“I’m going into the Wastes . . . happily . . . joyously . . . all because I’ll be very far away from you.”
Chapter Twenty-five
3rd day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
736th year since the Cataclysm
Stormwolf, Moriande
Nalenyr
Jorim Anturasi planted fists on his hips as he mounted the deck of the Stormwolf. The massive ship rose and fell ever so slightly under his feet. The Gold River’s sluggish current did pull at the ship, but its sheer size and weight made it resistant to the river’s efforts to move it. Above him, purple silk sails hung furled from crosstrees on each of nine masts. On other ships, some of the nine would be purely ornamental, but on this ship there was nothing that was not meant to be functional.
“If I could beg your pardon.” A slight voice came from behind him. “You are blocking the gangway.”
“So I am.” Jorim stepped aside and watched a small man come aboard, bent almost double beneath an overstuffed bag. He wore a good blue robe and, despite having lost most of his hair, looked young. He certainly wasn’t a sailor or soldier. What is he doing here?
The Anturasi grabbed the bag and lifted it from the man’s back with one hand. “Have you a concubine hidden in here?”
The little man straightened, his face tight with surprise. “No, I have only necessities.” His voice took on a bit of an edge. “I do not require your aid with it, either.”
Jorim bit back a riposte. The blue robe had a yellow sash, which was not unusual for one who functioned as a minor clerk in a ministry, but the ends had been embroidered with a coiled dragon. That meant the man had some sort of court appointment and if someone so unsuited to the voyage were on the ship by court choice, he was not a quantity to be made sport of until his measure had been taken.
Jorim set the bag on the deck. “I beg your pardon. I am Jorim Anturasi.”
“And I am . . . did you say Anturasi?”
“Yes.”
The man snapped forward in a deep bow. “Forgive me for speaking sharply to you, Master.”
Jorim took him by the shoulders and forced him to straighten up again. “No forgiveness necessary. You were telling me your name.”
“He would be Iesol Pelmir.” The new voice came from a tall woman with dark hair and hazel eyes. Though she was slender, neither her voice nor stance suggested weakness. Despite her relative youth, she wore a captain’s robe. It and her mien underscored her strength of personality. “I would see the both of you in my cabin. Immediately.”
“As you will it, Captain Gryst.” Iesol fell in behind her, then hesitated, torn, half-turning back for his bag.
Jorim hefted it again and swung it easily onto his own back. Iesol’s look of horror was reward enough as Jorim followed the two toward the ship’s stern and the cabins below the steersman’s deck. He deposited the sack in the narrow passage outside the captain’s cabin and followed Iesol.
He’d expected a cramped cabin, but found himself pleasantly surprised. The rear bulkhead had been made of shutters which, when open as they were now, admitted light and air while affording a wonderful view of Moriande and the river. Lamps hung on chains from rafters above the edges of an ancient desk. Off to the right lay the captain’s bunk and wardrobe. The area to the left of her desk had been set with a table and chairs, clearly serving as a dining and entertaining area.
But Captain Gryst offered neither Iesol nor Jorim a seat. The little man glanced around nervously, but Jorim calmly planted his feet and clasped his hands at the small of his back. He had an idea what was coming and braced himself for it.
Anaeda Gryst positioned herself behind her desk, allowing the cityscape to silhouette her. She rested her hands on the desktop and studied papers filled with long columns of script. Her voice began low, but in it Jorim could hear the commanding tone of a leader.
“This is a talk I expected I would only have to give your brother once, Jorim. You might require it twice, but you’ll not get it a third time. In lieu of that, I’ll be leaving you on the nearest rock with fresh water. As for you, Minister Pelmir, I never expected to be giving you this talk at all. I understand that Minister Hisatal has new duties that require him to remain on dry land; hence you have been foisted on us.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Her head came up quickly and the small man shook. “When I want you to speak, Minister, I will invite you to do so. I did not ask you a question, nor do I require confirmation of something I already knew. I have no idea why you were chosen to replace him—what evil, perceived or real, you performed to get this berth—but . . . Yes, you wish to tell me?”
“Is that a question?”
Her eyes tightened and Jorim began to find her attractive. At least ten years his senior, her flesh had been darkened by wind, sun, and sea. Her hazel eyes were of the kind considered handsome within the aristocracy, and the sense of character that shone through them was riveting. Unlike the women of his class and society, she had steel in her spine and a mind attuned not to artificial nuances, but to those things that could and did make the difference between life and death.
“Tell me, Minister.”
“I-I asked to be assigned to the Stormwolf.”
She turned her head slightly to the left and said nothing for a moment. Then, coming upright, she regarded him openly. “Interesting. That makes you even more of a candidate for this talk, so I’ll begin. This is the Stormwolf. I am her captain. On this ship, my word is law. If an event is entered into the ship’s log, it is a fact. If it is not, it never happened. I will require meticulous care be given to the log and account books, but I will review and edit as I see fit. The Prince, in his wisdom, wishes to know all but needs not be burdened with details of no consequence.”
Her gaze shifted from the clerk to Jorim, and he felt a jolt. “You are an adventurer. Your passion, your life, your vocation demand you take chances, and I will expect you to do just that. On land. You do that on my ship and I’ll have you clapped in irons and stowed below with the ratters and other livestock. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“This ship has over a thousand crew, plus a hundred and eighty concubines and ninety distinguished scholars, guests, and assorted others. To actually sail this ship I require four hundred and fifty. Attrition can and will occur, but it is my intention to keep it to a minimum. I want to come back with at least ninety percent of those I go out with, and if we come back with more, I will be very pleased.
“This ship is as much a village as it is a vessel. The sailors have been drawn from the best of the Naleni fleet. All have volunteered. All are hoping for riches and glory, but they know all they’ll be certain of getting is food, water, and older. I don’t know what your thoughts are on the chances for riches and glory. I don’t care. What I care is that you’re not going about spreading stories that promise much and deliver nothing.”
She pointed at Jorim. “You, very specifically, are going to be a problem. You have very little to do while on board. I suggest you find something to do. Learn how to play an instrument. Visit every concubine we have. Join the scholars in intellectual discussions. Do something, because if I find you to be disruptive, I will find you something to do. And I can guarantee it will not be pleasant.
“As for you, Minister, I will run you ragged. If you get a chance to draw an idle breath it is because you are shirking duty. You will be available to me at all hours. You will report instantly, you will draft orders, follow orders, and report back promptly and accurately. No excuses, no tardiness, no laziness.”
Iesol bobbed his head.
“Has either of you anything to say?”
Jorim nodded. “Permission to speak, Captain.”
She eyed him up and down, then nodded. “Granted.”
“First, I wish to apologize for not having reported before this. I know we will sail with the t
ide tonight. But I have spent much of the time leading up to this closeted with my grandfather and I have with me the best possible charts.”
“Very good.”
“Second, I fully acknowledge you as the Master of this ship, and I shall obey you in all things—save one.”
Anaeda Gryst’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not listen to what I said?”
“Please, Captain.” Jorim held a hand up. “No disrespect intended, but I have orders from the Prince to attend to the device in my cabin without failing. If my obligation to deal with it is, in my opinion, more important than your current order, I will do my duty to the Crown.”
“We will discuss that point more, Master Anturasi.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “And you, Minister? What have you to say?”
Iesol bowed his head to her. “I understand all you have said and will obey. I am not the person who was meant to be here, but I will work very hard to prove to you that fortune has been kind in appointing me to this position. If there is any service you require of me, Captain, I shall not hesitate to acquit it.”
The hint of a smile curled the corners of her mouth. “You are from which Ministry?”
“I have studied for Protocol, Etiquette, and Diplomacy, as well as Regulation, and have all the training for Accounting and Economics. I most recently served Harmony.”
“You did not answer the question.”
His shoulders slumped a bit. “As yet, Captain, I have not been acknowledged by a Ministry.”
Jorim felt a tug at his heart for the small man. As with any trade, a person studied and worked hard to be accepted into his occupational community. Captain Gryst had proven, through her past voyages, to be worthy of the great command she had been given. Though Jorim’s grandfather often was displeased with him, he, too, had been accepted as a cartographer in his own right. In both their cases, the laws of the land dictated the minimums they could be paid, the sort of treatment they would receive, their social standing, and the like.
Iesol had not yet been acknowledged. While he could and clearly did function as a clerk or employee—probably for the very Minis-tries that would not acknowledge him—without their sanction he had few, if any, rights. Had he a powerful patron, his position in a Ministry could have been assured, which would pave the way to a known and stable future. Without it, however, he worked at the whim of others and could be used as a pawn in any manner of political situations.
“Were you promised acknowledgment if you returned?”
“Not precisely, Captain, but the indications were strong.”
She nodded. “As I said, my word here is law. Serve me well and, if the voyage is two years in duration, you will have served the Maritime Ministry for long enough that they must acknowledge you. They have reciprocity with the other Ministries. It seems likely the one who gave you this chance did not think you would survive the voyage. If you can, they will have been fooled.”
Iesol nodded slowly, as if unable to believe what he had heard.
“That’s very good of you, Captain.” Jorim smiled easily and gave her a nod.
Her face closed. “Did I give you permission to comment?”
Jorim bowed. “No, Captain.”
“Very good. Remember that, Master Anturasi.” She turned and patted the sternpost. “The Stormwolf is the greatest of the Naleni Wolves. The voyage we will undertake will live forever in the annals of history. Do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it, and we will make it back to Moriande. Disobey me and the ship will get back. You likely will not. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good. Minister Pelmir, please collect your belongings and report below. You will be shown to your cabin—which you will share with two young apprentice sailors. I doubt either will be good for much, being yet children, but perhaps you can teach them something useful like writing and addition.”
“Yes, Captain.” Iesol bowed and kept bowing as he shuffled his way backward out of the cabin.
Captain Gryst came around from behind her desk, then sat back on it. “Master Anturasi, you are going to be trouble, aren’t you?”
“I will do my best not to be, Captain.”
“I hope so.” She pointed a finger at the deck, and for a moment he thought she was indicating he should kneel before her, which he just wasn’t going to do. “The device that was installed in your cabin, I know what it is.”
“How?”
“Fear not. The state secret is safe. Borosan Gryst, its inventor, is my cousin. He told me of his desire to create such a thing. My uncle installed it here. I know what it will allow you to do, and why the Prince has given you the orders he has.”
Jorim smiled. “I am glad you understand its importance.”
“I do, but I have a problem.” She regarded him openly. “As I said, my word is law on this ship—even overruling the Prince. I cannot and will not have you obeying him when I need you obeying me. If you fail to do that, not only could you put the ship in jeopardy, but you could find yourself in trouble. This crew contains many people who have sailed with me for years. Defy me, disobey me, and someone might take it into his head to discipline you in a manner that would show how much respect they have for me.”
“I hadn’t looked at it—right, you didn’t ask for a comment.”
“You’re learning.” She held up a finger. “You would disobey me to obey the Prince, I know that, so I need to deal with that problem. Therefore, I now issue you an order: without fail you are to see to all your duties concerning that device. Without fail, do you understand me? This standing order will supersede any other order you are issued.”
The cartographer smiled slowly. “I understand you perfectly, Captain.”
“Good.” Her dark eyes hardened. “What I said before I meant. I will remind you once that you’re not to be a disruptive influence on my crew. After that, I leave you behind. The only thing you are uniquely qualified to do here is make maps and communicate the information to your grandfather. I can make maps; I can use the device my cousin made. If the Prince has to wait to get his maps, I’m sure he won’t mind as long as they arrive and are accurate.”
“And if you don’t get them back to him, Captain?”
She smiled easily. “It will be because the Eastern Sea has swallowed us whole, Jorim Anturasi. That’s the only way we won’t be returning. Obey me and you’ll be with us when we get back.”
Chapter Twenty-six
3rd day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
736th year since the Cataclysm
Catfish, Moriande
Nalenyr
Keles Anturasi stood by the rail on the river vessel Catfish as it slid past the Stormwolf. The tall, long ship, with its many masts and swarming crew, mocked the small, flat-bottomed boat that trios of oarsmen propelled up the river with broad sweeps of long oars. Further upriver they would pole the ship through shallows, but rowing was the only method of moving against the current when in the deep channels dredged for ships like the Stormwolf.
The sun had begun to set, so he knew his brother was already on board. He felt a pang of envy, and another of loss, both of which surprised him. Going on the Stormwolf had been something he’d been looking forward to, but he didn’t live for it the way his brother did. Even when they’d said their farewells at the family tower, Jorim’s anticipation kept distracting him.
Keles would have preferred to see his brother to the Stormwolf, or have Jorim visit the Catfish, but that was not permitted. Keles had been ordered by the Prince to dye his hair Helosundian blond and grow a beard. With three days’ growth it was not much, but did alter his appearance somewhat. He’d also taken to dressing in robes of coarse material and had confined much of his conversation to grunts and short sentences.
True to his word, the Prince had found an actor who looked enough like Keles to make Siatsi pause. Nirati had come to the Catfish to s
ee the actor off and had played her tearful part exquisitely. She’d given Keles himself barely more than a glance when he boarded.
Keles tried not to pay too much attention to those who were supposed to be accompanying him, but the deception fascinated him. He found the actor to be pompous, playing him like an effete noble. The fake Keles lectured about the river, quoting directly from the report Keles had written, but he kept putting the emphasis in the wrong places. It annoyed Keles, but he did admit that everyone was paying attention to the pretender, while he sank back into the crowd unnoticed.
Keles likewise kept his eyes open for any Desei agents who might be watching, but so far the only northerner he’d seen was Count Aerynnor, who conducted his sister back to Anturasikun. Still, just as he was trying not to look Naleni, he knew the Desei would be trying to look like anything but themselves, so his observations were bound to be fruitless.
His life, he realized as the Catfish wiggled its way against the current, had become very complex. Not that it hadn’t been complex before, but that had been controlled complexity. He had been given problems, like the Gold River survey, which had very clear success and failure parameters. The problem had been manageable and he had managed it very well.
The problem he now faced was not manageable at all. He could barely even define it. He was going into the unknown, opposed by unknown forces, aided by unknown forces, with future-but-unknown work for the Prince in the offing. About the only known quantities were guesses based on rumors and legends, and those were worthless. The only thing he could be certain about was that he had enemies who would do him harm if they discovered his identity.
He glanced down at the deep green water and contemplated throwing himself in, but it was just a passing thought. It would make things much easier, but it would also mean I lose. And I don’t want to lose.
“It is good to meet a kinsman on this boat.”
Keles turned, then looked up. The woman who had spoken had long hair that hung in blonde ringlets. Her slender, well-formed nose and high cheekbones combined with a strong jaw and pale blue eyes to make her very pretty, but the vapid expression she wore did not fit her face. The life burning in her eyes belied it, and the obvious deception put Keles on guard. In addition, though her simple, oversize robe of brown wool tried to soften her outline, there was no hiding her broad shoulders.
A Secret Atlas Page 21
