The Lost Steersman (Steerswoman Series)

by Rosemary Kirstein

  Hesitantly, “Correct.”

  “The question becomes: Was she ever under ban?”

  He was even longer replying. “I’d say, no, not technically …”

  “Really? I’d say yes … technically. For a few moments. The ban was placed, briefly, and then, as I see it, lifted— and here’s the significant part— when Dionne provided the answer to the question she had previously refused.” He made a protesting gesture; she forestalled any accompanying comment. “Janus, perhaps you weren’t an active steersman long enough for something like that to happen to you, but it has to me, more than once. I thought nothing of it at the time. But I’m thinking of it now, and it seems to me that the principle has been established: the Steerswomen’s ban can be lifted— and by a very specific action.”

  “Rowan— ” and he made a frustrated noise— “as we say in Alemeth: I’m not buying this.”

  “What an interesting turn of phrase. And why not?”

  He made to speak, stopped, began again. “I thought it was traditional to offer the person three chances to answer the question.”

  “It is. I’ve shortened the story. Assume that the three chances were offered. The principle remains.”

  He made to scratch his head in frustration, but found himself foiled by his gloves. Instead of removing them, he abstractedly readjusted their fit, finger by finger; it seemed a habitual action. “And I suppose that as you see it, my telling you everything last night now entitles you to singlehandedly remove the ban from me.”

  “Well, no. Interpreting things strictly, you’d have to provide Ingrud herself with the answers that you previously refused.”

  “ ‘Interpreting things strictly?’ ” He threw up both hands. “Rowan, your analysis lacks rigor from beginning to end! You’ve taken a borderline situation, extracted a spontaneous detail from it, arbitrarily declared the detail a principle; which so-called principle you now, in all steerswomanly assiduousness, decide to apply strictly— and what are you grinning at?”

  She was forbidden to reply, but the grin remained. Eventually, Janus provided the answer himself. “Marrane will be thumping the ceiling any moment now.”

  “ ‘Keep it down, please, people are trying to sleep,’ ” Rowan quoted.

  “ ‘The argument will still be there in the morning.’ ” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands folded. “Rowan, I won’t go traipsing off cross-country to find Ingrud, just to simplify conversation with you.”

  “Of course not. You might take years to find her. What I suggest is that we put the matter to the Prime. If she agrees that the principle is sound, she might also allow a substitute for Ingrud. Herself, possibly, for formality’s sake. You provide the Prime the same information you refused Ingrud. A letter would do, I suppose.” After two years in the Outskirts, it seemed to Rowan strange, marvelous, and immensely civilized that such ease of communication with the distant Archives could exist. The entire matter might be resolved in less than six months.

  “Even if Henra concedes that your, shall we say, extremely dubious idea is valid, that doesn’t set me in Mira’s place. The Annex is tended by a steerswoman.”

  “No problem there; once the ban is lifted, I see no reason you can’t rejoin.”

  “That isn’t done.”

  “Of course it is. Not often. But I’ve done it myself.”

  He was stunned. “Rejoined? You resigned and rejoined? When? Why?”

  She thumped the deck with her fist in frustration, setting the salvaged nails rattling; one of them gave a lively jump and disappeared down the gap left by the old boards. It clinked twice on its way down and rolled to a stop far below.

  Janus looked after it. “Damn. I really must learn to watch what I say.” He looked up at her. “I’ll never know now. I’m sure there’s a story there, and now I’ll never hear it.”

  “Unless we can get the ban lifted.”

  He thought a moment. “I can live without the story.” He forced the last nail from its home, moved it and its mates far away from the gap.

  He reached for the next loose plank, but Rowan planted her foot on it. “Where’s the harm in trying? Where’s the harm in at least asking the Prime if it can be done?”

  “Even if the ban were lifted,” he said slowly, his expression held so carefully neutral it pained her to see it, “I can’t live as a steersman.”

  “No, that’s not the problem— ” He made to rise and turn away; she leaned forward, caught one of his arms. “No, hear me out. You can’t live on the road. You can’t— ” She briefly sought a gentler way to phrase it, failed, and stated mere fact: “You can’t live in danger. You’re unable to bear hardship and fear. You need safety, stability …

  “But, Janus, the Annexes aren’t merely tended by elderly steerswomen; the custodians are chosen from among the steerswomen who can’t travel. Age is the usual reason for that, but there are many others— ”

  “Deficiency of character is not on the list.”

  It stopped her. She attempted to reorganize her argument, found it difficult to hold, difficult to delineate. She spoke with less certainty. “I … can’t view it as a deficiency … It’s … just a fact, a discovery. Like finding that you have a trick knee or that you’re going blind. It’s nothing you have a choice in.”

  “It’s not comparable.”

  Rowan released him, leaned back, rubbed her forehead. “I think it is. If you had known beforehand, or found out during training and tried to keep it from our teachers, it would have been different.” She sighed, spread her hands. “But I’m not certain, one way or the other, yet. The idea needs more analysis, and perhaps by better heads than mine. And that’s precisely why it needs to be put to the Prime.”

  This time he did rise and stepped to the port railing, there to stare out at the open sea.

  She rose and went to him. “Janus, the only thing you did wrong was not telling Ingrud about it immediately.” She was sorry to upset him so; but it might prove worth it in the end. “And I think, I do think that I understand, at least, why you couldn’t. Perhaps the Prime will understand as well. But we won’t know unless we ask. She may decide it’s accurate to regard your … inability in the same way as any steerswoman’s at the Archives; like Sarah or Hugo or Berry— ”

  “Berry?” He spun. “Something’s happened to Berry?”

  Berry was their own age, and had lived and studied beside them for four years of training. Berry was dear to them both.

  But with Janus under ban, Rowan was forbidden to answer even this simple question.

  And he knew it; but still, he asked again, helplessly, “Rowan, please, what’s happened to her?”

  He reached for her shoulders as if to shake her; she stepped back, startled. But just as quickly he dropped his hands, shook his head. “She’s alive,” he said to no one. “If she’s living at the Archives, she is alive.” He shut his eyes tightly.

  Rowan was disturbed. His reaction seemed too extreme. “Janus— ”

  “And what happened to you?” He opened his eyes, his gaze suddenly wide, wild. “What happened to your hand, to make all those scars? When, when did it happen?” And once started, all the simple, unasked questions came tumbling free, unstoppable. “Where have you been? Where are you going next? What have you been doing? What did you discover?” He wrapped his arms around himself tightly. “Did you see …” and he was no longer looking at her but off, away, to some imaginary far horizon “… what no one else has ever seen?”

  They stood silent for a long time. Water thunked; rigging snapped. Somewhere ashore, three women’s voices were raised in noisy argument, as incomprehensible as the conversation of birds.

  Eventually, Rowan said cautiously: “It’s a good thing you stopped. Had you gone on much longer, I’d be unable to converse with you on any topic whatsoever.” And impossible, now, for her to tell him of the wizard Slado, of the urgency of her mission and so, impossible also for her to recruit his assistance.

  He stood on the deck in
the sunlight, wrapped in his own embrace as if in some great physical pain. Then, slowly, he unwound himself, regarding his own hands as he spread the fingers stiffly.

  It came to Rowan that Janus needed her help far more than she needed his.

  His anguish was too close to the surface. The strain of masking it was too great. His control was too fragile, and his emotions, when they broke through, too helpless. It was unhealthy; it was dangerous. Something must be done.

  “Janus,” she said gently, “think of it. You’d live right here, in Alemeth, among people you already know well. You’ll have respect, a home, and good work that actually uses your skills, instead of wasting your training on odd jobs. And you’d be host to any steerswoman passing by, and you could talk to her, question her, learn all her adventures as you pour another cup of tea right by your own f1reside— ”

  “Write the Prime.” He turned away, carefully placed his hands on the railing, spoke with his back to her. “You write her first. If she agrees to your plan, then I’ll see if I can stand to bare my soul a second time.”

  She felt a rush of gratitude, as if hope were being offered to her instead of him. “Good. Thank you. I wish I’d known this sooner; I could have sent the letter on the Beria … Have you any idea when the next ship might be coming by?”

  “No.” He turned back. “Rowan, I’ll be going away for a while.”

  This took her aback. “Away? Why?”

  “Sometimes I need to. Once in a while, I become too jumpy, too emotional … I reach a point where I can’t bear to be around people for a while. When that happens, I go away until I need people again. I always come back.”

  Good and useful work was what he needed, she told herself. That, more than anything else, would heal his spirit. But it would take time, and he must deal with himself as he saw fit in the interim.

  Still, she could not help feeling that her presence, and her insistent questions, were causing his departure. He seemed to guess her thoughts. “It has nothing to do with you,” he reassured her. “I’ve been working up to it for some time now; everyone in town has noticed. I’ve spent all my money on supplies, the ship is loaded— ”

  “Ship? This ship? This is yours?”

  “Yes, and please don’t mock her; she’s the best I can do in my reduced circumstances.” He stepped past the steerswoman, back to his work. “I’d been planning to go as soon as I fix the deck. I don’t care to break my leg the first time I jibe.” He stooped, sorted through the waiting new planks.

  Surprise rendered her question blunt. “Aren’t you afraid of the sea?”

  “Of course I am.” His voice was weirdly cheerful. “I’m also afraid of falling downstairs every morning. But when it gets this bad, I don’t care anymore. If you want to get away from people, it’s the sea that’s best. There are few things in the world as inhuman as the sea.”

  She stood looking down at his back as he worked. Something was missing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “How it feels,” he said immediately, his tone unchanged. “How it feels to need to do this.” He found the new plank he wanted, maneuvered it in place, and banged its side to set the tongue and groove.

  She felt she must do something to change the mood. “I think you’re just leaving me to deal with the gossips all by myself.”

  He laughed. “Aha. My strategy has been revealed by the wily steerswoman. By the time I come back the whole matter will have blown over entirely. They’ll be nattering about catching Gwen and Steffie in the hayloft, or counting how much money Leonard’s spent on the boys and girls at Maysie’s house.”

  “She uses children?”

  “No, no; they’re just always referred to as boys and girls. I believe, because it lends an air of playfulness.”

  “That’s the solution, then; while you’re gone, I’ll try to encourage interest in Leonard’s debaucheries.”

  “Just don’t ask Maysie to help. She tends to regard her knowledge as a sacred trust. Which is why she never got on with Mira.” He returned to extracting nails from the old boards.

  Rowan sat on the railing. “Would you consider waiting until I’ve finished the letter, and putting in at Donner to send it from there?” Donner was a busy port; the letter would move far more quickly than from Alemeth.

  “No. There are too many people in Donner. Ow.” He had banged a finger. He went to put it in his mouth, and was again foiled by the glove. And again, and oddly, he did not remove it but sat with his teeth gritted, waiting for the pain to pass.

  “Is there something wrong with your hands?”

  “Mm. Skin condition of some sort. Picked it up in the wildlands.” He blew out a breath, shook the hand, and returned to work. “It gets better and worse, but it never quite goes away.”

  “Perhaps you should let me see.”

  “The local healer is dealing with it.”

  “Can you handle a ship with it?”

  “I usually wait until it improves. But it’s always worse by the time I can come back. And I do believe I’ll change the subject now; there’s something needs discussion.”

  She nodded. “Exactly what would you prefer not generally known among the citizens of Alemeth?”

  He paused to think. “This whole business about getting the ban lifted. It still might turn out not to be possible.”

  “I think you’re safe. The matter is hardly likely to arise of itself.”

  “And they don’t know I’m under ban at all. And they don’t know I was ever a steersman.”

  “I should be able to maneuver around that one. But if someone manages a wild guess, I won’t be able to deny it.”

  “Well, I suppose I can live with that. And I’d rather they didn’t know I was a coward.”

  “I’m still not convinced that you are.”

  “Very well, if you insist: I’d rather they not be told that the reason I resigned was that I am convinced that I am unable to fulfill my role, due to what I believe is a lack of simple courage.”

  “I’ll merely say that you discovered that the life did not suit you.”

  “They’ll press for details.”

  “I’ll distract them with all sorts of ancillary information about the life of a steerswoman and the various reasons any one of us might choose to resign.”

  “That might work for a while. But they’ll come back to it.”

  Rowan thought, then smiled broadly. “I could always use the vindictive approach.”

  He was a moment remembering to what she referred; then his jaw dropped. “Now, that,” he said slowly, “I would like to see. Rowan being nasty: unimaginable!” He caught her expression. “That’s a very odd look you’ve got on your face …”

  “Actually,” she said uncomfortably, “it just occurred to me to try to count the number of people I’ve killed. I keep losing track somewhere in the middle twenties.”

  Shock silenced him. Then, “Twenties? Skies above, Rowan, how— He stopped.

  They sat, he on the deck, she on the port railing, the air full of creaks and laps and rattles, with the question and all the unanswered others lying on the deck between them, like a single, mute stone.

  At last Rowan stood, made a show of brushing her trouser legs. “I do believe,” she said, “that I’ll go see to that letter right now.”

  7

  Books, and books. You’d think there was nothing more important in the world.

  The steerswoman was at it every morning, right after her walk and her breakfast. And if Steffie passed by the Annex at night, he could see she was still at it then, too, because there was a light downstairs. And more than once he or Gwen had caught her in the morning with books all spread around, and sometimes maps she’d drawn, too, and you could tell she hadn’t slept. On those days she walked after breakfast instead of before, and she did it down by the harbor instead of up by the groves.

  She walked by the harbor more and more as the weeks went by. Sometimes she went down of an evening, too, when everyone else was off to
Brewer’s or the Mizzen, or to their families.

  “Looking for her sweetheart,” was Gwen’s guess. But Rowan had said that Janus wasn’t her sweetheart. And she kept on saying it, because people kept on asking it, most every day for a while, when they dropped by of an afternoon. Which they started to do less and less. Not that Steffie blamed them; it just wasn’t the same without Mira.

  Sometimes Steffie wondered why he kept hanging about himself, and Gwen, too. But after all this time, he sort of felt it was their right. Sooner or later, the real new keeper of the Annex would show up, and maybe things would sort out.

  So, Rowan kept to herself, for the most part. After the night she’d run into Janus, the only time Steffie had seen her go to Brewer’s was one evening when she’d been up all the night before and all day, and had not stopped at all.

  She hadn’t been just reading, but writing and drawing, too, and measuring something and covering some pages with numbers. Not numbers in rows, like adding them up, but numbers and letters together in long lines, like they were sentences, like numbers were a language you could talk and say things with. Funny way to think of it.

  But, suddenly, in the middle of it, she’d stood up, picked up the page she’d been working on, and stood staring at it. Then she tore it up.

  Then she tore up the rest, and the drawings, too. She put them all in the fireplace, strapped on her sword, took money from the jar, and told Steffie that she was going to buy him a drink.

  He wanted to ask her what it was all about, but he didn’t, because as soon as she sat down in Brewer’s, she started talking.

  She talked about living in the Outskirts, with all those barbarians, traveling along and fighting with each other; and how funny the goats were; and how noisy the grass was, like rain on the roof, she said, when the wind blew it. She talked about how the air smelled in the morning, sour and spicy; and how Outskirters could talk to each other far away by waving their arms; and how their food was so boring that sometimes they made it taste bad on purpose, just to be different.