Beggar's Flip

by Benny Lawrence

  “He never found out. The same day the Harrier left port, right after dinner, Father collapsed, foaming from the mouth and bleeding from the eyes. He never regained consciousness and died that evening. The surgeons called it a sudden apoplexy.” Konrad flexed his quill pen slowly between his fingers and let it bounce straight again. “Do you believe in coincidences, my sister?”

  “Not when they’re this convenient.” And for one person, more than anyone else on the planet, the deaths of Alek and my father had been very well timed. “So, did you kill them?”

  I expected the temperature in the room to get a bit chilly, but Konrad showed no annoyance or even surprise. Instead, he picked up a mother-of-pearl penknife and set to work whittling his quill to a fine point.

  “You know, it’s a relief to have someone accuse me to my face,” he said. “It gets tiresome, having everyone just stare and speculate. I didn’t kill Father and Alek, no, but I understand why it’s a popular theory.”

  I studied him, the steadiness of his hands and the rise and fall of his chest. In my years working as a trader, I’d learned the various signs that mark a liar: rigid shoulders, sweating hands, fast breathing, a flickering look of distress that draws lines of tension across the forehead. Thing is, I learned these signals by rote, as you might learn a prayer or a piece of poetry. When it came to reading the signs on a real flesh-and-blood being, my success rate was pretty dismal.

  Now I felt the empty space in the air where Lynn should have been. If she’d been with me, she would have taken in Konrad’s every word and gesture while I kept him talking, and by the end of the conversation, she would have distilled him to an essence and learned every piece of him by heart. Instead, she was back on the Banshee, prowling around like an angry ghost with nothing to haunt.

  “Let’s face it, people are right to be suspicious,” I said. “You don’t seem all that sorry that they’re gone.”

  “I’m not sorry and neither are you. Father was a stupid, selfish, overblown pig of a man, and Alek was his attack dog. Whoever arranged for them to leave the scene early might very well have saved the House of Torasan. When I find out who killed them, I’ll have the devil’s own trouble figuring out whether to hang him or shake his hand.”

  “What if he tries to kill you next?”

  He smiled grimly. “Well, that would simplify the decision-making process, wouldn’t it?”

  “Don’t count on it. Remember what Alek said: It was one of us. Unless he was delirious—which I guess is possible—the traitor is someone in our family. Are you really going to start lopping our siblings’ heads off left and right? Because that would put a real strain on the bonds of sisterly love. Who’s still here on the Isle, anyway?”

  “You want the list? Sala, Vita, and Orienne all left the Isle when they married. You knew that already, I suppose. Gunnar’s here. Talon’s here. Both of them bear arms for Torasan. Cerys is still on loan to the House of Beaugest. Brayan’s dead, pneumonia. Rikki’s dead, bled out giving birth for the seventh time—triplets. Fletcher’s ship disappeared in a storm last year and no one’s holding their breath waiting for him to swim home. Frankly, it’s just as well. I know that sounds heartless, but he never got over that little . . . issue . . . of his, and we couldn’t afford to pay the hush money any longer.”

  Clunk, clunk, clunk, and just like that, I’d lost three more siblings. I’d never been close with Fletcher or Rikki, especially not Fletcher. We’d all kept our distance. Because of his . . . issue . . . it was best not to be alone with him if you could help it. But Brayan had been only a year older than me and his bunk was next to mine. I used to wear his old tunics and boots once he outgrew them, and we would sit together at dinnertime on days when we didn’t happen to hate each other.

  “Let’s see, who did I miss?” Konrad tapped on each of his fingertips in turn, counting. “Oh, yes. Jada.”

  “Jada!” I perked up. “Is she still here?”

  “She is. Unfortunately. I had a very nice match lined up for her with Governor Acasa—you remember him? He’s not in the line of succession for the House of Mulcar, just a cadet branch, but he has timber rights for a thousand acres of hardwood forest. It would have been a nice little earner for Torasan, if Acasa hadn’t pulled out at the last minute.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said dutifully, as if it really was a tragedy that my youngest sister hadn’t been handed off to some thick-as-a-brick governor’s son in exchange for a lower tariff on lumber imports. “Maybe it’s better this way, though. Running cargoes isn’t a soft job, but some of us prefer it to marriage and baby-making.”

  Konrad’s lips twitched. “Perhaps some of you do. Jada isn’t on the ships, though. She hasn’t had a command since her maiden tour.”

  “Hasn’t had a . . . what?”

  As a statement, “She hasn’t had a command since her maiden tour” made approximately as much sense as “I am a fish man, tiddle tiddle tum.” My brain almost broke as I tried to figure out what the sweet hell Konrad meant.

  “You mean . . . she’s only made one voyage? But . . . why? What’s wrong with her? Did she lose all her limbs or get bashed on the head or something? If she isn’t married and she isn’t running cargoes, what is she doing?”

  “Not much. Let’s put it that way.” He slammed a ledger shut with an air of finality. “And perhaps we should leave it there. I don’t want to bore you too badly with politics on your first day back at home. Tam? Tam, show the Lady Darren to her quarters, if you please.”

  I knew a dismissal when I heard one, and it irked me, but for some reason, I still bowed to my brother before I left the room.

  I DUMPED MY satchel onto the bed, then looked around, marvelling. All this space for me? My cabin back on the Banshee would have fitted comfortably into one of the room’s three closets, with space left over to accommodate a large goat or a not-too-fussy family of four. There was no glass in the windows, but there were heavy wooden shutters which could be closed against the rain, snow, hail, fist-sized chunks of ice, and various other things that fell from the sky on Torasan Isle. At that moment, a shaft of sunlight had managed to find a path between the rainclouds, washing the pale wood of the furniture in buttery light.

  There was even a mirror. I’d never rated a mirror back when I bore arms for Torasan. My father must have figured that it would be a waste of money; my value had nothing to do with my face. I hefted it and gauged the weight of the metal—it was bronze rather than silver and dented on the back, but still, on a good day, I could trade it for a few barrels of tar or a fair-sized bolt of sailcloth.

  That being the case, I realized, I really ought to don my pirate pants and steal the thing. It’s expensive to be at war with the whole damn world, and though my fleet raked in a lot of cash, we couldn’t afford to ignore opportunities. If Lynn found out that I had passed up a chance for a quick easy profit, then she would sigh long-sufferingly and dig out the account books and make some pointed comments about how Latoya almost lost an eye the last time I sent her out to raid a treasure fleet. And she’d be right, I knew that, but . . . hell . . . it’s different when you’re stealing from your family. I pictured how Konrad’s face would look if he caught me sneaking out the back door with the mirror stuffed down the front of my trousers, and made up my mind not to pinch any of the furnishings.

  I’d make it up to Lynn somehow. Maybe I’d surrender all sense of dignity and address her as “me proud beauty” in public. That always made her melt.

  Anyway, Ariadne commandeered the mirror as soon as I was done with it. She lugged it over to the writing desk, propped it upright, and installed herself at the makeshift vanity table with a collection of bottles and jars. While I bounced on the mattress to test the rope springs, she powdered her face chalky white and traced her veins with hair-thin lines of blue oil. The effect looked every bit as ghastly as you would expect—like a drowned corpse, except that her hair was dry. I thanked a selection of gods, once again, that Lynn never bothered with makeup.
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  Ariadne’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Oh, don’t play innocent. I can feel you quietly judging me back there.”

  “All right, say I am. You look ridiculous. Do you like dressing up like a doll?”

  “Do cooks like their aprons?” Ariadne shot back. “These are my working clothes. That’s all.” She frowned at her reflection, picked up a rag, and carefully blotted her lips. “So, do you think Konrad killed them?”

  “My father and Alek, you mean?” I shrugged. “Buggered if I know. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and we were never close . . . If he has any tells, I don’t know them. What about you? Do you have a theory?”

  “I’m not committing myself this early in the game. I haven’t even met the rest of your family yet. For what it’s worth, though, I think Konrad means well. And he’s certainly determined to keep you happy.”

  “How do you figure?”

  Ariadne looked back over her shoulder. “This is our room.”

  “So?”

  “So, has it escaped your notice that there’s only one bed?”

  It had. Shouldn’t have, but had. I gaped down at the mattress—it seemed very narrow all of a sudden—and heat surged up my neck to pool in my cheeks. It was exactly the feeling I’d experienced at age fifteen when the dairymaid from the village finally admitted that, in spite of what she’d been telling me, not all girls liked to kiss other girls on the mouth.

  Ariadne laughed. “Didn’t you realize what people would think?”

  “Of course I did,” I said with dignity. “I mean, I knew that people would jump to the wrong conclusions. I just didn’t expect Konrad to jump so enthusiastically and quickly.”

  “He’s sort of desperate, I think.” One of the makeup jars seemed to be worrying Ariadne; she scowled as she poked at its contents with a mink-fur brush. After a few pokes, she gave up, pushed it away, and drew a new jar towards her. “I didn’t like the look of the people down in the village, did you?”

  “They’re just people, princess. They may be commoners, but that doesn’t mean they’re dangerous. Regon and Spinner were both born in that town . . .”

  She slammed down the jar so hard that it spat out a cough of white powder. “Darren, how does someone as terminally dense as you put on her own boots in the morning? I mean that the villagers aren’t well. Did you see their skin? Pale as bad cheese, flaking around the eyes and lips. Half the children had rashes and running sores. That’s chronic hunger. They’re not starving, but they’re living on the brink. Torasan Isle is one bad harvest away from famine.”

  “ . . . oh.” That sick feeling of shame was not going to go away any time soon. “And you think Konrad called me here because he wants me to . . . do what? Distribute some sandwiches?”

  “Who knows? If he’s smart, he’ll ask you to wipe the corsairs out of his waters, to give the fishing fleets a chance. If he’s stupid, he might want you to conquer some other islands for him so he can have even more subjects to starve. When he tells you what his plan is, we’ll see whether he’s any different from your father. In the meantime, I have an invitation to spend the afternoon with Konrad’s wife. We are to have what she describes, rather horribly, as a ‘nice girly chat.’ Also music. Did you know that she can play the lute?”

  “Err . . . I know that she thinks she can. Bring something that you can stuff into your ears.” I scowled down at the bed. “I guess I’m sleeping on the floor tonight.”

  “Don’t go into your martyr routine. We’ll flip a coin for it. Actually, I suppose we’ll have to draw straws. I don’t see any beds in here for Regon and Corto.”

  “Konrad will probably have someone put down pallets for them in the hall.”

  She flashed me a look that could have stripped the paint off a barn. “The hell he will. I am done with people sleeping on pallets out in the hall. The four of us will take turns with the bed and we’ll draw straws to see who gets it first. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “Regon and I could probably fit on the mattress together, if we really tried.”

  The woman was just impossible. “Oh, no you don’t, princess. If you’re going to break Latoya’s heart, you do it to her face and you do it clean. You don’t get to test the waters with Regon first.”

  “You think you can stop me?”

  “I think your sister can.”

  “My sister’s not here.” Ariadne adjusted one last curl and, apparently satisfied, pushed back her stool. “I might as well make the most of the opportunity.”

  Regon walked in and slung down his bedroll. “The harbourmaster says that it snowed a week ago. Same old Isle. Well, captain, where are we going to go first?”

  THE GUARD AT the door to the children’s room told me that I couldn’t go in. I reasoned with him very calmly at first, and then less calmly, and then there was some screaming, and then Regon patted me on the back and told me to take a walk while he sorted things out. I took a walk, hands shoved into my pockets and nerves strung tight. When I got back, Regon and the guard were laughing like old friends. They barely even looked up at me as I passed through the dormitory door.

  Well. I bit my lip as I took it all in. Pink marble washbasin and iron-grilled fireplace; row after row of messy bunks; wooden dolls and toy ships, leather balls and spinning tops. It was almost empty—the older children would be with their tutors, of course, at this time of day—but a wet-nurse sat by the hearth, feeding two black-haired babies, one at each breast. Nieces or nephews of mine, no doubt. When I came in, the nurse looked up in confusion, then moved as if to rise and curtsey. I waved her back down.

  Something crunched under my right foot, and I lifted my boot to find the broken fragments of a clay pig. Guiltily, I scraped up the pieces and put them on a nearby shelf, next to a child-sized pair of shoes. The toes were badly scuffed, so the owner had to be a child who dragged his feet. I always used to do that on my way to my mathematics lessons.

  The memories rose up and choked me.

  Your father wants to see you this evening, miss. Scrub up now while I press your good tunic . . . Darren, you can’t go to sleep yet. Ceri’s going to tell the story about the ghoul that walks the shipyards searching for her missing hand . . . Young lady, for the last time, you will never master trigonometry if you spend every lesson gawping out the window. If you can’t pay attention long enough to learn the most basic principles of navigation, then gods help you when you come to command a ship, and gods help Torasan.

  Unconsciously, I’d walked to my old bed: fourth along the wall, just to the left of a big shuttered window. It belonged to a boy now; I could tell from the cheesy smell of the blankets. There were chips on the bedpost where he had tested a new pocket-knife against the wood.

  The smell of milk and pitchy torches. Sucking sounds, noises of soft contentment, from the sleepy babies.

  Was it a nightmare, little miss? Hush, now, hush—nobles of Torasan don’t cry. If you wake up your brothers, you know how they’ll tease you. I’ll stay with you until you go back to sleep if you promise to be good for your tutors tomorrow. Hush, now, little one . . .

  “So it’s true. You did come back.”

  The girl in the doorway could have stepped straight out of my memories. I recognized not her, but the bits of her: Rikki’s eyes, Fletcher’s cheekbones, Alek’s chin. A hand-me-down tunic and hose which could well have been Brayan’s. An unflattering haircut which left the hair just a little too short to be tied back, exactly like the one I’d worn—and may all the gods forgive me—at age twenty-one.

  “Jada?” I asked.

  The girl—no, she was full-grown now, though barely—gave me a jerky nod which was almost a bow. “My lady sister.”

  “Oh, don’t start with that crap, get over here!”

  She stiffened when I pulled her into a bear hug, so I let go fast. “Sorry. Sorry. I guess you’re not a touchy kind of person?”

  She smiled, tight-lipped, and stepped back out o
f reach. “People say I’m frigid.”

  “Oh, come on. Who said that? Tell me, that I may smite them.”

  Jada didn’t laugh—she eyed me warily, as if she wasn’t sure whether I was joking. “Alek used to say it a lot. I think you missed your chance to smite him, unless there’s something you haven’t told us about the way he died.”

  “Oh. Um. Yes.” With characteristic smoothness, I coughed, then changed the subject. “Can we walk and talk? I was going to have a look at the back harbour.”

  “The back harbour? I can save you some time—it’s the same pile of rocks that it was the day they banished you.”

  “Well, I have fond memories of those rocks. They’re better company than a lot of the people I’ve met. Help me with the door?”