Song of the Current

by Sarah Tolcser

  “I can’t tell you,” I said. But there was one thing she could do. “Send a ship to the harbor master in Hespera’s Watch. They’ve got Pa locked up on smuggling charges. He’ll explain everything.”

  “Hespera’s Watch? You said he was in Valonikos. Come about, Caro!” She stopped. There was no more dock.

  “I’m sorry, Ma,” I called softly across the lengthening gap. I didn’t dare say more. Behind her lurked Alektor, dark and silent in her berth.

  “Hey!” a man yelled. “Who goes there?”

  “A lookout. On the dock,” Markos whispered, eyes widening. The expanse of water between Alektor and Cormorant grew, but not quick enough.

  “Gods damn me.” My sweaty hand gripped the tiller.

  “Alarm! Alarm!” The man scrambled to his feet, reaching for his musket. “There’s a wherry left its mooring!”

  I shoved Markos hard. “Get down.”

  He dropped to the cockpit floor. My heart thumped a hectic rhythm. We were still in range. I ducked my head and clung to the tiller, bracing myself.

  Waiting for the shot.

  Sound carries far at night across still water, even at a distance. I heard the unmistakable scrape of a knife blade against a sheath, followed by a gargling cry and a heavy splash.

  My mother’s voice rang out. “Anjay, Thessos! Quickly now. Get rid of that body.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  The sun on my face stirred me awake. I blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from my head. I lay in my bunk, fully dressed and very much wrinkled. Across the cabin, Fee was curled in her hammock.

  Waves gently slapped the hull. As I eased myself out of my bunk, everything came back to me. Our frantic escape from Siscema. The harrowing night sail, terrified the Bollards or the Black Dogs would catch up to us any moment. Anchoring in the tall reeds on the shore of the widening river, too exhausted to go any farther.

  And the dreams.

  I’d dreamed of the dead Mrs. Singer again, fish flitting around her. I was growing to despise that one. But to my relief this time there was no possibility of it being a true dream, because there had also been talking seagulls and dolphins. And a snake—no, bigger than a snake …

  I rubbed my forehead. I couldn’t remember.

  Somewhere a bell clattered rustily. I went barefoot up to the deck. The river was so wide it looked like a lake, but I knew we were really anchored in an inland sea, the water brackish. Just off the stern, wavelets splashed a leaning wooden post. Two rows of posts exactly like it marked out a channel, while seagulls wheeled and cawed above the marsh grasses.

  Nemertes Water. We’d come upon it in the dark.

  I’d always loved the feel of my toes curling on Cormorant’s planks. It made me feel closer to her. But I was a bit guilty about leaving everything a mess last night, so I went to work stowing and tidying the deck.

  I didn’t notice Markos until he was almost upon me.

  “You look like a pirate princess.” He leaned against the cabin, shirt collar unbuttoned and flapping in the wind.

  I still wore the lacy nightgown tucked into trousers, with a scarf wrapped around my hair. “There’s no such thing.”

  “Yes, there is,” he said. “There’s a story about one. Arisbe, Princess of Amassia. Amassia That Was Lost.”

  “Oh, I know that one,” I said. “The island prince promises his daughter’s hand in marriage to an Emparch in a faraway castle, but the sea is angry, for that was a girl the sea god had claimed for herself. So there’s a great war, with pirates and swordsmen and magic crocodiles and, oh, I forget. And in the end, doesn’t the sea take revenge by destroying the city?” I shrugged. “It’s just a legend.”

  “Some of the people in it are real figures from Akhaia’s history.”

  “They are?”

  “Don’t you know anything?” He threw my old mocking words back at me with a grin. “What makes you so sure it’s a legend?”

  “Because all sailors tell tales like that, but not one of them’s ever seen the ruins of Amassia That Was Lost. It doesn’t exist.”

  Hands in his pockets, he wandered up the deck. “And yet there really was an Emparch called Scamandrios the Second who had a wife from an island country. Actually, they were the first of my family’s direct lineage to rule Akhaia. When he died young, that same wife ruled as regent for many years. She’s one of the most famous Emparchesses in our history. Our version of the story doesn’t have any magic crocodiles in it though.”

  “Likely Pa added them. They’re always popping up in his stories.” A wave of hurt washed over me. I swallowed, turning away from him to unlace the sail cover.

  “It’s going to be all right.” Markos cleared his throat. “You said yourself that your mother is very influential. She has to be able to do something.”

  If anything happened to Pa, it was Markos’s fault. I knew he realized that. It lay unspoken between us, a looming shadow.

  I changed the subject. “I don’t like that Arisbe story.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with it?”

  “The ending.” Starting at opposite ends, we undid the knots lashing the sail down.

  “She marries an Emparch,” he said. “She rules Akhaia.”

  “Everything she knows is destroyed! The sea god drowns her family. But, all right, it must not be a big deal because she marries an Emparch.”

  “It’s a cautionary tale,” he said. “A warning about the dangers of defying your fate.”

  “As if Arisbe was the one who arranged that marriage! The story is about a lot of people fighting over her, but she’s the one who pays in the end.”

  He shook his head. “You have so many opinions about things.”

  “Thank you,” I said, though I suspected it hadn’t been a compliment. Together we hoisted the sail, hauling until the blocks clicked together.

  I gave one last pull on the halyard, trimming the slack. “Watch,” I commanded. Markos leaned over my shoulder as I wrapped the halyard around the cleat in a figure eight motion. I twisted my hand, catching the rope end under itself, and pulled the loop to tighten it. “That’s how you cleat off.”

  “It looks so simple when you do it,” he said.

  “That’s because it is.”

  “You only think so because you were raised on a boat.” He dropped cross-legged onto the cockpit seat. “This all seems like a foreign language to me.”

  The sail flapped as the wind filled it. I steered Cormorant between the nearest two posts. “Markos.” I hesitated. “Last night. When I … got dizzy …”

  He smirked. “When you fainted, you mean.”

  “I did not.” I took a deep breath. “The truth is, I could’ve been nicer to you. When we first met. I … I made fun of you a lot. I wouldn’t blame you for mocking me.”

  He acknowledged me with a small nod. “We’re stronger together than apart. Don’t you think?”

  It wasn’t what I had expected him to say, but he was right. Our adventure in Siscema had changed things between us. “Ayah,” I said. “I reckon I do.”

  “Well. That’s why I didn’t make fun of you.”

  I was afraid to bring up the next subject, for fear of upsetting him. “That man you killed last night …”

  He gripped the edge of the seat. “What about it?”

  I noticed he’d said “it,” not him. “Do you … Well, do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” He rubbed his forehead. “Yes. I don’t know. I hate that I did it. It’s not a pleasant feeling, watching someone’s life gush out of them like—”

  I swallowed convulsively.

  He winced. “I didn’t mean to say ‘gush.’ ” Straightening, he stared at something over my left shoulder. “There’s a boat coming,” he said sharply.

  She was a sloop, narrow and graceful, beating up Nemertes Water at a good clip with a jib and staysail billowing out before her. I read the name in gold letters: Conthar. An oddly shaped object, cover
ed with a piece of canvas, sat near the rail. I caught a flash of metal at its base.

  A cannon. My mouth went dry.

  As the sloop angled closer to us, I saw a woman hanging onto the forestay. “Hellooooo!” she shouted.

  Markos stiffened.

  Across the water, I heard the woman arguing with a man who sat on the cabin roof. “Well, they ain’t answering,” she said. “It’s not her. Look at the name. Octavia.”

  “That’s Nick’s boat.”

  “Look at it through the glass, old man.” She shoved a spyglass at him.

  “My eyesight is fair enough.” He pointed his pipe at us. “That’s Cormorant or I’m a marsh goose.”

  I recognized his voice. As they sliced across Cormorant’s bow, well ahead of us, I waved.

  Markos hissed, “What are you doing?”

  I ignored him. “Is that Perry Krantor?” I hollered across the water. “Captain Krantor of the Jolly Girl?”

  “How be you on this fine morning, Caroline Oresteia?” he called back.

  The man on the wheel turned away from the wind. Conthar spun in a circle, dropping astern, but in a moment she had caught back up. Her crew let fly the jib and let the mainsail luff, to keep pace with Cormorant. I could see their faces now. The woman was Thisbe Brixton.

  “I didn’t know that sloop,” I said.

  “Borrowed.” Captain Brixton leaned over Conthar’s starboard side. “We’re bound upriver. Twenty of us, stout wherrymen all. We’re going to do for those bastards what set fire to Hespera’s Watch.”

  “You’re going to take on the Black Dogs?”

  “Ayah.” Her long braid whipped out in the wind. “We couldn’t touch ’em on the sea, but we ain’t on the sea. These are the riverlands. We know these waters better than they do.”

  “They gone up the Kars,” I called. “That’s what I heard anyhow. And best watch out. They got friends—the sloop Alektor.”

  Captain Brixton’s eyes settled on Markos. “Who’s that? He looks like someone …”

  “Just a cousin,” I said, hoping she didn’t know much about my family. He certainly didn’t look like me or Pa, or indeed any of the Bollards. I cursed myself for not thinking of a better lie.

  Captain Krantor removed his pipe from his mouth and gave me a sharp look, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Have—have you any word of Pa?” I held my breath.

  He shook his head. “He be in the harbor master’s lockup.”

  I exhaled. Thank the gods. He was safe enough for now. Hopefully Ma would be successful in springing him from the brig.

  Captain Brixton snapped her fingers. “I thought of it. He looks like the man on the cent piece.”

  I opened my mouth to say the cent piece had a tree on it.

  She anticipated me. “Not ours. The Akhaian one. They’re not called cents, they’re called something else, but anyhow they’ve a young man on them. And you look like him.”

  Markos smiled uncomfortably.

  “Of course, that’s not likely where I know you from.” She laughed. “It’s just a bit of whimsy. Pay me no mind.”

  “What news of your wherries?” I called, before Captain Brixton could explore any further down that tributary.

  “I’m forgetting you left that very night,” Captain Krantor said. “Finion Argyrus come up himself from Siscema. No finer salvagers than Argyrus and Sons, to be sure. If anyone can raise those boats, Argyrus will!”

  “You don’t get the best of a wherryman that easy, eh, boys?” Thisbe Brixton shouted. “Ayah, and didn’t the Old Man send us for vengeance?” I saw Markos glance at Captain Krantor, but I knew that wasn’t who she meant.

  A ragged cheer rose up from the men.

  Captain Brixton threw me a farewell salute. “Current carry you, Oresteia!” Conthar sheeted in and shot away, whisking toward the northern end of Nemertes Water. I wished I was going with them.

  “I shouldn’t be on deck,” Markos said.

  “They’re on our side. You look like the man on the Akhaian cent piece, do you?” I hit him on the arm. “I knew we should’ve kept you dressed like an old woman. Gods damn me.”

  “My grandfather’s on that coin.” He rubbed the crease between his eyes. “How much does a wherry cost?”

  “Why—”

  He just looked at me. “You know why. This happened to them because of me.” His shoulders were hunched, as if the burden weighed heavily on him. “I should make restitution.”

  I didn’t want to make him feel worse, but I had to be honest. “It’s not about how much they cost,” I said. “You’re not a wherryman. You won’t understand.”

  “So make me understand.”

  “I can’t.” I dug for the words I wanted. “To a captain, a ship is … more than just something that carries cargo from place to place. To someone who loves her, it don’t matter if she’s old. Or her decks aren’t tidy. Or her paint is chipped.”

  I placed my palm flat against the warm deck. “When you see her, with her sails standing high against the sky, it’s like being punched in the chest. For a moment you can’t breathe. Her beauty strikes you that hard. You understand the life in her, and it calls out to you. That’s when you know you love a ship. That’s when she’s yours.”

  “And that’s how you feel about Cormorant.”

  “She’s not just a boat,” I said around the lump in my throat. “She’s my home. She’s everything.”

  I spread my hand wide. I felt her every creak and movement. I felt her spirit, the little quirks that made her Cormorant. That made her ours and no one else’s.

  “I would like to pay them, just the same,” Markos said. “Someday.”

  Nemertes Water was dotted with ships. I sighted at least six wherries, a long topsail barge, and one seagoing bark, but there were also pleasure boats and fishing boats and all manner of small craft. Strangely, being on the open water felt safer and more dangerous at the same time. I could clearly see every ship up and down that blue stretch. None of them were Victorianos or Alektor, blessings in small things.

  But I also felt naked. We were exposed on Nemertes Water. If the Black Dogs appeared, there was nowhere to hide.

  “Are we close to Iantiporos?” Markos asked.

  I pointed. “It’s on the other side of those cliffs. If we sailed a little farther to port, you’d be able to see the pillars of the senate building. It’s one of the wonders of the modern world.” Knowing how he disapproved of Kynthessa’s democratic government, I was surprised when he did not interrupt with a disapproving comment. “Beyond Iantiporos is the sea.”

  “Can you take this boat onto the sea?”

  “She does all right on the Neck. But on the open sea?” I shook my head. Wherrymen were superstitious about the ocean. It was not the realm of the river god. “Out there you need a deep keel. High rails. More canvas.”

  Turning to Markos, I had an idea. “You want to try sailing?” For some reason, I found myself hoping he would say yes. “This is a big bay. You can make mistakes here.”

  “Me? I—you’d let me sail?” I saw a glint in his eyes. He set his hand tentatively on the tiller. Fee let go, scooting over on the bench.

  “Well, that’s no good,” I said right away. “Grip it. She’s made of wood. You can’t break her.” I pointed to the posts marking the deepest part of the water. “Just stay in the channel.”

  He closed his fist around the handle.

  I bounced up out of the cockpit, climbing onto the cabin roof. The sun had come out and the water was blue, capped with lacy white-tipped waves. With two hops, Fee joined me.

  “Don’t just leave me!” Markos looked panicked. “The post is getting close. What do I do?”

  “You’re going to jibe.”

  “What?”

  “That thing you don’t like, when the sail slams all the way across.”

  He almost let go of the tiller. “We’ll tip over.”

  “She’s twenty tons. It’s impossible to tip her.”
>
  “I doubt the Royal Society of Physics would agree,” he said between tight lips.

  “It’s impossible to tip her in fair weather,” I amended. “Now, when I tell you to shove the tiller over, you’re going to do it decisive-like.”

  He sat on the edge of the seat, glancing up at the sail. “Now?”

  “Wait.”

  He gave me a dirty look. “I am perfectly aware you’re doing this just to torture me.” The piling slid closer. I could see barnacles on the crooked post and, below, seabirds perched on the wet rocks. His voice rose. “We’re going to hit.”

  “We’re not. Wait … wait … now!”

  Markos shoved the tiller hard over. The boom and gaff slammed across with a wooden thunk. He half ducked out of instinct, though the boom passed several feet above his head. The sail snapped, then filled.

  I trimmed the sheet a bit. The wind was coming more across our beam now.

  “I didn’t know she could fly like this!” Markos shouted. Cormorant was heeling a good bit to port, but for once he didn’t complain about the tilt.

  “She makes a good speed when she’s empty of cargo. She don’t point as well as that fast cutter might, but she does all right for herself.”

  “It’s fun!” he yelled.

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t fun—it was work. But I found I couldn’t. A fair day with a fresh wind has a magic of its own. Of course a wherryman finds beauty in the work, or he wouldn’t be a wherryman.

  Flopping on my stomach, I rested my chin on my arm. Above us, seabirds dipped and reeled. The wood of the cabin roof warmed me through my shirt. Salt was on my skin and in the air. I inhaled, closing my eyes and savoring the briny tang of it. For a moment I thought I understood … something.

  The god at the bottom of the river speaks to us in the language of small things. I listened, but whatever elusive whisper I’d almost heard was gone before I could snatch at it.

  Markos pointed. “Look at the birds.”

  Four seagulls perched in a line along the curved deck of the wherry. “Oh, the gulls,” I said. “They do that sometimes.”