Voyage of the Basilisk : A Memoir by Lady Trent (9781429956369)

by Marie Brennan

  My words overlaid my son’s, both of us assuring him that I was perfectly capable of sitting quietly in a hotel without supervision. “Besides,” I said when I was done, “Abby is upstairs with Tom.” (She had proved a patient nursemaid, having worked for a family with sickly children before coming to mine. Such labors are often unappreciated—especially with patients as grumpy in their recovery as Tom became—and so I want to express my gratitude toward Jake’s governess here, for all posterity.)

  I think Suhail had exaggerated in saying that “any herbalist” should know the concoction, for he and Jake were gone quite some time. They returned victorious, however, and whether Tom’s subsequent improvement was due to the medicine or his own stout constitution (which had shrugged off wyvern poison with remarkable ease), I was nevertheless grateful to Suhail for his aid.

  He returned the following day, and found me well enough to feel that I could not bear facing the quarantine hotel’s dreadful food yet again. They had, during my illness, fed me a broth made with pig meat in it. In Dajin lands, where few people are Segulist or Amaneen, pigs are quite commonly used for food, and Abby had been too distracted with her duties to realize. When I heard about it afterward, I was nearly ill in a new way, and scrubbed my mouth thoroughly before I consumed anything else. After that, I insisted on pig-free meals, but what I was given in its place was scarcely more appetizing.

  We went therefore to Suhail’s hotel—myself and Jake; Tom was not yet recovered enough to leave his bed, and Abby would not leave him unattended—and found it, unsurprisingly, to be much better than our own. I would gladly have shifted there as soon as Tom was judged no longer a risk, but our strained finances weighed heavily upon me. The quarantine hotel at least had the virtue of being cheap.

  The server at this establishment greeted Suhail with familiarity and seated us right away. Once settled, I asked, “How long have you been here? He seems to know you quite well.”

  Suhail thought it over. “A month? No, not quite so much.”

  My brow furrowed. “Are there ruins here of particular interest? I do not recall hearing of any.” Akhia was no more a favoured ally of Seungdal than Scirland was, but I knew it was possible for individuals to gain permission to move about more freely. Perhaps he was attempting to obtain such a permit.

  But he shook his head. “There is only record of one ruin here, and it is long since gone. The Jeonhan Dynasty had it dismantled, stone by stone, for being idolatrous. No, I am … not exactly here by choice.”

  “Were you shipwrecked?” Jake asked.

  Suhail laughed. “Only in a manner of speaking. I had a disagreement with the captain of the ship I was on. The end of the disagreement was that he put me ashore here, to find new passage as I might.”

  “That’s not like a shipwreck at all,” Jake complained, as the server arrived with bowls of soup Suhail assured us were entirely free of pig.

  The beef stock and cabbage were very welcome after my illness, even if the quantity of pepper was rather more than I liked. My eyes watered a little as I said, “But surely it should not take a month to find passage off this island—not with the number of ships that come in to port. Where are you trying to go?”

  Suhail had no apparent problem with the pepper; Akhians like their food well spiced. He ate quick, tidy spoonfuls in between bits of his answer. “It isn’t my destination that poses the problem. It’s my baggage.”

  When I gave him a mystified look, he elaborated. “A device I had made for me by an artificer in Tuantêng. It was the source of my disagreement with the captain, for the size and weight of it made him very unhappy. Have you ever heard of a diving bell?”

  “I have!” Jake said, before I could admit my ignorance. “It’s a big dome of metal. You sink it down into the water and it keeps the air inside, so you can go swimming out and come back for air.”

  “That is the general idea, yes, although the details are more complex—especially with the diving bell I had made. A friend of mine designed it, and—” Suhail caught himself and waved the rest away. “You would not be interested in the technical details. The heart of the issue is that with the addition of this bell, my baggage became rather more substantial than it had been, much to the displeasure of the captain. And although I offered to pay him well for his trouble, he chose rather to seek new employment.”

  Jake looked very much as if he wanted to argue the assertion that he would not care about the technical details, but I had something else on my mind. “Why burden yourself with such a thing, though? I thought your interest was in archaeology.”

  Suhail’s grin spread across his face, as if he could not hold it in. “How else am I to study the ruins underwater?”

  “Draconean ruins?” I asked dubiously. “Whyever should they—oh. Of course they would not build underwater. You mean that the ruins have been drowned since their day, like the lost city of Cyfrinwr.” Despite my usual disinterest in ancient civilizations, the notion intrigued me. “Are there such ruins? Or are you hoping to find some?”

  “I know there are several,” Suhail said. “Scattered throughout the Broken Sea.”

  Jake was bouncing in his seat at the thought of this. Draconean ruins on land held only moderate savour for him, but underwater? He could imagine nothing finer. For my own part, I was arrested by a sudden thought.

  The Broken Sea. To which I very much wished to go … assuming our finances could support it. In the meanwhile, here was Suhail: with money, but no ship.

  I almost asked him there, in the middle of our luncheon, without pause for consideration or consultation with my fellows. But it was not the issue of what Tom would say, nor Aekinitos, that stopped me that day. Rather I found myself questioning my own impulse. I had enjoyed Suhail’s company in Namiquitlan, and certainly he had been good to us here in Seungdal—but I knew from personal experience that a ship is not a spacious home to share with a near stranger. We had our share of tiffs with the crew, and they fell under Aekinitos’ authority, which meant he could punish them when necessary. How would we handle it if we came into conflict with Suhail?

  (Furthermore, I was by then self-aware enough to consider a different question, which was how pure my motives were in desiring his company. The irregular packets of mail that awaited us in different ports had not yet included any of the rumours back home, but I knew such things start easily enough, even when they are entirely baseless. Any supposition of attraction to Suhail would not have been baseless, and so I had to be doubly careful of my behaviour.)

  But he might rescue us from our current straits, and I did not want to lose that chance.

  I fear that what I said then was an utter fabrication. “Our captain knows the routes through here quite well, and many of the ships that sail them. Do talk to us before you make any decisions. We may be able to point you toward a better option.”

  “Thank you,” Suhail said, and I felt like a terrible bounder for lying. But I could hardly take it back now—and, in the end, it hardly mattered.

  * * *

  I put the matter to Tom once he was strong enough to consider it. He was propped up against one of our packs, with a pillow over it, for the hotel would not give us enough pillows to support him sitting upright in his bed. I had never seen Tom like this, with the hair on his jaw almost longer than that on his head; the next day he begged until Abby entrusted him a razor, so that he might at least remove the former, while he waited for the latter to grow back.

  He shrugged wearily. “I’m used to close quarters. If our paths lie together, why not take advantage of it?”

  “If we can find a place that serves both our interests at once, it could work very well,” I said. “Many of the Puian islands are volcanic, though of course not all of the peaks are active. There are sure to be fire-lizards in abundance, and sea-serpents. Though we cannot be certain of their relation to the ones near Siaure, given how far we’ve come around the world.”

  “Observing them there doesn’t stop us from looking elsewhe
re. But we’d need to find a place with interesting ruins, too. And unless Suhail can fund this entire byway out of pocket, we’ll need to make an arrangement with Aekinitos.”

  That, of course, required our erstwhile captain to return. Which he did near the end of Graminis: somewhat after he had intended, but I suspected he knew enough of dengue to guess that if Tom lived, he would not be up and about any sooner than this.

  (This makes Aekinitos sound heartless, which I do not intend. Indeed, I feel for the man, at least in this regard. His line of work made him accustomed to facing off against forces beyond his control, but he relished those cases because there was something for him to do. Where illness was concerned, there were no sails to reef, no items of ballast to rearrange. He could do nothing, and so it was no loss for him to at least go where he could distract himself.)

  We met in his cabin, and I put the matter to him thusly. “I may have found a way to resolve, or at least lessen, our financial difficulties. But it will require your approval, for it involves an additional passenger aboard your ship—one whose research would likewise shape our itinerary.” Then, realizing that sounded ominous, I hastened to add, “I do not expect the disruption to be much, or I would not suggest it.”

  Aekinitos made a low, thoughtful rumble. “Who is this mystery passenger?”

  “A fellow we met in Namiquitlan; you may recall me mentioning him. It is Suhail, the gentleman who took us to the ruins.”

  The captain’s black brows drew together as if pulled by a magnet. I should like to blame my recent illness for the erroneous thought I had then—but the truth is, I was simply foolish, and thinking too much of propriety, not enough of politics. I thought Aekinitos’ frown was due to my terming Suhail a gentleman, when we had no evidence of his family one way or another. In his defense, I would have pointed out that anyone who could afford to commission a special design of diving bell was at the very least wealthy, and in Akhia as in Scirland, I imagined that wealth could go a long way toward purchasing the right to claim good breeding.

  Fortunately, Aekinitos spoke before I could embarrass myself with such protests. “An Akhian,” he said, and it was almost a growl.

  Then, at last, I understood. I was from northern Anthiope, and while I was moderately well acquainted with the politics of the continent’s southern reaches, they were not often my first thought. The Nichaean Islands, off the southwestern coast, have fought more than one war against Akhia. (Now that I pause to look it up, I count at least seventeen distinct conflicts throughout history, and possibly more; it depends on whether one considers matters like the Atelephaso Schism to have been one war or several, all sliding into one another.) Relations between their two peoples are like those between Thiessois and Eiversch, with the added provocation of religious difference—which is to say, they are not good at all.

  “He does not seem to be very close to his people,” I said, feeling it was quite an inadequate response. “At least, I do not think he is on speaking terms with his family.”

  Aekinitos’ snort told me this might recommend the gentleman, but not very far. “What kind of research does he do?”

  “Archaeology. His particular interest is in underwater ruins. He is not a treasure-hunter, though—he is a scholar.”

  The captain almost looked disappointed at my last comment. Treasure-hunting would have been far more lucrative for our expedition, and I already knew Aekinitos cared relatively little for respectability.

  “It will soon be the season of storms,” he warned me. “They are powerful things in this part of the world, and the Broken Sea is not easy to sail in the best of times.”

  Had our plans not been overturned by deportation from Yelang and dengue from Arinevi, we would have been safely inland somewhere in Dajin about now, with Aekinitos free to sail the safer coastal waters. “Is it too dangerous to attempt?” I asked.

  Aekinitos chuckled. It was not a reassuring sound. “The storm has not blown that can sink me.” I had enough time to reflect that this only meant he had not been sunk yet before he asked, “Where is it you intend to go?”

  At my request, he brought out a map. It was not as complete as I might have liked: the Broken Sea was in those days very imperfectly charted by Scirlings, and more accurate maps were jealously guarded by the Heuvaarse, who dominated trade through the region. Still, it was clear enough for me to indicate the general area I considered our best prospect.

  The captain barked with laughter when he saw it. “Of course. I should have known that you, with all the Broken Sea to choose from, would want to sail into the dragon’s mouth.”

  You may laugh to read this, but after a year travelling about studying dragons, my first interpretation of his words was anatomical rather than metaphorical. “What makes it so perilous?” I asked, once I understood his meaning.

  “Pirates or Yelangese—take your pick.” He saw my perplexity and explained, jabbing one finger down at a cluster of islands. The name his fingertip obscured was Raengaui. “The king of this place is a man named Waikango.”

  “I know that name!” I exclaimed. “At least, I read it in one of the news-sheets that was discussing Her Highness’ diplomatic voyage. He is one of the pirates, yes?”

  Aekinitos snorted derisively. “That is what the Yelangese call him. They’d rather say they’re hunting a pirate than admit they’re trying to stop a king from unifying part of the Broken Sea against them. The Puians do their share of piracy, though—ambushing Yelangese vessels, that sort of thing. Keeping the empire out while Waikango marries his female relatives off to the kings of other islands in exchange for support.”

  I bit my lip, studying the map. “Do they ambush ships that are not Yelangese?”

  “They might,” Aekinitos said. “Or they might not.”

  The smile lurking in his beard suggested he relished the thought of sailing into trouble. I did not; I had seen battle in Mouleen, albeit on a small scale as such things go, and did not like it at all. And although the Basilisk carried guns (as most deep-sea vessels did back then), and her crew practiced briefly with them every Helimer afternoon, none of us had signed on for a naval battle.

  And yet that was one of the more volcanically active regions of the Broken Sea. If I wanted to study fire-lizards, it was a good place to look for them.

  “We can head in that direction, and change our plans if it seems too dangerous to proceed,” I said. “I have no wish to involve myself with either pirates or Yelangese. But what of Suhail?”

  Aekinitos’ face pulled into graver lines, and for a moment I doubted my chances. Then the smile returned, fierce and showing teeth. “Tell the Akhian he may board.”

  NINE

  The Broken Sea—Hunting komodos—Rostam’s arm—Suhail and the parang—Aftereffects—The bell

  Jake was utterly delighted by this addition to the Basilisk’s complement. Quite apart from the fact that he liked Suhail, he could not wait to see the equipment our new companion was bringing on board.

  Suhail’s personal effects were extremely sparse, scarcely filling a large rucksack. In addition to that, however, he brought with him not only the diving bell but several large crates of equipment and books. The volume these occupied had been a point of contention when Aekinitos learned the full extent of it, but he had been mollified by the price Suhail offered for his passage. (Later on, their arguments would revolve around the effect that equipment had on the Basilisk’s sailing efficiency. I do not pretend to understand the details, but the diving bell was exceedingly heavy, which caused difficulty. It could not be lashed into place on deck, as that put the weight too high; but maneuvering it through the main hatch and into a better position below was not so easily done, given the lack of elbow room down there. Eventually Aekinitos got it stowed to his satisfaction, though—not long before we had to take it out again, of course.)

  “I can’t say I’m eager to get back on board,” Tom said with a sigh, looking out at the Basilisk while we waited on the dock. His colour had improve
d, but he could not yet stand for long without becoming fatigued.

  I admitted, “Nor I. But if we find a good location for research, we may settle ourselves there while Aekinitos seeks out opportunities for profit. And the Broken Sea is not reputed to be as plagued with fevers as some other regions.” After the places he and I had been, it sounded positively idyllic.

  For the price he had paid, Suhail was put with Tom and the officers of the ship, rather than with the common sailors. It was for the best: not only because to do otherwise would have been an insult, but because although the Basilisk’s crew was a motley assemblage, a goodly number of the men were Nichaean or Haggadi. Only one of them ever showed outright hostility to Suhail, but I think that if he had been living in their midst, an ugly situation might have resulted.

  My son, by contrast, was over the moon to have him with us. He babbled incessantly from the moment Suhail came on board, telling the man everything he had done in Yelang and elsewhere since leaving Namiquitlan. (The tale of the dragon turtle must have been recounted a dozen times in the next week, for Jake never tired of it.) Suhail took this in stride, and deflected Jake’s insistence that the diving bell be demonstrated that very minute. “Soon enough,” he said, grinning at my son’s impatience. “There is nothing of interest to show you here—too much debris and filth from the ships. The bell needs a place worthy of its use.”

  We set out for such places not long after. As I had discussed with Aekinitos, we directed ourselves toward Raengaui and the other archipelagos making up that cluster within the Broken Sea, but did not rush; there were opportunities for us along the way, and if political trouble lay ahead of us, we preferred to hear of it before diving in headfirst.

  As is my wont, I shall take a moment here to describe the region. To many of my Anthiopean readers, the Broken Sea has the status of a legend: a beautiful and exotic realm on the far side of the world, whose reality seems dubious at best. Indeed, four hundred years ago there were Anthiopeans writing of the Broken Sea as the abode of men with three heads and islands that floated in the air.