by Mirren Hogan
Chaqian spices, ngadru, the small Kalili mammals which had suddenly become popular pets, Kattu warriors, lesser slaves; whatever you might like, Larafa could supply it. From the docks ringing the bay, through the port and almost to the pass—where anything could be sold, someone was selling something.
Stalls with tattered leather covers were pressed tightly together, filling even the alleys and making travel down the streets slow, loud, and pungent. It smelled worse than Harshal once the prunes had passed through his system. Well almost.
Tabia passed a stall selling what looked suspiciously like embru cones, painted to look like wyrm eggs. The seller must think the average buyer was a fool. Wyrm eggs weren’t common enough to fill a table, and they’d die if not tended by the female wyrm who lay them, or her mate. In addition to that, even tame wyrms would take off a hand if it went near their eggs. From the forlorn expression on the would-be merchant’s face, his products weren’t selling. It was a shame really, his artistry was apparent in the subtle brush strokes and use of colour. If he used his talent for creating works of art, rather than as a charlatan, he might do well. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t going to encourage him by buying one.
“There are so many people,” Adina remarked loudly from near Tabia’s left ear. “It seems like more than Daasane.”
Tabia moved her head away and nodded her agreement. Dassane had many times the population of Larafa, but they were spread out across the lake and surrounding countryside. Here, the buildings and streets were packed board to board and the people elbow to elbow. Once she started watching for it, she noticed the citizens manoeuvring like a dance designed to avoid bumping and blocking each other. It was those who visited the port who seemed to be having trouble getting around. Perhaps it was a deliberate method on the part of of the merchants. If you couldn’t leave a street, you might browse instead, thus increasing the chance of a purchase.
Tabia was tempted to levitate up and over everyone to get to their ship, but in doing that, she’d have to leave her companions behind. She’d have to practice patience, although it wasn’t always her strongest attribute.
“Ay,” she muttered to herself, “this better be worth it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Adina asked. Apparently, she’d been expecting a response.
“Oh. You’re right, there are a lot of people.”
She looked into the window of one building and blinked. For a heartbeat she thought she saw a shadow move across the room. Deep and dark, it looked like a patch of midnight. Then it was gone.
“What’s wrong?” Isobel sounded worried and clutched at her hand.
“Nothing.” Tabia looked again, but all she could see was the inside of the shop; a counter, an oven, and loaves of fresh bread. If there had been a magula, it was gone now. A quick glance around; everything appeared normal. She gave Isobel a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.
“I guess I’m just hungry,” she said.
“Me too.” Harshal ducked into the shop and promptly started haggling with the baker, a tall man from Azlim, whose turban made him taller still.
His green-brown eyes were typical of Azlimer men, as was his cleanly shaven face. In Azlim, facial hair was considered dirty, and the hair on the head was kept under a turban to keep it clean. Their fingernails were always trimmed precisely, and their clothes were likewise immaculate. The Azlimer men at the guild were known for changing their clothing several times a day if necessary to stay clean. Apparently, they believed that their twin gods, Chwa and Kwa, represented the best and worst traits of people, with Chwa desiring cleanliness, tolerance, punctuality, faithfulness, and industry, while Kwa represented sloth, unkindness, and grubbiness. Thus, it was generally thought that Kwa was the god of children, and Chwa the god for those old enough to be considered adults. To call another adult a devotee of Kwa was a grave insult, while some children were praised as being ‘ready to serve Chwa already.’
As religions went, it wasn’t the strangest one Tabia had ever encountered, but it seemed a little more complicated and strict than hers. As long as she more or less behaved, then she was sure Zuleso approved. And if he didn’t, she was sure he’d let her know. She was reasonably certain he didn’t care how dirty she got, or if she was being followed by potentially deadly magic-eating creatures either. Sometimes she did wonder if maybe he wasn’t the best god she could have believed in, but her father had believed, and it was the last thing she had of him.
“Here.” Harshal shoved something up in her face, almost touching her nose. It smelled like chakleti and flaky pastry and was covered in a sprinkling of sugar. It was exactly the thing she shouldn’t eat, but which she adored. She all but snatched it out of his hand and bit into it. It was full of chakleti which had cooled enough to harden slightly, but was still warm, and gooey in spots.
It reminded her of the Year’s End celebration in the hall of the Incanti in Vanmala and also reminded her she hadn’t replied to Ojas’ last letter. He was still at the hall, teaching apprentices, married to an Incanta and poised to take his father’s role of Prime Incanto someday, as everyone expected. At least he’d accepted it now.
One look at Harshal told her he was thinking much the same thing. Adina was happily eating hers, obviously enjoying a rare treat. Isobel was daintily tearing off pieces of pastry and eating them slowly, while Ezeji was looking at his as though it might contain poison.
“You’re welcome,” Harshal told him around a mouthful of food. “It won’t kill you.”
Ezeji looked up at him and frowned. “Don’t think for a moment that coming on this journey with you was my choice. There are far more competent—”
“I think there might be better places to discuss this,” Tabia said. People had stopped to look at them, some pointing at the assembly badge pinned above her left breast. She should probably have stowed it in her bag, but it might be necessary to apply some pressure once they reached the docks. The ship might be waiting for them, but that wouldn’t prevent the captain from trying to charge them extra for the trip. All too often the sight of sorcerers made people see gold. That Sevele would have the guild pay any amount to ensure their success didn’t justify the extra expense as far as she was concerned.
Ezeji nodded curtly. “Right, let’s move on.” With seeming reluctance, he bit into the pastry and led the way down the busy street.
Tabia followed behind him and sighed. Ezeji had little reason to be happy about traveling with them, but ultimately they’d all have to get along. Her negligence had led to the death of his friend Feko, she couldn’t forget that, even if he’d let her. Although given the fact that he hadn’t liked her before Feko died, it was a challenge not to take it personally. Ezeji was another in a long line of sorcerers who enjoyed having power and didn’t like to share it with someone they believed to be beneath them. That she was on the assembly and he wasn’t must rankle him, but that was hardly her fault. She had a rare ability and could speak several languages.
Apart from that, she considered herself to be pretty ordinary; perhaps that was the problem. They wanted the assembly to be full of extraordinary people, like Sevele and Dafil. No, she corrected herself, they wanted it to be full of extraordinary men. She couldn’t change her sex, even if she wanted to. As for Ezeji—he did well enough for himself, as a favourite of many of Dassane’s richer merchants.
A sudden change in smell from street to salt water brought her back to here and now. Unlike other cities, the docks of Larafa were clean and free of taverns and brothels. It was They were reserved for ships, those involved in shifting cargo on and off vessels, traders and passengers. Constables walked about, distinguished from others by their fitted black pants and yellow shirts. Tabia spied a pair checking people over and moving them on when apparently, they didn’t meet the criteria for being here.
She stood back as they approached, letting Ezeji speak for them. Perhaps if he felt important, he’d go easier on her later. She couldn’t even put it down to male ego, as she’d known
women who were as bad. Kibibi Efea and her sisters came to mind. Arrogance had no gender, it seemed more closely related to power than anything else.
“One hundred gold coins,” the ship’s captain declared. He was a slender man with skin the tone of Harshal’s; swarthy rather than dark like most Isskasalans. His face was long and angular, a line of beard running from the centre of his narrow lips, down to his chin. The rest of his face and head were cleanly shaven. He wore loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt which he’d left unbuttoned, exposing a muscular chest and abdomen. From the corner of her eye, Tabia saw Adina staring appreciatively. She supposed he was handsome, if one was into this kind of person.
“One hundred gold coins!” Ezeji spluttered. “We’re not ask to sail around the whole world, just to Iljosk.”
“The Grandai is a fine lady,” the captain argued smoothly.
“It is a slave ship,” Ezeji replied darkly.
Tabia’s eyes sought out the ship and quickly found a large vessel nearby, the name Grandai looking a little worn on the side. From the size and shape of her, Ezeji was right. It was strikingly similar to the one she’d been transported in from Malij to Vanmala when the Kibibi’s sisters had seized power. If she got closer, she was sure it’d smell the same: feces, urine, and misery. Were the slaves on board yet? She didn’t want to find out. The very thought of travelling on this ship made her stomach turn.
Her eyes swung to take in Isobel’s expression. How many times had she been transported like that? She looked pale and again Tabia wondered at the wisdom of bringing her along. But then her lover turned and gave her a reassuring smile. Was there no end to how amazing she was? She was facing her past, her worst memories, and she was trying to make Tabia feel better?
Tabia took her hand and smiled back.
“The finest slave vessel on the seas,” the captain boasted. “For you, eighty gold coins.”
“Fifty,” Ezeji countered.
Even that was a princely sum. The captain’s sly eyes looked toward Ezeji’s money pouch.
“Seventy,” he said with a firm nod.
“Fifty-five or we’ll find another ship.”
The captain’s look of unconcern spoke volumes. Clearly there was no other ship going to Iljosk any time soon, and he knew it. He could have insisted on much more and they’d have had no choice.
“Sixty and the Grandai is at your disposal.”
“You are a thief, but we have a deal, Captain—”
“Captain Fanashil at your service.” The captain gave a shallow bow, which so obviously lacked respect that Tabia almost laughed. The dark look on Ezeji’s face made her hold it in. Mocking him would only strain their relationship further, and she didn’t want that. They’d be in close enough quarters for the next few days, she’d have to keep to herself as much as possible around him. That would be easy enough; he’d do his best to stay away from her if he could.
CHAPTER 31
So this was how seasickness felt.
Adina had never been on a boat before, much less a ship. She’d never have thought something so big could rock so much. Harshal had mentioned something about “sea legs,” but from the moment they’d left port, she’d been so sick she could only cling to the rail and throw her eaten pastry over the side.
She’d barely had time to meet her teacher, Kwame, who had arrived just before the Grandai pulled out of port. She vaguely recalled a man shorter than her, with an enormous beard and smiling eyes. He’d greeted her warmly and narrowly missing having her be sick on him. Thank the gods she hadn’t been. That would be far too auspicious a beginning. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d refused to teach her after that.
“Still feeling unwell?” A smooth voice addressed her from behind.
She looked up to see Captain Fanashil step up the railing beside her. He smelled of sandalwood and something else she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was quite intoxicating. She felt a stab of guilt at thinking about another man like that, but Darai had left her, she owed him nothing. Of course, what she felt for him wouldn’t go away over night, but she had to put him behind her eventually.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d get seasick,” she said weakly. They hadn’t even been out of Larafa for half a day. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed for several.
Fanashil laughed softly. “A gentle lady such as yourself is delicate. Sea travel is only suited to the hardest and most calloused of souls.”
She felt her face going hot. “I’m not that delicate,” she said, “just my stomach.”
He laughed again. “Of course, you are. And modest too. But I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leaned in until his breath warmed her ear.
“When I first stepped aboard a sea vessel, I was as sick as if I’d drunk a barrel of wine the evening before.”
“Really?” Her heart pounded at his proximity.
He leaned back and winked. “Indeed, but don’t tell anyone, I have to uphold my reputation.”
“Oh, of course I won’t breathe a word,” she assured him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he replied, his tone so obviously suggestive she blushed a little more.
“How did you stop being sick?”
“Ah.” He turned and pressed his back to the railing. “That would be another secret. I’m not sure I can trust you with it.”
Adina opened her mouth to assure him that he could, but closed it again. What did she know about him, really? He was a slaver with a ship that smelled like too many bodies were packed into the hold. She’d thought she’d heard some moans earlier, but she’d been too sick to really stop and listen. Slavery was common enough, but she knew the poor souls were frequently ill-treated and reduced to little more than animals. Their comfort on this voyage wouldn’t be high on his list of priorities.
Still, that didn’t make him a bad person, necessarily. Was he really any worse than the butcher or the people who cleaned the city sewers, or the general who sent his soldiers to die? Everyone had to do something in order to make money and survive.
“You don’t trust me?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise.
“I’m good at reading people,” he explained.
“Oh. And what else are you reading about me?”
Now he looked surprised, but his lips curved up in a smile that made her knees weak. He looked intently at her.
“I see a sweet young lady who has yet to see much of the world,” he said. “You’re curious about what’s out there, but nervous at the same time, because the world is a scary place. And you’re smart enough to know that you shouldn’t give your trust to strange men like me, who make a living by doing something others find distasteful.”
She couldn’t argue with any of that. “Why do you do it?” she asked carefully. “Slavery, I mean.”
He leaned back and sighed. “That’s rather a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She looked down into the waves, the heaving ocean shoving relentlessly against the ship.
“That’s true enough,” he agreed. “I grew up in Vanmala. My father had a problem with ayra and spent all of our money on it.”
Adina was aware of the drug, although it was illegal in Mindossa, as well as the rest of Isskasala. It was known for ruining lives and destroying families. Why people smoked it was beyond her.
Fanashil went on, “He wanted my mother to earn money by—let’s just say unsavoury means.” He glanced at Adina, who nodded to show she knew what he meant. Prostitution was more common than slavery. Although not exactly encouraged, it was generally understood that a woman, or man, must do what they could to survive.
“She refused, and he started to become enraged and violent. She took my sister and me and fled to Isskasala. We lived on the streets and begged for food, until she got work as a maid in the house of a rich merchant. How she got that job, I’ll never know . . . ” He shook his head.
“Anyway, I was raised as a companion to the lo
rd’s children.”
That explained his perfect Mindossan. He spoke with a slight accent, but she couldn’t quite place it. It sounded like partly the way Harshal spoke, partly Tabia’s Iljoskan accent, with a pinch of something else as well.
“That must have been—interesting,” she said.
“Indeed. They never forgot to remind me I wasn’t one of them. When I was fourteen I ran away and went to sea. I found myself working on a slave vessel. It was the only ship which would take me, apart from a fishing boat. Have you ever smelled one of those?”
She shook her head.
“Trust me, a good day on one of those smells worse than a bad month on this one.” He grimaced. “So once a slaver, always a slaver. It’s not a bad life, just a little lonely at times.”
“I’m sure it is.” Adina found herself looking into his eyes until he glanced over her shoulder and stepped away.
“I should get back to work.” He gave her a brief smile and hurried away.
Confused, she turned to see what had scared him off.
Harshal was standing behind her, leaning on a rail, a sardonic expression on his face.
“Which story did he tell you?” he asked mildly. “The one in which he’s the long-lost son of King Naref, or the one where his sister was kidnapped by slavers and he joined their ranks in the hope of finding her?”
Adina frowned. “He said his father was a violent ayra user and he grew up in a lord’s house.”
Harshal threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a new one.”
“Are you saying it’s not true?”
“Does the dappa bird have blue feathers?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen one.”
He chuckled. “They do. Quite a brilliant blue, really. Like—” he looked thoughtful. “Like the ocean when it’s shallow enough that you can see right through to the sand. And their feet look like gold, like the metal. And their eyes . . . ” His grew wide. “They’re vivid green and round like a person’s eyes. They’re like nothing you’ve ever seen before.