The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

“Excellent!” he declared. “In that case, you can resume your studies.”

  “My studies?”

  “Dirk was teaching you to read, wasn’t he? Since there’s nothing much else to do on board, I thought we might continue them.”

  “What?” Dirk asked in alarm. With everything that had gone on in the past few days, Dirk had totally forgotten about Marqel’s lessons. He was certainly in no mood to resume them.

  Marqel lowered her eyes with a shy smile. “You don’t have to do that for me, your highness.”

  “Nonsense! I’m glad to help. What do you say, Dirk? Shall we have Marqel quoting poetry by the time we reach Avacas?”

  If she had been selling herself in the taverns near the docks on Elcast, Dirk was fairly sure Marqel could quote poetry now, but not the sort Kirshov had in mind.

  “If you’re so keen to teach her how to read, Kirsh, you do it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Dirk. I’m just going to be there for moral support. You’ll have to do the actual teaching.”

  “I’d have to ask the High Priestess,” Marqel told them. “But I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  “Off you go then,” Kirsh ordered. “We’ll wait for you.”

  Looking as pleased as if she had just been rewarded with a peerage, Marqel hurried off to seek Belagren’s permission to resume her lessons. Dirk scowled at Kirshov.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping Marqel learn to read,” he said with an innocent shrug.

  “Are you sure that’s all you’re doing?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re implying,” Kirsh responded stiffly.

  Dirk didn’t get a chance to answer. Marqel hurried back to them and stopped before Kirsh breathlessly. “My lady said yes.”

  “Excellent! In that case we shall retire to the bow, away from the stink of these horses, and proceed to educate you!”

  Marqel pushed past Dirk with a triumphant little smile and fell in beside Kirsh as he headed for the bow. He stared after them with a frown, only following reluctantly when Kirsh glanced over his shoulder and ordered him to follow.

  Chapter 43

  Antonov insisted they join him and the High Priestess each evening in his cabin for dinner. He seemed to enjoy the company of his young guests as much as that of his sons. Dirk was surprised at how much trouble Antonov went to, to ensure that he was at ease in such unfamiliar surroundings. He questioned each of them about their day and seemed genuinely interested in their answers, although what Belagren thought about it was anybody’s guess. Her expression remained neutral, her comments noncommittal. But the Lion of Senet treated Alenor like a favored niece and Dirk like a welcome nephew. In his company it was very easy to forget how dangerous he could be.

  “Belagren tells me you’ve resumed your lessons with our young thief, Dirk,” Antonov remarked as they were served their dessert by one of Antonov’s legion of silent, unsmiling servants. They ate almost as well on the Calliope as they had back in Elcast. Dirk was only just beginning to appreciate the benefits of enormous wealth.

  “We made great progress, too,” Kirsh declared, smearing his cake with cream. Dirk wondered how they managed to keep it fresh, or was there actually a cow on board? The main course had been beef, roasted to perfection. Still, he supposed the weather had been fair and they had not been at sea long enough for the supplies they had taken on in Elcast to turn rancid yet.

  “You, Kirsh?” Antonov asked in surprise. “I was under the impression you thought reading was akin to having a tooth pulled. In fact, I can’t ever recall seeing you pick up a book voluntarily.”

  “Ah, well that’s Dirk’s influence, sir,” he replied through a mouthful of cake.

  “Then I must congratulate you, Dirk,” Antonov said with a wry smile. “You appear to be having a remarkably good influence on my son. Perhaps next you might be able to persuade him not to talk with his mouth full.”

  Dirk shrugged self-consciously. Kirsh’s sudden interest in teaching had nothing to do with anything he had said or done. It was entirely attributable to Kirsh’s obsession with the acrobat.

  “And what of you, Alenor? How did you spend your day, my dear?”

  “In my cabin, your highness,” she told him with a scowl at Kirsh. “I was supposed to go up on deck, but you said I shouldn’t roam the ship unescorted. Kirsh was supposed to come for me, but he never showed up.”

  “No doubt he was distracted by his sudden interest in education,” Belagren commented. It made Dirk wonder if she knew more than she was letting on. Perhaps the High Priestess suspected something of Kirsh’s fascination with Marqel.

  “I see an opportunity here,” Antonov announced. “You’ve all been away from your studies for much too long, and as we are now blessed with Dirk’s remarkably well-educated company, I see no reason why they shouldn’t resume. Tomorrow, Kirshov, you will remember to escort Alenor on deck and you and she can both study while Dirk continues his lessons with the thief. I’ve no doubt young Dirk here is more than qualified to supervise your lessons, too.”

  Nobody around the table objected. Kirsh didn’t really care what he had to do, as long as he got to spend time with Marqel, and Alenor felt much the same way about Kirshov. Only Dirk was displeased with the arrangement, however there was nothing to be gained by complaining about it.

  “And now for something less taxing,” the prince continued when his edict drew no howls of protest. “By the time we get back to Avacas it will be almost your birthday, Kirshov.”

  “Goddess, I almost forgot!” Kirsh exclaimed. “How soon after that will I be able to go to Kalarada, do you think?”

  “When you come of age, Kirsh. That’s another two years away.”

  “Yes, but in Dhevyn, one comes of age when he’s eighteen, not twenty, like in Senet. And as I’m going to join the Dhevynian Queen’s Guard...”

  “You are still a Prince of Senet,” Belagren reminded him.

  “I know, but...”

  “I’ll think about it,” his father promised, “but don’t get your hopes up. There are more things to be taken into consideration than your single-minded enthusiasm for joining Dhevyn’s army.”

  “It was your idea, sir.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he replied with a smile. “I just wasn’t expecting you to embrace the notion quite so enthusiastically. That must be Alenor’s doing, I think. I should never have stolen her away from Kalarada.” He raised his wineglass in her direction and added, “She is such a delightful example of Dhevyn’s grace and beauty that she has beguiled you completely, I fear.”

  Alenor blushed at the compliment. Like Dirk, she found it hard not to fall victim to Antonov’s charm, even when he was quite openly reminding her that she was a hostage.

  “Speaking of birthdays,” Antonov said after toasting the princess, “when is your birthday, Dirk? Now that you are a member of the family, as it were, we must ensure that we celebrate it properly.”

  “I’ll be sixteen next month, your highness, and really, there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

  “So soon?” he inquired curiously. “I thought your birthday much later in the year... no matter. Is there anything you want as a gift? A horse, perhaps? You’ll need your own mount in Avacas. As soon as we get back, we shall attend the auctions in Arkona and find you something worthy of a prince.”

  “Really, your highness, there’s no need—”

  “Nonsense, Dirk! I enjoy spoiling my friends. Besides, I have to find Alenor another mount soon, so we shall make a day of it. She has almost outgrown that wretched pony she’s so devoted to.”

  “But I like Snowdrop, your highness. She’s well mannered, and quiet and—”

  “Quiet?” Belagren laughed. “She’s docile to the point of insensibility, Alenor.”

  Antonov smiled. “I’m afraid I must agree with the High Priestess, my dear. I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact that the beast was standing upright, I’d feel the need to check the poor creature for a pulse.”

&n
bsp; “But I don’t want to lose Snowdrop, sire. Can’t I keep her?”

  “Of course you can, Alenor. My intention is to find you a more spirited mount, not break your heart. We shall put Snowdrop out to pasture and she will grow fat and happy in her dotage. You may visit her as often as you wish.”

  Dirk watched Antonov out of the corner of his eye as he ate the last of his dessert, quite amazed at the man’s generosity. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble for him. No wonder Alenor bore her situation so well.

  The servants cleared away the remains of their meal as Antonov leaned back in his seat, replete and content. He glanced at the three of them and then waved his hand with a smile.

  “Go on then, you’re excused.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kirsh said, jumping to his feet.

  “You seem in quite a hurry, Kirshov,” Belagren remarked.

  “Captain Clegg promised to show us how he navigates using the suns.”

  “I’m sure Dirk will find it fascinating,” Antonov said. “But I’m surprised to find you so anxious to learn about it.”

  Kirsh shrugged. “Misha’s not been sleeping well.”

  Antonov nodded understandingly as they headed for the door. “Then enjoy yourselves, boys. I will look forward to hearing all about solar navigation tomorrow evening at dinner.”

  “Good night, Father. My lady.”

  “Good night, Kirsh.”

  Kirsh had already stepped into the companionway when Antonov called Dirk back. “I almost forgot, Dirk, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Sire?”

  “The guards report that our prisoner has developed a nasty cough.”

  Dirk was instantly on his guard. “That’s unfortunate, your highness.”

  “More than unfortunate, Dirk. I mean, the man survived a tidal wave. It would be rather incongruous to lose him to something as trivial as a cough at this late stage.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, your highness.”

  “He needs a physician, Dirk,” Belagren explained, “and with Misha so ill, I can’t spare Ella.”

  “Would you be so kind as to check on him tomorrow?”

  Dirk had to fight down a wave of panic. He tried to determine if there was something more behind Antonov’s innocent request, but he couldn’t read the man well enough to tell. Belagren was watching him with hawklike eyes.

  “Your highness, my lady...I was only an apprentice physician. I’m not sure I would be of any use.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dirk,” Belagren told him.

  “But—”

  “You scaled that damn levee wall to save the man,” Antonov reminded him. “I would think his continuing good health would be of vital interest to you.”

  “It is, sire, which is why I think he’d be better with a Shadowdancer in attendance, rather than me.”

  Antonov smiled. “You do yourself an injustice, Dirk Provin. Helgin sang your praises most highly. Visit Thorn tomorrow and do what you can to ease his suffering. If he needs any herbal concoctions, I’m sure Ella will have everything you require.”

  “As you wish, your highness.”

  Antonov nodded with satisfaction, and returned his attention to the High Priestess. Dirk closed the door to the cabin thoughtfully, wondering if there was anything more sinister in the Lion of Senet’s request other than simple concern that his prisoner might die before he could get around to hanging him.

  Chapter 44

  While Johan wasn’t exactly chained in the hold with the rats, Antonov had done his utmost to ensure that he would not enjoy the voyage. He was shackled hand and foot in a cubbyhole not much bigger than a cupboard on the lower deck, just above the waterline. There was no bunk, just a smelly straw mattress. He had a bucket to relieve himself in but no light and no water other than the small jug delivered to him once a day with his barely adequate meal.

  His shoulder ached abominably. His stomach growled with hunger and his newly healed broken leg felt like it was made of lead. The shackles had chafed his wrists and ankles raw, and he had developed a racking cough that left him weak and exhausted after each fit shook his body.

  They were minor discomforts, really. Johan knew Antonov would not let him die yet, although he certainly wouldn’t care if he suffered. Antonov was a master when it came to playing mind games, he reminded himself, and this was just another game. He had quite deliberately left Johan in Helgin’s tender care while they were in Elcast. And for no better reason than how much more effective it would be when he tore him from such comfort and warmth and plunged him into this damp, dark pit, with no relief from the pain and no hope for anything better at the end of it.

  Don’t let it get to you, Johan told himself firmly.

  Look what he had done to poor Morna. Weeks under her roof, knowing Johan was a prisoner there, and Antonov did nothing more sinister than attend the Landfall Festival. It must have torn Morna apart.

  He wished he’d had a chance to see her while he was on Elcast. There was little chance that would have happened, though. Wallin Provin might go down in history as the most tolerant and forgiving man on Ranadon, but he drew the line at allowing his errant wife to resume her acquaintance with her former lover. Helgin had told him that Wallin had forbidden Morna to see him. With Antonov in the house, she wasn’t prepared to defy her husband and risk losing his protection.

  On the fifth day of the voyage, Antonov sent the Provin boy to check on him. Johan knew it was the fifth day. He had debated scratching a tally on the wall, but decided against it. Antonov would gloat to see such a transparent sign of his battle to retain his sanity. So he consciously kept track of the days in his head. He tried to recite poetry. He made up bizarre mathematical calculations in his head that he had no hope of solving. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

  If I can keep my wits about me he won’t defeat me.

  He was a little surprised when Dirk entered the cabin bearing a small lantern. He didn’t think it likely that Antonov would allow him any visitors. Contact with the outside world made it that much easier for Johan to hang on; that much easier for him to retain his sanity—but more important, his purpose.

  The Lion of Senet wanted to break him, and he knew well that isolation was the most soul-destroying weapon a man could suffer. Isolation and sleep deprivation. The former would drive a man mad. The latter could kill him. Antonov had told him that once, many years ago. He claimed that if you starved a man, it would take him several weeks to die, but if you deprived him of sleep, he’d be dead in ten days. Johan had never been able to get a straight answer from Antonov when he inquired how the prince could be so certain of that fact. He had a bad feeling Antonov knew what sleep deprivation would do to a man, because he’d actually done it to some poor sod. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Maybe the game was to make Johan think he had.

  “I came to see if you’re sick,” Dirk announced, as he stepped into the tiny cabin and placed the lantern on the deck. He was taking shallow breaths through his mouth, as if it would somehow lessen the overpowering stench.

  “Ah, that’s right, you’re the apprentice physician, aren’t you?” He squinted at the boy in the flickering light. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Dirk glanced nervously over his shoulder at the guards posted outside the open door. “What do you mean by that?”

  He was very touchy, this boy of Wallin’s. “I mean, this is the Lion of Senet’s ship, boy. Last I heard you were Helgin’s apprentice. What are you doing here?”

  “Checking to see if you’re sick,” Dirk replied unhelpfully.

  Johan laughed, which precipitated a painful coughing fit that tore through his chest, leaving him weak and shaking. When it was over, he lay back on the stinking mattress wearily. “Antonov’s tortures become increasingly more subtle.”

  “Sir?” the boy asked, uncomprehendingly.

  He turned his head and smiled at Dirk. “Now he’s sent me a jester. And a bad one at that.�
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  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, sir.” Dirk squatted down beside him, placing a cool hand on his forehead. “You have a fever.”

  “I know.”

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “Where doesn’t it hurt?”

  Dirk glared at him.

  “It hurts here,” Johan conceded, not wishing to antagonize the boy further. “Right across the top of my chest. And I told you to call me Johan.”

  “It hurts when you cough?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you bringing up any phlegm?”

  He nodded, a little surprised to find Dirk taking his responsibility so seriously. The boy looked down at his chafed wrists with a frown.

  “Those wrists will get infected if they’re not taken care of soon. And you’re dehydrated,” Dirk diagnosed, sitting back on his heels. He glanced around the dim cabin with concern. “You need to be moved from here. There’s no ventilation. No sanitation.”

  “I think that’s the whole point, Dirk.”

  Dirk’s brows drew together in concern, reminding Johan sharply of Morna. She used to pull that face when she was worried about something.

  “Prince Antonov doesn’t want you to die, sir.”

  “Oh, yes he does,” Johan assured him. “Make no mistake about that. He just doesn’t want nature to rob him of the pleasure of killing me himself.”

  “Then I’ll arrange to have you moved, otherwise he will be robbed of the pleasure,” the boy retorted.

  Johan studied him skeptically. “Do you really think the Lion of Senet will act on your advice?”

  “Why not? He was the one who sent me here.”

  Johan frowned. Now why would Antonov send this boy to me? He’s got his own physician to attend me if he is so concerned about my health.

  “What were his instructions exactly?” he asked.

  Dirk smiled faintly. “To see if you’re sick.”

  Johan smiled back. This boy was pretty quick for a Provin, who in Johan’s experience were a dour lot. There wasn’t a lot of Wallin in him.

  “Actually, he said that it would be a pity if you died from a cough, having survived a tidal wave.”