His door was open, swinging a little in the gentle motion of the river. "Why'd you bring the brat?" he growled at her. "Get rid of it, slut, or I'll drown it."
She backed out and carefully left Lixand swaddled and still asleep on Kat's empty bed, telling Piatr where the baby was.
"I'll keep an eye on him, then."
"Thank you." Then she went back to him.
Stretch. She could do the full front splits again, turned her head sideways on her knee to keep an eye on the baby, asleep on an old bit of toweling, sucking his toes.
"Megan! Oh, sorry, I don't want to wake the baby." Sashe settled down nearby. Megan changed from left stretch to center stretch.
"That's all right, Sash, he was fussy all morning and it would take one of his bellows to wake him."
"Good. Look, Meg, do you think I could make quarterdeck-crew rating in the River Guild? If I studied?"
"You mean officer? Ocean or river?" Megan shifted to full splits the other way, smooth as water flowing.
"Ocean." Sashe looked down at his hands. "I thought I'd ask, since you're Guild-trained."
"Yes," Megan said promptly, not seeing anything strange about a middle-aged man asking a sixteen year old for advice. "In my opinion you'd be not much good on a river, no feel for snags or bars." His face fell a little. "But," she continued, "you don't deal well with the confinement and like lots of room and have a feel for deep water. Storm-sense, too, that isn't just manrauq."
She straightened up, wiping sweat off her face with the other bit of towel. "No reason why you shouldn't try for bosun papers at the very least."
He grinned. "I will! Next time I'm home, I will! Thank you!" He got up and sauntered forward, whistling.
"It'll get you away from him," Megan muttered to herself. Sarngeld didn't need more officers and hated anyone with any ambition. Sashe would find a place on another ship. The shortage of berths was for able crew, not anything higher.
"There's not an officer we can trust," Megan said thoughtfully. Katrana, Piatr and Mateus nodded. They were sitting in fo'c'sle, the storm rolling the ship, even at anchor, water leaking in around the foremast collar. Most of the rest of the crew and all officers but the first mate were in the town, in dry inns. There was a knock and Megan repressed a start. "Zaftra?"
"Aye.' The four of them relaxed, letting out the breaths they'd been holding. None of them had said the word mutiny, though they had been talking for a few weeks. Mutiny was punishable by impalement. To falsify Guild seals meant having one's entrails pulled out and burned, as well. Megan joggled the baby on her knee, sniffed, and pulled out the back of his diaper. He fussed as she laid him down to change him.
"Hush, baby mine."
Zaftra ducked his head under the lintel, nodded at the other conspirators.
"I just checked to see no one was listening." He shook out his blanket cloak and ran a hand over his wet hair and scalp. "It's raining pitchforks out there."
"Yah."
"You know," Megan said thoughtfully. "All of what we've been discussing is just in case.' "
Zaftra laughed. "We can say so in front of any truth-teller in the land. Just be glad that Arkan truth-drug is so expensive."
"Uhm. Well. Tachka, Sashe… he might not be here if he's going into the Guild."
"A good thing, to be able to use Guild seals." Kat shuddered. "I saw a mutiny trial about ten years ago in Brahvniki."
"We just have to make sure we aren't caught, if it should come to that," Megan said firmly. "Besides, no one but me would risk it. I'm Guilded, if not properly accredited."
She put the baby down on the floor. "Piatr, Thoman is usually with the foredeck crew, so if anything should happen…"
"I can deal with him. He's better as a K'gebar wielding a whip than a knife."
She looked at him in the tossing light of the lamp hung from the ceiling. He shrugged.
"I've killed before. Reghina's in."
"Then if you come aft, I'll know you're heading for the weapons locker with Thoman's keys." She nodded decisively. "I want Sarngeld… At-za-tt-ratzas, Solas…" She pronounced his real name carefully, as if pronouncing a curse. "He is mine to kill." I maimed a man when I was ten. I should be able to kill one. She smiled at Lixand who was chewing on his fist. "Well keep recruiting people, carefully, or well all be sprouting another leg." Their faces, in the shifting light, were grim.
She watched the baby walk, holding onto the galley table, babbling to himself. Zaftra smiled and moved his measuring spoons away from the edge. Lixand smiled back at him, showing six teeth now, squealed, and toddled over to Megan, half running, flinging himself on his mother. She caught him, buried her face in his tummy, flapping her lips to make him giggle.
They were docked at Naryshkiv village, stout wooden walls blocking the view of the fields and manors beyond. It was market day. The barking of sheep dogs, the bleating of Thanish flocks drifted in the distance; music, the reedy sound of an ahkordi squeezing out a waltz, the mutter of Sarngeld's Arkan friend on deck.
Lixand ran to Zaftra, grabbing onto his trouser leg then back to Megan, sitting down abruptly on his bottom, considering whether he ought to cry or not. He decided against it and crawled over to grab at the rattle Megan still held. "Ma-ma! No! Ma-ma. No!"
"His favorite words," Megan said to Zaftra.
Lixand recognized Sarngeld's step already and knew enough to hide from it. He dropped the rattle and hid behind Megan as the Arkan came in.
"Come, girl." He gestured with his head. He always gets very careful about waving his hands around when other Arkans visit. I wonder what he wants me for, now. Lixand wouldn't let go of her, so she hoisted him on her arm where he threw his arms around her neck.
Sarngeld led them past the other Arkan, a lean man in pale gloves, into his cabin. There he took her by the other shoulder and dragged her over to the metal staple in the floor where the slave-links were bolted.
"Sarngeld, what are you doing?" She started to struggle, Lixand clinging, howling. He locked her wrists in and tried to pull Lixand away from her. Koru, Goddess, he's threatened to drown him before… She clung to the baby with all her strength. Sarngeld, irritated, backhanded her across the face to make her let go.
"No! Nonono! Baaaa-aad!" Lixand squealed, and then just shrieked as Sarngeld untangled him.
"Sarngeld, master, leave me my baby, please don't drown him. Please, he's your son, don't kill him. Please, he's only a baby. Don't, please, master." Megan crawled to the end of the chains, on her knees, on her face. "Master! Master! Don't take him…"
"Drown it?" Sarngeld laughed, stepping back out of reach of her pleading hand. "It's too valuable for that. I'm short of money."
"No, please! Lixand! Lixand!" She lunged against the chain as if she could tear free. "Lixannnnnd!" The door closed on Sarngeld, muffling the baby's wailing as he was carried away. She screamed, clawing at the oak links, at the metal holding her to the floor, tearing the skin of her hands. "Lixand!" She screamed his name as if the sound of her voice could hold him somehow, until she was hoarse and exhausted, lying flat on the floor, stretched toward the door, whispering her son's name.
The splinter of light through the portholes faded, leaving her in the dark with nothing but the chains to fight, her nose full of the smell of the dry-rot in the boards. "Lixand…"
Above, she could hear his boots on the deck, feel the shift and scrape change as they undocked and caught the current south, leaving Naryshkiv behind. Lixand.
It was just rising dawn when the door opened quietly and Katrana slipped in.
"Meg?" There was no answer. "Megan?"
"Go away."
"I've got his keys."
Megan sat up, aching, stiff in all her joints. "His keys?"
She caught the shine of the white of one of Kat's eyes in the dimness, the rising sun throwing a splinter of light through the porthole. "And my knives if you want to borrow them."
"It's now, Kat. Get everyone together. It's now."
; Megan crept up the companionway ladder, hugging the shadow. I'm going to kill him. There was a subdued rustle in the bow; Piatr sauntered by her as if she weren't there, going below. To the weapons locker. He got the bosun. A muffled splash up forward. She'd told Mat to set an anchor or they'd all end up aground before everything was over. A shout from the poop as the ship started to swing around.
Sarngeld was over by the port side, shouting for Thoman. Megan swung up over the edge of the poop. The helm yelled as she gained her feet and Sarngeld turned toward her.
Knife flip back over my shoulder—just like in cniffta— throw HARD. The dagger spun once and buried itself just over his groin. He folded forward, a stunned look on his face, gloves stained dark as he clutched his abdomen. She jumped high, landed on his bowed shoulders, driving him down to the deck. One of his hands came up, caught her by the ankle, dragged her down. I can't see, my hair… She landed hard on the deck, air pressed out of her lungs, but she slashed backhand, something snicked and parted under the blade—hamstrung—scrambled up as he fell sideways and drove the knife into his back.
Die, damn you die. Stop squealing and die. Sticky-hot blood fountained across her face as she wrenched the knife loose and drove it in again, and again, the hilt slipping greasily; blood and more blood, feeling the blade twist and catch on ribs. Die. She stabbed until he stopped moving, looked up to find herself in the middle of a blood-splashed circle with the rest of the crew, armed, standing watching her. She crawled to her feet, suddenly aware of every ache, every pain, favoring the ankle he'd grabbed, realizing she was coated head to foot in his blood. She spat to clear her mouth, panting.
"We're going back to Naryshkiv, to get my son."
"Who are you to say?" Hanald stood behind the wheel, boot-knives raised, holding off Mateus who held belaying pins. "I'm first mate. I have more right to this ship than you do, murderer."
"Mat, get back. We can always fish him out of there with a boathook."
Hanald laughed. "Listening to women and children, Mateus? Zak have no balls anyway." The ship creaked as she swung, dragging the single anchor, bow-on to the stream. The rest of the crew shifted their grips on what weapons they had, looking for a decision from someone.
"You fight for it, Thane?" Megan asked quietly.
"Meg, no! He'll kill you," Katrana called from the main deck.
"He'll feed the river gar."
Hanald laughed and stepped out. "Fight you, little toy? Captain's slut? A disease-riddled child whore—what fifteen, sixteen—captaining a ship? I'll spank you and set you off at the next town south!" He walked forward as if to grab her, jumping back as she slashed.
"Don't talk, fight." She held herself low, the lessons by Zaftra coming without thinking. He circled right, trying to push her back against Sarngeld's corpse, lunged. She stepped inside his thrust, grabbed his wrist—flash of pain, shoulder and back, other knife—and slashed twice across his belly, let go. He stumbled forward with a surprised look as his hands went numb, his knives clattering as he fell to his knees, trying to hold his guts in. She pulled his head back by the hair, cut his throat, watching the spray of crimson splatter the nearer crew.
Cold. I'm cold. She wanted to vomit at the stink of blood and shit on the deck, crushing it down into a knot in the pit of her stomach. Killed two men in less than an hour. Lixand.
"We're going north, back to Naryshkiv." Her voice was cool and dry. She wiped the knife on a clear spot on her sleeve. "Anyone else have a problem with that?"
Silence. "I have the most official training to be an owner/captain from the Guild, and they'll back me once I get a message to my Gospozhyn." They waited, listening as if they judged her. "I'll pay out the back-pay he was holding and release anyone who won't obey me." A swift mutter around the deck as she stood, feeling the drying blood pull at her skin and hair, wanting to push the crew who hadn't been approached by the conspirators, knowing that she couldn't.
Mateus slotted the pins back in the rack. "Aye, Teik. We… none of us would try to use a Master's token, not with the Guild watching… Captain."
Megan nodded, putting the knife away. Captain. "Mat, you're second mate. You see that this mess gets cleaned up." She scanned the rest of the crew standing, waiting for orders and her eye fell on one of the half-Zak—a tall, square man. with brown hair and violet eyes, Tze Riverson, whose Zak heritage only showed in his uncanny ability to read the river. He was competent. She decided. "Tze, you're first mate. I want this ship in Naryshkiv by tomorrow."
"Aye, Captain," he answered, not hesitating over the title, and she thought that her troubles would be over if everyone adjusted so quickly. She called Garhert, ship's carpenter, to bring a pry bar below to the cabin—my cabin, for now.
No one is ever going to own me again. No one is ever going to rule me like that again. She watched him pry the metal staple out of the wood with a dry skreek, carried it and the oak chain on deck herself, and flung it in the river, watching it sink, uncaring that she could sell the metal. That's my slavery sinking. Lixand, my son. I'm coming to get you. I'll get you back, baby mine. I'm strong enough to now. I'm of age and anyone who tries to hurt me can go fik. I'm free. In the lamplight, he sawed the wooden collar off her neck and wrist, careful of her skin. For a moment she felt almost dizzy and too light; her balance shifted, as they came off. She went down to her cabin to wash the blood off her skin and out of her hair.
With a careful hand she copied Sarngeld's signature on the document, the bill of sale that proclaimed her the Zingas Brezhani's new owner/captain, assuming all unfulfilled contracts. Sarngeld's seals were in the trunk under the bunk, and she used the ring taken from his hand before they threw the corpse in the river weighted with rocks.
From below a steady hammering sounded. The old Brezhani had sprung a board and the bilges had started filling faster than they could be pumped out. They were cobbling a patch but couldn't fix the ship while she was under way.
Megan cursed steadily under her breath but forced her hands steady as she signed her own name… called Whitlock. No personal seal. I'll have to get one. A steady scrape from above, where the holystone was being pulled across the bloodstain. They couldn't erase it but could make it seem old. While they were laid up to stop the leak, there was more cleaning being done than for the last few weeks all together, people finding work to hide their tension, coiling ropes, polishing brass long tarnished green, scraping and painting as if they couldn't worry while their hands did the work. They were glad enough to have her take the risk of docking and customs at Naryshkiv.
There. She waited for the wax to cool. The money in the box, Lixand's price—she bit her lip at the thought— was just enough to cover the back wages owed the crew and another docking fee. She didn't want to pay them with the money she might need to get Lixand back, but she had to. She needed their goodwill as much as they needed her.
It will have to do.
The customs clerk barely glanced at the bill of sale, affixed his stamp and took the fee. "Good day to you, Teik Captain."
"And to you. Teik Clerk, is the town's record hall open this late?" She kept her tone light, not letting the urgency show.
He considered a moment, checked the height of the sun over the port rail, considered longer while she seethed, pretending calm. The patch had taken a full three days to do properly, dry-rot crumbling the hole bigger. They'd had to ground the Brezhani and replace whole boards.
"Nyata, it's too late today." He nodded over at the cluster of stolid red-brick showing over the wooden warehouses. " 'ts Next to the Guildsquare."
"Thank you."
Megan ran a hand through the white lock in her hair, forcing calm. The Naryshkiv market clerk was hardly at fault, even if he was the giver of bad news.
"The Arkan trader… ah… hmm… his name… Anetenkas Grias, Okas, as far as I know. Dealing with a Thane for exotic goods to go into the Empire, I believe."
"When did he leave?" The clerk looked up at her, a little taken aback at her vehemence
.
"Why… four, five days ago I believe, in the afternoon, by barge up the Oestschpaz, I think."
Four, five days ago. Four or five days.
"Thank you, Teik Clerk, you've been most helpful." Megan stepped outside trying to feel like an owner/captain.
She stopped in the shadow of the porch, looking out at the muddy, half-cobbled square where the market was just packing up for the night.
I either give up the ship and what friends—-family— I have and try to catch Lixand. On foot by myself, or hope I can track him by proxy. Five days… There was no money to buy a horse or passage on a barge, no extra at all. Tze and Mat were waiting for her. They were good at following orders, but at commanding? There was a cargo of leather on the Brezhani, promised to a merchant in Rand. If she left them, it would be as bad as Marte getting rid of her because she was too much trouble.
She put her face in her hands. Lixand. The roiling in her guts settled. I'm already too late, but I'll find you, wherever you are. I'll get the gold I need to find you. I have a gold candlestick waiting at home to start.
She threw back her shoulders and strode out into the square.
Chapter Eighteen
The Randish merchant accepted the leather with only the barest flicker of surprise that the Arkan had sold out to a woman. Megan bowed over her cup of Randish tea and waited for him to begin negotiations for the next cargo. This Rand, a coral button Fifth rank, preferred to deal with freelance rather than Guild captains; willing to trade off risk for immediate gain.
They sat in a dark, stone room. At least it was lit with sweet-scent candles. He's trying to impress the ignorant foreigner, Megan thought, settling herself to wait as long as necessary. Nal-Gospozhyn Eyvan always had me play the Randish games of zight until I was ready to scream. She thought she saw a flicker of emotion across that smooth, creamy-skinned face. Impressed with my patience? Or intrigued with my youth? She dismissed the idea.
"Honorable Servant of the Sky Dragon, these mean eyes delight in the lush and elegant surroundings this humble one finds herself, and is grateful that the noble and magnificent host has chosen to honor her with such loveliness." She turned her tea cup the requisite three times, signifying delight and admiration, thinking, a shoddy copy of Second Dynasty porcelain.
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