"Stubborn," he said, "or stupid."
"Well," Prima observed, "the same has been said of you."
The first mate laughed. "But none of them has lived to repeat the calumny."
Calumny. A new word. I’d have to ask Del what it meant.
"So," the captain began, talking to me this time, "shall you count the fish for us again?"
I spat over the side. That for counting fish.
Of course, it was much less intended as an insult than the clearing of a throat burning from seawater and the belch that had brought it up. I did the best I could with the voice I had left. "Being rich," I managed, "has its rewards."
Nihko grunted and turned me loose. I promptly slid to the deck and collapsed into a pile of strengthless limbs and coils of prickly rope.
After a moment, Del squatted down beside me. "They’re gone, Tiger."
Here. Gone. What did it matter?
"You can get up now."
I wanted to laugh. Eventually I managed to roll from belly to back. The sun was overhead; I shut my eyes and draped an arm across my face. "I think I’ll just… lie here for a while. Dry out."
"I expected them to beat you up," she explained, "not throw you over the side."
Ah. Vast difference, that.
"But now they’ll take us to Skandi, which is where we meant to go in the first place, and we can get on about our business. I think it is easier than seducing people who may not be seduceable, and trying to steal weapons from large men who wish to keep them."
I lifted my arm slightly and squinted into the face peering down from the sky. Against the sun, she was an indeterminate blob. "This was your idea of keeping me alive?"
She appeared to find no irony in the question. "Yes." A pause. "Well, not precisely this."
"Was that you who pulled me out of the water?"
"Nihko did."
"He was the one who flung me into it."
"Well," Del said, "I suppose it was rather like watching a bag of gold sinking out of reach."
"And where in hoolies were you while this was going on?"
"Watching."
"Thank you."
"You’re welcome." She put her hand on my shoulder and patted it. "It takes longer than you think to drown, Tiger."
Well, that made all the difference in the world.
"So," I said rustily, "we scam a dying old woman who happens to be very rich, and very powerful, with no living heirs but the grandson of a distant cousin from an offshoot branch of the family she detests — and then Prima Rhannet and her Blue-Headed Boy will turn us loose."
"That is the plan," Del affirmed.
"Nothing to it," I croaked, and dropped the arm over my eyes again.
Several days later, at dawn, I stood at the bow of the ship as we sailed into Skandi’s harbor. There were, I’d learned, two Skandis. One was the island. One was the city. To keep them straight, most people referred to the city as the City. This had moved me to ask if there was only one city on the island, because if there were more, calling one city City among several other cities struck me as unnecessarily confusing, but Nihko Blue-head and Prima Rhannet simply looked at me as if everyone in the world knew Skandi was Skandi and Skandi was City and all the other cities were cities. Period.
I then reminded them that if I were to portray myself as a long-lost relative of some old Skandic lady, in line to inherit all her Skandic wealth and holdings, it might be best if I, supposedly Skandic myself, knew a little something about Skandi and Skandi.
Whereupon Prima merely said that it would be best if I remained ignorant, because knowing a little might be more confusing than knowing nothing. Whereupon the first mate suggested I was admirably suited for the role just as I was.
So now I stood at the bow of the blue-sailed ship that had driven us into the reefs (thereby destroying our ship, our belongings, and very nearly ourselves); abducted us from an island (and from my horse!); and now planned various nefarious undertakings with some poor little old lady who wasn’t long for the world. A world that was, to me, markedly alien, if only to look at. I suppose one harbor is very like another. But this one struck me as — creative.
Skandi itself was an island. But it wasn’t shaped like a proper island, supposing there is such a thing; it was in fact very much a ruin of an island, the leavings of something once greater, rounder. This island was not like any other I’d seen on the way, because most of the island was missing.
Imagine a large round clay platter dropped on the floor. The entire center shatters into dust. Oddly, all that remains whole is the rim of the platter, but it’s bitten through at one point. And yet Skandi’s platter rim isn’t flat. It juts straight up from the ocean as a curved collection of cliffs, layer upon layer of time- and wind-carved rock and soil, afloat, anchored by some unseen force far beneath the surface. And the platter, viewed from above, might better resemble a large cookpot, a massive iron cauldron, with the ocean its stew. We, a ship in the harbor, were one of the chunks of meat.
Del came up beside me. She gazed across the harbor that more closely resembled a cauldron, eyes moving swiftly as she took in the encroachment of island that opened its arms to us in a promised embrace. Our little chunk of meat floated now in the center of the giant cauldron, and I had the odd sensation that the invisible giant looming over our heads might spear us with his knife as a delicacy.
"It’s a crown," Del mused. "A crown of stone, encircling a woman’s head, and the water is her hair."
That sounded a lot more picturesque than my stewpot. "Not a very attractive crown."
"No gold? No precious stones?" Del smiled briefly. "But there is the City, Tiger. Is it not jewellike?"
Well, no. Unless Del’s giantess with her crown of stone was clumsy, because it looked to me as if she’d dropped her box of pretty rocks and spilled them over the edge of her skull.
Skandi was stewpot, crown, broken platter. From the water the remains of land reared upward into the sky, ridged and humped and folded with all its bones showing. The interior of the island itself was broken, cruelly gouged away, so that the viscera of the body gleamed nakedly in the sun.
The jewels Del spoke of were clusters of dome-roofed buildings. A parade of them thronged the ragged edge of the island’s summit, then tumbled over the side, clinging haphazardly to shelves and hummocks all the way down to the water’s edge. There were doors in the rock walls themselves, wooden doors painted brilliant blue; there were blue doors, too, in lime-washed buildings growing out of the gouged cliff face. Against the rich and ruddy hues of soil and stone, the blue-and-white dwellings glowed.
"The vault of the heavens," Prima said, coming up on my other side. "The domes and doors are painted blue to honor the sky, where the gods live."
"I thought I wasn’t supposed to know anything about Skandi."
She smiled, looking beyond me to the face of the island. "A man seeking his home may ask his captain about it."
"Ah." I nodded sagely. "And can this captain tell me what comes next?"
"Harbor fees," she said crisply. "Port fees. Inspection fees. Docking fees."
"Lot of fees, that."
Prima Rhannet’s eyes laughed at me. "Nothing in this life is free. Even for renegadas."
"And after all these fees," I said, "what happens next?"
"Say what you mean," the captain admonished. "What happens to you."
"Us," I corrected.
Prima’s brows arched. "You and me?"
"No, not you and me…" I jabbed a thumb in Del’s direction. "Me and her."
The captain affected amazement. "But I thought you were having nothing to do with one another!"
"There are times," Del put in, "when we don’t. Then there are times when we shouldn’t, but we do."
"And times when you do because you think you should." Prima nodded, slanting a glance at me. "I thought as much. But did you really believe it would work, that performance?"
"Stupid people fall for a variety of things," I
mentioned.
"Is that to be taken as flattery?"
I cleared my throat, aware of increasing frustration and a faintly unsettled belly. "Returning to the point at hand…"
"Oh, yes." She nodded, bright hair aglow in the sun. "What happens to you."
"Us," Del amended.
Hazel eyes were laughing at us. "But there will be no ’us.’ "
I drew myself up in what many consider a quietly menacing posture.
This time the captain laughed aloud. "Do you believe I would permit you both to go ashore? Together?" She paused. "Do you believe that I do not believe you would not try to escape?"
"I don’t believe I care what you believe," I retorted. "The simple fact of the matter is, if Del doesn’t come ashore with me, I don’t go ashore with me. Or, for that matter, with you." I smiled at the petite woman. "And I don’t think you’re strong enough to throw me overboard."
As she shrugged, her blue-headed first mate appeared.
I promptly turned and latched onto the rail with both hands in the firmest grip I commanded. "If you have him try to toss me overboard again, I’ll take a piece of your ship with me!"
Prima Rhannet looked worried. "No," she murmured, "we could not have that."
Whereupon Nihko closed thick arms around Del and tossed her overboard.
I heard the blurted cry of shock, followed by the splash. I still hung onto the rail, but not because I feared to follow her. Because, shocked, I couldn’t let go. This I hadn’t expected any more than she had.
I saw her head break the surface, then pale arms. She slicked hair back from her face and squinted up at me. Whereupon I grinned in immense relief, then turned upon the captain my sunniest smile. "Del, on the other hand, can swim. And now we’re not all that far from the shore."
That stripped the smirk from Prima’s face. She glanced sharply at her first mate. "Nihko, go."
I spun in place, blocked his way, jammed a rigid elbow deeply into his abdomen just below the short ribs. As he began to bend over in helpless response, I brought the heel of my right hand up hard against the underside of his chin. Teeth clicked together, eyes glazed over, and he staggered backward.
It was beginning as much as ending. Prima was a small woman, no match for a man as big as me, but she knew it. Which is why she did not attempt to threaten me with her knife. She simply stabbed me with it, cutting into the back of my thigh.
I yelped, swore, started to swing on her — but by this time Nihko was upright again. He caught me before I could so much as see Prima’s expression. I was slammed hard into the rail and bent backward over it. One broad, long-fingered hand was on my throat.
He did not squeeze. He did not crush. He did not in any way attempt to strike or overpower me. He simply put his hand on the flesh of my throat, and it began to burn.
I heard Prima say something about throwing a rope down. I heard her shout to Del, something about rejoining us if she knew what was good for me. Briefly I thought Del should just swim for it, but I doubted she would; and anyway, I had more on my mind than whether Prima would fish Del out of the water or if Del would condescend to be fished. My teeth were melting.
I thought my head might burst. Not from lack of air, because I had plenty of it. But from heat, and a pressure on the inside of my skull that made me sweat with it, gasping at the pain. It was if someone had set a red-hot metal collar around my neck.
Nihko murmured something. I didn’t have the first idea what he said, because it was a language I didn’t speak. Something muttered, something chanted. Something said.
Then he took his hand away, the heat died out of my head, and I fell down upon my knees.
"lo," he said.
I put one trembling, tentative hand to my neck, expecting to feel blood, fluids, charring, and curled, crusted flesh. But all I felt were the sandtiger claws upon their leather thong, and healthy flesh beneath.
"lo," he repeated, in satisfaction commingled with anticipation.
"Go to hoolies," I responded, though the voice was hoarse and tight.
"You go," Nihko suggested.
I recalled the rash around my wrist, triggered by his touch. And now the heat in my head, the blazing of my flesh. "What are you?"
The rings in his eyebrows glinted. "loSkandic."
"And what precisely does that mean?"
He displayed white teeth. "Secret."
I got my legs under me and wobbled to my feet. "The word means secret, or it is a secret?"
"Nihko," Prima said, and he turned from me.
A rope hung over the side, taut against the rail. The captain glanced at me, then at Nihko; he leaned over, grasped the rope, pulled it up even as Del herself clambered over the rail. Fair hair was slick against her skull, trailing down her back in a soaked sheet. The ivory-colored leather tunic, equally soaked, stuck to her body and emphasized every muscle, every curve.
Prima Rhannet stared. Nihko Blue-head did not. That more than anything convinced me the captain had not lied: the first mate was not, as men are measured, a man anymore. And the woman was more than a little attracted to the woman who slept with me.
I had seen it in men before. With someone who looks like Delilah, it’s a daily event. But I had never seen the reaction in a woman before. Generally the women of the South are shocked and appalled by Del’s sword, her freedom of manner and dress, her predilection for saying what she thinks no matter how it sounds. Some of the younger women were vastly fascinated, even if they had to be subtle about it lest they alert or alarm their men. Or they are intensely jealous. But no woman I’d ever seen had looked at Del the way a man looks at Del.
Until now.
And I hadn’t the faintest idea how to feel about it.
There were jokes about it, of course. Crude, vulgar, male jokes, men painting lurid pictures with words, suggesting activities for women with women designed to titillate. And of course there were men who preferred men, or boys, who also prompted jokes. But seeing a woman react to a woman the way a man reacts to a woman was — odd.
Should I be jealous? Angry? Insulted? Upset? Should I say something? Do something?
Did Del recognize it?
Maybe. Maybe not. I couldn’t tell. She was wearing her blandest expression, even sheened with water. And would a woman be aware of another’s interest? Did Del even know such things existed?
For that matter, did Del have any idea what kind of reaction she provoked in men? I mean, she knew they reacted; how could she not? Most men aren’t very subtle about it when everything in them — and on them — seizes up at the sight of a beautiful woman of immense physical appeal. There’d been enough comments made about and to Del that she couldn’t be oblivious. On the whole she ignored it, which didn’t hurt my reputation any: the gorgeous Northern bascha was so well-served by the Sand-tiger that she neither noticed nor looked at another man.
But then, for a long time I hadn’t known she’d even notice or look at me.
The way Prima Rhannet was looking at her.
"Well," I said brightly, trying to sound casual, "just what did you have in mind, then? You and I are to go ashore and go visit this old lady?"
Prima blinked, then looked at me. "No. I will stay here, aboard ship. It is best that Nihko goes as my representative. Him the metri will see. And once she understands what I have to offer, she will see me as well."
"And why will this — metri? — see him, but not you?"
Prima smiled faintly. "I have told you what I am. The ungrateful, unnatural, outcast daughter of a slaver. I am not of the proper family for the Stessa metri."
"But she’ll see him?" I jerked a thumb at Nihko. "He’s an ugly son of a goat with rings in his eyebrows and a hairless head painted blue. That’s not unnatural?"
Nihko bared his teeth in an insincere smile. The captain looked amused. "She will see him because of what he is."
I prodded. "Which is?"
The first mate grinned in genuine amusement. "Secret."
I tur
ned on my heel and stalked away, though it was somewhat ruined by the limp; the wound in the back of my thigh hurt. I couldn’t go very far — we were on a ship, after all — but it made my point nonetheless.
Prima raised her voice. "Get dressed."
"In what?" I flung back over a shoulder. "All I’ve got in this whole gods-forsaken world is what I’m wearing!" Which wasn’t much, being merely a leather dhoti and the string of claws. And blood trickling down my leg.
The captain shrugged elaborate dismissal. "Nihko will have something."
Nihko wasn’t wearing a whole lot more than I was at the moment. But I shut my teeth together and followed him below, wanting very much to warn Del against — whatever.
EIGHT
"Wait," Del said crossly. "Let me look first."
Accordingly, I waited, swaths of lurid crimson silk and linen clutched in one hand. Having shed the dhoti, I wore absolutely nothing. Except my string of claws.
I arched brows and tilted my head in elaborate invitation. "You have something in mind?"
She flapped a hand at me. "Turn around."
"You prefer the back view?" I paused. "Or perhaps I should say, the backside view?"
Del whacked me across the portion of my anatomy under discussion. "Stop being uncouth. I’m trying to see that stab wound."
"Well, that’s not any fun." I winced. "It’ll do a lot better if you keep your ringers out of it."
"I’ve seen worse," she said after close inspection, "but it needs bandaging. Or you’ll bleed all over your clothes."
"Not my clothes. Nihko’s clothes. Do you really think I’d be caught dead in these things?"
"You are caught," she observed, commencing to tear spare linen, "but at least you’re still alive. For the time being. And anyway, I’ve seen you in red before. It suits you."
I had once owned a crimson burnous, it was true, for meetings with tanzeers considering hiring me, or feasting me after a victory. It had even boasted gold borders and tassels. But I had never heard Del mention anything about me being suited before. "Does it?"
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