by Robin Hobb
‘Prisoners,’ Kennit replied firmly. ‘I directed that three were to be saved, did I not?’
‘Yessir. But that was…’
‘And were not three saved for me to question?’
‘I have one,’ Sorcor admitted uneasily. ‘Or what’s left of one. Your woman has been at him.’
‘What?’
‘It was his fault,’ Etta growled low as a threatening cat. ‘All his fault that you were hurt.’ Her eyes had gone to alarming slits.
‘Well. One you say,’ Kennit attempted a recovery. What kind of a creature had he brought aboard his ship? Don’t think of that just now. Take command. ‘See to my orders, then. When I’ve made myself presentable, I’ll want the prisoner brought here. I don’t wish to see much of the crew just now. How did the rest of the capture go?’
‘Slick as a plate of guts, sir. And we got a little bonus with this one.’ Despite the anxiety etched in Sorcor’s face, he grinned. ‘Seems this ship was a bit special. Carrying a bunch of regular slaves, but forward was a batch that were a gift from the Satrap of Jamaillia himself to some high muckamuck in Chalced. A troupe of dancers and musicians, with all their instruments and fancy duds and pots of face paint. And jewels, several nice little casks of sparklies… I stowed those under your bunk, sir. And an assortment of fine cloths, lace, some silver statues and bottled brandies. A very nice little haul. Not weighty, but all of the best quality.’ He gave a sideways glance at Kennit’s stump. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sample some of the brandy now yourself.’
‘In a bit. These dancers and musicians… are they tractable? How do they feel about having their journey interrupted?’ Why hadn’t they thrown them overboard with the rest of the crew?
‘Wonderful, sir. They’d all been taken as slaves, you see. The company was in debt, so when the owners went bust, the Satrap ordered the dancers and musicians seized as well. Which wasn’t quite legal, but being the Satrap, I suppose he doesn’t have to worry about that part. No, they’re happy as clams at being captured by pirates. Their captain already has them at work, making up songs and dances to tell the whole story of it. You being the hero of the piece, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Songs and dances. Kennit suddenly felt unaccountably weary. ‘We’re… at anchor. Where? Why?’
‘Cove don’t have a name that I know, but it’s shallow here. The Sicerna was taking on water; had been for some time. Slaves in the bottom hold were just about waterlogged all the time. Seemed best to anchor her up where she couldn’t sink too far while we rigged extra pumps for her. Then I thought we’d make for Bull Creek. We’ve got plenty of manpower to keep the pumps going all the way there.’
‘Why Bull Creek?’ Kennit asked.
Sorcor shrugged. ‘There’s a decent haul-out beach there.’ He shook his head. ‘She’ll take some work before she’ll be seaworthy again. And Bull Creek has been raided twice in the last year by slavers, so I think we’ll be welcomed there.’
‘There. You see,’ Kennit said faintly. He smiled to himself. Sorcor was right. The man had learned much from him. Put a ship there, speak persuasively there, and he could win another little town over. What could he say to them. ‘If the Pirate Isles had one ruler… that raiders feared… people could live…’ A tremble ran through him.
Etta rushed at him. ‘Lie back, lie back. You’ve gone white as a sheet. Sorcor, go for those things, the bath and all that. Oh, and bring in the basin and bandaging I left on the deck outside. I’ll want them now.’ Kennit listened in dismay as she ordered his mate about with a fine disdain for protocol.
‘Sorcor can bandage this,’ Kennit declared mistrustfully.
‘I’m better at it,’ she asserted calmly.
‘Sorcor —’ he began again, but now the first mate dared to interrupt him with, ‘Actually, sir, she has quite a nice touch for it. Took care of all our boys after the last set-to, and did a fine job of it. I’ll see to the wash-water.’ Then he was gone, leaving Kennit helpless and alone with the bloodthirsty wench.
‘Now sit still,’ she told him, as if he could get up and run away. ‘I’m going to lift your leg up and put a pad underneath it so we don’t soak all your bedding. Then when we’re finished, we’ll give you clean linens.’ He clenched his teeth and squinted his eyes and managed not to make a sound as she lifted his stump and deftly slid more folded rags under it. ‘Now I’m going to wet the old bandages before I try to take them off. They pull less that way.’
‘You seem to know a great deal about this,’ he gritted out.
‘Whores get beaten up a lot,’ she pointed out pragmatically. ‘If the women in a house don’t take care of each other, who will?’
‘And I should trust the care of my injury to the woman who cut my leg off?’ he asked coolly.
All her motion ceased. Like a flower wilting, she sank down on the floor beside his bed. Her face was very pale. She leaned forwards until her forehead rested on the edge of his bed. ‘It was the only way I could save you. I’d have cut off both my hands instead of your leg, if that would have saved you.’
This declaration struck Kennit as so profoundly absurd that he was speechless for a moment. The charm, however, was not. ‘Captain Kennit can be a heartless pig. But I assure you that I understand that you did what you had to do to preserve me. I thank you for your deed.’
Shock warred with fury that the charm would so betray itself to another. He immediately clapped his hand over it, only to feel tiny teeth sink savagely into the meat of his palm. He snatched his hand away with a gasp of pain as Etta lifted her face to regard him with tear-filled eyes. ‘I understand,’ she said hoarsely. ‘There are many roles a man has to play. It is probably necessary that Captain Kennit be a heartless pig.’ She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. ‘I do not hold it against the Kennit who is mine.’
Her nose had turned red and her leaky eyes were most distressing. Worse, she dared to believe him capable of thanking her for cutting off his leg. Mentally he cursed his sly, malicious charm for putting him in such a fix, even as he grasped at the straw of hope that she truly believed such words could come from his lips. ‘Let’s say no more about it,’ he suggested hastily. ‘Make the best you can of the wretched mess of my leg.’
The water she used to soak the bandaging free was warm as blood. He scarcely felt it, until she began gingerly to peel the layers of linen and lint from the wound. Then he turned his head aside and focused on the wall until the edges of his vision began to waver. Sweat sheeted his body. He wasn’t even aware that Sorcor had come back until the mate offered him an open bottle of brandy.
‘A glass?’ Kennit asked disdainfully.
Sorcor swallowed. ‘From the look of your leg, I thought it might be a waste of time.’
If Sorcor hadn’t said that, Kennit might have been able not to look at his stump. But now as the sailor fumbled clumsily in a cupboard for an appropriate glass, Kennit turned his head slowly to look down to where his sound, strong, muscular leg had once been.
The dirty bandaging had actually cushioned the shock. Seeing his leg end in a wad of stained fabric was not the same as seeing his leg stop in a mangle of chewed and seared flesh. The end of it looked partially cooked. His gorge rose, and sour bile bubbled into the back of his throat. He swallowed it back, refusing to disgrace himself in front of them. Sorcor’s hand was shaking as he offered him the glass. Ridiculous. The man had dealt worse injuries than the one he was looking at now. Kennit took the glass and downed the brandy at a gulp. Then he took a shaky breath. Well, perhaps his luck had held in one odd way. At least the whore knew how to doctor him.
Snatching even that bare comfort away from him, Etta said in a quiet whisper to Sorcor, ‘This is a mess. We need to get him to a healer. And quickly.’
He counted three breaths as he drew them. He gestured with the glass at Sorcor, but when the man tried to fill his glass, Kennit took the bottle from him instead. One drink. Three breaths. Another drink. Three breaths. No. It was time, it was time now.
; He pushed himself up to a full sitting position again. He looked down at the thing on the bed that had been his leg. Then he untied the lace of his nightshirt at his throat. ‘Where is my wash-water?’ he demanded brusquely. ‘I have no wish to sit here in my own stink. Etta. Leave off that until I am washed. Lay out clean garments for me, and find clean linens for this bed. I will be properly washed and dressed before I interrogate my prisoner.’
Sorcor cast a sideways glance at Etta before he said quietly, ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but a blind man isn’t going to notice how you’re dressed.’
Kennit looked at him evenly. ‘Who is our prisoner?’
‘Captain Reft of the Sicerna. Etta made us fish him out.’
‘He was not blinded in the battle. He was intact when he fell in the water.’
‘Yes sir.’ Sorcor glanced at Etta and swallowed. So. That was the basis of this deferential wariness the mate now had for his whore. It was almost amusing. It was evidently one thing for Sorcor to dismember a man in battle, and quite another for the whore to torment one in captivity. He had not known Sorcor was prey to such niceties.
‘Perhaps a blind man might not know how I was attired, but I would,’ Kennit pointed out. ‘See to your orders. Now.’
But even as he spoke, there was a tap at the door. Sorcor admitted Opal who bore two steaming wooden buckets of water. He set them down on the floor. He didn’t even dare look at Kennit, let alone speak to him. ‘Mr Sorcor, sir, them music people want to make music on our deck for the captain. They said I should uh, “beg your indulgence”. And,’ the boy’s brow furrowed with an effort to recall the foreign words, ‘um, they want to uh, “express extreme gratitudes”… something like that.’
Kennit felt a tiny twitch of movement against his wrist. He glanced down at the charm hidden in the cradle of his folded arms. It was making frantic faces of assent and enthusiasm. The traitorous little bastard-thing actually seemed to think he would heed its advice. It was mouthing some words at him.
‘Sir?’ Sorcor asked deferentially.
Kennit feigned rubbing his head to bring the charm near his ear. ‘A king should be gracious to his grateful subjects. A gift disdained can harden any man’s heart.’
Kennit abruptly decided it was good advice, regardless of the source.
‘Tell them it would give me great pleasure,’ Kennit told Opal directly. ‘Harsh as my life has been, I am not a man who disdains the finer pleasures of the arts.’
‘Sar!’ the boy blasphemed in admiration. He nodded, his face flushing with pride in his captain. A serpent might bite his leg off, but he’d still have time for culture. ‘I’ll tell them, sir. Harsh life, finer pleasures,’ he reminded himself as he scurried from the room.
As soon as the boy was out of the room, Kennit turned to Sorcor. ‘Go to the prisoner. Give him enough water and food to revive him. Etta, my bath, please.’
After the mate had left, she eased him out of his nightrobe. She washed him with a sponge, as Chalcedeans did. He had always thought it a nasty way to bathe, a mere smearing of sweat and dirt instead of a clean washing away, but she managed it well enough that he actually felt clean. As she attended to the more intimate parts of such a washing, he reflected that perhaps there was more than one way for a woman to be useful to a man. The bathing and wrapping of his injury was still unpleasant enough that afterwards she had to once more wash sweat from his back, chest and brow. Soft music began, a gentle composition of strings and chimes and women’s voices. It was actually pleasant.
Etta matter-of-factly ripped a side seam out of one pair of his trousers to allow her to dress him almost painlessly, and then stitched it up around him again. She buttoned his shirt for him, and then groomed his hair and beard as skilfully as any valet. She took more than half his weight to help him to his chair while she stripped the bed and made it up afresh. It had never occurred to him that Etta might possess such talents. Clearly he had not appreciated how useful she might be to him.
When he was properly washed and attired, she disappeared briefly, only to return with a tray of food. He had not even been aware of his hunger until he smelled the hot soup and light bread. When the sharpest pangs of his appetite were dulled, he set down his spoon to ask quietly, ‘And what inspired you to make free with my prisoner?’
She gave a tiny sigh. ‘I was so angry,’ she shook her head at herself. ‘So angry when they hurt you. When they made me hurt you. I vowed I’d get a liveship for you if it was the last thing I ever did. Plainly that was what you wished to ask the prisoners about. So. At the times when I was worn to death of sitting by your bedside but still could not sleep, I went to see them.’
‘Them?’
‘There were three, at first.’ She shrugged casually. ‘I believe I have the information you want. I checked and rechecked it most carefully. Nonetheless, I took care to keep one alive, as I was sure you’d wish to confirm it for yourself.’
A woman of many talents. And intelligent, too. He’d probably have to kill her soon. ‘And you discovered?’
‘They had word of only two liveships. The first is a cog, the Ophelia. She left Jamaillia City before they did, but she still had Bingtown goods to trade, so she’d be making other stops as she came north.’ Etta shrugged. ‘She could be behind them still, she could be ahead of them. There is no way to be sure. The only other liveship they’ve seen lately was in Jamaillia City. She came into the harbour the day before they left. She didn’t plan to be staying there long. She was unloading cargo, and being refitted to haul a load of slaves north to Chalced.’
‘That makes no sense, to use a liveship so,’ Kennit exclaimed in disgust. ‘They lied to you.’
Etta gave a tiny shrug. ‘That’s always possible, I suppose. But they lied very well, individually, at different times.’ She wadded his sweaty shirt up with the stained linen from his bed. ‘They convinced me.’
‘Easy enough to convince a woman. And that was the whole of what they told you?’
She gave him a look that dared to be cool. ‘Likely the rest was lies, too.’
‘I would hear it, anyway.’
She sighed. ‘They did not know much. Most of it was rumour. The two ships were in harbour together for less than a day. The Vivacia is owned by a Bingtown Trader family named Haven. The ship will be making for Chalced by the Inside Passage as swiftly as she can. They hoped to buy mostly artisans and skilled workers, but might take on some others just for ballast. A man named Torg was in charge of everything, but he didn’t seem to be the captain. She’s newly quickened. This is her maiden voyage.’
Kennit shook his head at her. ‘Haven isn’t a Trader name.’
She spread her hands at him. ‘You were right. They lied to me.’ She turned her face from him, and stared stonily at a bulkhead. ‘I’m sorry I bungled the questioning.’
She was becoming intractable. If he’d had two good legs under him, he’d have strode up to her and pushed her onto her back on the bed and reminded her what she was. Instead, he’d have to flatter her. He tried to think of something nice to say to her, to make her pleasant again. But the interminable throbbing of his missing leg had suddenly become a pounding pain. He wanted only to lie down, to go back to sleep and avoid all of this. And he’d have to ask her to help him.
‘I’m helpless. I can’t even get back into my bed alone,’ he said bitterly. In rare honesty he declared, ‘I hate for you to see me this way.’ Outside, the music changed. One strong man’s voice took up a chant, at once forceful and tender. He cocked his head to make out the oddly familiar words. ‘Ah,’ he said softly to himself. ‘I know it now. From Kytris, To His Mistress. A lovely piece.’ He tried again to find a compliment to give her. He couldn’t think of any. ‘You could go out on deck and listen to the music, if you wished,’ he offered her. ‘It’s quite an old poem, you know.’ The edges of his vision wavered. His eyes watered with his pain. ‘Have you heard it before?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
‘Oh, Kennit.’ She
shook her head, suddenly and inexplicably contrite. Tears stood in her eyes as she came to him. ‘It sounds more sweet to me here than anywhere else. I’m sorry. I’m such a heartless wench sometimes. Look at you, white as a sheet. Let me help you lie down.’
And she did, as gently as she could manage. She sponged his face with cool water. ‘No,’ he protested feebly. ‘I’m cold. I’m too cold.’
She covered him gently, and then lay down along his good side. The warmth of her body was actually pleasant, but the lace on the front of her shirt scratched his face. ‘Take your clothes off,’ he directed her. ‘You’re warmest when you’re naked.’
She gave a short laugh, at once pleased and surprised. ‘Such a man,’ she rebuked him. But she rose to obey him.
There was a knock at the door. ‘What?’ Kennit demanded.
Sorcor’s voice sounded surprised. ‘I’ve brought you the prisoner, sir.’
It was all too much trouble. ‘Never mind,’ he said faintly. ‘Etta already questioned him. I’ve no need of him any more.’
Her clothing fell to the floor around her. She climbed into the bed carefully, easing her warmth up against him. He was suddenly so tired. Her skin was soft and warm, a balm.
‘Captain Kennit?’ Sorcor’s voice was insistent, worried.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged.
Sorcor jerked the door open. Behind him two sailors held up what remained of the captain of the Sicerna. They met their captain’s eyes, then both gaped at him in amazement. Kennit turned his head to follow their gaze. Beside him in the bed, Etta held the blanket firmly below her naked shoulders and just above the slight curve of her breasts. The music from the deck came more loudly into the room. He turned his head back to the prisoner. Etta had more than blinded him. She had dismantled the man a bit at a time. Disgusting. He didn’t want to look at that just now. But he had to keep up appearances. He cleared his throat. Get it over with.
‘Prisoner. Did you tell my woman the truth?’
The wreckage between the two sailors lifted a ruined face towards his voice. ‘I swear I did. Over and over again. Why would I lie?’ The man began to weep noisily. He snuffled oddly with his nostrils slit. ‘Please, good sir, don’t let her at me no more. I told her the truth. I told her everything I knew.’