"Mallinna's very pretty," she said pointedly.
"Is she?" I patted Katla on the shoulder again and closed the subject by pushing her gently off my lap. Conveniently, there was work to do. We were close enough to the skerries to turn north and make for the least perilous crossing marked on the chart, and it was time to haul in the drag anchor and start tacking.
This was not a normal nor even a very safe place to cross the skerries marking the eastern edge of the Pilazhet Basin, which suited me very well. The skerries were the salient points of a great granite ridge arching from Canton Ber on the south to Canton Pilazh on the north, and our lovely new sea charts marked them as exceptionally dangerous to shipping of any significant size.
The Fifth was small and agile, however, and built to slip through passages too shallow or turbulent for ordinary windcatchers to challenge. We were already well off the main shipping routes, which also suited me, and I had seen no other ships apart from the mast-lights of a large windcatcher to the north of us, some time before dawn; she was probably riding out the storm in the safe waters of the Basin, just as we were, and she was out of sight by the time the sun came up. Therefore I was a little surprised to see a wind-galley of middling length, at least fifteen oars to the side, standing precariously off the high-humped skerry we were passing, about two miles south of the gap I was tacking for.
Kat was managing aloft while I worked the wheel and the buntlines in turn. I shouted to catch her attention and jabbed my arm towards the wind-galley. She stood up on the cross-trees to get a better view.
"They're looking over at us," she screamed down to me. "Now they're waving at us—there's a banner going up—two banners—red on black—they don't look like pirates to me." Absorbed in watching her, the wind-galley, the buntlines, the wind and the wheel all at once, I did not hear the footstep behind me until a beaker of gruel was thrust into my hand. Without pausing to wonder, I took a grateful swallow.
Mallinna, beside me, suddenly clutched my shoulder. She was staring wide-eyed at the wind-galley. "Vero, those banners. They're red and black."
"That's what Kat said."
"Hoy Vero!" Kat shouted down from her vantage point high in the rigging. "They're putting the sea ladders over the side now. A bunch of them are lining up on deck. It looks like a guard of honour or something."
"They're expecting us," Mallinna said suddenly. "How could they be expecting us? We didn't know ourselves that we'd be here."
"Vero, red and black are the Opposition's colours when they care to use them. That's the Truant's banner. That ship is here to meet Malso—I'll wager you anything you like that it's so."
I had a sudden inappropriate thought about possible wagers with Mallinna, and cursed the distraction. It was not the time to think about such things. We were already about even with the wind-galley, close enough so we could see the ovals of faces turned expectantly towards us, the double row of figures forming an aisle along the deck. Somebody in the bow waved his arms over his head. The sound of massed cheering came faintly across the water.
Mallinna was frowning, chasing her idea. "Didn't Malso say something about coming to the Pilazhet Basin?"
"Of course he did. You could hardly sail anywhere else in the teeth of that stormbowl."
"There was more to it than that, Vero, I'm sure there was. He had plans for you and Lord Tigrallef, that's what your sister overheard. If you were Malso, sailing out of Canton Ber and wanting a lonely place to rendezvous with a ship-full of confederates, this part of the Pilazhet Basin would be the logical choice, even without the stormbowl. I think that galley's been waiting here for some time to meet Malso—and you and Lord Tigrallef."
She was making sense. "If you're right," I said thoughtfully, "they'll be displeased to find nothing of Malso on board but his fingertips and a slice of his arm."
"I tidied up, Vero. But—can we go any faster?"
I was already trying to work that out. "Not safely. But they'll be expecting us to come to them; we can hope it takes them a while to realize we aren't going about, and a while longer to decide what to do about it. Kat! Keep an eye on them!"
We were past them a few moments later. They were still watching us uncertainly, but then a panic of activity broke out on deck; almost at once, the sea-ladders were hauled up. Kat shouted down: "Hoy Vero! They're going to the oars!" Someone on the wind-galley had faster reflexes than was good for us. I shut my eyes to visualize the charts . . .
"When you have a moment," Mallinna said, "Jonno wants to see you urgently."
"Oh, Raksh! I suppose he wants to ask me the bleeding name of the poxy cook again. I don't have time right now." The channel where I was intending to cross the skerries was almost two miles to the north—the wind-galley might not catch us up in that distance, but it would be able to follow us through into the Sherkin Sea. On the other hand . . .
"No, that's all right now, Lord Tigrallef has already told him the cook's name. Jonno wants to see you about something else, he says, something extremely important."
. . . there was an ugly little fang of rock about twice the size of the Fifth just north of the humpback where the Opposition's ship was anchored, separated from its brother skerries by narrow channels of white water. It was risky, but I was pretty sure we could make it through; the captain of the wind-galley would be a tupping fool if he tried to follow. And by the time he could beat north to the safer passage, we would be long gone into the wastes of the Sherkin Sea.
"Vero? What shall I tell him?"
"Who?"
"Jonno. He's very anxious . . ."
"So am I." I waved Kat down from the rigging; said, "Kat will show you what to do," to Mallinna; gulped my gruel and dropped the beaker on the deck. By then it was time to turn with the wind, which put us on a course that would cross the wind-galley's bow at dangerously close quarters—and when we were committed to that course, and the cries of the oarsmen on the wind-galley were audible and approaching even faster than I had feared, and I was in a position to see that the channel was narrower, shallower and more ragingly vicious than I had hoped, one thought came to lodge itself unshakably inside my head: What did she mean, Tigrallef told Jonno the cook's name?
Of course we got through, though it was a near thing. How could I have faced Chasco if I let anything happen to his beloved Fifth? The last I saw of the wind-galley, she was making valiant efforts to row, sail and warp herself out of trouble on the Basin-side of the passage, and seemed to be succeeding; she was out of sight behind the skerries before I could see whether she turned north to find another passage or sodded off altogether, and I really did not care which.
The sea on the other side of the skerries was moving in a classic pattern of smooth swells, high in the crest and low in the trough, but spaced so considerately that the ship skimmed up and down them like a seabird on an air current. According to the charts, this was the broad Gulf of Krakash, which once lay west of the continent of Sher; now it was effectively the western portion of the Sherkin Sea, the selvedge of the emptiest body of water in the known world. Nothing much lay between us and the Mosslines now except a great expanse of ocean and up to a quarter of the Gillish navy.
When we were well away from the skerries and settled comfortably on a northeastern course, I turned the wheel over to Kat and beckoned to Mallinna. Outside the door of the main cabin, I stopped and faced her. "What did you mean when you said Tigrallef knew the cook's name?"
"Just that. Poor Jonno kept on about it until Lord Tigrallef finally told him."
"But how, by the Eight Rages, did Tig know? What cook? We've never even had a cook. How could he know the name of a cook who doesn't exist?"
"I have no theory to offer, Vero. Why don't you ask him?"
"I'm just about to." I stopped with my hand on the door. "One more thing—did you get around to telling Jonno he's a prisoner?"
"I thought we should wait until he feels better."
"Oh, Raksh." I pushed the door open firmly, grimacing at the air t
hat wafted out. Poor old Angel, wheezing in his sleep on his pallet, had been seasick again, whereas Jonno was paying the price for too much bad Berissan rotbelly brew—was it really only the night before? He lay on the pallet where I had placed him, wan and shadowy eyed and more beautiful than ever except for the crust of sick around his mouth. Tigrallef was in the shadows of the far corner, in a chair; it took me a few seconds to realize he was trussed to it with many rounds of rope and several interesting knots.
Leaning my back against the door, I heaved a sigh. "Who tied him up, Mallinna? It wasn't Jonno, was it?"
"Don't laugh, but I think Lord Tigrallef tied himself up."
I sighed again. "That's all right then. How are you, Tig?"
He seemed to be dozing on the chair, but I could see a glitter under his half-closed eyelids. He raised his head when I knelt down beside him. "We have been better," he said. His head drooped again.
Wearily, I turned my attention to Jonno, who was awake and making a brave effort to focus on me, though he was distinctly wall-eyed. He sat up and fell back again, clutching his belly. He said faintly, "About last night—I'm sorry about the trouble I gave you, Memorian. I've never done anything like that before. I feel so foolish."
"I should think you do. Is that all? You wanted to apologize? Is that the terribly important matter you wanted to see me about?"
"No . . ." He interrupted himself with a groan.
"Well, then?" I said impatiently. "What is it?"
"In my quarters—there's a wooden chest with my glyph burned on the lid . . ."
"What about it?"
"Can you bring it to me?"
I had not been blessed with much sleep-time last night. "You want me to fetch your tupping box for you? Well, guardsman, I can see you need to change your tunic, but I'm not your valet. If you want fresh clothes, you can trot down and get them yourself."
"It's not about the clothes," Jonno moaned. "A compartment in the lid—there's a letter . . ."
"I'm sure it can wait."
He lifted his head feebly in protest; the effort turned him green. "But the letter's from Grandda—I mean the First Flamen—it's a letter from the Revered First Flamen . . . it's for him . . ." He waved his hand weakly in Tigrallef's direction.
Three minutes later I was back with the box. Jonno had used that time profitably to throw up into the slop bucket Mallinna had put by his pallet, and looked much better. Angel having awakened, Mallinna had propped him up with cushions and was holding a beaker of gruel to his lips. Tigrallef raised his head again as I came in the door.
"It's in the lid," said Jonno in a less miserable voice, "there's a spring in the top left corner that you have to press—that's it—and then you just slide the inlay back—that's right."
It was a scroll of several papers tied with green ribbon; I prised it out of the compartment and held it out to Tigrallef. His face did not change, and he kept his eyes cast down.
"You read it, Vero. Read it out loud. No secrets here, you old sow—I don't mean you, Vero." His voice worried me—too much echo. Watching him anxiously out of the corner of my eye, I worked the ribbon off, flattened the scroll and scanned the first few lines of quite a lengthy message on the first sheet. The salutation nearly knocked me off my chair.
"You've gained a few titles, Da," I said, "including one of mine."
"Just read it, please," said my father; so I read it.
Under the seal ofKesi, First Flamen in Gil.
Lord Tigrallef of Gil, Scion of the Line of Oballef, Son of Cirallef, Grandson of Arrislef, Prince Royal of the Gillish Empire, King Consort of the Court of Miishel, Patron of Malvi, Exalted Patron of Plav, High Peer of Sathelforn, Lord Kalkissann of the Daughters of Fire in Vass, Blessed Heritor of the Old Ones, Singular Touchstone of Prophecy, Conqueror of Iklankish, Dread Scourge of Sher, Divine Ark and Sceptre of the Lady in Gil: Greetings.
Forgive me, Lord Scion. I knew you almost at once, from the moment when we were taking you to Mycri and you turned off into the passage that leads to the archives. Were you giving me a sign? I think you were. Then I saw the others from your ship and recognized the Sherkin Lord Shree and Chasco of the Clanseri, missing these many years, and my best hopes and prayers for your return were confirmed.
It does not matter how I discovered you had taken refuge with the First Memorian; but I can assure you that I have told no one, not even my grandson Jonno of the Flamens' Corps, in whose hands I shall place this message. Since you have chosen for the moment to veil your powers and manifest yourself only in your physical body, I shall not presume to tear the veil away.
I have, however, presumed to do you some small services in token of my worship and respect, the simplest of which was yielding up your ship to you. As for Lord Shree, Chasco Clanseri and the woman, I had no choice but to send them hastily away from the Gilgard for their own safety, but I arranged that they should be well fed and gently treated on their journey, and that your woman's treasures be restored to her. You need fear nothing on their behalf. When the Dowager Dazeene reaches Deppowe, they will be taken to the beacon-house at Faddelin to await your coming. Attached to this letter are the documents for their release, issued under my authority. Jonno will know how to present them.
I have failed you in three respects, Lord Scion. I am unable to tell you where your esteemed mother and revered brother are now lodged, only that they will be brought to the Gilgard for the rites of the Day of the Scion. The young girl Katla (mentioned in the report from the customs scribes) is also missing, though Gil has been scoured for her. I know only that she was never taken prisoner by the Flamens' Corps, and that the Primate was most severely displeased thereat. I shall continue my efforts to trace her, and if she should fall into the Primate's hands, be assured that I shall do my best to protect her.
Lastly, I was unable to give the Primate a good reason not to send the windcatcher Scion Cirallef with you, and I can only pray that you will not be inconvenienced by it. I have faith that, in your merciful divinity, you will find some bloodless way to leave it far behind you.
I beg you two favours in return, Lord Scion, one small and one great. First: I commend to you my beloved grandson Jonno, a pious and clean-hearted youth of temperate habits who will serve you well if you accept him into your retinue. Please take note that he is my daughter's son by the late Bresno of the Clanseri, brother to Chasco.
Second: I beg you to forgive the blasphemies of my brother Mycri, whose worst sins have always been committed with the best intentions. When the great day comes that you return to Gil in glory, infused with the ineffable powers of the Lady, I pray you will show him the mercy that he himself often left by the wayside in his zeal for the larger good.
Permit me to say this, Lord Scion: you were an interesting child, and I always liked you. Do you remember the time in Exile when I stopped Nanzid Cook from dealing you an undeserved beating? It was perhaps unwise of you to store your grub collection in his herb-pantry, but I could see you were innocent of both mischief and malice. I think you will indeed remember that event, which is why I chose Nanzid's name to be the password to this letter—a precaution, in case you really are a coppermonger's son from Calloon, and I am a fanciful old fool after all.
My regardful greetings to the First Memorian, Mistress Mallinna and your companion Vero; and, in due course, to Lord Shree and my kinsman-by-marriage, Chasco Clanseri. May your Will be done.
I finished reading in a rush and burst out, "By gods, what astonishing news! Did you hear that, Tig? We won't have to fight our way through the Mosslines to find Mother and the rest, we can pick them up as easy as windfalls under a tree! Blessings on the First Flamen, they're safe!"
"Strange sort of safety," Tigrallef mumbled.
"What do you mean?" A damp weight descended on my elation.
He did not answer. Jonno meantime was struggling off his pallet with fear and wonder on his face. Once off, he successfully staggered across to Tig's chair and dropped flat on the floor at his feet—by
intention, it seemed, not hung-over dizziness. With his face pressed to the deck, he said, "Lord Scion, Ark and Sceptre of the Lady in Gil, forgive me for not worshipping you from the first, but your glory was hidden from me. I beg to renew my sacred oath as a guardsman of the Flamens' Corps, to be the humblest and least worthy of your servitors."
Tig looked at him impassively. "I don't mind."
"Get up, Jonno, by the Eight Rages of Raksh," I snapped. "It isn't like that at all. This Ark and Sceptre business is just something the Primate made up."
The boy lifted his head off the deckboards. "Is my grandda's letter mistaken, then? Isn't this the real Scion Tigrallef?"
"Yes, it's the real Tig, all right, but—"
He sat up, anxious questions written all over his face. "And did he break the divine talisman that was known as the Lady in Gil, as the Flamens taught us?"
"Yes, yes, damn it, that's true as well."
"And did the power of the Lady in Gil enter his body at the moment the glass was broken?"
"Unfortunately," I admitted.
"Then it's all true."
"No! Well—in a way. But not the way you think."
Jonno stared at me with pitying incomprehension. Poor old infidel, he was almost certainly saying to himself; won't accept the truth when it's staring him right in the face. He shook his head sadly and prostrated himself again before Tigrallef.
"Don't you dare start enjoying this kind of thing," I told Tig severely. I picked Jonno off the floor by the scruff of his soiled black tunic and marched him over to Angel and Mallinna. "Give the young fool a history lesson," I said. Then I went outside to tell Kat the good news.
* * *
12
"THIS IS WONDERFUL. I never want to go home." Mallinna was supposedly going through the reports that dealt with the old Fathidiic port of Faddelin, where we would be landing; but she had chosen to do it while lounging on her belly in the shade of the sternsail, about five spans from where I was sitting in the wheelman's chair. Naturally I had been watching her out of the corner of my eyes the whole time, and for the last quarter-hour I had not once seen her glance at the thick volume of bound reports lying open in front of her. She yawned and stretched in a way that did amazing tricks with the lines of her body. I turned my eyes quickly to the horizon.
Gil Trilogy 3: Lady Pain Page 21