Dangerous Gifts

by Gaie Sebold

  This left him hanging by my hand from the side of the ship, my other arm clutched around one of the guardrails to try and stop myself sliding into the water under Fain’s weight. “Could I have a little help here?”

  The captain yelled an order and a length of rope with a loop in it was thrown over the rail and dropped down to Fain. He got his head and arm through the loop, and let go of my hand, which was some relief. He was no lightweight.

  I rolled over and stood, nursing my shoulder, and glared at Fain as he was hauled up to the rail. He managed to swing himself onto the deck as elegantly as though he were climbing a stile on a country walk.

  Before I could speak, the captain planted himself in front of Fain, looked him up and down, and said, “Money. For inconvenience, suspicious behaviour and general pratting about, you pay extra, you understand?”

  “Yes, of course, that will be arranged,” Fain said. His eyes were not on the captain, however, but on me. And he didn’t look happy, for all that I’d saved him from a dunking.

  “Arranged? Arranged? I don’t like arranged. Things happening now, on the nail, that’s what I like,” the captain said.

  “As soon as you can get me back to shore...”

  “Not going back to shore. We’re on the tide, my chummy, and we stop at Calanesk Port. Then, you can find a ship to take you home.”

  Fain dragged his gaze back to the captain. “Calanesk Port? How far...”

  “Eight hours. You’re lucky. Our last trip, we were crossing the Bresillian Sea, no port for thirty days. So. Payment, please.”

  “How much?”

  “Forty silver.”

  It was an outrageous price. Fain sighed, and said, “You will have to accept scrip, I don’t carry that kind of coin on me.”

  “For payment in scrip, forty-five.”

  “Very well.” He pulled out several lengths of highly-coloured paper, handed them to the captain, turned to me, and took me forcefully by the arm, the grip of those slender fingers startlingly strong. “Babylon?” He said. His voice was so low I could only just hear it under the growing roar of the portal. “A word, if you please. Now.”

  “Mr Fain, please remove your hand.” He was obviously upset; normally he was pretty aware of my feelings about who was allowed to touch me, and under what circumstances.

  “My apologies, Madam Steel.” You could have chilled wine with his voice. He let go, and we moved along the deck to a space where we could have some privacy. The shouts and swearing, the plash of oars and the whipshot cracks of the sails filling surrounded us.

  “What’s going on?” I said. “Why are you here?”

  “I strongly suspect I am herebecause of you,” he said. “I found myself suffering an irresistible compulsion, when I should have been doing other things, to come to the port. And then to get on this ship. An irresistible compulsion, you understand? I was in acute discomfort until I set foot on the deck, and now I am not.”

  “Mr Fain, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I assure you I had nothing to do with any odd impulses you may have had.”

  “Oh, really? I suppose you do remember that you made me take an oath? A Fey oath? To protect Enthemmerlee?”

  I had, at that. My only trump card where Fain was concerned, and I’d already played it. “But what... oh.”

  “‘Oh’ is inadequate to describe the situation, Madam Steel. I have been dragged from my post at a time of great delicacy. I am now, at the very least, going to be away for several hours until I can get a ship home.”

  “Oh. I am sorry. Really. I had no idea it would do that. I thought it would just work while Enthemmerlee was on Scalentine.”

  “In the clutches of the Diplomatic Section. You really don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  “Look, I am sorry.”

  “Perhaps next time you will hesitate before using a magic with which you are obviously completely unfamiliar.”

  “Well, quite,” I said. “You’re right.”

  “Now would you get on with removing it?”

  “Ah. Well, the thing is...”

  “The thing is what?”

  “I don’t know how to take it off. To undo the oath. Laney never showed me.”

  “You don’t...” I could see a muscle twitching in Fain’s jaw, and his long fingers clenched.

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t.”

  “You have no idea what you may have done, Madam Steel.” If I’d thought his voice was cold before, it was arctic now.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the situation on Incandress is not the only one that is extremely volatile.”

  I glanced back at the rapidly disappearing shoreline. We were getting close to Portal Bealach, and its voice was filling the air.

  “Portal ho!” The captain yelled, and I grabbed the handrail.

  The ship juddered, the roar of the portal turned to thunder, and before I closed my eyes I saw halos of blue and gold shuddering around every surface. My insides did their usual trick of jolting to the left, bouncing off my outsides and returning unhappily to their usual position. Something hissed in my ears. I opened my eyes, leaned over the handrail and threw up.

  I could hear a few other people doing the same.

  Fain, who – apart from the obvious irritation – looked completely fine, damn him, was waiting for me with his arms folded.

  I rinsed my mouth with water from the barrel and spat over the side. “You don’t get portal sick, then.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Apparently? This can’t be your first time through a portal...” I hesitated, and turned away, not sure whether I was about to throw up again, but the nausea had backed off for the moment. “Is it?”

  He didn’t answer, just stood there giving me the cold eye.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “But I don’t know what else you want from me.”

  “A solution, preferably. Failing that, at least an acknowledgement of the damned awkward position you’ve put me in!”

  “I’ve never had a chance to put you in any position,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, what about the magician fella you’ve hired, he should be here, maybe he can help?”

  “Let us hope so,” he said, and turned away.

  Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I kicked at a coil of rope lying on the deck, and hurt my foot.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  “BABYLON, HOW ARE you?” Enthemmerlee said, coming forward beside me.

  “Better, thank you. And you?” As I watched her move around the deck, even in that stiff, ugly robe, the new ease of her motion was obvious. I wondered how the other Gudain would react to it.

  “I like the sea,” Enthemmerlee said, tilting her face up into the breeze. “Although the portal was not comfortable. But it is good to travel, and good to go home, too. Oh, dear.” She glanced to where poor Malleay was still clutching the handrail like his last hope and making the desperate yacking yawns of someone who has emptied himself out but whose stomach doesn’t believe it yet. “He does feel it so badly. I wish I could help.”

  “Could I suggest pretending it’s not happening?” I said. “I think his dignity’s probably at least as upset as his stomach.”

  “Ah.” She sighed. “Yes.”

  We stood in the bow, watching the ship cut its way through the water, the foam rushing away. Ahead of us, the water stretched out wide and blue. The breeze pressed Enthemmerlee’s gown against her, so that you could almost make out her shape.

  “Mr Fain decided to join us,” she said.

  “So it seems.”

  “I wonder what made him change his mind?”

  I hesitated: Fain was sufficiently angry with me as it was. “He isn’t a man to explain all his reasons,” I said.

  “No.” She frowned at the sea. “Do you trust him?”

  “Where your best interests are concerned? Actually, yes, I do.” At least until he finds someone to take the spell off.
“I would say you can rest easy on that. For the moment.”

  “Good.” She gave me a sideways look. “You have much experience with... with men, yes?”

  And women, and a surprisingly wide variety of alternatives. “Some,” I said.

  “I have not. Until...” She glanced over her shoulder; Malleay had managed to drag himself upright and was rinsing his mouth.

  “I am handling things badly,” she said, in a rush. “There was so much I did not know. I thought... I thought so much, and felt so little, and now, now it is as though I had never had a body before. Everything is different. And I would like to talk to you, please. Not here,” she said hastily, as Malleay moved towards us. “But later.”

  “Of course. Anything you want to ask me, please do. I’m pretty damned hard to embarrass, all right? And try not to be too hard on yourself. Any great change... Well, I’ve been through a few, and I never came out the other side quite the same person I went in. How could you possibly know what all the consequences would be? It’s not as if you had another Itnunnacklish around to give you advice.”

  “No.” She looked down at her hands, and spread her fingers; the webs thinned, translucent yellow-green in the clear sea light. “It is hard. To be the only one.” She snapped her hand closed. “But I chose this. I must live with my choice, or die with it. What is hardest, sometimes, is that others must, too.”

  “Enthemmerlee.” Lobik was coming along the deck with his smooth easy stride. Enthemmerlee turned towards him, her face lifting into a smile, like a flower turning towards the sun.

  Malleay turned away, his shoulders hunched.

  THE CAPTAIN SENT sailors to usher us below; I think we were getting in the way. The cabin was spacious and well-lit, and smelled pleasantly of sea-salt and cured wood. A long table took up one side of it, with padded benches running alongside and a high-backed chair at either end. Grey sea-light filtered in through the portholes, and a rather fine wrought-iron lamp swung from a hook in the ceiling.

  Unfortunately the chill radiating in my direction from Darask Fain was enough to put paid to any possible cosiness. He stalked up to me, putting me very much in mind of a cat whose dignity has been offended and is waiting its moment to get its revenge. Unfortunately, I doubted he’d content himself with peeing in my boots.

  Following in his wake was a young man I didn’t know.

  “Scholar Bergast? I don’t believe you have met Madam Steel.”

  Bergast took my hand in a cool clasp, and bowed. “You will be dealing with the more direct physical threats, yes?”

  “That’s the idea,” I said, looking him over. Probably human or mainly human; fine-boned, about twenty, with a high-bridged nose which was likely to get beaky as he aged. Brown eyes that flicked to meet mine and then away. Hair in a careful plait, bound with silk; a robe of rich brocade in subtle greens and browns; a heavy silver ring with a green stone. A tasteful scent that I recognised, popular with my more moneyed clients. He might be a low-grade wizard, but he certainly wasn’t short of cash.

  “Is he able to...” I broke off, not sure how much Fain might have said.

  “Scholar Bergast was not able to provide assistance.”

  “It really isn’t my area,” Bergast said. “Fey magic is a somewhat specialised subject.”

  “Indeed.” I looked at Fain, who refused to meet my eye. He had once used that sexual trait of his to try and get me to do what he wanted; not by actually seducing me, like any decent person, but by drenching the air with enough rampant personal alchemy that I’d had trouble keeping my mind straight. I’d realised what was going on and not really trusted him since, which is why I’d made him take the damned oath in the first place.

  “Well, maybe we can find someone in Incandress to take it off,” I said.

  “I can only hope you have had the sense not to mention this situation to anyone else?” Fain said.

  I shook my head.

  “That, at least, is a relief. Scholar Bergast, the same applies to you. I do not want this mentioned. Should anyone ask, I am Darask Fain, gambling house owner, on my way to look for sites for new houses, possibly in Incandress.”

  “Has Darask Fain, gambling house owner, any idea that the place is on the verge of civil war?”

  “He does own a gambling house,” Fain said, with a little flicker of humour that died before it could catch. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He nodded to both of us, straightened the sleeves of his beautifully cut, dark blue coat (still immaculate despite all the running and charging up ropes), and strode off to inform the others who they were travelling with.

  “So,” I said. “Scholar Bergast. Have you been to Incandress before?”

  “No. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

  “Were you pleased to get this assignment, then?” I turned, leaning my back on the panelling, so I could see his face better.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his eyes, for once, meeting mine. “I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to travel. It’s important, you know, in the Diplomatic Section, to gain as much experience as possible. I understand there is not a great deal of local magic, which is a shame; I was hoping for the chance to do some original research.” He shrugged. “This should prove more interesting than my last assignment, anyway.”

  “Are you allowed to tell me what that was?”

  “I don’t see why not, since any half-trained street-magician could have done it. I had to check something like three hundred identical wards on three hundred identical rooms in preparation for something-or-other to be stored in them.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “I was told it was vital. I’m sure someone thought it was,” he said. “Bureaucracy, you know.”

  “Well, this will be a bit different, all right. Assassination attempts, an entire country in danger of boiling over. Much more exciting. You’ve dealt with this sort of thing before?”

  “I’ve been fully briefed, I assure you,” he said, though his eyes flicked away from mine again and I saw him swallow. Not excessively experienced, Fain had said? I’d bet money, if I damn well had any, that he had never dealt with anything life-threatening in his entire fledgling career. He looked as if he’d never dealt with anything that would threaten so much as a broken nail. What had Fain been thinking?

  “Do you know Mr Fain?” I asked.

  “Oh, well, yes, he’s taken a very kind interest in my career.”

  Perhaps that was why. Fain thought Bergast’s loyalties were safe. Politics within politics, and we’d ended up with a magician I wouldn’t trust not to wet himself the first time some nutcase with a grudge came screaming out of the crowd.

  “Well, Scholar Bergast, I think we ought to talk strategy, don’t you?”

  He bowed.

  We joined Rikkinnet and roughed out the basic principles (very rough, since until we’d had a chance to look over the board and the players I really didn’t know what sort of game I was getting into).

  “Rikkinnet, now you’re an ambassador...”

  “The title is of convenience. It allows me to accompany Enthemmerlee in places that otherwise Ikinchli would not be permitted. I will share her protection with you.”

  “Good.” That was a relief; at least that would give me a chance to get on with some of the other stuff. Including eating and sleeping, with luck.

  The first occasion, the ball, would take place in one of the minor rooms of the Palace, the second in the Ikinchli Ancestor Caves, then we’d be at the Palace for the Patinarai, and out in the open, which had its advantages and disadvantages.

  “I need to check the layouts. What about the Palace? I don’t suppose there’s a nice set of architect’s plans or something?”

  Rikkinnet grinned. “No. Too easy, no? Also, the Palace is very old, built and rebuilt many times, any plans would be very much out of date. But we have something better. My cousin Inshinnik. He has been serving in the Palace since he was a child. He knows every brick, every tile. And every way to get out quiet and go ha
ve a little fun.”

  “Sounds like a venturesome lad. And useful. I have to ask, though; what’s his feeling on the Itnunnacklish?”

  “I think he probably wonders what she is like in the cushions. Nice boy, but most of his thinking he don’t do with his head.”

  “Ah.”

  AFTERWARDS I WENT back on deck. The ship was pitching gently, but it didn’t bother me; I don’t get seasick, just portal sick. The portal was a blue-gold arc falling away behind us, Scalentine no longer visible. I felt that clench of unease again. Well, I was committed now.

  I distracted myself with watching the sailors. An interesting bunch. At least six different races, some more humanlike than others, and all hung about with weapons, amulets, fetishes, and the feet, tails or pizzles of various creatures considered to be lucky. Personally I felt that if an essential part of you ended up hanging off someone else’s belt, you weren’t that lucky, but maybe I’m cynical.

  Regular portal travellers are all a little crazy, if not when they start out then pretty soon after. It’s not just the danger of what you might find on the other side. The very act of travelling through portals does something. I generally just get sick, but there are some… like poor Bliss, one of my crew. We call them Fades. People who got some essential part of themselves stripped away, and ended up like half-embodied ghosts. And I’ve heard of worse things. Cross portals on a regular basis, and even if you do survive overtly intact, it’s likely to drive you more than a little sideways in the head.

  The sight of Bealach portal fading over the horizon began to depress me, so I went back below, wandering about the ship, trying not to get in anyone’s way. I passed a big cabin, with hammocks strung from the beams, and amused myself with remembering a voyage I’d taken some years ago, where I’d had some fun in a hammock – though the fun had got too enthusiastic at one point, and resulted in a quick and somewhat bruising trip to the floor.

  The ship really wasn’t that big. She was designed for both cargo and passengers; I stuck my head in the cargo space, but apart from a lot of stuff in barrels and boxes, and a small cat who was more interested in something hiding under a bale of cloth than in my friendly overtures, there was nothing of interest. I wandered back towards the main cabin, passing several small, polished doors. Private cabins, presumably, for the captain and his richer passengers.