by Robin Hobb
Igrot had proved that, many years ago.
Kennit smiled as he prepared himself and waited.
When the priest finally came, he tramped like an angry man. So, Kennit thought to himself, you did try to sway Dedge to your cause. You failed. Turning his head to regard Sa’Adar, Kennit became certain of his conjecture. He had the rumpled look of a man who has narrowly averted a bad beating by fleeing. His face was redder than the walk back to the boat would explain. As he approached, Kennit climbed into the gig and seated himself on the rowing seat. He did not bother with a greeting. ‘Push it out into the water.’
Sa’Adar glared at him. ‘It would be easier if the gig were empty.’
‘Probably,’ Kennit agreed affably. He didn’t move.
The man was not soft, but he was not a hardened sailor either. He set his hands to the gig and pushed. Nothing happened. ‘Wait for a wave,’ Kennit suggested.
Sa’Adar gritted his teeth but obeyed the suggestion. The bottom of the gig grated on the sand and then abruptly bobbed free. ‘Keep pushing or she’ll beach again,’ Kennit warned him as he took up the oars. Soon Sa’Adar was wading alongside, trying to pull himself over and into the boat. Kennit pulled steadily at the oars. It had been some time since he had rowed a boat, but his body remembered it well enough. He braced his peg against the bottom of the boat to keep from slipping. Even so, it was difficult to pull evenly on the oars. A wave of desolation engulfed him as he decided that nothing would ever be completely as it had been. He had lost a part of his body and for the rest of his life, all his actions would have to compensate for what was missing.
‘Wait!’ Sa’Adar complained as he scrabbled to get aboard. Kennit ignored him and continued to row. Sa’Adar was still only halfway in when the next wave lifted the gig. The priest clambered aboard like a landsman, gasping and shivering as the brisk sea wind hit his soaked clothing. Once he was well aboard, Kennit shipped the oars. It pleased him that even with a peg and crutch, he moved more gracefully than Sa’Adar as he shifted his seat. The priest, arms clutched about himself, sneered at him. ‘You expect me to row?’
‘It will warm you,’ Kennit pointed out.
He sat in the bow, holding his crutch, and watched Sa’Adar struggle. Rowing a gig, even on a calm day, soon becomes serious work. There was a rising wind and a bit of a chop for him to contend with too. He worked the oars unevenly. Sometimes they skipped and splashed across the top of the water. Even when they bit well into the water, their progress was slow. Kennit was unconcerned. He could see Sa’Adar’s impatience to be back aboard the ship in the furious energy he poured into his task. He decided to engage him in conversation as well.
‘So. Are you satisfied with the justice meted out to Captain Haven?’
Sa’Adar had little breath to spare, but could not resist making speeches. ‘I wanted to see him before I left. To spit on him one more time and wish him joy of his chains and darkness.’ He caught his breath. ‘Dedge would not let me. He and Saylah both turned on me.’ Another breath. ‘But for me, they’d be slaves in Chalced right now. They would not be together still, and Saylah’s child could celebrate its birth with a tattoo on its face.’ He was panting now.
‘Keep her nose into the waves. You see that point there, on that island? Where the two trees stand separate from the forest? Fix your eyes on that and row towards it.’
Sa’Adar gave an exasperated scowl. ‘One man cannot row this! You should take the bench beside me and help. It took four rowers to get us ashore.’
‘The boat was more heavily laden then. Besides. I am greatly wearied from our hike. Remember that I am a man still recovering from a grievous injury. But in time, perhaps, I shall take a turn at the oars and let you rest.’ Kennit turned his face to the breeze and closed his eyes to slits. The bright sun danced on the moving water. Suddenly even his weariness felt good. This was something he had needed to do. He had taken independent, physical action on his own. He had proved to himself that he could still sway others to his will with little more than words. His body had been diminished, but it was sufficient to his ambition. He would triumph. King Kennit. King Kennit of the Pirate Isles. Would he some day have a palace on Key Island? Perhaps after his mother had died, he could establish himself there. As his father had once foreseen, the opening to the bay in Keyhole Island could be easily fortified. It would make a wonderful stronghold. He was still building his towers when Sa’Adar spoke again.
‘Should we be able to see the ships by now?’
Kennit nodded. ‘If you were pulling at the oars like a man, instead of slapping and skipping them on the water, we’d have cleared the point of that island by now. Then, we’d be able to see the ships, though we would still have a long row ahead of us. Keep rowing.’
‘The journey did not seem to take this long last night.’
‘Things never seem to take as long or be as hard when someone else is doing the work. It is much like captaining a ship. It seems easy, when someone else is doing it.’
‘Do you mock me?’ It is hard to be disdainful when one was out of breath, but Sa’Adar managed it.
Kennit shook his head sadly. ‘You do me wrong. Is it mockery to tell a man a thing he should have learned long ago?’
‘That ship…by rights…is mine. We had…already taken it…when you came.’ Sa’Adar’s breath was coming harder.
‘There. You see. If I had not come alongside and put a prize crew aboard, the Vivacia would be at the bottom now. Not even a liveship can sail herself completely.’
‘We would have…managed.’ Sa’Adar abruptly flung the oars down. One started to slip through the oarlock into the water. He snatched at it, and pulled it half into the boat. ‘Damn you! Take a turn at this!’ he gasped. ‘I am as good as you are. I will be treated like your slave no longer.’
‘Slave? I have asked no more of you than I would of any ordinary seaman.’
‘I am not yours to command. I never will be! Nor will I give up my claim to the ship. Wherever we go, I shall be sure that all hear of your injustice and greed. How so many can adulate you, I do not know! There is your poor mother, abandoned to a harsh life alone for Sa knows how long! You return to visit her for less than half a day, leaving only a trunkful of trinkets and a half-wit servant to wait on her. How can you treat your own mother so? Is not a man’s mother to be ever revered as the symbol of the female aspect of Sa? Nevertheless, you treat her as you treat everyone else. As a servant! She tried to speak to me, poor thing. I could not make out what distressed her so, but it was not a lack of teacups!’
Kennit could not help himself. He laughed aloud. It incensed the other man so that his face grew even redder. ‘You bastard!’ he spat. ‘You heartless bastard!’
Kennit glanced about. It wasn’t far to the point of the island now. He could manage it. Once there, if he grew too weary, his coat tied to an oar and waved would bring someone from either the Marietta or the Vivacia. They would be watching for him by now.
‘Such language, from a priest! You forget yourself. Here. I’ll row for a bit, while you recover.’
That quelled him. Sa’Adar rose from the rowing bench. In a stiff half-crouch, he waited for Kennit to change places with him as he rubbed at his aching back. Kennit tried to rise from his own bench, but sat down again heavily. The small vessel rocked. Sa’Adar cried out and made a wild grab for the gunnels. Kennit grimaced in embarrassment. ‘Stiff,’ he grunted. ‘Today has taken more out of me than I thought.’ He sighed heavily. He narrowed his eyes at the disdainful look on the priest’s face. ‘Still. I said I would row and I shall.’ He picked up his crutch, took a firm grip on it, and then extended the tip towards Sa’Adar. ‘When I give the word, you heave me to my feet. Once I’m up, I’ll wager I can move about.’
Sa’Adar gripped the crutch end. ‘Now,’ Kennit told him, and tried to rise. He sat down heavily once more. He set his jaw in grim determination. ‘Again,’ he commanded the priest. ‘And this time, put your back into it.’
&nbs
p; The weary man took a double-handed grip on the crutch. Kennit made better his own clutch upon it. ‘Now!’ As the priest heaved, the pirate suddenly thrust forward, shoving with all his strength upon the crutch. It hit the priest in the chest and he went flailing wildly backwards. Kennit had hoped for a clean splash overboard. Instead, the man fell athwart the gunnels, almost out of the boat but not quite. Quick as a tiger springing, Kennit flung himself forward. He kept his weight low, as the landsman had not. He gripped one of Sa’Adar’s feet and lifted it high. The man went over, but as he went he launched a kick at Kennit that slammed his bare foot hard into Kennit’s face. Kennit’s head rocked back on his shoulders; he felt a warm gush as blood flowed from his nose. He wiped it hastily on his sleeve, then scrabbled to the rower’s bench and took up the oars. He seated the oars well in the oarlocks and began to pull mightily.
An instant later, the priest’s head bobbed up in the boat’s wake. ‘Damn you!’ he shouted. ‘Sa damn you!’
Kennit expected the man’s head to go under again. Instead, he struck out after the boat with long powerful strokes. So, he was a swimmer. Kennit had not reckoned on that. It was a pity the sea was warmer here in these island waters. He couldn’t count on cold to kill him quickly. He might have to do it himself.
Kennit did not strain. Instead, he set a steady pace and pulled on the oars. He had not lied to Sa’Adar. He had been stiff, but this was loosening him up. The priest swam with the swift, frantic strokes of a desperate man. He was gaining on the small boat; his body offered far less resistance to the waves than the lightened boat did. When he was within a stroke or two, Kennit carefully shipped the oars and drew the dagger from his belt. He moved to the stern and waited. He did not try for a killing stroke. He would have had to extend himself too far to do that easily and might end up being dragged into the sea by the priest. Instead, each time the drowning man reached for the boat, he slashed at his hands. He cut his reaching palms. He slashed the back of his knuckles when his grip closed on the stern. Kennit was silent as death itself while the priest cursed him, screamed, and then begged for his life. When he seized hold of the side and clung there stubbornly, the pirate risked a blinding slash across the man’s face. Still he clutched the side, begging and praying to be allowed to live. It infuriated Kennit. ‘I tried to let you live!’ he roared at him. ‘All you had to do was what I wanted you to do. You refused me! So!’
He risked a stab and the dagger went deep into the side of the man’s throat. In an instant, his hands were warm and slick with blood thicker and more salty than the sea itself. The priest fell away suddenly. Kennit released the haft of the dagger and let him go. For a wave, then two, he bobbed face down on the water. Then the sea swallowed him up.
Kennit sat for a time, watching the empty water behind the boat. Then he wiped his hands down the front of his coat. Slowly he moved back to the rower’s bench. He took up the oars in hands that had begun to blister. It didn’t matter. They would hurt, but it did not matter. It was done, and he would live. He knew it as surely as he knew his luck still rode with him.
He lifted his eyes and scanned the horizon. Not so far to go and he’d be where the ships’ lookouts could spot him. He smiled to himself. ‘I’ll wager Vivacia sees me before any of them. I’ll wager she knows right now that I’m coming back to her. Watch for me, my lady! Cast about those lovely eyes!’
‘Perhaps I should open those eyes for her,’ suggested a small voice close by. Kennit nearly lost his grip on the oars. He looked at the long-silent charm strapped to his wrist. His own features in miniature, encarmined now in blood, blinked up at him. The small mouth opened, and a tiny tongue emerged to lick his lips as if they were parched. ‘What would she think of her captain bold, if she knew you as well as I do?’
Kennit grinned. ‘Methinks she would think you a liar. She has been with me, and knows my deepest heart. She and the boy both have. And they love me still.’
‘They may think they have,’ the charm conceded bitterly. ‘But only one creature has ever seen to the bottom of your dark, dirty heart and still chosen loyalty to you.’
‘You refer to yourself, I assume,’ Kennit hazarded. ‘You have little choice in the matter, charm. You are bound to me.’
‘As tightly as you are bound to me,’ the charm replied.
Kennit shrugged. ‘So we are bound to one another. So be it. I suggest you make the best of it, and do the duty you were created to do. Perhaps that way, we shall both live longer.’
‘I was never created for any duty to you,’ the charm informed him. ‘Nor does my life depend upon yours. But for the sake of another, I will do what I can to preserve you. At least for a time.’
The pirate made no further reply. The blisters on his right palm broke stingingly. An expression, part grimace, part grin, lit Kennit’s dark face. A little pain was nothing. His luck was holding. With luck, a man could do much.
18
WISHES FULFILLED
‘WHAT HAVE YOU done with my father?’
Kennit looked up from the tray of food Wintrow had just placed before him. The pirate was freshly attired, washed and combed. That final effort had exhausted him. All he wanted right now was his food. Etta’s flapping and whining about how worried she had been the whole time he was gone had been taxing enough. After she’d laid out fresh clothing for him, he’d banished her from his room. Nothing was more irritating to his nerves than someone fretting. He would not tolerate that atmosphere for his dinner. He ignored the lad. He picked up a spoon in his sore hand and stirred the soup before him. Pieces of carrot and fish bobbed to the top.
‘I beg you. I have to know. What have you done with my father?’
Kennit looked at the boy, a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue, and relented. Wintrow’s face was as pale as such a tanned and swarthy lad’s could be. He stood very straight and still, as if composed. The quickness of his breath and his teeth clenched on his lower lip betrayed him. His dark eyes were haunted. He supposed the youngster felt bad, but one had to take responsibility for one’s choices. ‘I only did what you asked me to do. Your father is now somewhere else. You don’t have to worry about him, you don’t have to see him or contend with him.’ Before Wintrow could ask, Kennit added, ‘He is safe. When I keep a promise, I don’t keep it halfway.’
Wintrow rocked forward slightly. He looked as if he’d been punched in the belly. ‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Not like this, not just vanished away while I slept. Please, sir. Bring him back. I’ll take care of him and make no complaints.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ Kennit pointed out affably. He gave Wintrow a small smile to reassure him, but rebuked him gently with, ‘Next time, be sure you want what you ask for. I went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this for you.’ He took a spoonful of the soup. He wanted to eat in peace. It was time to put an end to Wintrow’s impertinence. ‘I had expected you to be grateful, not remorseful. You asked for this. I’ve granted it. That’s all there is to say about it. Pour me some wine.’
Wintrow moved woodenly to obey him. Then he stepped back from the table and stood as if frozen, his eyes fixed on the wall. Fine. Kennit put his attention on his food. The exercise had given him a marvellous appetite. His muscles ached and he planned to rest after his meal, but other than that, he felt keen-edged and competent. This had been good for him. He’d have to get out and move about more, once Etta had padded his crutch and stump-cup for him. He tried to decide if he could adapt his peg to allow him to climb the rigging again. Even in miserable times, he’d loved going aloft. The wind up there always seemed cleaner, and the possibilities of life as broad as the horizon.
‘There was blood all over your coat. And the side of the gig.’ Wintrow’s stubborn words broke into his reverie and his dining.
Kennit sighed and set his spoon down. Wintrow was still staring at the wall, but his rigidity suggested that he was trying to control shaking. ‘The blood was not your father’s. If you must know, i
t was Sa’Adar’s.’ Sarcasm crept into his voice. ‘Please don’t tell me that you have revised your feelings about him as well.’
‘You killed him because I hated him?’ There was panicky disbelief in Wintrow’s voice.
‘No. I killed him because he would not do as I wanted him to do. He really left me no choice. His death is no loss to you. The man had only contempt for you and your father.’ Kennit lifted his wine and drained off the glass. He held it out to Wintrow. The youth moved as jerkily as a puppet as he refilled the glass.
‘And Ankle?’ he dared to ask in a sickened voice.
Kennit slammed his glass to the table. Wine leaped out and soiled the white cloth. ‘Ankle is fine. They are all fine. Sa’Adar is the only one I killed, and I only killed him because I had to. I saved you the trouble of having to do it later for yourself. Do I look so foolish as to waste my time on unnecessary actions? I will not sit here and be badgered by a ship’s boy! Clean up this mess, pour me fresh wine and then leave.’ The look Kennit gave him had cowed many a larger man.
To the pirate’s surprise, it suddenly kindled an answering spark in the boy’s eyes. Wintrow straightened himself. Kennit sensed he had pushed the boy across some sort of boundary. Interesting. Wintrow advanced to the table and removed the food and the soiled cloth with a silent, savage efficiency. He restored it, carefully poured more wine, then spoke. He dared to let his anger sound in his voice. ‘Do not ever lay your deeds at my door. I do not kill people who inconvenience me. Sa gives life, and every life he forms has a meaning and a purpose. No man has the ability to understand fully Sa’s purpose. Rather, I must learn to tolerate those others until they have lived to fulfil Sa’s purpose. I am a part of his intention for this world, but my part is no more important than anyone else’s.’
Kennit had leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest while Wintrow tidied the table and preached. Now he sighed out through his nose. ‘That is because you are not destined to be a king.’ A thought occurred to Kennit and he could not control his smirk. ‘Meditate on this, priest. Perhaps I am one of those you must learn to tolerate until I can fulfil Sa’s purpose.’ When the glower on Wintrow’s face only darkened at this jest, Kennit laughed aloud. He shook his head. ‘You take yourself so seriously. Run along now. Go talk to the ship. I think you’ll find her course aligns closer with mine than yours just now. I mean it. Run along. Send Etta to me on your way.’