated, glancing at Harjeedian to see if he had understood correctly. "If we will do so, they'll let us out of this cage."
"That is correct," Harjeedian said. "If you offer your parole, we will give all three of you freedom of the ship. You will share a cabin abovedecks and be fed as well as any member of the crew."
He gave Firekeeper a sly grin.
"I will even see if I can help you with your seasickness. You may adjust on your own, but I do have drugs that may help during the transition."
Firekeeper considered. "This may be good. If we do this parole, we are free to move about. What else?"
"What else?" Waln retorted indignantly. "What more could you want?"
Firekeeper fastened her gaze on Harjeedian.
"To know what he want."
Harjeedian met her gaze.
"I cannot tell you everything now. My teachers reserve that right for themselves. For now, I want you to learn my language so that you can speak for yourself when we arrive. Is that too much?"
Firekeeper shook her head, though inwardly she sighed. Another language! Why couldn't humans speak as simply and directly as wolves?
Although Fayonejunjal sailed within sight of the coastline, Derian knew that as far as any watchers ashore were concerned, they were invisible. It was all a matter of size. Fayonejunjal might be large as far as seagoing vessels went, but compared with the wasteland of water surrounding them the ship was minuscule.
Harjeedian and Waln had been as good as their word. Now that parole had been given and accepted, the cage had been disassembled, the pieces stored in one of the holds. The cabin they had been assigned seemed small when filled with two humans and a wolf, but Derian suspected that Firekeeper wouldn't spend much time in those cramped confines. She was experimenting with what minimized her seasickness, and for now preferred to be out in the open air.
Derian leaned against the rail, watching the boat race through the waves. He had no idea how fast they were traveling or how far they had come. The sailors seemed to be doing a good deal of setting sails, and the boat kept jigging back and forth.
There must have been landmarks that meant something to the captain, for she appeared placid and content. All Derian could make of the activity was that their course was carrying them more or less to the south. Soon enough, they would be away from friendly coastline, and then the vessel was likely to come in closer to the shore. As far as their situation was concerned, proximity to the shoreline didn't matter. Whether they were a mile or a half-mile or even a quarter of a mile out, the three of them couldn't swim the distance without being recaptured. Even if they stole one of the shore boats, they couldn't sail it.
Derian had grown up near the Flin River, but his family had been distinctly land-oriented. He could paddle a bit, but the lore of sails was a mystery to him. As far as he knew, Firekeeper had been on a boat only once, during their visit to Revelation Point Castle in Bright Bay, and that had been just messing about. Now that he thought about it, she'd been eager to get ashore fairly quickly. He wondered if she'd felt seasick even then.
It was a moot point. Firekeeper was certainly seasick now, and Fayonejunjal made as good a prison as any he had ever imagined.
Derian turned his concentration to considering what he could do that might be turned to their advantage. Learning Harjeedian's language would be a good start. He knew how much they had relied on Elise and Wendee in New Kelvin—enough that his own command of New Kelvinese had never progressed beyond the very basic words and simple grammar necessary to buy market goods or ask directions.
In this situation, he would need to fill both Elise's and Wendee's roles. If Firekeeper's willingness to learn Pellish was any indication, she would make her own rules as to what elements and how much of the language was necessary to her needs, then progress no further.
Derian glanced over to where Firekeeper was stretched out near Blind Seer, both apparently asleep. He wondered just how much Pellish the wolf understood—that he understood some, Derian had no doubt. Could it be that Firekeeper understood more than she was letting on—that her fractured grammar and simplistic vocabulary were an elaborate ploy?
Derian had no idea, but he resolved to do his best not to give away everything he was learning. He knew that there were times when he and Elise had spoken deliberately quickly and using more complicated words in order to talk over Firekeeper's head. Their captors might resort to some similar ploy—and then Derian would have the upper hand.
Derian grinned to himself and wiped spray off his face. Of course, all of that rested on his ability to learn something of the language. He might never get beyond the basics, They might never teach him more than what they wanted h
im to know. For the first time, Derian understood—really understood—the Old Country rulers' policy of withholding training in key skills from their colonists. Lack of knowledge could be a prison far more unbreakable than any walled dungeon.
He was still considering this when he heard footsteps on the deck. Turning, he confronted a man he vaguely recognized as one of the three sailors Firekeeper had subdued during their failed escape attempt.
The newcomer was shorter than Derian, but that didn't make him short; Derian was taller than average. He was clean-shaven, and as his wispy, straw-colored hair didn't look to be the type that would make a thick beard, this was certainly a good choice. It also gave a clear view of features that were just a trace too bland to be handsome—that was, until the man smiled. Then his face lit up from within.
Derian felt a surge of instantaneous liking, and warned himself to guard against it. The man clearly knew his power—and if he had this effect on another man he probably had an even easier time with women.
He won't have an easy time with Firekeeper, though, Derian thought. She thinks smiles are a way of showing how sharp your teeth are.
"Barnet," the man said, offering a slight bow. "Harjeedian said he had mentioned me to you."
"You're the minstrel," Derian said. "The one who taught Harjeedian Pellish."
"And the one who is going to teach you Liglimosh—that's my term for their language," Barnet agreed. "They just change the inflection on 'Liglimo' and I find that too confusing."
Barnet leaned his forearms against the railing and looked down over the side. The pose looked natural, as if he had spent a lot of time on ships. After a moment, Derian joined him.
"I thought," Barnet said after a moment, "we should get acquainted, given that we're going to spend a lot of time together."
Derian nodded. Barnet's attire was similar to that worn by the rest of the ship's crew, so it didn't give away much about him. He wore his hair long and tied back—the style most usual in Hawk Haven—but as most of the sailors did the same, and they most certainly were not from Hawk Haven, it didn't tell anything about him.
Barnet's accent sounded more like Bright Bay than Hawk Haven, though Derian supposed he could be from the Isles. Derian hadn't met enough of the people from there to be sure just how much their accents differed from that of their parent country.
"You first," Derian suggested. "Tell me about yourself. From what Harjeedian said, you already know more than enough about all of us."
"Stories," Barnet said, shaking his head as if to dismiss his information. "Gossip. Doubtless exaggeration. Useful, as your being here proves, but probably not the first things you would tell about yourself."
Derian grinned, admiring the man's way of setting him at ease. He'd guess that Barnet was older than him, maybe in his mid-thirties, but he had the weathered skin common to seagoing peoples, and that made it hard to judge. He might be five years younger.
"I'd like to know more about you," Derian persisted, "to put us on more even footing."
Barnet gave a slightly theatrical sigh.
"Very well. I was born a Lobster, cadet branch, no prospects for inheritance. Does that tell you anything?"
It did, and Derian had to hide his own reaction. Lobster was one of the Great Houses of Bright Bay, not the highest ranking, but until recently very prestigious. Queen Gustin IV—now Queen Valora of the Isles—was married to Harwill Lobster. Almost to a one, the Lobsters had followed their queen and her husband into exile.
Derian was determined not to say too much.
"So did you move to the Islands after King Allister's War?" he asked.
"I did," Barnet said. "I had nothing against Allister Seagleam, but my entire family was going and I had to choose which I would never see again—my parents and siblings, or my birth land. In any case, I spend much of my time at sea. That's my real home."
"You're a sailor then?" Derian asked. "Harjeedian named you a minstrel."
"Minstrel is a valid post in the Bright Bay Navy. Minstrels haul line with the rest of the crew, but during the long voyages it is our duty to keep up morale. Think of us as doctors, except we treat the spirit rather than the body."
"I think I understand," Derian said, remembering how much good having Wendee Jay and her wealth of stories had done for their group during the long treks from the Norwood Grant to Dragon's Breath.
"Probably the only hard part of being a minstrel," Barnet went on, "is keeping your hands supple. It's hard to play a stringed instrument, but then again, it's hard to keep one in tune, so at sea most minstrels play flutes or pipes. I get so I'll hardly touch one on land."
"Oh."
"And being a minstrel cuts you out of command, most of the time," Barnet went on. "The navy, and most ship owners, don't think the crew will obey someone they think of as a singer or piper—someone they've seen doing tumbling or acting out bits from a play."
A trace of bitterness there, Derian thought. Or does he only want me to think that?
"Are the rules the same in the Isles?" Derian asked.
"The rules in the Isles are still pretty much in flux," Barnet admitted. "Until less than two years ago, the Isles' navy was Bright Bay's navy. Now neither is as large as it once was, and merchant ships owned by people like Waln Endbrook are finding themselves required to take care of themselves."
"How about the pirates?" Derian asked.
"You've met some of them," Barnet countered. "What do you think?"
"I think they'd be looking out for themselves and trying to see what their own best interests would be," Derian said. "On the one hand, cooperating with Queen Valora gives a certain degree of validity to ventures that otherwise might be wholly illegal. On the other hand, that same cooperation might mean giving up some freedom."
"And profit," Barnet added. "Don't forget profit. And cooperating with forces who until a short time ago existed in large part to curtail your actions. No, nothing's settled yet."
Derian nodded.
"We're seeing a lot of changes in Hawk Haven, too," he said, hoping to ease Barnet into telling more. "There are those who made their living from the conflict between Bright Bay and Hawk Haven—and I don't just mean the soldiers. Smugglers. Guild liaisons. Tariff collectors. They're all finding new places for themselves, and not all of them are doing as well as before."
"Same for minstrels," Barnet said, "especially minstrels within a smaller navy. That's why I jumped at the chance to go on the Explorer. Exploring to the south might give me new stories—and some respect at court."
Derian turned to look at Barnet and found the other man's grey-blue eyes studying him. Barnet grinned, unashamed at being caught in his scrutiny.
"Tell me about yourself," Barnet suggested.
Derian deliberately framed his own reply to match Barnet's initial "revelations."
"I was born to a merchant family. We own Prancing Steed Stables in the city of Eagle's Nest. I'm the eldest, and that makes me the heir, but my folks are ambitious. When Earl Kestrel came looking to rent mounts for an expedition he planned west, they insisted I go along—to look after their property, they said."
"But also in the hope you'd catch the earl's attention," Barnet said, his tone suggesting he'd been the subject of similar maneuvering.
"That's about it," Derian agreed, "except that I didn't catch the earl's eye as a horse handler—at least not so anyone would have noticed. I caught it after Firekeeper came to us."
"And you ended up her handler," Barnet said.
"That's right," Derian said. "She seemed willing to trust me. Somehow, one way or another, I'm still working more as her handler than as anything else."
He tried to put a trace of bitterness into his tone, but found it difficult. There had been a time he resented his role, feared that he might find himself nothing more than a glorified valet. Now, he was proud of the trust Firekeeper put in him. Still, if Barnet really did resent the light in which minstrels were held in the navy, he might respond to what he perce
ived as Derian's dissatisfaction.
"She relies on you," Barnet said. "I was watching earlier. Whenever Harjeedian got too high-flown, she'd glance at you and settle into waiting, like she knew you'd make it clear later."
"That's been my job for two years now," Derian said, "making things clear for her. I don't think anyone can do it better."
He wasn't precisely boasting, but he also suspected that he had been kept alive to this point because of the perception that he somehow controlled Firekeeper. He wasn't about to discount his own importance.
"How'd you become a minstrel?" he asked. "Was that your role on the ship that got wrecked, the Explorer, I think you called her?"
Barnet considered.
"I became a minstrel almost in spite of myself," he said. "I wanted to be a naval officer. Thing was, I kept finding it easier to persuade people than to order them around. Then, honestly, I might not have been the best battle commander. Even when other people were giving the orders I kept thinking about the people on the other ship—wondering if they were frightened or angry or just doing their job. I'd imagine their stories: the sweethearts they'd left behind, children or elderly parents who depended on them. Got so I realized I might have trouble giving the orders to attack."
Barnet gave a twisted grin.
"Never had any trouble when my own life or the life of one of my mates was on the line. Just with the abstract. Does that make any sense?"
"It does," Derian admitted. "I wonder if Tavis Seagleam—Prince Tavis, now—would have ended up a minstrel if things had been different."
"Hard to tell," Barnet said. "I heard he is artistic, but it takes more than artistic talent to be a minstrel. You have to like people, and people have to like you."
Derian nodded.
"It's like that with handling horses," he said. "You can teach someone to ride and to judge a good beast, but to do what my father does—what I do—you need to really like them, almost be able to get into their heads. Not everyone can do it. I remember how surprised I was the first time I realized that."
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