Mariner's Luck [Scarlet and the White Wolf Book 2]

by Kirby Crow

  Scarlet shook his head weakly. “Just the waybread and apples and ... yes, the water I steeped the che in."

  "Skeg fever,” Liall pronounced grimly. A skeg was a type of large river rat that haunted the Byzantur ports. Liall's big hand sought Scarlet's, and Scarlet was surprised to feel it trembling, though he supposed he could be imagining that, much like the dragons.

  "The water was hot,” Scarlet protested.

  "Boiling will not kill this disease. It is not so very dangerous to Rshani, but a little Byzan like you..."

  "I'm not little,” he managed to moan, swatting at Liall. “The rest of you are just too fucking big."

  Liall snorted amusement and smoothed Scarlet's damp hair away from his sweating face. He rinsed out a cool cloth and drew it gently over Scarlet's forehead. “And now you must forgive me, because I intend to make you well again, but it will not be pleasant."

  "Oh, ‘course not.” Scarlet looked up, sweat stinging his eyes so that he viewed Liall through a watery fog. “Tol’ ... told you I wasn't going ashore,” he mumbled, his body slipping heavily into an unhealthy sleep.

  "So you did,” Liall returned gently.

  * * * *

  Scarlet drifted off into a fitful doze, and Liall sat for hours watching over the young man with an expression of worry or grief marking his aquiline features, trying to cool Scarlet's burning body with alcohol-soaked cloths.

  An hour past midnight, Scarlet's fever reached its peak and he began calling out to Scaja in a pitiful voice, begging him repeatedly to take him out of the fire. Liall rose and opened the single porthole in the cabin, and the hatch as well, letting the cold air blow through the small space. He stripped Scarlet to the skin and forced him to drink che and water every half hour. There was a fixed look of determination on Liall's face, as if by will alone he could force Scarlet to live.

  It occurred to Liall, sometime in the night when the first ugly, violent convulsion rattled Scarlet's slight frame, that he would rather die himself than see Scarlet die. At some point, he had begun to think of the pedlar as his touchstone to his own long-buried honor. Scarlet represented everything good he had lost in life until this point. The atya was not a superstitious man, but if Scarlet died now, on the eve of Liall's long voyage to reclaim his former self, it would be as if a curse had been laid on him.

  Not that I do not deserve to be cursed, he thought as he struggled to hold Scarlet down through the worst of the tremors. Scarlet, certainly, did not deserve it. Liall wondered briefly if he should pray, and a harsh bark of laughter escaped his throat. Thereafter, he whispered only small comforts in Bizye, reciting the names of Scarlet's sister and her newly-wed husband, for in Byzantur such chants were used as charms against sickness.

  At dawn, the handsome mariner, Oleksei, peered in the open hatch and saw Liall covering the Hilurin with a thin blanket. Scarlet's fever had broken at last, and Liall was weary to the bone and nearly sick himself with relief. Liall turned and snarled at Oleksei to leave them, and the young mariner stared with open shock at the marks of tears on Liall's face before muttering a hasty apology and stumbling away.

  * * * *

  "Ap kyning, may I enter?"

  "It is your ship, captain."

  "But you are my—"

  Liall gave the man a warning glance. “I would not say that here,” he cautioned. “There are no secrets on ships, so they say in Rshan."

  Captain Qixa, commander of the Rshani brigantine Ostre Sul, nodded his agreement and stepped into the cabin, closing the door quietly. “That is best.” Qixa's pale blue eyes were narrowed, and he rubbed one of his massive hands over the hairless dome of his head in agitation. “I do not know how to begin,” he confessed. “There is a matter we must speak of."

  Liall stared at Qixa for a long moment, and then took a seat in the only chair available in the cabin. Qixa openly deferred to him in public. Now Liall would see how far that deference went. Liall sprawled in the chair, letting his legs stretch before him comfortably while Qixa stood. “Speak,” he commanded.

  Qixa took a breath. “When I took you and your ... companion ... aboard my ship, I was confident in my crew. I thought you would be safe here, at least until we reached the open sea, where anything may happen and where there are pirates aplenty. But now...” Qixa closed his mouth and shook his head.

  "Now?” Liall pressed.

  "I believe we were betrayed at Khet, before we ever docked at Volkovoi,” Qixa said uneasily.

  There was a time in Liall's youth when one hard look would have made lesser men tremble for their lives. He let Qixa suffer under that gaze for several moments. “Who?"

  "I have no real evidence,” Qixa was quick to say, “but I believe Oleksei knows more of the matter, and he is not stepping forward."

  "Then convince him."

  Qixa chewed his lip. “There is the problem, ap kyning. I believe Oleksei would have confided his knowledge to me when you came aboard at Volkovoi, knowing who you are and what you stand for. But then you brought the lenilyn with you, and many of my men have taken this very hard. They begin to doubt you. They believe you debase your birthright to suffer this creature in your presence, and worse: they have seen his hand. Four fingers, ap kyning, just as the legends warn. My men believe it is very bad luck. Look at the ill fate that has already befallen the boy."

  Liall made a rude noise. “Luck!” he scorned. “A mariner's luck is the sea and the waves and the wind, not a sick, beardless boy lying abed. What harm could he possibly do them?"

  Qixa glanced at Scarlet, who lay very still under the blankets, his face pale and his features slack. “There is his magic...” Qixa began.

  Liall surged to his feet. “Magic!” he growled. “All of my boyhood, I heard tales of the magic of the Hilurin, and I believed in it. And then I went to live among them. Sixty years and three have I dwelt in the Southern Continent, Qixa, and I have never once seen this magic. It does not exist."

  Qixa backed up before Liall's wrath. “That is what they want us to believe!"

  "Nonsense!” Liall's arm slashed the air, as if clearing away Qixa's words. For once, Liall did not try to curb his temper. Scarlet had been hovering near death all evening, and Liall was nearly sick himself with worry. “I will not hear this foolishness any longer,” Liall shouted. “Are you men or are you children hiding under your beds from the monsters of the night? He is helpless. Can you not see that?"

  Unwillingly, Qixa's eyes went to Scarlet again. Qixa studied the boy, seeing the way his chest rose and fell with a halting rhythm and seeing how pinched and pale he was. Suddenly, Qixa was ashamed. He sighed heavily. “There is truth in what you say,” he conceded. “This child can do me no harm, but my men do not agree."

  "Then it will be your task to you to convince them,” Liall returned. Qixa frowned, and Liall saw that the man understood him. “That is my wish,” he said with finality.

  Qixa bowed his head in deference. “It will be done to the best of my ability, ap kyning."

  "Good. And now: this suspect man you spoke of. What is his name?"

  "Faal, the sailmaker."

  Liall had made a habit of memorizing faces very early in life, and he recalled a slight-framed man with a fine nose and capable hands. “Why do you suspect him?"

  Qixa hesitated.

  "Speak."

  "This man, Faal, disappeared for a day when we were docked at Khet, three days before we came to Volkovoi. When I pressed him, he claimed he went to a woman in the shoretowns, a whore who lives above a taberna."

  "What of it?"

  Qixa shrugged. “No more, except that it was Faal, and he only has eyes for Oleksei. He thinks he hides it well, the fool."

  Liall's smile was dry. “So he chose the wrong lie. Stupid of him. What did you do?"

  "I had him strapped for leaving the ship, but not too hard. We still have a long voyage to make and I need his hands in case we tear a sail or—the Shining Ones forbid—lose one. And a woman ... it is something any man might do,
when the need is on him."

  "Even though you knew it was a lie?"

  "I knew. The crew did not."

  Liall nodded. Qixa did not want to seem like a tyrant to his men, and had gone easy on Faal for their sake. “Where do you believe he really went?"

  "I do not know, but I think Oleksei does.” Qixa swept his hand toward the door. “You can question him in my cabin."

  Liall glanced at Scarlet. “I should not leave."

  Qixa gave Liall an appraising look, and then crossed the cabin to peer down at Scarlet. He moved the covers away and bent down to press his ear to Scarlet's chest, listening. Qixa rose. “He burns, and his heart is weakening."

  Liall felt his gut twist with fear. “He will not die."

  "But if he is meant to die, whether you stay or go makes no difference."

  "It matters to me,” Liall said doggedly. “I will not leave. This matter will have to wait."

  "As you wish, but I think your lenilyn will not survive the night."

  "Do not underestimate him,” Liall said, taking a perverse satisfaction in seeing the flash of alarm in Qixa's eyes. “His race brought down the Shining Ones, so far that they have never risen again."

  Qixa bowed awkwardly and left. Liall put the chair next to the bunk and sat beside Scarlet. He took the small, fever-hot hand in his own and pressed his lips to it.

  "You will not die,” he repeatedly gravely, turning his words into a vow. As he said it, Liall felt a quick and overwhelming surge of weakness in his flesh, as if some of his own strength were flowing out of his bones along with the words. After several moments, Scarlet's fingers tightened around Liall's palm, as if he could sense Liall willing him to live, and he opened his eyes.

  Liall shouted a wordless exclamation of triumph as Scarlet smiled and focused on him. The pedlar's gaze was weary, but lucid.

  "You still here?” Scarlet mouthed weakly at him, and then winced as Liall's fingers tightened hard on his hand.

  "I am here."

  Scarlet swallowed and licked his lips, which were dry and cracked. “Thought I was dead for sure,” he mumbled, blinking.

  Liall did not trust himself to speak for a moment. “You will not escape paying your debt so easily."

  Scarlet managed to look amused. “Oh, I'm in your debt again, am I? Figures."

  Before Liall could answer, there was a banging on the cabin door and it burst inward. A rush of cold air swept through the cabin. Qixa stood there with Oleksei and two other mariners Liall did not know by name. The mariners held Faal between them.

  Qixa entered, and Liall could see the captain was furious. “This one,” Qixa growled in Sinha, jabbing a finger at the sailmaker, who was more or less being held upright by the mariners. Faal's face was bloody and his clothes torn.

  Liall rose and covered Scarlet with an extra blanket. He shook his head as Scarlet raised a brow in curiosity. “Later,” he whispered in Bizye, for Scarlet's ears alone. He turned. “Out,” Liall commanded shortly, pushing Qixa ahead of him. He looked over his shoulder to Scarlet. “I will return,” he promised before closing the door.

  The morning sun was painting the deck amber and gold, and the wind was up: the sails full and the waters choppy. Captain Qixa took Faal by the neck and shook him savagely. The sailmaker's excellent nose was broken, and his pale hair matted with blood. Liall saw that the sailmaker was not much older than Oleksei. Liall stepped closer to Faal, so that the man would have to look up to him. Faal stared at the taller man without fear.

  "I know your name,” Liall said. “Faal Iannaz. You have family in Rshan."

  At this, the sailmaker's posture crumbled and his gaze turned piteous. “You would not harm my family,” he begged.

  "Why not? You would have harmed mine."

  Faal shook his head, struggling with the mariners holding him. “No, no,” he groaned. “Only you, it was only to be you."

  Liall grabbed Faal by the throat. “Know this: whatever you have done, it was not a crime against me alone. I am my family,” he intoned, pulling Faal closer to look into his eyes. "I am Rshan."

  Faal trembled and wept. “There was a man in Khet ... Aralyrin ... he paid me,” the sailmaker stuttered, his mouth split, his speech halting. “He gave me your name, and said I should go to a man in Volkovoi and deliver a message if you spoke to our captain or took passage on our ship. I did this."

  Aralyrin, Liall thought. Cadan's man, or perhaps even the Flower Prince's. There is no way to know how far the conspiracy stretches. Someone does not want me to reach Rshan alive.

  "You are an informant and a traitor,” Liall said lowly, amending his tone to one of subtle control. “Who sent this message? Who in Rshan?"

  Faal's desperate gaze looked first to Qixa. Finding no help there, he turned to Oleksei, who stared back at him with merciless eyes. “Keep your eyes from me, traitor,” Oleksei snarled.

  Faal made a choking sound of denial, and then, before anyone could stop him, tore away from the grasping hands of the mariner's and hurled himself over the side into the cold sea.

  Qixa bellowed for aid, waving to the lookout stationed above and calling for the sails to be hauled, but it was too late. Nearly half an hour passed before they were able to pull Faal from the icy sea, and he was dead.

  Liall spat and cursed as they stood at the rail, Faal's sodden body at his feet, but Qixa only shook his head sagely. “A quicker death than I would have given him,” Qixa said. He nodded to the mariners. “Throw him back for the fish,” he commanded.

  Liall watched Oleksei as the order was given, waiting to see if the man would make any objection, but Oleksei's eyes were flat and emotionless. “Where did he go in Khet?” Liall asked.

  Oleksei shook his head. “A woman, he said. I knew it was a lie, but I didn't much care. He was the one after me, not the other way around.” Oleksei's mouth curved coyly.

  "And then?"

  "I found him talking to a man in Volkovoi, one of those stinking half-bloods who guard the port. He wouldn't tell me what it was about. Then you came aboard, and I knew."

  "I see.” Liall lifted his chin, scrutinizing the young mariner. “So. You are loyal, are you?"

  Oleksei bowed his head. “Ap kyning, I am. Humbly."

  "Leave,” Liall said. Oleksei looked up in surprise. “Your loyalty is noted. Now get out of my sight."

  Oleksei backed away before turning and hurrying to the bow. Faal's body made barely a splash as it went back into the sea.

  "I wish we could have questioned him,” Qixa said, echoing Liall's thoughts.

  "It makes little difference,” Liall sighed. “The damage was already done. Now we must prepare."

  Qixa nodded in the direction Oleksei had gone. “Was that wise?"

  "I do not know,” Liall admitted. “He came forward with the truth, but he waited too long. That alone is cause for worry."

  "Do you think he knows anything more?"

  Liall thought carefully before he spoke, knowing his answer could get a man tortured. “No. If he had known anything, he would have spoken before Faal did, and taken the credit."

  Qixa snorted. “You've got him pegged, all right. I know; I've sailed with him for three years. He's always the loudest when it comes to claiming the glory. Well, what of him, then? Shall I have him watched?"

  "Not yet,” Liall said, his eyes on the horizon, where a thin crimson line separated heaving waters from aureate sky. “He is too clever for that.” Liall realized he had not thanked Qixa, and he put his hand on the captain's shoulder. “You are a good man, Qixa."

  Qixa's hard smile was filled with pride. “I'm no such thing, but I know my duty.” He bowed again. “Ap kyning,” he said, dismissing himself. Liall went back into the cabin.

  Inside, Liall found Scarlet fast asleep. Liall knelt to feel the pedlar's brow anxiously, and was both surprised and immeasurably relieved to find that the fever had broken.

  2.

  The Mariners

  On the sixth afternoon, Scarlet was ab
le to walk out onto the main deck unaided. He breathed in the salty air and stretched carefully in the dim sun, painfully aware that his muscles were as weak as water and that his hands trembled.

  "I was beginning to worry,” Liall said. The atya stood quietly at the rail, a landscape of lazy blue swells at his back. The sky was pale and almost colorless.

  "Surely not,” Scarlet replied wanly. “I'm a redbird, remember? Tough as shoe leather."

  "Oh, I never forgot."

  As they made their way back to the cabin, Scarlet spied a handsome young mariner waving at Liall from the rigging high above. Scarlet recognized him as the lookout who always seemed to have his eyes on Liall. “What is that man's name?” Scarlet asked, trying to appear indifferent. “The young one who looks at you so often."

  "Oleksei,” Liall said, and gave the mariner a casual nod. Scarlet nearly nodded at him, too, but then he saw Oleksei pinning him with an idle stare of contempt. The man turned aside to say something to one of his shipmates, who grinned darkly and cast measuring stares his way.

  "They really don't like me,” Scarlet muttered.

  "My people are not fond of foreigners, as I have said."

  "A pox on your people."

  Liall chuckled and ruffled Scarlet's hair, which earned Scarlet another hate-filled glare from Oleksei.

  Back in the cabin, Scarlet fell into the bunk and slept the night away. The seventh day dawned and the fever did not return. He slept heavily and ate several bowls of fish broth and some waybread. Thereafter, the sickness departed and it seemed that Scarlet had found his sea legs. Liall quit his pallet on the floor and joined Scarlet in the bunk, though he was careful to keep a few inches between them and they had separate blankets. He did not mention putting Scarlet ashore again, and it seemed that the journey would, after all, settle into the dull monotony of travel. With luck, the rest of the trip would be uneventful.

  "I told you it was not seasickness,” Liall said cheerfully on the tenth day, right after Scarlet lost his breakfast over the rail. “This is seasickness."

  "Bastard,” Scarlet muttered, spitting into the water, which was white-capped and slamming against the hull. Rough seas had brought on the nausea, but he weathered it a lot better on an empty stomach. Scarlet wiped his mouth with his sleeve and wished for a bath. For the first few days after being ill, he had come out on deck to wash his hands and face and clean his clothing as best as he could, but the mariners had stared the first day and by the second it was a spectacle, with a knot of them standing around and grinning at him as he washed. He took to washing up in the cabin alone after that. Liall let the change pass without comment, but every morning there was now a clean bucket of water in the cabin. Not being a sailor, it did not occur right away to Scarlet how precious fresh water was at sea, so it was a long while before he could fully appreciate the kindness.