by Rj Barker
“Our sentence has been passed, Hatkeep,” he said, “only the day is undecided.” Mevans shook his head.
“We need you.”
“I will do what I must to get the shipwife back.”
“She will need you,” he said, words coming quick, urgent. “More than a year she has been in their hands now.”
“Talking of the shipwife,” said Cwell, “I do have a little good news. I found us some help, or rather some help found me.” She pointed further down the dark alley. At first Joron saw nothing. Then a dark shape melted out of the shadows.
“Narza,” said Joron. “Well, maybe all is not lost.”
31
The Acquaintance
Narza, Meas’s shadow – silent, violent, taciturn and absolutely loyal to her. More than anything, while he waited in the darkness, Joron wanted to ask Narza where she had been but he knew she would not say. “Looking for the shipwife,” would be the most he could expect. Still, he felt safer that she was here, which was foolish of him. Four of them against a whole island was no safer than three, even if one of them was Narza.
“Guards are changing again,” said Mevans.
“Still only two,” whispered Joron as he watched the men outside Indyl Karrad’s secret townhouse greet one another and two guards walked away. Down the street, the line of rags ended four doors before Karrad’s building. He glanced up, saw the flickering light in a room far above them. “He works late into the night.”
“You are sure he is in there, Narza?” She nodded, not saying how she knew, and he did not feel like he could press her.
“Do we go for it then?” said Mevans. Joron stared at the two men stood before the door, nodded.
“Cwell, Narza, take the guards down but do not kill them. We wish Karrad for an ally, not an enemy.” The two women nodded and turned, vanishing into the shadows.
“Might be a bit late, D’keeper,” said Mevans, “to ask for Karrad to be our friend.”
“We can but hope,” said Joron, and he touched the hilt of his straightsword for comfort. With that and his spur back he felt almost whole. Cwell and Narza reappeared from the night behind the two guards, putting the men into chokeholds and quietly lowering them to the floor then pulling them into the shadows where they were less likely to be found. Joron and Mevans hurried across the street, looking up and down for movement but this place, like all of Bernshulme, was unusually quiet even for so late into the night. When they got to the door Narza was already working on it, using a small rod and hook to manipulate the lock until, with a click, it sprang open.
“Are you ready?” said Joron, more to himself than those with him, but he was met with a chorus of “ey”, nonetheless. “Then prepare yourself, and for the Mother’s sake, none of you kill Karrad, he is our only hope.” Nods, and they were in the building, going up the steep thin stairs in single file, and Joron hoped they would not meet more guards, that Karrad had not surrounded himself with soldiers. A steep stair like this could easily be defended, and no doubt the man had bolt holes and escape routes built into his townhouse.
But there were no guards, and as they ascended the stairs past the richly carved walls, no one came to stop them and they heard no noise. They stopped before the door of Karrad’s rooms, quietly, but not quietly enough.
“I told you,” came a voice from behind the door, “no matter what has happened, I am not to be disturbed.” Joron smiled to himself. A little childish pleasure that he would get to upset the man who set him on the course that led him here. He opened the door. Karrad at his desk, head down, pen moving across a ledger. He looked up. Angry. Opened his mouth to shout at this intruder but no sound came from it when he saw those who had entered. To his credit, thought Joron, he recovered quickly. Did not falter or make a fool of himself by trying to escape.
He still wore all the trappings of the Kept, the leather straps, the oiled chest, long hair, but he looked noticeably older and more worn.
“I have no meetings scheduled,” he said and sat back in his chair. “And I do not know you, so must presume you are here to rob me.” He shrugged. “Hag knows the times are desperate. Take what you wish, only leave me to my work, unless you would see the Hundred Isles cleaved apart by the Gaunt Islanders and their Hag-cursed pirate.” Under his mask, Joron allowed himself a smile.
“We are not here to rob you, Indyl Karrad,” he said. Took a step forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Looked down at the man who was the source of so much of his misery. “We are here to help you, and as for that Hag-cursed pirate…” Joron performed a bow, the kind he had seen the Kept do and which they spent many hours perfecting, and then looked up, arm outstretched toward Karrad, “it gives me great pleasure to introduce myself in person.”
“I—” Now Karrad looked shocked, though not nearly as shocked as he did when Joron spoke again.
“Though you know me better as Joron Twiner, Indyl. I presume you have not forgotten me?”
For a moment, Karrad could not speak. His face a picture, pale with shock. He put down his quill. Looked away from Joron and picked up the sand shaker by his ledger, shook sand over his document and shut the book.
“I have heard no fighting in the streets, so I reckon you do not come at the head of your fleet ready to hang all those who will not give up their riches.”
“I have come alone. My fleet remains at sea.”
“Then,” said Karrad, “I do not know if you are brave or mad.”
“I reckon a little of both,” said Joron, and he heard his dockside accent coming out, so very clear when compared to Karrad’s High Bothy speech.
“You may get your vengeance, Twiner, if that is why you are here,” said Karrad, “but you will never escape. The island is surrounded and—”
“I am not here for vengeance, I am here for Meas,” said Joron. Karrad froze at the mention of his old lover’s name, but only for a moment.
“Meas?” he said. Did he take a breath? Was it hope, Joron saw? Was it calculation?
“Ey,” said Joron. “All I have done, I have done in search of my shipwife,” he said. “And I can only believe she is on this island somewhere.” Karrad was staring at him; he had deep-set, intense blue eyes. The hair on his temples was beginning to grey. Joron took a deep breath, before speaking distasteful words. “You care for her, that much was plain when she brought me here so long ago. I do not expect you to like or want to help me. But you and her had a dream of peace. Help me find her and I will leave and none will be the wiser.”
“Meas,” he said. “All this, what has been done to my town, to my people, was for Meas?”
“All of it,” said Joron.
Karrad put his hands on his ledger, splayed his fingers out and stared at them as if considering his position in the world. He let out a long breath.
“I thought Meas dead. But if not, there is only one person on this island who may know where she is,” he said. “Her mother.”
“So all I must do is break into the Grand Bothy; there are probably quicker ways for you to get me killed, Karrad.”
“Undoubtably, but what I say is true. And Bernshulme is not what it once was, your depredations have tried us sorely. Then the keyshan plague came. The Thirteenbern is like me, she stays at her work until late into the night, and we do not have enough seaguard to crew our ships and command posts to waste on things like nightguards.” He looked up and smiled. “A big show is made of taking her from the Grand Bothy to her home each evening, but the truth is she returns and rarely leaves until very late. The building is barely guarded at night.” He looked up. “If you are quick, and you go now,” he said, “before Skearith’s Blind Eye has waned, you may have the answers you are looking for, aye?”
“You cannot believe him, D’keeper,” said Mevans. “They would never leave the Thirteenbern unguarded.”
“She is not unguarded,” said Karrad, “she is no fool. But her guard is smaller than usual and the Grand Bothy is large. Someone careful could slip in, that is all I say
. The guards on the entrance to the throne room, well, you will have to deal with them, but as you have dealt with my guards I imagine that will not be a problem for you.”
“Your guards are not dead,” said Joron. “I am not a monster.”
“I would be amused,” said Karrad, staring at Joron, “to watch you try and explain that to the people of Bernshulme. They think you cursed that arakeesian, then sent it to us deliberately.” Joron had no answer to that. “And I’ve seen the reports from the shipwives that brought it in – Hag care for them as they are gone now – so I know it is true.”
“It is no curse,” said Joron, “and your people would have brought it here whether I was there or not.”
“Probably,” said Karrad, “though it does not matter, now, because we have you to blame for our misfortune. It has been a help in managing the people’s anger.”
“The Thirteenbern would have blamed me for it anyway.”
“No doubt,” he said. “Or maybe, if they were not so in fear of you pursuing them, our shipwives would have taken a slower route, noticed the sickness and taken the thing to the old flensing yards. Or better, died before they brought it in.” He stood, and Cwell went for her bone dagger. Joron held out a hand to stop her. “Only you really know your intent, the strength of your culpability,” Karrad said, glanced at Narza and Cwell then sat again. “If you are to get to the Thirteenbern before the night is through you should leave now, though I would be happy for you to stay and talk with me of course. I would only be doing my duty and protecting the Bern after all; a few hours more and it will be day, the guard will be up to full strength. You and Narza may be able to hide for an entire day, but Cwell there, and Mevans, they are known to too many here. No doubt they are already recognised. Soon they will be sought.”
“You should take us to her.” Karrad smiled at that.
“Betray the Thirteenbern, and what use would I be then, Joron Twiner, ey? If you find Meas, you will need help getting off this island, Black Pirate or no,” he said with a sneer. “And I am that help. I am the only one who can help you.”
Joron stared at him. Realised he hated this man. Even though he offered to help he did not really; he could take them to the Thirteenbern if he wanted to. Could walk them through the Grand Bothy and no one would ask a thing about it. Could swear they forced him at the point of a crossbow, make any excuse. But to make Karrad take them unwillingly? Joron did not trust him not to give them up. What poor allies fate forced upon him.
“Very well,” said Joron, “we go now.”
“Someone ’as to guard that,” said Cwell, pointing at Karrad. “Just in case.”
“I’ll stay,” said Mevans.
“But I need—” began Joron. Mevans cut him off.
“You need Cwell and Narza, for something like this. Oh, I could hold my own, no doubt,” he said. “But the shipwife has dealt with him before,” he glanced at Karrad, no love nor respect there, “and I would not trust him. Someone must stay and keep an eye on him.” The trickling of sand through a glass in his mind as the moments passed.
“Of course,” said Joron. “You are right.”
“I will be well, D’keeper, Indyl Karrad is a fine card player and we will amuse ourselves that way.” He grinned at Joron. “I have a few coins from selling our sea chest, try and be back before he has taken them all from me.” He put out his arm, offering it in the clasp of comrades aboard ship, something he had never done before. You do not think I am coming back, thought Joron. Then he took Mevans’s wrist in his own, felt the man’s rough hand grip around his wrist and he gave him a nod.
“I will be quick,” said Joron.
“But not careless, ey, D’keeper?”
“No,” he said, “never that.”
“I never knew you two were shipfriends,” said Cwell, “we should leave afore you start weeping.”
“Only friends,” said Joron quietly. “Be careful, Mevans,” he said. Then they turned and left. Running down the steep stairs and out into the town. Through quiet streets, past houses that, even so late, should have had a couple of lights burning, but did not. I did this, thought Joron, and every step he took, every tap of his bone spur on the Serpent Road was weighed down by guilt. I did all this, he thought. I knew what would happen and I did it anyway. So lost in his thoughts he was that he barely noticed when they found themselves outside the Grand Bothy. He almost walked straight up to the entrance, for he had ceased to properly see the world around him and stared only at the yawning chasm within, created by his guilt.
“D’keeper.” An urgent whisper from Cwell. Narza’s iron-hard grip on his arm. He looked up. Four guards under the guttering torches of the Grand Bothy’s arched entrance.
“He said there would be fewer guards.”
“Usually ten,” muttered Narza. “If we go back a while.”
“Four bodies is more than I would like to leave in our wake,” said Joron quietly. “It will bring attention.”
“Other way in,” said Narza.
“Where?”
“The side, through a culvert, can you swim?”
“No,” said Joron. Narza gave him a look, as if he were the biggest fool in the archipelago.
“Then it will be hard on you,” she said. “But none will see us that way.”
“Very well,” said Joron.
Narza led them around the building and down an alley, to a steep stair that Joron had never seen before in his life. At the bottom was a grate. A black, quickly flowing stream passed through it before tumbling down a steep fall and then vanishing into another grate further down the hill. Narza struck a flint and lit a small lamp, directing the light down toward the grate and Joron saw the bars had been cut just above the waterline.
“I been using it,” she said.
“How deep is it?”
“Deep.”
“And how far?”
“Far,” she said. Then she turned to him, black eyes sparkling. “Be hard,” she said. “Will feel like drowning. Long swim and you must lie on your back, and I will hold you. If you struggle, I will let go and you will drown. You understand? Shipwife needs me. I will not die ’ere for you.” Joron nodded, looking down into the black water and feeling the same fear he had felt once winding his way through a tight cave, like he was being crushed.
“Take me first,” said Cwell. “I swim, but have never been underwater for too long.”
“Ey?” said Narza.
“D’keeper,” said Cwell, “Narza only cares about the shipwife, that is her job and her honour. Mine is to care about you. So do as I ask, ey? Let me go first.” She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Serin,” she whispered, “was my mother’s name. If Narza does not come back and tell you it, it is too far and I drowned. You must find another way.” He nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “You do not trust her?” Cwell grinned, swift on her face and gone in a moment.
“I trust no one,” she said, then turned to Narza. “Let’s get on, then,” and started climbing down the stonework around the culvert. When she was in the water she looked up, as if to say something but she did not. Just waited as Narza made her way down, then swam over to her.
“Take deep breaths,” said Narza. “Then relax if you can and I will guide you through. Remember, struggle and I let you drown.” Joron watched as the two women breathed together, Cwell lying atop Narza and then Narza said, “Ready?” Cwell nodded and they vanished beneath the black water. He watched them moving beneath the surface, one of Narza’s arms working, feet kicking and it was as if he looked down upon a keyshan from a great height as it moved beneath the seas. Narza’s strength against the power of the water through the culvert, and for a moment the two women were moving but still, as the water and the muscle strength balanced each other, then they were gone, under the bars and through the tunnel and all Joron could do was sit and wait. He counted out seconds, closing his eyes and seeing a sandglass, the sand rushing through it. As he waited he tried holding his own breath
for as long as he could. Found it impossible to hold for long and the space the sand in his mind filled was replaced with a deep, black dread of what was to come. To him, like so many deckchilder, water was a thing of the everyday, but also a thing of death, for to be lost in it was to be prey to the creatures of the sea which hated the creatures of the land, and hated woman and men above all others. The ability to swim was rare, as few ever chose to go in the water.
All too soon he heard a gentle whistle and opened his eyes, looking down into the water he saw Narza. “Serin,” she said and he nodded affirmation at the code word. “Your turn now, D’keeper. Same rules.” He climbed down the slimy wall, gasping as icy water closed around his good foot, then again when it hit the stump of his leg. He struggled to get air into his lungs when the water enveloped him totally. “It will pass,” said Narza, “just breathe.” He nodded. Concentrated on the in and out of air through his mouth as the water slowly turned from freezing to numbing. “Ready?” said Narza, those eyes, black as water. He nodded, and she span him around, placed one hand on his chin and let them both fall back in the water, the warmth of her body against his back. “Five deep breaths and we go,” she said. “You struggle, you drown.”
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He closed his mouth and felt her move beneath him, pull him into the water, the world above shimmering and shifting, bending and twisting and he wanted to fight. Wanted to struggle. This was not his element, not his place. His lungs told him this was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong.
Dontstruggledontstruggledontstruggle
He was back in the box. Choking on broken vocal cords. Trapped beneath a mountain of rock. About to be taken on a ship with the sick and the dying and left there by Deckkeeper Gueste. It was so dark. It was so cold. It was so wrong. He was held. Trapped. Terrified. Back in the box. Choking on his own air. Under a mountain. He knew he must stay still to survive. But the panic was a tide, pulling at his good sense, unstoppable, powerful, and he could not control it. Could feel the energy building in his limbs. Feel the sparks in his mind. Wanting to kick out.
