by David Bell
She became aware that someone had come into the room and was standing behind her. The scent of sandalwood overcame that of wet plaster and paint. She turned, blue sponge in hand.
“My lady…”
“Do not stop, child,” said Pasipha. “I adore watching the movements of painters’ hands.”
The painter turned back to her work and the room fell silent again as she pressed her sponge to the plaster and drew it across the forms using a light touch to avoid runs. The blue was bright and even. She put the sponge with the others in the cleaning bowl and picked up a brush. The monkey’s tail was filled in with a single sweep.
“It must be left now to dry, my lady.”
“Give him a bold eye,” said Pasipha. “He was very mischievous.”
“That I will do tomorrow, my lady; and I think he should have a band of yellow across the brow. The sedges and reeds will come last and then with a few other touches, the painting is finished.”
“My maid tells me you have asked for a great many eggs and that the yolks be separated from the whites.”
“When the plaster and paint are dry, my lady, layers of beaten egg white are painted over it, each one being left to dry before the next is put on. This makes for a hard surface, hard enough to polish, hard enough to last.”
“You are smiling. Why do you smile?”
“Forgive me, my lady; I was thinking….”
“Come now, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that once I left the bowl of egg white on my table and went out to find a different brush and when I came back the bowl had gone. A boy from the garden had taken it to his hut to cook and eat.”
“Have a care you do not leave your next bowl of egg unwatched. It is the way of men to take what is not kept out of their reach.”
“He said he was hungry.”
“They are accustomed to make that excuse. You have done well here. The work pleases me. You have work elsewhere?”
“Some small parts of my master’s work in the Palace and some of my own on Kallista, my lady.”
“On Kallista, indeed? I have heard from your master of his fishermen and his boxing boys and of his more private paintings in the Ladies’ House there. You have seen them?”
“The fishermen, yes, and the boys, who are now grown men, my lady. I have seen the paintings. A girl who is companion to the lady Tuwea in whose new house I have worked, was able to let me see them.”
“The Lady Tuwea, you say; wife to the merchant?”
“Yes, my lady; she said the fishermen and the boys, that is the other men, are crew on the merchant’s ship that sailed to the Endless Ocean in search of metal.”
“Indeed they are. I wonder where they may be? Should they return, I have a mind for you to paint me a picture of one of those men, not the fishermen, you understand, in this room on the wall opposite my monkey. Both have occasioned me some amusement. Now, before you go, tell me more of this girl who is companion to the Lady Tuwea. For some reason, I think we have things in common. What is her name?
“Bring the man in,” said Koreta.
Apigoron came back into the room, pushing a dark-skinned, muscular young man in front of him. He stood, feet planted apart, thumbs thrust into the top of his salt-stained kilt, eyes cast down towards the floor.
“What is your name?”
The young man looked up, stared straight ahead and mumbled something. His eyes were narrowed a little and had a distant look.
“He says his name is –”
“Alaron, son of Pentar; I heard him. Leave us, Apigoron.”
After the door had closed behind the steward, Koreta looked sharply at the man and beckoned him to come forward.
“Come closer, Alaron. Your voice tells me you are from Mitoia, across the Lagoon. Am I right?”
“Close by, my Lord.”
“If you fish the lagoon, how was it that you saw what you are said to have seen?”
“I keep a boat on the other shore, over the hill.”
“The windward shore; I see. We are both sailors, Alaron, you and I, so tell me what you saw; mark you, not what you think you saw.”
“I take her out when the weather’s good. You can make a bigger catch if you’re lucky and the Mistress lets you.” He made the sign for waves and bowed his head briefly. “Nobody else goes.”
“Go on.”
“Squall blew up. I got blown far out. Lost all my gear. It was near dark before the wind dropped and I could make some way again. I was too far out and it was too dark for me to see the shore.”
“So you used the star and were looking out to sea.”
“That’s right. Then I saw it. Fire in the sea.”
“Fire in the sea. Not the flash of fire in the sky?”
“No! By the Lord Potheidan, no! I beg pardon, my Lord. It went straight up: red sparks spouting up and falling and then spouting up again.”
“A ship on fire?”
“No smell of wood or oil burning: wind was in my face, my Lord. I would have smelt it.”
“Did you smell anything?”
“Now you say it, yes, faint, a bit like the whiff you get from the forbidden island now and then.”
“Were you the only one to see this?”
“Yes. I know what you’re thinking. Nobody believes me.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You said we were both sailors, my Lord. One other thing: When I went back the day after to see if my boat was all right, there was lots of dead fish washed up; more than I’ve ever seen.”
“I believe you, Alaron,” said Koreta. He sounded the silver bell and Apigoron entered the room.
“See that he is well fed and given what he needs for new nets and lines. When that is done, send in the scribe.” To the fisherman he said:
“You have my thanks. If you see anything like this again, or anything else, strange ships, perhaps, make your way here with all speed and let me be the first to hear of it.”
Alaron placed his big hands together in the gesture of thanks, then clenched his fist to his brow in a sign of respect. Apigoron made way for him to leave first.
“A fine night, Captain,” said Kanesh, as he took his place beside Potyr on the stern deck. “High cloud far off to starboard,” said Potyr. “This swell means there is heavy weather out there. We could have a wind on our quarter when daylight comes.”
“And enough sea room to deal with it?”
“If we can hold to windward. The reefs we had to clear before we found open water for the crossing to Pherethan will be somewhere off the larboard bow and the coast there is low lying, not easy to see.”
Morning came with no sight of land and no strengthening of the wind, but Potyr could not rid himself of the feeling that a change would come when the sun rose higher. The crewmen who had been resting were sent back to their oars and Potyr kept a close eye on the sky and sea for any sign of a change in wind. At midday the masthead wind banner stirred and he felt the air freshen on his face from starboard. The sail was trimmed, and orders for starboard rudder, and starboard oars to be dug in deep and hard, were called just in time for the Davina to hold her course when the wind lifted and heeled her over to larboard. The wind dropped off almost as quickly and she righted and sailed on, shaking herself in the choppy waters. Then it happened again: a sudden gust, holding for a while, and then fading away. And so it went on throughout the afternoon, with the sail furled and the oarsmen never able to settle to a stroke so that by evening their strength was flagging and the ship was gradually veering off course. Potyr was on the point of ordering Typhis to bring her head to windward when, almost as suddenly as the it had got up, the wind died away and Potyr could order the men to paddle, so taking the strain off them while keeping the ship under way.
“A foul nagging wind, Captain,” gasped Typhis. “We want no more of that. We had two water jars cracked when she heeled.”
“The sun is down. I have no landmark and no star and the swell is against us.
Starboard rudder and a steady stroke, helmsman; the ocean is the safer place until we know where we are.”
“Double the lookouts?”
“Too low down. Sharesh must climb the mast. He has the best eyes on the ship.”
“Send Luzar up,” said Kanesh. “His eyes are as good and he knows the ways of this coast.” From the level of the water that had dripped into the bowl Sharesh judged it to be near midnight when Luzar called from his perch on the thick rope parral holding the spar to the mast that he could see the star.
“Where away?” shouted Typhis. “What’s he saying? I can’t –”
“He means larboard quarter,” said Kanesh. “The star is astern, on the larboard quarter.”
“Lord Potheidan! We’re heading inshore!”
Luzar called out again.
“He says he can feel white water,” said Kanesh.
“Feel it? What’s he on about? How far off? Can he see it? Can he hear it?”
“Hard a starboard!” rapped out Potyr. “Pull ahead, hard as you can. Smartly now.”
For tired, anxious men, the dawn seemed grudgingly slow to come and when at last it did, it draped the ship and the sea in a white mist.
“Stop oars,” said Potyr. “Quiet ship. All hands listen hard.”
The ship rode silent but for the light slap of water against her sides and the creak of timbers as she rocked on the swell. All ears strained to catch the boom of surf or the sucking hiss of water drawing back from rock or sandbank. There was nothing to be heard.
“Call him,” said Potyr. “He has clung to that mast half the night and the cold may have brought on sleep.”
“Ho there, masthead!” bellowed Typhis. “D’you see there? I can’t hear him, Captain.”
“Birds, he says he sees birds,” said Kanesh. “His voice is faint.”
“Get him down. We must know what birds and where they are heading. Send Sharesh up in his place.”
Luzar was shivering and his skin was almost grey with cold. Kanesh wrapped him in a heavy cloak, waited until his teeth had stopped chattering and then questioned him in a low voice.
“Gulls; heading in our direction from the larboard side. Oh, and the white water is still there, but not so close. He says he would have told us if we were in danger.”
“He has done well. Get him below and see he has some of the honey drink to warm him. Gulls will not fly far out to sea. Helmsman, hold course, get her under way, handsomely, mind you.”
With his feet on the parral, Sharesh leaned back in the sailcloth sling he had taken with him up the mast. To larboard the mist stretched away as far as he could see, its upper surface no higher than his knees and all white and soft like a crumpled sheet. Birds flew overhead, straight and swift in the way they did when they knew where the shoal was feeding. He followed their line of flight and saw where the mist ended, far away, where the blue of the open sea was just beginning to show. He felt a sudden surge of happiness and began to laugh at the thought that he must at last have become a true deep-sea sailor. A call came up from the stern deck. He shouted in reply:
“Clear blue water way off, fine on the starboard bow.”
“Must be clearing, Captain,” said Typhis. “Could make harbour tonight if we changed course.”
“Steady as she goes, helmsman. I have my orders.”
The thought that anyone could give the skipper orders made Typhis speechless, for once.
On the third night out from Pherethan, the sky was clear and bright with the stars they knew. The Charioteer was lying low down off the starboard quarter, his big yellow star glowing warmly, and the red star whose light shone into temples in the Black Land lay above the horizon, fine on the starboard bow. The one Potyr sought, the sailors’ white star, dropping from the upturned Ladle, in Kanesh’s joke, stood high and fine astern. There was no wind but the current was helping now, so, a little way further on this course, then a slight change, and the star would be dead astern, where he needed it to be if he were to be following orders again. He smiled to himself and looked high up and ahead at the glistening band that swept across from horizon to horizon, like the white gauze scarf he had given… and there he stopped, trying not to think of her, and failing as he always would.
On the morning of the fourth day after leaving Crakluz, the Davina had reached deep ocean and was running before a fair wind. Kerma was at the helm.
“Steers herself in a wind like this,” he called to Sharesh who was sitting on the main deck in front of the stroke oars, lashing the end of a rope. “See how she flies: she’s can’t wait to get home.”
Potyr came out of the stern cabin and gave the order easy oars, then ship oars. The Davina barely slackened her onward race. Potyr climbed down the ladder, walked to the starboard rail and stood looking out to sea.
“Not like the skipper to do that,” said the Kallista oarsman to his Kydona mate. “What’s he looking at?”
Kanesh, on the bow deck with Namun, was wondering the same. The sky was clear, the wind fair, the waves were small with a few breaking crests and there was no hazard in sight. Could he be looking back, thinking of Crakluz? Not Potyr, surely not: aboard or ashore, his thoughts were always for his ship. Always? Kanesh looked more closely. Potyr’s eyes were fixed on the sea, not the horizon. The order to stand down had not followed ship oars, as it usually did, so the crew leaned back on the thwarts, talking idly and enjoying the warmth of the sun on their backs.
“Bow and stroke, oars half out,” said Potyr, almost casually, but the men jumped to the order. Kanesh saw it then: a huge dark grey shape gliding just below the surface off the starboard quarter. For a while it kept pace with the ship, then effortlessly drew ahead. Kanesh swung round to see it cross the bow no more than a ship’s length ahead and disappear. Starboard oars had seen it and began to talk excitedly. Potyr held up his hand for quiet and pointed overboard. Another great grey shape, and another, and another passed slowly alongside, then several more, some as long as the first and some smaller, swimming close to the monsters. No more followed and the Davina kept to her course, her bow slicing through the waves.
“Thank the Lord Potheidan, they’ve gone,” said the Kallista man.
A cracked voice came from the bow thwarts. “No they haven’t. They’ve gone off to talk about us. They’ll be back.”
Kanesh came down from the bow deck and walked over to Potyr at the rail, bringing the ship’s grandfather with him.
“When they come back, what should we do?” said Potyr.
“We keeps going, Captain, that’s what we do and you done right to have your oars ready for a smart pull to shear away if one of ‘em come too close inboard. We keeps going, see, because they don’t like things big as us dead in the water. That’s cow fish we have for company out there and you seen they have young with ‘em and that makes ‘em nervous. You wait; we’ll have one or two of ‘em back here to take another look at us and if we’re stopped, like as not they’ll take us for a bull fish waiting to grab one of their calves and they’ll go for us; and seeing as how they’re not far off our size, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance.” He stopped and thought, adding more wrinkles to his already furrowed forehead. “Then again,” he said. “They could think we’re a wounded big fish like one of them – you might have seen scars and gashes on them that went by. They gets them from love fighting but sometimes from being savaged. If they think that’s what’s wrong, they’ll hold fast all round us, looking after us and we won’t be able to make our way through. Either way, we might be caught.”
“Very well. We carry on. Keep to your course, helmsman and I want you and four more oars ready about to turn her if needs be. Not too sharp, not with this wind, remember.”
“Thought you said they’d be back,” jibed the Kallista oarsman some time later. “Where are they, then?”
“They’re out there watching us,” said the grandfather. “Biding their time. You stand by. They’ll be –”
“Fountains! Fountains ahead, fine on the
starboard bow!” Namun was jumping up and down excitedly by the stem post, pointing ahead. Potyr and Kanesh leaned out over the rail to see what he could possibly mean: fountains in the sea? Ten, perhaps more, ship lengths ahead, the waves churned with foam and frothy sprays of water rose from the sea higher than the Davina’s mast, spattered down and after a few moments rose again. The surface heaved with dark grey shapes and great black fans rose from the sea, waved like sails in a gentle breeze and disappeared, one after the other. By the time the Davina reached the place, the only sign of what had troubled the sea were trains of bubbles rising from the depths.
“Gone down, deep, they have, deep as Lord Potheidan,” said the grandfather. “Not for long, though,” he added.
It seemed like a long, time, however; that is, until the giant creatures returned and when they did, almost every man on board wished the time had never ended.
Namun fell back from his post at the terrifying sight of a great grey blunt-headed monster, its back as furrowed and rough as a rock face, its flat lower jaw agape to show rows of cone-like teeth, rise majestically from the sea, until it was fully free, hanging in the air, before slowly toppling backwards to strike the water with a noise like thundering surf and sending out waves that set the ship pitching wildly as she plunged through. As soon as the first had disappeared below the surface, a second leaped clear and fell back in its turn. The waves it made were still rocking the ship when Namun called out in dread.