“I can see I would have been well advised to inquire more closely about my ship before I booked passage,” Clarice said quietly. But in her heart, she knew it was a lie. Even knowing the difference between a hired captain and a captain-owner, it was Dominick’s presence that would have decided her. She could not regret a voyage that had given her the chance to meet him.
A young sailor suddenly appeared in the doorway, panting as if he had been running. George Lamb, Clarice thought, recognizing him. Called Geordie and Lost Lamb by his shipmates. His lank blond hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and the fresh red of new sunburn made his eyes startlingly blue.
“Captain says you’re to come at once.” His eyes were wide—not with exertion, Clarice realized, but with terror. “There’s to be discipline.”
“Who is it?” Dr. Chapman said, getting to his feet and reaching for his medical bag.
“It’s Kayin, sir,” Geordie gasped. “Mr. Lee is doing for Kayin Dako.”
“Give Captain Sprunt my compliments and tell him I shall be there at once,” Dr. Chapman said imperturbably. He turned to Clarice.
“Mr. Swann, I give you this advice in the strongest possible terms. Go to your cabin and stay there.”
At the grim note in his voice, she could do nothing but nod.
* * *
But if she could escape seeing the first flogging, she was not so lucky again. Sprunt had begun to punish the crew harshly for the tiniest infractions, and Freeman Lee made certain there were plenty of them to be found. No accident or error escaped the most draconian correction.
Today, Kayin Dako was being flogged again, the second time in a week.
Kayin’s “crime” had been to leave an empty bucket unattended upon the deck. Geordie had been responsible—he had been holystoning the deck and had gone to put those tools safely out of the way before dipping up a bucket of seawater to finish the patch. But when Freeman Lee demanded to know whom the bucket belonged to, Kayin had stepped forward.
Kayin Dako made Freeman Lee look like a small man. His skin was as black as Mr. Emerson’s, and his scalp completely hairless—by design, Clarice suspected, for he was a young man.
Only someone young and strong could survive such treatment.
He smiled mockingly at Freeman Lee as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. The welts of his last flogging were still raised and raw, and his skin glistened with the oil he had used to keep them from sticking to his shirt. He stepped forward and placed his hands at the top corners of an uptilted hatch cover propped against the mainmast. As Mr. Lee stepped forward to tie the hands in place, she saw Kayin’s teeth flash whitely as he spoke. She was too far away to hear what was said, but Mr. Lee’s face darkened alarmingly, and he reached for the long-tailed cat Mr. Foster handed him with relish.
All the ship’s officers were present, save young Miles Oliver, who took the helm. They stood in a line just before the foredeck, a line of silent witnesses. The crew was gathered in the center of the deck, opposite them. Captain Sprunt stood on the foredeck itself.
“You may begin when you are ready, Mr. Lee!” Captain Sprunt called down.
Mr. Lee raised the whip. Clarice turned her back, staring resolutely out to sea, to avoid seeing what was happening, but she couldn’t stop the sounds that reached her ears. The dull, remorseless thwack! of leather against flesh followed wherever she went. Her gorge rose at the sound, but she didn’t dare show it.
To make her avoidance of the sight of the brutal punishment less obvious, Clarice turned her attention to the captain. As always on these occasions, he paced back and forth on the foredeck, to all intents and purposes oblivious of what was being done in his name once it had begun. While he was still as slovenly a figure as he had been at the dockside tavern, once the Asesino had reached open sea, a new and incongruous item had been added to his dress: a large pendant on a heavy golden chain.
She hadn’t gotten a close look at it, for Sprunt was careful to keep it tucked inside his shirt when he dined with his officers and lone passenger. From a distance it appeared to be a disk of green stone perhaps four inches across, elaborately surmounted by a design in golden metal. While she was utterly at a loss to divine its purpose (clearly it was not for its wearer’s beautification), she was certain it was magical, for not only did it closely resemble such items in the Swansgaarde Treasury, its numinous aura of hyperreality would have given away its true nature regardless.
Captain Sprunt had a magical talisman or amulet.
Such items were hardly unknown among seafarers: amulets to conjure a fair wind, to save their wearer from drowning, to keep a wound from turning foul; talismans to bring luck or a true course, to alert the wearer to the thousand dangers of the high seas. The thing was—Clarice frowned, happy enough to attempt to divert herself with this puzzle—such items were either family heirlooms or the expensive purchases of a wealthy shipowner, and in either case, they were usually displayed proudly. Why did Sprunt conceal his?
A fortnight ago, Clarice might have asked him directly. Now, even though she was hardly likely to become its victim, she wished to do nothing that might provoke Sprunt’s increasingly erratic temper.
She closed her eyes briefly as another thwack! was followed by a muffled grunt. Behind her, Clarice could hear voices raised in argument—Dominick’s and that of the quartermaster, Simon Foster. Mr. Foster had the authority to recommend to the captain that punishment be halted or deferred if it would render a man too injured to work. Each day Dominick argued for mercy, urged Mr. Foster to ask for clemency for the newly chosen victims. Each day Dominick was refused. Once, when his arguments had irritated the captain, Sprunt had threatened to flog him as well—for making noise. All Dominick could do was stand and watch. Even so much as a thrown punch—whether it landed or not—would be considered an act of rebellion. And rebellion—mutiny—was punished by death.
It began to seem to Clarice as if Dominick was the secret target of the captain’s punishments, as if his true agenda was to goad Dominick Moryet into rebellion.
At last the sounds of leather on flesh stopped. Even over the other sounds, the murmuring of the men, the creaks and moans of the wooden ship, the singing of the wind in the ropes and the flapping of canvas, Clarice heard the graveyard thud as Mr. Lee dropped the cat-o’-nine-tails to the deck. She willed herself to turn around and look. Even before she had boarded the Asesino, her long months of imposture had taught her that she must always appear unmoved by the misfortunes of others if she was to continue her masquerade unsuspected and unmolested.
Dominick was the first to reach Kayin. She saw the flash of a knife blade as he cut loose the cords that bound Kayin’s hands to the hatch. Kayin slumped, but caught himself before he fell to his knees.
Geordie Lamb came forward with a bucket of water. Kayin leaned forward as Geordie poured it over his back. Red runnels of water dripped to the deck.
Dominick handed Kayin his shirt. His face was carefully expressionless. The man shrugged and tied it around his waist by the sleeves.
“Is he ready to work, Mr. Foster?” Captain Sprunt called.
“I say he is!” Simon Foster called back.
“Then put him to work!” Sprunt bellowed. “I’ll have no slackers aboard my ship!”
Clarice found herself shaking with rage.
This ship was edging, day by day, ever closer to mutiny.
* * *
They were three weeks into the voyage now, and Dominick said that if matters continued as they were—by which he meant wind and weather, nothing aboard the ship itself—they might expect to reach Cibola in three more.
Clarice found herself longing for that landfall.
At the beginning of middle watch the ship was as quiet and still as it ever got. Even if most of the crew were asleep, even in the middle of the night men would be standing watch or sometimes even sleeping upon the deck, where the air was fresher and cooler. Clarice had been surprised, a few days into the voyage, to discover t
hat over eighty souls made their home aboard Asesino, but there were four watches to man, and in foul weather the whole of the ship’s complement might be needed on deck to sail her. Clarice had quickly discovered that Dominick, too, relished these moments of peace and relative privacy.
“I think this is my favorite time of day,” Dominick said.
“And yet, it is not day at all,” Clarice answered lightly. She stood beside him at the wheel, for she sought him out as often as he did her. Though there were many things he would not—must not—speak of, she drew solace from his company and hoped he found the same in hers.
“Day contains night as well.”
“A philosopher’s distinction,” Clarice scoffed, and saw Dominick smile. Clearly he enjoyed this jousting with words. Well, if that was what he wanted, she would give it to him. Certainly she could contribute little else to his welfare and that of the crew.
“And yet, if I said this were my favorite time of night, that would imply I also had a favorite time of day,” he answered. “And this is my favorite time of all, day or night.”
“And so you miscall it and hope to escape your just punishment.”
Dominick laughed. “Look around you and tell me I am wrong.”
It was after midnight, and the waxing moon hung low and golden in the sky before them. The sea was a featureless, black plain that stretched all the way to the low horizon, but above it, the heavens were brilliant and the sky was the deepest possible blue. The night air was cool and soft, streaming over her skin with the motion of Asesino’s passage through the night. The familiar song of the ship was joined by the hush of water streaming past the hull, and if the ship’s lanterns had been extinguished, Clarice might have fancied herself some magical night bird, flying through the darkness under her own power.
“In truth, I cannot,” she admitted.
Dominick chuckled warmly. “We shall make a sailor of you yet, Clarence. It is clear the sea is in your blood, even though you have come to it late indeed.”
“If by ‘late’ you mean I had never even seen it until six months ago, then you are quite right. I never thought I would find anything to compare with the mountains of home, but … this is beautiful.”
“I’ve never seen a mountain. At least, not a proper one, with snow on it. Is your home very far away?”
“Very.” For just a moment Clarice was filled with such a pang of homesickness it was like a heavy weight in her chest. “You must cross both Wauloisene and Cisleithania before you reach it. As for mountains, the Swanscrown is the highest peak in all the Borogny Mountains and is covered with snow all year round. Some people climb it for sport, but that is dangerous, and I have never done it.”
“Swanscrown! What a wonderful name.”
“It is said that, long ago, the Swan King had two daughters named Wealth and Victory, who were stolen from him by a wicked sorcerer. He sought all over the world for them, and when he found them, Wealth was a princess, and Victory was a scullery maid. He carried the scullery maid off to his kingdom west of the moon, but her twin sister was betrothed and would not leave her kingdom. For love of her, he watched over her and her descendants in a magic lake high in the mountains, and one day he saw that her kingdom was beset by enemy armies. He dared not leave his kingdom again, but Victory came to him and said, ‘Papa, lend me your magic crown, and I will fly to rescue my sister.’ And he said, ‘I will do so gladly, but if you take it from your head before you return to Swansgaarde, you must remain in swan form forever.’ And she promised to remember his words and took his crown and flew far over the mountains to her sister’s realm, where she found her sister, and her sister’s husband, and their three small children. ‘Get upon my back,’ Victory said, ‘and I will fly you all to safety.’ But there were too many of them for her to carry, so Wealth said, ‘Loan me our father’s crown, Sister, so I may carry my husband to safety.’
“And so she did, and they all flew safely back to Swansgaarde, together. But when they arrived, Wealth discovered the price her sister had paid to save them, and so she, too, chose to remain a swan forever.”
“Hard on her husband and children, I should think,” Dominick said after a moment. He nodded to Miles, who took the wheel again.
Clarice shrugged. “It is only a fairy tale. They always end sadly. But I have told you a story, and now you must tell me one,” she finished quickly.
“I have no head for stories,” Dominick protested. “All the stories I know are true ones.”
They walked to the railing. Dominick rested his forearms on it, looking down into the sea. Clarice stood beside him.
“Then tell me one of those,” Clarice said promptly. “Have you lived in Lochrin all your life?”
Dominick laughed. “Certainly not! I have lived at sea! I’ve spent very little time on land, truth to tell. I was cabin boy on my father’s ship from a very young age. Our housekeeper was glad enough to see the back of me, and I— Well, I was delighted not to be sent off to school. Of course, wouldn’t you know that Father had planned for that as well—our purser was a former schoolmaster, and so I got my lessons anyway.” He paused, as if stabbed by a sudden thought. “I was to have had the Sea Sprite someday,” he said softly.
“I was teasing you, Dominick, you know that. You don’t have to speak of things you’d rather not talk about,” Clarice said quickly.
“But you are my friend,” Dominick answered instantly, “and it is an old injury. And I suppose it is rather like one of your fairy tales after all. My father was Daniel Moryet, a captain who sailed all the Seven Oceans. He had grown rich from the sea, and when he took a wife, she sailed with him. But a ship is no place for a woman about to have a child, so when they discovered I was to be born, he bought her a fine house and sailed away again.”
As Dominick spoke, he began to walk the length of the deck, and Clarice followed. There was nothing but moonlight to see by, and the deck was far from uncluttered. But Dominick moved across it with graceful sureness, occasionally touching Clarice’s arm to guide her around an obstacle.
“And when he returned, there was only I, and my nurse, and the housekeeper, and a stone in the churchyard, for my mother had died giving me life. After that, he lost all taste for the land and sailed away again. We were strangers when we met again; I had not seen him in all my eight years of life. But I grew to love him, as much as I grew to love the sea.”
Even in the dimness she could see Dominick smile with love and remembered affection.
“By then he had a fine fleet at his beck, for he had been fortunate in his voyages and spent his wealth to buy ships. He needed someone to look after things while he was at sea, and that was Barnabas Bellamy, who was my father’s employee, not his partner. Father was determined that I should have the Sea Sprite and the business as well. For his long service, Bellamy was to have a third share in it, enough to make him a wealthy man. So I would learn the skills I would someday need, I was ’prenticed to Mr. Bellamy as soon as I was of an age, and for a long time I spent half the year on the land, and half at sea.”
“Then—” Clarice began. Dr. Chapman had said Asesino was owned by a Barnabas Bellamy. Surely, if the two were the same, Dominick should be her captain, and not Samuel Sprunt. But before she could ask, Dominick continued his tale.
“I was at my books when we learned that the Sprite had been lost with all hands. That was tragedy enough, and Bellamy, whom I still believed to be my friend, told me the sea was the best cure for a wounded heart. He found a berth for me on another of our ships, which sailed within the sennight. And like a fool—I went.”
This time Clarice said nothing. She could hear the weary bitterness in his voice, though he did his best to keep his tone light.
“We were gone a year. The navigator took an interest in me and taught me all he knew. When we returned to Albion, I found that the house had been sold, months earlier. So I went to our offices, where I discovered that Barnabas Bellamy had been determined to be my father’s sole heir. All
they had possessed in common … was now his.”
“But surely that was not legal!” Clarice burst out. “You could have gone to the courts—claimed your inheritance—”
“Oh, aye.” Dominick seated himself on a crate halfway down the deck and motioned for her to join him. “Had I not been a fool a second time. Bellamy assured me it was merely a legal convenience, done because I had been at sea and unavailable, that tomorrow we would go to his lawyer to sign the papers that would make me a full partner in the firm. He told me the sale of the house was an accident made in the settling of the estate. It sounded plausible enough. Then he offered me a drink by way of an apology for all the worry he’d caused me. And I drank, to show I bore him no hard feelings.” Dominick laughed shortly, but it was not a happy sound. “The next thing I remember was awakening in the hold of a ship bound for Khitai, press-ganged like a common sailor. It was three long years before I saw Lochrin again, and by then I’d learned better sense. I took my wages and bought my membership in the Navigator’s Guild, and lucky I was that Guildmistress Watson remembered Daniel Moryat’s son, for she waived half the fee.”
“That was kind of her,” Clarice said quietly. Her heart broke for Dominick’s recounting of his history, and more, for the way it had been delivered, as if the string of tragedies and disasters had been a matter of no account. The wounds were deep, and the carelessness cloaked true bitterness. Yet she knew that she could not show him any of what she felt. It was, in the most absolute sense of the word, unmanly.
“She was, and is, a good woman, fair and kind. She took me into her own home and gave me a bed, for I had spent every last coin I possessed to gain membership in the guild. And that was my second stroke of fortune, for when she asked my intentions, I told her I meant to confront Bellamy again, this time with the guild at my back. Should a ship be blacklisted by the guild, no navigator will sail upon her, and should any guildsmember be unjustly harmed, the guild will investigate. Thus I thought myself safe from Barnabus Bellamy’s clever tricks, for I was no longer alone, you see.
The House of the Four Winds: Book One of One Dozen Daughters Page 6