“Damned if I know.” Koybur started working himself down into the launch.
Cynthia saw a small package pass from Feldrin to Tobi, and noticed the smaller man nodding and smiling. Finally, they shook hands and went their separate ways, Feldrin joining her at the quay ladder.
“Everything all right?”
“Oh, aye, Miss. Just askin’ ’im a favor.” High tide made a short climb down to the launch. Brelak managed it without help, moving very carefully.
“What sort of favor?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. The coxswain barked orders and Mouse mimicked his every motion and order.
Brelak sighed deeply, trepidation furrowing his brow. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him to forget it, he said, “Had a long talk with the chief constable yesterde’. Nice woman name of Voya. Seems they don’t like such big bunches of dead people litterin’ their streets all at once. Especially when they don’t have all the answers, like who and why and such.”
“The girl?” she asked, making the intuitive leap. Marci remained the only unaccounted-for element of the incident.
“Aye. They can’t find her. Her flat’s empty, she didn’t show up fer work, and her neighbor says three strange men were stayin’ with her fer a few days before the attack.” They rounded the stern of the Winter Gale, her decks bustling with activity. “They plan to arrest her and charge her with murder.”
“Maybe they should.” Cynthia met his flashing eyes steadily. “She set you up, Feldrin. Don’t you think she should pay for that?”
“She’s exactly who she said she was. She really worked at the Hairy Parrot, she really had a daughter named Nan and she really bore the girl out of wedlock.” He stood and accepted a line from the deck of the ship, pulling the launch in firmly before helping her to her feet. His motions were easier with the launch under his feet, as if the sea had taken away his pain.
“That doesn’t make her innocent, Feldrin.” She took his hand and stepped from the gunwale of the launch up to the entry port. Feldrin climbed aboard behind her.
“It don’t make her guilty, either. I asked Tobi to look into things. Just poke around, ask questions, maybe visit the girl’s neighbors. He said he’d find out what he could and send a post. I think they were holdin’ Nan to make her do what they wanted.”
“That could be.” Cynthia wondered how she would respond to that kind of pressure—watching a loved one in danger, unable to act. “Well, I hope she’s okay then.”
“Aye.” He took a deep breath and winced, ushering her aside as Riley ordered the launch hauled aboard and secured. Vulta approached and clapped the big man on the shoulder, which elicited another wince.
“Ready for sea, Mistress,” the dark woman said, looking up at the pre-dawn sky. Mouse flitted around them and settled back onto Cynthia’s shoulder. “Going to be a beautiful day for it.”
Although there were twice as many officers aboard as usual, Uben had assigned them all specific tasks. He was adamant that there would be no laggards in the employ of Mistress Cynthia Flaxal. Even the two new captains were given duties. Each would stand alternate night watches, giving the captain and his mate the day watches only, a luxury for any seaman.
“Well, I’d best get to my cabin before the anchor’s hauled.” She sighed. “Damn it, but blackbrew tastes so much better going down than coming up.”
“Ha! That’s a good sign, Cyn.” Koybur shuffled up and chucked her shoulder, knocking the sprite flat and earning a chirp and a glare. “When you can joke about it, you’ve took the first step to gettin’ the problem licked!”
“Problem? What problem would that be?”
They turned to Troilen and Ulbattaer as the two superfluous captains descended from the quarterdeck.
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Aye, it’s serious, but nothin’ we can’t deal with.” Koybur was being evasive, but she knew everyone would find out the truth eventually. It would be best to hear it from her rather than from the rumor mill.
“I suffer from ship’s sickness.” She watched their faces closely. Ulbattaer’s mustache twitched and one of Troilen’s slim eyebrows arched.
“Aye, to the point it near killed her on the run up from Rockport,” Brelak added.
“That is a problem,” Ulbattaer agreed, keeping his face neutral. “I’ve heard of such serious cases before. Time seems to be the only cure.”
“The only cure, yes, but I have something that might help you endure the journey with fewer ill effects.” Troilen hefted the pouch at his hip and shook it.
“Not another cure, please,” Cynthia said, raising a hand and smiling. “I appreciate the effort, but—”
“He’s got quite a skill with herbs, Miss Cynthia,” Brelak said. “He saved my life with that stuff he smeared into the hole in my back. Hurt like a hot poker, mind ya, but stopped the bleedin’.”
“There is an extract of the bittersweet plant that—”
“Bittersweet? Ain’t that Black Nightshade?”
“Why yes, Master Koybur, it is.”
“And isn’t that poisonous?” Ulbattaer looked at the half-elf as if he were mad.
The clatter of the capstan winding in the anchor rode set butterflies fluttering around Cynthia’s stomach.
“There are many varieties of nightshade, Master Ulbattaer. Not all are deadly. The extract of the bittersweet can be administered safely with some knowledge and care.” He retrieved a vial from his pouch. “A few drops in a cup of tea and you’ll sleep for a day, wake rested, though probably a little groggy, and you’ll be able to eat. You must, however, take another dose within a short time of waking, or you will succumb to your sickness once again.”
“So it will cure the sickness, but I’ll sleep the whole way?” The prospect was not entirely distasteful.
“Not cure, Mistress. It will only make you sleep and not feel the sickness. You will not become acclimated to the sea as long as you take it, but it will allow you to travel by sea without risking your life.”
Mouse flew over and peered into the murky glass vial.
“I’d be careful, Mistress. You’ll never get over the sickness if you rely on a drug.” Ulbattaer pulled on his mustaches with a frown. “Time and patience will cure it.”
“Could I take it later, after a few days?”
“It is best if you do not. Weakness from sickness can make the drug’s effect unpredictable.”
“So,” she said, listening to the clank and clatter of the anchor being hoisted and secured, “it’s now or never.”
Winter Gale bore off the wind, her foresails clapping and filling. Riley shouted to the topmen and the great mainsail dropped and billowed, snapping taut as the sheets were drawn home. Mouse left Cynthia’s shoulder to flutter aloft, wobbling like a drunken butterfly around the yards and braces for the sheer joy of it.
“It would be best to take it now if you choose to take it at all, yes.” The half-elf shrugged and smiled disarmingly. “I have made it for others, passengers usually. I do know what I am doing, Mistress.”
“I never doubted it for a moment, Troilen.” She sighed and smiled. “Why don’t you brew me a cup of tea, then. I’ll be in my cabin, starboard of the captain’s cabin.”
“Very well, Mistress.”
The small group went their separate ways, Koybur accompanying her to her cabin and making sure a bucket and a pitcher of water were handy. The cabin shone like a newly minted coin, scrubbed clean after her previous occupancy.
“Now, I’d have a care with this stuff he’s brewin’, lass,” Koybur warned in a low voice. “Take only as much as you need. Some of these things can leave a man quakin’ like a drunk off the bottle when you stop takin’ it.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just check on me every once in a while. Don’t let me do anything stupid.”
“That’s me job, lass,” he said, grinning his horrible lop-sided grin.
She felt the ship move under her, the first easy swells as they rounded the breakwater.
Her stomach knotted. Where is that pointed-eared apothecary?
A knock on the door and the tall half-elf ducked inside, bearing a mug of steaming liquid. “Here you are, Mistress. It’s not very hot and it may taste a little bitter, but it is best if you drink it quickly.”
“It’s not going to knock me flat, is it?” she asked, accepting the cup in a shaky hand. “Should I sit?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary. The effect will take a few minutes.”
She nodded and took an experimental sip, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Tastes like rigging tar.” She took a deep swallow, then another until the cup ran dry. “Well, if I’m going to sleep the whole voyage, I’d best make myself comfortable. If you gentlemen would give me some privacy?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Troilen bowed, obviously pleased at her trust in him. “Please remember to eat as soon as you wake, then call me and I’ll mix another draught. You will be a little groggy and may have some vivid dreams, even waking ones, but you will not be sick.”
“Just give a yell, Cyn. I’ll be close.”
“Thank you both.”
The door closed and she began changing into her nightgown. By the time she slipped between the sheets the room around her seemed to move with more than the motion of the ship. The morning sun playing on the water cast wavering bands of light and shadow onto the cabin’s ceiling. Her mind played with the patterns, making pictures and then stories from the pictures until the stories became dreams.
In her dream she sailed, but under the sea. The water played with her hair and clothing, making them flutter like flags on a breeze. Fish swam alongside. The webbed hands of a merman reached out of the gloom; not to grasp, but to caress her smooth skin, so different from their own scales. Its face materialized before her, flat but expressive, broad blue-green lips parting in a smile that showed rows of needle teeth.
The water in her dream buoyed her up as the soft hands of an entire school of mer, now all cradling her, all caressing, bore her along with the waves. It felt wonderful, and she let herself be borne along by a thousand loving hands, as comforted as a babe in her mother’s arms.
CHAPTER Twenty-Two
Bittersweet Dreams
“Koybur?”
Cynthia rolled over, struggling against her bedclothes. Light streamed in through the port, but she had no idea the time of day, or even how many days they’d been at sea. She looked around the little cabin, squinting into the shadows, but Koybur wasn’t there.
“Troilen?”
No one materialized from the gloom. She was alone. That was good. She had to use the chamber pot, and didn’t want to offend anyone.
She rolled out of the bunk, wobbling slightly with the roll of the ship. She hoisted her nightgown and saw to necessities, then stood and remembered that she was supposed to do something when she woke up. She was awake—a quick pinch confirmed this—and they’d told her to call them when she woke because she was supposed to do something, but she couldn’t remember what.
“Maybe the captain knows,” she said, starting for the door to the cabin. “Captains know everything. ’S why they’re captains.”
There were two latches to the door. She grabbed the one that wasn’t looking at her and turned it. She knew the other one wanted to bite her hand, and felt a rush of satisfaction that she’d outsmarted it.
“Maybe next time,” she told the false latch, stepping through and closing the door behind. “Now, where are my seven lucky steps?”
She found the companionway up to the main deck with little difficulty and ascended the steps with remarkable ease. Only one latch on this door, and it didn’t look like it would bite, so she turned it and stepped onto the deck.
“Mistress Flaxal?”
A crewman stood before her. She recognized him, but couldn’t recall his name. He didn’t look like he would bite her either, but the snake coming out of his ear might, so she mumbled a greeting and turned away to climb to the quarterdeck. She heard the crewman call out her name, then call out some other names, names she knew, although she couldn’t really remember who they belonged to. She needed to find the captain and find out what she was supposed to do.
Another crewman met her on the quarterdeck and she remembered his name. She’d hired him in Tsing. He didn’t have any snakes coming out of his ears.
“Mistress Flaxal, are you a’right?”
“I’m looking for the captain, Mister Karek.” She looked past him to the helmsman and wondered how he could steer the ship when the spokes of the wheel had turned into pickles. They had to be slippery. She looked back to Karek. “I need to speak to Captain Uben.”
“The Captain’s off watch, Mistress. Master Smythe the mate’s on watch, but he’s below.”
“There is something I have to ask the captain. Something I have to do.”
“Aye Mistress. You’re supposed to eat a meal when you wake, and call for Capt’n Troilen.” He looked at her nervously. “I don’t think you was supposed to come up on deck, leastways not with nothin’ but your night dress on, Mistress.”
“I wasn’t?” She looked down and realized she was indeed wearing nothing but her nightgown. “I like the fresh air, Mister Karek. Please bring a robe from my cabin and have the cook prepare a meal for me.”
“Aye, Mistress.” He looked at her worriedly again, but as he turned someone else approached, a tall dark-skinned woman with a curious little winged man on her shoulder. That seemed very strange. She wondered if it was a hallucination. Troilen had said the tea could make her have waking dreams.
“Mistress? Are you all right?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just forgot my robe. I wanted to find the captain, but he’s off watch, so Mister Karek is going to get my robe.”
Then the little winged man fluttered from the woman’s shoulder and landed on her own, chattering high pitched nonsense in her ear. She started, but then suddenly remembered: this was Mouse, and the dark woman was Vulta. She looked around the quarterdeck, shaking her head.
“Sorry, I’m a little confused. I think it’s the tea.”
“I think so, too, Mistress. Let’s just go back down to the cabin, okay?”
“I like the fresh air,” she said, stepping to the rail. Vulta was instantly at her side, one hand on her shoulder, but Cynthia’s steps were sure and steady. She liked the motion of the ship, the easy roll as the big swells lifted her bow and let her rise over them. “Can I have my lunch up here?”
“I don’t see why not, really. The weather’s fine. We could set up a table.”
Cynthia looked down and into the depths, past the dancing shafts of sunlight into the blue… into the undulating colors… into the heart of the sea. There were shapes down there, shapes moving in the darkness. They had long graceful tails and webbed hands. She remembered them from her dreams, their fluid motions and their caressing touch.
“Can I sail with them?”
“With who, Mistress?” Vulta looked down into the water, squinting and shading her eyes. “There’s nothing down there. Just water.”
“They’re down there. They’re always down there. Their hands are so soft. I’d really like to—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mistress. We’re well offshore. The nearest land is the Shattered Isles there, so it wouldn’t be a good place for a swim.”
“The Shattered Isles?”
Cynthia’s gaze rose from the mesmerizing depths to the distant row of islands abeam of the ship. She could see four of them clearly, towering and green, each with a cap of clouds, and one sporting a plume of smoke from its center.
“These must be the southern ones. They’re nothing like the northern ones, all flat and sandy.” She squinted, trying to remember her charts.
“Aye, Mistress. Those are Minos, Ataros, Plume and Tar islands. We’ve a half dozen more to pass before we make our tack.”
“Of course.” It all made sense coming from Vulta’s mouth, but she couldn’t dredge up the details from her own
mind. The confusion frustrated her, but she couldn’t seem to make herself care a great deal. “Is lunch ready yet? I’m hungry.”
“It’ll be a bit yet, Mistress, but Karek’s here with your robe, so you should be more comfortable.”
They draped a robe over her shoulders, and several more men appeared from the lower deck. One she didn’t recognize immediately, but he just gave her a cursory glance before going to the helmsman and giving orders about steering the ship. He didn’t mention the pickles. The other two, she knew.
“Good to see you on your feet, Mistress Cynthia. How do you feel?”
“Good. A little confused, but good. Thank you, Troilen. Are you going to make me some more tea?”
“Yes, but not quite as strong as the last, I think.” The tall fellow bowed to her and turned to go. She decided not to tell him his ears were on fire. If he didn’t know, he would find out soon enough.
“Hi, Feldrin. How are you?”
“Very good, Mistress.” The huge man grinned at her, moving to the railing beside her.
“All your cuts healed up? I’d hate it if you started leaking blood.”
“Not yet healed, but better, thank you. I won’t be leakin’ blood. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Feldrin. Hey, why is that island smoking? Is it on fire?”
“That’s Plume Island, Mistress; it’s one of the islands that has an active volcano. Nobody goes there.”
“Oh, right. Camels.”
“Camels?”
“The southern islands have camels, so nobody wants to go there and be eaten.”
“Oh, ya mean cannibals. That’s right. We give ’em a wide berth.”
“Cannibals. Right.” She looked at the islands to windward. They were far enough that their bases were lost in the mists cast up by the surf. All the islands were volcanic, but only a few put up plumes of smoke like Plume Island. Only one was active enough to be dangerous: Fire Island lay near the end of the chain, and it erupted frequently, sending huge clouds of smoke and ash skyward.
She wondered if all of the smoking islands belched up clouds with faces in them like this one. She started to ask Feldrin when a portly man she knew only as “Cook” came on deck with a large wooden tray. Another man staggered up the steps carrying a small folding table. She immediately recognized Koybur.
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