by Tim Stead
“No.”
“No?”
“My name will never be mentioned.”
She sat back in the chair. “That takes a twentieth off the table,” she said.
Sam looked at the paper again. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Agreed,” he said.
She looked surprised. “We have to have a paper drawn up,” she said.
“You don’t trust me?”
“You don’t trust me,” she replied.
“I don’t have to,” Sam said. “As you keep pointing out I am the chief lawkeeper of Samara, but if you like we’ll have a paper drawn up.” He scribbled his address on a scrap of paper. “Find a scribe and bring him here tomorrow.”
She took the piece of paper with her perfect fingers, her painted nails, and glanced at it. “Where is this?” she asked.
“The Old Town,” he said. “Just ask the scribe. He’ll know.”
She stood up, turned to go, but paused and looked back.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Sam had no answer. It wasn’t for the money. He probably already had more than he could use and it seemed to grow faster than he could count it. He had all the prestige he could cope with being chief lawkeeper. He decided to be enigmatic.
“That’s for me to know,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes, but smiled. “Well, I thank you for it anyway,” she said. She waved the paper. “I will be at this place at sundown.” And she was gone.
16 The Voyage of the Blackbird
Nothing is ever quite what it seems, Arla believed. People, things, occurrences, are never what they first seem to be. There is a hidden dimension to everything. Hekman, for example, had struck her as cold and methodical. She did not doubt his honesty or good intent, but he lacked that spark of life that made you really like someone. Or so she had thought. Now he seemed to have taken a shine to an arrogant, overdressed merchant woman from Sarata. It was the sort of human folly that made you shake your head.
The leak in the forward hold of the Blackbird was the same.
They were only a day out from Samara when one of the sailors ran up from the hold and spoke to the captain in hushed tones. The captain hurried below decks at once, so Arla knew that something was wrong.
She looked across at Corin who was standing close by on the raised stern deck of the ship.
“Problem?” he asked.
“Looks that way.” She looked around for Otway. He was supposedly their ship expert. Gan Otway had been a seaman for six years before he’d abandoned it to become a lawkeeper. Arla had to admit that he knew ships, but he’d let his expert status go to his head. Arla herself was not entirely ignorant. She’d walked the docks more that a few times with Malin, him pointing out this and that about the ships they passed.
Now Otway was standing just behind the helmsman, looking up at the filled sails with apparent rapture. Arla wondered why he’d quit the job if he enjoyed it so much.
“Otway?”
He looked down. “Commander?”
“Come with me.”
She followed the captain down into the bowels of the ship. On the lowest deck the headroom was less than five feet, so she had to stoop. It was almost immediately apparent what was wrong. She was wading through eight inches of water. She moved forwards until she could see the captain and the man who’d fetched him crouching down with a lamp held above their heads.
“Captain Mardon,” she said. “How bad is it?”
The captain looked surprised to see her. He shook his head. “Not good,” he said. “The planks here have sprung apart. We’re not sinking, but the prudent course is a swift return to Samara where it can be properly fixed.”
“Can we get to Jerohal?” she asked.
“Aye, but we can’t fix her there. She could sink in the harbour, and then where would we be?”
Arla splashed forwards in the gloom and peered down at the hull. It was like a tiny spring, clean water welling up through what seemed invisible cracks.
“Can’t you caulk it?” she asked. “It doesn’t look too wide.”
The captain looked at her as though she’d grown another head.
“Caulk it? Aye, I suppose we could, but that’ll only hold so long if we can’t get at the outer hull.”
“Long enough to get us to Jerohal and back?”
Mardon sucked his teeth and looked down at the water. “Aye, it might at that,” he said. “But it’s not without risk.”
“Then we’ll take the risk,” she insisted.
“I’m captain of the Blackbird, and it’s my say,” Mardon protested.
“If the ship’s not seaworthy we can pull your licence to trade here and now,” Arla suggested. She didn’t have the authority to do that, but she gambled that Mardon didn’t know as much. Hekman wanted this job done and done fast, and she was going to make it so.
Mardon nodded. “I’ll do it,” he said. “But it’s on your head.”
She took a few steps back towards the steps that led back to light and air. She turned to Otway.
“Was I right? Will caulking hold it?”
“Aye, commander, it will. But how did you know that?”
“More to the point, Otway, why was the captain so reluctant?”
“Maybe just cautious,” Otway suggested.
“Maybe.”
The next day things got worse. Arla woke early and went on deck. Corin was already there, and when she climbed to the stern he looked grave.
“Two crewmen down sick,” he said.
“Sick?”
“Stomach pains. Vomiting. Sweats. They’re off duty.”
The Blackbird carried a crew of twelve, so two men down wasn’t a problem, but if more went sick…
“I don’t like it,” she said. “Too much of a coincidence after yesterday.”
“Do you think someone’s trying to stop us getting to Jerohal?”
“It’s possible. I’m going to talk to Seer Jud.”
If she was right, if someone had caused the leak, then the men might have been poisoned. It didn’t have to be something that killed them, just laid them low a few days. If five or six went down the ship would be unmanageable. They would have to turn and run for home.
She went below and rapped on the door of Seer Jud’s cabin. Jud wasn’t enjoying the voyage. He’d been queasy in Samara harbour, and now he was closeted with a packet of herbs and a cloth over his head. He said they helped.
“What?” The Shan sounded aggrieved to be disturbed.
“Need your help,” Arla said.
“My help? On a ship?”
“Poison.”
There was a banging inside and the door opened. Seer Jud peered out, looking very much the worse for wear. “Poison?”
“I think so.”
“I’ve told you I’m not very good at that,” he said.
“Compared to a man?”
Jud nodded. “Let me get dressed,” he said and shut the door again. It was amazing how a little arrogance could be manipulated, Arla thought.
It didn’t take long for Jud to emerge, a touch unsteadily, from his bolt hole. He looked better, though still pale and less than happy.
“Now, show me,” he said.
Arla wasn’t sure where the sick men were, but she found them quickly enough, the ship not really being that large. They were in the forward section of the ship, laid out in their hammocks. They certainly sounded sick, and to Arla’s nose smelled that way.
Jud sniffed at them and muttered something under his breath that Arla couldn’t hear. He grabbed a man’s hand and examined it, pushing at the cuticles. He sniffed at the hand, too. He examined the eyes, and Arla had to restrain the man when he tried to fend of Jud’s attentions.
The examination took about three minutes, and at the end of it Jud walked over to the second man without a word and began again. Arla followed and helped.
“Well?” she said.
Jud just shook his head and carried on. When the second exa
mination was finished Jud stood back and shook his head. “I can’t be sure,” he said.
“So they might really be ill?” It was something that Arla hadn’t considered. If they were sick, and it was catching…
“No. Of course they were poisoned,” Jud said. “I can’t make up my mind if it was Blackroot or Birdfoot Fungus. They’re similar in what they do to a man, and I’m not well versed in the way men respond to poisons.”
“Will they die?”
“Not of this.” Jud stepped out of the cabin onto the foredeck and took a deep breath. “I need to see the kitchen – the galley – whatever it’s called. If it was a poison they both ate or drank it.”
Arla led the way back along the deck and down to the galley. It was occupied by two sailors, off watch by the look of them, who sat on flour barrels drinking from a leather bottle.
“You two – out,” Arla said.
“You ain’t the captain,” one of them said.
“No officer, either,” the other added.
“Just how much trouble do you want?” Arla said, touching her short blade. For a moment it seemed as though one of them might take her up on the offer, but both of them slunk out, taking their bottle with them. Jud set to work at once. He opened barrels, tasted things, sniffed at every container.
He’d been at it barely two minutes when the captain arrived.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Searching,” Arla replied.
“Stop now. Nobody interferes with my crew’s food.”
“Someone already has, Captain. Your two sick crewmen have been poisoned.”
“Nonsense.”
“Seer Jud?”
“I told you,” Jud said, opening a cloth sack with a small knife. “It’s either Blackroot of Birdfoot.”
“I trust his nose, Captain. The search will continue.”
“I am the captain, and this is my ship…”
“Did you poison your own men, Captain?” Arla asked. “I can’t think of another reason you’d want to stop us finding who did, trying to prevent any more of your men sickening.”
“Me?” The captain stepped back. “Why would I poison my own men?”
“To stop us reaching Jerohal.”
“I don’t even know why you’re going there,” the captain said.
“Someone does.”
“Aha!”
They all turned round to see Jud holding a ham aloft. It was almost whole, but a couple of cuts had been taken off one side.
“That’s it?” Arla asked.
“Birdfoot fungus,” Jud said. “Blackroot would be in a liquid. I’ll have to check everything else, of course.”
“Of course. Captain, do you have any objections?”
“We only have… his word that the ham’s poisoned,” the captain said, clearly having difficulty according the Shan the status of a person.
“You’re welcome to taste it,” Arla said. “It won’t kill you, will it, Seer?”
“No,” the Shan confirmed. “Sick for a week, but you’ll live.”
The captain eyed the meat, but shook his head. He sniffed at the joint. “It smells fine to me,” he said.
“Check the men,” Arla said. “Ask whoever’s responsible for this food, who ate the ham. I think you’ll find your sick men are the only two.”
It didn’t take long to establish that Arla was right. The ship’s cook was summoned, and turned out to be the surly one with the bottle. He confirmed that the two sick men had eaten the ham. The captain now seemed keen to help, and Arla led Corin and Jud back to the master’s cabin at the stern. It was a modest space compared with some she’d seen. A pine table that could have seated six was secured to the deck with bolts, a bunk, badly in need of clean linen, hugged one wall and there was just room to move around the table.
“We have to find who did this,” Arla said, taking one of the seats. “It’ll be the same person who loosened the planks in the forward hold.”
“Surely a coincidence,” the captain said.
“After the poison I don’t believe that. I’m betting someone dug out the caulking with a knife – just enough to look dangerous. It was one of your men, captain.”
The captain shrugged. “If you say so,” he said.
“Any of them new? Signed on in Samara?”
“Not a one. They’ve all been with me a year and more.”
“A year? That’s unusual, isn’t it? Crew normally sign on and off voyage by voyage.”
“Aye, but I run a good ship. This crew’s like a family to me.”
“Most murders are done by family,” Arla said.
The captain scratched his chin. “You have a pretty dark view of life, don’t you?” he said.
“Helps me to stay alive,” Arla said. “Helps me to catch killers, poisoners and folk who poke holes in the bottom of ships. Any of your men have money problems?”
“I’m not married to them,” the captain protested.
“So nobody’s asked for an advance on the last trip? Nobody looking like they’ve suddenly come into money?”
The captain scratched his chin again, a sign that he was thinking, Arla suspected.
“Duro,” he said. “He came on board with a new knife, a fancy one, and a gold earring.”
“And what does he do?”
“You just met him. He’s the cook.”
It was almost laughable how often the stupid, obvious answer was the right one. If you wanted to bribe someone to poison the crew you bribe the cook.
“Get him in here,” Arla said. “Now.”
The captain left. Arla turned to Jud. “You’d best sit back from the table a bit,” she said. “Now that we’ve stopped the leak and foiled his poisoning there’s only one thing he can do to earn his money, and that’s kill you.”
Jud looked worried, perhaps a little scared, but he shuffled his chair back and Arla moved hers so that she was a little between the Shan and the cabin door.
“Shouldn’t we take him ourselves?” Corin asked.
Arla nodded. “Perhaps, but there’s no saying what he’ll do if he sees us coming. His shipmates should be able to lay hands on him easily enough.”
“They’ve not proven much use at anything else,” Corin said.
“There’s that,” she said. “I don’t suppose it would hurt if you lent a hand. I’ll stay here with Seer Jud. Get Otway to help if you can tear him away from the wheel.”
Corin left.
Whatever happened now, it wouldn’t take long.
*
There was nowhere for the cook to go, really. The Blackbird was two days from land in any direction, and no man could swim so far. In spite of that he was reluctant to be taken.
Corin was barely a minute behind the captain going up the stairs to the deck, but in that brief time the situation had deteriorated. Duro was backed up against a rail on the forward part of the deck, knife in hand, surrounded by a half dozen of his shipmates.
It looked like someone was going to get hurt.
Corin walked forwards until he came up with the captain’s men, all of whom had drawn blades in response to Duro’s.
“This doesn’t look very sensible,” he said.
A lot of heads turned his way.
“You stay out of this, lawkeeper,” the captain snapped. “This is ship’s business now. This man poisoned two of my men.”
“They’re not going to die,” Corin said. “But if you carry on like this, someone will.”
“What’s that to you?”
Corin stepped back and sat down on a hatch cover.
“He’s not going anywhere,” he said.
The captain ignored him.
Corin concentrated on the cook. “Duro, do you want to die?”
The man flicked a look in his direction. “’course not,” he said.
“So far you’ve done nothing that warrants it.”
“That’s for me to say,” the captain said.
“If you insist, captain, but
Duro is a witness. Someone paid him to do what he did, and we all want to know who that was. How is he going to tell us if you kill him?”
“You think I care?” the captain yelled. “He poisoned his shipmates!”
The captain was upset – unreasonably, Corin thought. He had every right to be angry with Duro, but the man hadn’t killed anyone. He considered drawing his own blade and wading in, but it would only make things worse. He had a long sword, considerable skill, and he was easily a match for two or three of these sailors, but it wouldn’t serve to kill or injure innocent men to save Duro. Besides that, they were so far out at sea that they were completely reliant on these men to get them back to Samara.
“I’d count it as a favour if you’d let him live,” Corin said. “There might be something else poisoned. How long do your men want to go without food?”
That drew a few more glances.
“Your dog’s sniffed it all out,” the captain said.
“Probably,” Corin agreed. “But Seer Jud was only looking for one thing. There could be something else.” At this point he needed Duro to keep quiet, and he fixed the cook with a stern eye and touched his lips with a finger. The cook took the message.
Corin saw the mate lower his blade a foot. “We should be sure, captain,” he said.
“My word is law,” the captain insisted.
“As long as your crew agrees,” Corin reminded him.
“We can settle with Duro later,” the mate said. “It’s best that we’re sure, and besides, the lawkeepers want to question him.”
Corin decided that he liked the mate. He’d have to remember to buy the man a drink. The other men were beginning to step back, but the captain seemed as determined as ever.
In any situation there was a time to act, a moment when tensions have subsided sufficiently and yet the issue was still undecided. Part of being a good lawkeeper was being able to spot these moments and act with confidence before they passed.
Corin judged this was the time.
He surged forwards, pushed past the sailors and found himself face to face with Duro. He hadn’t drawn his own blade, so this was a gamble.
“Give me the knife,” he told the cook, and just like that the cook obeyed. His judgement of the man’s state of mind had been perfect. Corin turned to face the circle of crewmen. “Right,” he said. “I’ll take him below for questioning. I’d be glad if you’d join us, captain, and someone from the crew, just to see that it’s done fairly.”
