"Ahh." He put the tips of his fingers together as he bowed at her compliment. "This poor and unworthy host is grateful that the enlightened guest praises him with her regard and elegant taste." Finally, she thought. He's warming up. Enlightened, hmmm? I guess Sarngeld dealt with him his own way.
"Oh, the lightning intelligence of my gracious host overwhelms this ignorant jannin." Lay it on thick as a new-rich's buttered roll. Fifth rank need all the buttering they can get. He’ll appreciate me calling myself a foreign devil. "It truly enlightens and enlarges one in the august presence."
He ran a smoothing hand over his red skull-cap, preening, though no expression showed on his face.
"Permit this crude and unlearned host to approach my distinguished guest with a small proposal."
"This lowly one hangs on every precious word." Bull-crap. You have another load of half-split leather that you want to go north to Aenir's-ford because the fall market there will be good.
"If the magnificent mind of my guest will deign to dwell on the possibility that her elegantly appointed vessel would bear my dirty, ill-cured wares north to the bluff, crude market. For an exchange of, please forgive the haste and crudity of my language, cash."
"This lowly one is astonished at the largess of her host, whose words are both elegant and stately." And overblown as ail Halya, but he does seem to be in a hurry.
"The brilliance of my guest overwhelms me." It went on like that for a good hour or so, compliments smeared thick as honey on burnt bread, but they arrived at a deal.
She paused at the tunnel into the open air of the third west island to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. It was quieter than the more important islands of Rand, but during their harvest festival that was not peaceful. Fireworks exploded all around the caldera, streamers floated from the heights to be swept away by the river or caught by the docks clustered around the steep islands. Dragons with hundreds of Rand underneath danced through the upper streets, a few even daring spider-slender bridges swaying in the breeze. The crowd swirling around her was almost as uniformly short as a Zak crowd, but yellow-skinned, dressed in heavily embroidered robes of nobles or would-be nobles, or plain blue tunic and pants of the common, and all as haughty of any non-Rand as the Zak could be of naZak.
Megan was conscious of the weight at her belt. The letters of payment drawn up, cash drafts payable only on delivery— She caught the wrist of a child too poor to own a razor, who was trying to pick the purse, blocking the thumb-jab. "Nyata," she said softly into frightened brown eyes then switched to Rand. "First trick, no cash. Learn more." That about exhausted her fund of Rand. "Go." The child disappeared into the crowd like a freed bird.
Was I ever that young? Megan thought. I want to get back to my ship and out of this noise.
The weather on their trip north was rain, freezing rain, sleet and finally snow, the wind blowing fitfully and with little force so they had to row most of the way. After the third day of pulling, Megan called a halt at Beigen, a tiny cluster of buildings with two docks and a half-silted harbor.
"Tze, well lay up here for tomorrow. If the snow stops and we get a wind, we'll gain by the wait. Everyone won't be too tired to handle sail."
"Aye, Captain."
"Mateus, set the wards on the ship."
"Aye, Captain." He winked at her before his face took on the unfocused look. She smiled at him, though he couldn't see, his eyes looking into the manrauq rather than into the world. She chewed a flake of skin off her bottom lip, leaned over the poop rail.
"Zaftra!"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Break out the barrel of red wine and mull it for the crew tonight. They've been breaking their backs against the current."
"Certainly, Captain." They were all so careful, so formal. Were they so used to showing their bellies to Sarn-geld that they did to her, out of habit?
The deck crew were just changing shift in the white and grey twilight, and Megan turned to head down to the cabin. "Oh, and Tze, crew leave is lots of six."
"Aye, there's not much that'll draw them but the one tavern and an unlicensed whorehouse."
"Well, I'll tell Kat to keep an eye out for cases of the drip."
He grinned at her, and turned to pass on the orders.
At the knock, Megan looked up from the books. "Ave," she said somewhat irritably.
"Lessons, still, Captain." Zaftra nudged the door shut behind him, cutting off the cold draft, and set the dinner tray on her desk, effectively stopping her from working.
"Zaftra! The ink!" She reached for the tray, stopped and sighed. "You're right, I'll just peel it loose when it's dry."
"You should eat first. Then you should make time to practice your skills before you go back to ship books."
Megan looked at him and down at the dinner tray, resenting anything that might slow her down, realizing that taking some time to eat and look after herself wasn't really slowing her, it just felt like it.
He smiled when he saw her lift the cover off the soup. "Borshch. With sour cream. When you've eaten, I'll be back to help you with the lesson." He nodded at her and limped to the door, cold making his joints stiffen terribly. He reached for the latch, turned back. "The mulled wine was appreciated by the crew. I thought I should mention it."
"Thank you, Zaftra." She tore the small loaf of bread in half, spread it with soft cheese and sopped one corner in the soup, suddenly ravenous now that she'd let herself think of food.
Next evening the last of the leave-crews wobbled their way back to the Zingas Brezhani, leaning on each other, dangerously close to overbalancing into the freezing, muddy water.
Megan watched impatiently as they made their precarious way onboard and the plank drawn in. The wind had come up as the weather cleared and she had decided to take advantage. At least they'll sleep it off and be out of the way… Her head snapped around as she realized that one of the men, Yneltzin, rather than making his way down to his hammock was trying to take a place among the deck-watch, as the Brezhani oar-walked out of the harbor.
"Bosun!" Her voice was high enough to cut through noise of an un-oiled oarlock.
"Aye, Captain!"
"What is Yneltzin doing on deck while drunk?"
"Captain, he's on watch!" Oblaka answered civilly enough, but with a carelessness that set her teeth on edge.
"Bring him away, before he gets into the rigging. To me, move!"
"Aye." The woman called forward and Yneltzin came back, as the oars were brought inboard, clattering. He stumbled over one, jostled the oar-crew on the other, and when they complained, buffeted one companionably on the shoulder as if he'd made a joke, getting in their way. Megan set her teeth.
"Aye… Captain." He paused long enough to make it an insult as he stood, thumbs hooked in his belt, rocking gently back and forth on his heels; the arrogant pose ruined every once in a while as he lost his balance. A nervous habit of his, she thought. It's the drink bringing out the idiot in him. She leaned on the poop rail, frowning down at him.
"Who authorized your leave, just before your watch?"
"It'ss a fa-favor ta me… Cap-t-ain." She ground her teeth. Behind her, Tze bellowed and the boom swung. The ship was underway. Slowly, sails bellied out in the steady wind that gave her enough headway against the current.
"You're docked a week's pay. Get below and wake your next shift. You're trading off-duty times."
He wobbled back, caught himself by stepping back, blinked and said, clearly and loudly, "I don' have ta take orders from a SLUT!"
The quiet was sudden and pronounced, except for the ship's sound—creaking timbers, the squeak of rope. Megan could see Oblaka's throat move as she swallowed.
"Mateus. Oblaka." Megan nodded at the bosun and the second mate, suddenly cold. They took hold of the man who twitched, as if he'd pull away, realizing there was nowhere to go but over the side. "Yneltzin, you're under punishment. Ten lashes."
The off-duty crew was called on deck.
"I call thee fort
h." Megan pitched her voice to carry. Before, no one had cared to challenge her zight and now she knew she had to assert it. "I call thee forth."
The setting sun cast a glow over everything, painting it the color of thinned blood. Megan put one hand on the brace of throwing daggers she carried on her belt, raised the other formally. "I call thee forth."
The crew quieted and she stepped forward. Mateus cuffed Yneltzin as he tied him to the main-mast to make him stop trying to pull away. "For refusing to obey a direct order, and failing respect, Yneltzin called Fisher, is under punishment. Ten lashes."
There was a mutter, but no tightening in the air. Oblaka swung the whip. CRACK. Yneltzin stiffened, yelping. CRACK. "Shit, I only—" CRACK.
"Shut up, Fish," Oblaka hissed through her teeth. CRACK. "Don't make it worse." CRACK.
"Shhhnü—" CRACK. He held his silence then. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
"Ten, Captain."
"Good." Oblaka turned to cut Yneltzin down. "Bosun. You made up the leave-schedule."
The woman turned to Megan, who waited. "Yes, Captain."
"Were you also aware that Yneltzin was immediately on watch after that leave?" She was refusing to look at Megan, coiling the single-strand whip in her hands very carefully and methodically.
"Yes, Captain."
"You saw his condition when he came on board?"
"It's been all right before, Captain, he's managed—"
"Be silent," Megan snapped, putting all her will into that. Oblaka opened her mouth, then closed it.
"For negligence. Bosun Oblaka, sentence of five lashes. I'll not have a drunkard killing himself or anyone else on board this ship."
"But—"
"One more word," Megan said icily, "and I'll double it." She let the silence stand long enough for it to make her point, then said, "Mateus, take the whip. Kat, look after Yneltzin. I'll speak to him when he's sober."
Megan stood and watched as Mateus administered five quick stripes to Oblaka and cut her loose. Then she went into the cabin and sat in the dark for a while until her shaking stopped.
If I turn him off the ship, he'd have reason to call an investigation on me and the rest of the crew over Sarngeld's "sale," she thought, running her hands over her arms, as if she were cold. I'd be a fool if I didn't think he'd think of that, but he isn't mean unless he's drunk and he's not vindictive enough to risk hanging himself to hang me.
She called him into her office next day.
"Yneltzin, if you were in my place, what would you say to me?"
He looked startled, then nervous, rocking. "I, ah, Captain… I…"
"Here," she said and got up. "Sit down in my chair and be me." A Yeoli's idea. He coughed nervously, then sat down when she motioned him to.
"I… ah, I'd give you a warning?"
"That's a good start." He looked down at the desk, at the papers he couldn't read.
"Id… ah, insist on an apology." She waited. "I'm sorry, I called you that. Truly, Captain."
"Accepted." She waited. "Is there more?" As a Guild captain, holding the papers, she had the right to land him and name him blacklisted in every Hall up and down the river. When they'd sworn to obey her, they'd sworn to that.
"I'd tell you that you weren't blacklisted, that your papers were still valid, that you weren't going to get busted to lander." He said all of that in a rush. She nodded thoughtfully.
"I'd like my chair back, Yneltzin." He scrambled out of it as if it were hot. "Your attempt to stop me from finding out about Oblaka's disobedience is noted. If you ever disobey me or show disrespect again, I won't stop at a flogging, clear?" He nodded, hands behind his back. "You have to prove yourself to me, though. Dismissed."
Snow swirled thick and heavy now almost every day, but it was warm enough that the river hadn't frozen more than at the edges, small chunks of ice floating from further north. If I'm lucky we can make it home before freeze-up. Perhaps even sail out again before hard freeze. She couldn't go after Lixand, and crushed the nagging thought that she was relieved that he was gone. No, she told herself. He was her son and none of Sarngeld's. She couldn't go after him. He was too far out of her reach. She couldn't. But the nagging guilt stayed. Perhaps she could have gone after him, but then she would have abandoned the ship and her crew, her family. No, stop this, she thought. I decided. I can't change it, right or wrong.
She whirled, pacing. If she couldn't free Lixand immediately, then she'd go after Rilla. Do you need me still,
coz? Or have you grown like your mother in these last years?
She heard a soft step on the gangway and turned to see Katrana beckon.
"Captain, may I have a word with you?"
"Certainly. I'D be down in a moment."
When the door of the cabin closed behind them, Katrana sat down on the bunk and looked concernedly at Megan who sat down at her desk. The girl was thin to the point of gauntness, eyes shadowed.
"Your homecoming isn't going to be easy, is it, Meg?" Katrana said softly. Megan's face closed as she unlaced her cloak, throwing it off her shoulders over the back of her chair.
"You might say so. Why do you ask?" she said, voice cool, hands drumming nervously on her knees.
"I'm concerned, both as ship's healer and as a friend."
"Thank you, but I don't need help." Megan crossed her arms as if to block out Katrana's interference more than to stop the restless motion of her fingers.
"You should at least look after yourself a bit more," the healer said. "Megan, of all people I should know how much you want your son but…' She waved a hand at Megan's threadbare cloak and dark tunic that was patched at both elbows and shoulders. "You have to spend some money on yourself occasionally." She raised the hand sharply as Megan tried to cut her off. "I know you're saving it for finding him, but the ship will suffer as you do. I'm saying this as healer. You Haven't been sleeping well enough and you've been eating next to nothing, exercising too hard. You'll kill yourself if you keep up, and then no one will rescue your son."
"Well, I will deal with it, Kat." Megan's hand slapped the desk as if closing a book, but Katrana ignored the hint.
"I know you'll deal with it, Meg." The healer sighed and got up to leave. "But killing yourself isn't going to free Lixand.
Megan stared at the closed door, no answer on her tongue except, You're right.
Chapter Nineteen
"Zaftra, I can't do anything more than that!" Megan let the light spell snap, the dull reddish glow vanishing, leaving her with a headache that pushed at the back of her eyeballs.
"Sh, Meg, it's all right. You'll do the best you can. You can set wards, you can make a light and small illusions."
"And move grains of salt!" she snapped. "What use is all this work?!' She paced back and forth in the cabin, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyesockets as if to relieve the pressure.
"It helps you with your knife throwing," he said mildly. "You're good, but with the talent helping you, however uncontrolled, you are excellent."
She sighed. "Fine. All right. I know the most I'm going to, and I think I'd like to stop with these lessons for now."
"All right, Meg." He patted the cushion next to him. "Want to talk about your worries?"
"My worries are none—" She closed her mouth, putting the tip of her tongue between her teeth. "Sorry.
Zaftra, I'm just trying so damn hard to get enough to get Lixand back. The ship is costing me too much. At this rate I'll never make any money. He'll be in the Empire, a slave for the rest of his life, and if anyone with more money than me decides to kick me or mine in the teeth, I won't be able to kick back." She stopped pacing, looking at the dull grey light shining through the porthole. The ship complained as she broke through the thin crust of ice on the river. "Other than that, nothing's bothering me in the slightest." He shook his head at the bitterness in her voice.
"You'll make more money once you speak to your Gospozhyn and work through the Guild rather than continuing Sarngeld's freelance bus
iness."
She nodded, head down. "People pay more for consistent quality," she said quietly. "I know all that. But I don't know if my Gospozhyn will accredit me. I'm not Master rank, yet, and if he jumped me to Master then there would be jealousy and bad feeling. And the idea of an Apprentice, even a Journeyman, owning a ship—that's impossible by current Guild rules."
"You'll convince him when you talk to him face-to-face. That's why you haven't written, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"You're afraid to."
"No, I'm not! That's—" He held up a hand.
"Now, your old teacher isn't accusing you of anything and your zight is safe with me. I respect the person you are, and will be." She finally sat down, looking at him, for once like the child she still was.
"I'm sorry. Yes, you're right. I'm afraid to."
"Be honest with yourself, at least, Meg, it’ll be easier to be honest with other people that way." She looked away, twisting the comers of the cushion in her fingers. "If you don't mind a bit of nosy, unasked for advice…" He smiled at her look. "You don't have to threaten to swat me, Megan, I'll go on." He shook his bony finger at her. "If you do well, that's the important thing. No matter what you do, if you do it well, it will help your standing; tangible or intangible."
There was a moment of quiet, when the only sound was a call from the deck-crew, the boom of the sails, then she smiled again, and flung her arms around him in a quick, startling hug. "Thank you Zaftra!" Then realizing, she blushed to the roots of her hair and grabbed her cloak. "I need… need to check the watch, close the door after you."
"Child…" His word fell on a closed door and he looked after the tap of her retreating footsteps. "Child, still. Koru keep you."
The Zingas Brezhani worked her way upstream, ice on her heels and Megan paced in the cabin, from the desk to the bunk and back, reining in her frustration. Never enough. It'll take me years to save enough this way. She clenched her fists behind her back as she paced. The shadow of the Great Rock loomed in the porthole and was gone, slowly falling behind as they tacked upriver.
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