by Scott Jäeger
Voxhaus did not respond.
“A friend of mine, a woman of Zij, was abducted on one of the black galleys a week past. Your assistance will be vital to our pursuit.”
“Kidnaped, was she?” he asked, absently making the final stamp on my paperwork. “Familiar story. You saw what Solomon’s fantasies got him. Are you certain you wish to walk that same path?”
I grit my teeth, but modeled my reaction after Ajer, who showed as much emotion as a statue.
“I assume you know the name of this vessel?” Voxhaus continued. “Half a dozen of these ships come and go every week. How do you intend to track her?”
“We have no desire to trouble you, Harbourmaster,” Erik said soothingly. “If you’ll let us look over the harbour log, we can sort it out ourselves.”
“I will not,” he said, staring directly at me. A painful looking sore was spreading beneath his beard where he compulsively worried the inside of his cheek with a finger. “The magisters should have brought you to task for what happened on that farm outside town. If you hadn’t have disappeared, that is. I suppose what I heard about your death was just rumour, or perhaps there is another explanation.”
He smiled to show our interview was concluded.
* * *
Later on, Ajer, Erik, Jome, and I watched the sun set from the deck of the Peregrine. Though we worked the problem over tirelessly, our options remained few and poor.
“There’s another issue,” Erik was saying. “We’re shorthanded.”
“But the Peregrine has a full crew,” I protested.
“Had one. You’re a new captain, and on ships which turn no profit, men see little reward. News of your vendetta has spread as well. Not everyone is eager to go up against the yellow-eyed merchants.”
“You’re telling me they have friends in Zij?”
“They must, considering the hold they have on the port. Sailors are a contrary lot though. We have that going for us.”
“And our cargo?” Since I didn’t own the Peregrine outright, I was accountable to the other shareholders, and must trade along whatever route we chose. I would have to regardless, as there was no other means of funding the voyage. Ajer handed me the manifest: dates, corn, silk, cotton, and a variety of dry goods. Not knowing our course, he had chosen goods which may not yield a high profit, but wouldn’t be difficult to unload.
“What use is it when we have no heading?” I groused.
“Nothing from Voxhaus, then?” Jome asked.
“The harbourmaster is in cahoots with our enemies.”
“Voxhaus, collaborate with those pirates?” Jome cried. “He wouldn’t reveal the time of high tide to those wretches.”
“They have their talons in him,” I said, “as well as everyone else in Zij. Before, any mention of the villains was answered with spitting and invective. Now they keep their heads bent like so many whipped schoolboys.”
My bitterness silenced my friends for a long minute, until Erik said, “We’ll ship for the next port and hope for–”
“But in what direction? If their lead grows any longer she’ll be lost for certain.” Even as I said it, I knew it was pointless to rail at my friends. “Of course you’re right. We must move. The galleys will at some point return to their home port. If no better option presents itself by morning, we’ll head north to Dylath-Leen.”
* * *
I spent my last night ashore stalking the piers where the black galleys moored, and brooded on their masters. I had never seen one of the yellow-eyed merchants run or rush, or raise his voice. I sunk into a gory reverie, wondering would they cower helplessly if cornered, or turn ferocious. When a whore slouched into my path I allowed the vision of yellowly staring corpses to slip away.
“There is nothing tonight that interests me less than your trade,” I said.
“The black galleys interest you,” she replied, coming alongside as I retraced my steps down the dock. “I don’t want your coin. In fact, I wish to do something for you.”
I increased my pace.
“It’s more of a favour to Isobel, really,” she said. This stopped me.
“What do you know of Isobel?” The whore was young and scantily dressed, and would be pretty again if the slash on her cheek healed cleanly. “I never knew her to keep company with prostitutes.”
“The whole town knows about her. You’ve done nothing this past week but trumpet your grief to anyone who’ll listen. “
Since my return to Zij, I had acquired the habit of always resting one hand on the pommel of my cutlass. My grip tightened.
“Your girl is hard to miss,” she went on. “She has the raven black hair, rare for the ports of the Southern Sea. I saw her on this very pier.”
“Go on.”
“It was past midnight when I came on her brawling with one of the turbaned galley masters. They don’t none of them look like much, soft and reedy, but for all she fought she couldn’t shift him a tick. There was another man too, one of their bug-eyed lackeys.
“She appealed to him, the staring one, but he wouldn’t help her.” She hugged herself, chilled by the memory. “And him from Zij too. Guess that don’t mean much in front of your chief. I figured she was out here working, like me, and I stepped up to the captain myself, told him to let loose of her. Earned me this.” She pointed to her face. “Likes his rings I guess.”
“You didn’t report this incident to the harbourmaster?” I asked.
“I did,” she said frankly, "and if I hadn't stepped quickly I would've gotten it from him as well."
I chewed this over before saying, “I already know she was taken on one of the galleys.”
I figured that was the end of it but, producing a shiv from her boot, the whore got down on one knee and began notching a message into the surface of the pier. She returned the blade to its home, stood up, and tucked her short hair behind an ear.
“This is the name of the vessel. It was still dark when it sailed, and your girl was still aboard.”
“It is the same,” I agreed. The series of characters matched those I had seen in the moonlit pool, a memory that magic had made indelible. “You know their language?”
“No, no one does, but I committed it to memory before going to the harbourmaster. I’ve always been good with signs.”
“And their heading?”
“South-by-southwest, along the coast.”
“You’re not afraid of them,” I remarked. “Everyone else is.”
“Sure, I’m afraid,” she said, rubbing her face where it was torn.
I pressed a silver coin into her hand.
“Then you are wise as well as beautiful,” I said. "I cannot offer you safety for we sail at first light. Stay off the docks if you can."
* * *
The crew took to their tasks with a will on our departure from Zij, but Huspeth’s presence swiftly proved a hindrance. Since I could hardly ask her to bunk with sailors, I gave over the captain’s cabin and slept with the men myself. It was counted a bad omen to keep a woman aboard, and to put a woman who purported to have mystical powers in the captain’s place was trebly bad. In little enough time every jammed pulley and sprung plank was laid to her account. In fact, Orvuhlt was muttering to himself about tangled rope and witches on our first day out of port. When he saw I had heard, he returned to his trimming with renewed vigour.
Four days sail took us to Nagoordi, a town of tall, many-windowed houses precariously arranged along seaside cliffs. There was a mine in the hills backing the port, so copper could be cheaply had, and timber and spices, though only the last would be easy to sell.
Erik took Jome, who had once lived in Nagoordi, with him to seek out new recruits for the Peregrine, while I accompanied Ajer Akiti to handle the buying and selling.
After sorting out the day’s trading, Ajer and I spent the afternoon haunting the alehouses, seeking word of galley-pirates and missing girls. It was an especially tedious business for men with no interest in drink. We had just left behind
another group of happy people with free ales, when I heard someone remark,
“Raw wool would be a valuable cargo for anyone heading south this time of year.”
I looked left and right for the source of the comment, eventually settling on an improbably large white cat, sunning itself on the wall bordering the road.
“Master Cat,” I said, “was that your advice I just heard?” Ajer maintained his poker face. If my suspicion was wrong it would be a grave test of his discretion.
“Captain Sloan,” the cat replied in a mellow voice, “it was my advice, and you would be wise to heed it.”
“I’ll consider your suggestion, but decisions related to fleece I leave to my quartermaster, Ajer Akiti.” The cat blinked languorously in his direction. “I have heard of the talking cats of Ulthar, but thought them no more than a sailor’s tall tale.”
“Travel,” the animal said, stretching to his feet, “is a wonderful panacea for ignorance.”
“Indeed. How did you come to know my name?”
“News travels swiftly in the world of cats,” he said, surveying the square, “even more so than among men. By the way, I suppose these little details don’t matter where you come from, but it is rather reckless to use your true name.”
“All my undertakings have been reckless of late. But you have me at a disadvantage, Master Cat. What shall I call you?”
“Hm. I rather fancy Master Cat, but it is too formal to use among friends. You may address me as Parsil.”
In one fluid leap, Parsil transferred himself to Ajer’s left shoulder, where the black man began to stroke his head, producing a deep, vibrating purr.
“All right, Parsil,” I said, “have all cats heard about our mission?”
“Everyone knows the broad outlines. It has the makings of quite a romantic tale. No doubt someone will sing about it when it is all over.”
Erik happened upon us just then. I don’t know which left him more perplexed, the appearance of a talking feline, or the sight of the animal riding high on our friend’s shoulder.
“Parsil,” the cat said to him, inclining his head slightly.
“Erik. I see you and Ajer have made friends.”
“I appreciate a man who knows how to hold his tongue. They are so rare.”
The four of us continued towards the docks.
“Since you and your friends are so well informed,” I said to Parsil, “can you tell me anything about the yellow-eyed merchants? I’ve seen none of them in Nagoordi.”
“One of their execrable galleys was moored here about a week ago,” he said, “but they didn’t come ashore. In my opinion, they shouldn’t be allowed in the harbour.”
I exchanged a dire look with Ajer and Erik. Isobel’s kidnapers maintained a significant lead.
“They make grave enemies,” the cat said, “but take heart. In every port there are folk who track the movements of their ships. You simply need know who, and how, to ask. For instance, I happen to know the harbourmaster’s wife here in Nagoordi. Supply me with passage to Barrowgate and I will introduce you."
"Navigator?" I said, since such decisions were technically Erik’s charge.
"My only concern, Captain,” he said, grinning, “is that we should be end up in our guest’s debt.”
"A valid consideration," Parsil replied, raising a paw, "but let me put you at ease. I waive any compensation for my time and counsel."
* * *
Parsil arranged for us to meet Nagoordi's harbourmaster the next morning. Sharing the cat’s low opinion of the men of Dylath-Leen, he was happy to show us the mooring ledger. Our quarry was indeed a week ahead, and a friendly hand on the docks confirmed that they continued to hug the coast south.
“A man who cannot speak and a cat that can,” quipped a passing merchant as I was reviewing the cargo manifest a final time. “Whoever you are hunting, you shall take them by surprise.” Silk dress and thickly beringed hands vouchsafed his wealth, yet his wind-scoured face spoke of a lifetime on the sea.
“If you wish to sell something, speak with my quartermaster,” I said, “but be quick about it. We sail presently.”
“Not at all, sir,” he laughed, gesturing broadly as he spoke. “My name is Haroun, and I do not sell. I myself wish to buy from you.”
Since there was little for me to do before we were underway, I let him speak his piece.
“I see your Peregrine before, sir. She is a fine ship, but expensive to manage, eh? And the best fruit has already fallen in these little ports at the edge of the map.” He attempted a conspiratorial tone, but his habit of speaking in a booming voice overrode him. “No one else knows this, sirrah, but consider this commonest of payloads, dates–”
Ajer tossed his head impatiently and Erik translated, “We have dates already.”
“Yes, yes,” Haroun replied, smiling. “I am not selling dates, sirs. I am telling you there is a small harbour of no name, twenty miles north of Jundara. Good people there, none of these ahh–” Haroun stroked his head to indicate a turban, and so perfectly mimed a simpering smile I felt a chill on the back of my neck. “Do not pass this harbour by. Put in with your dates and they will pay handsomely.”
“I have no shortage of people advising me on cargo,” I said, but Parsil, in the midst of washing his face, missed my jibe, “but I’ll make a note of it. I suppose you want something in trade for this information.”
“Not at all, sir,” he said, sweeping the suggestion away with both arms, “but I have a cousin who I wish to see on a ship out of Nagoordi, out in the world.” With a theatrical flourish, Haroun jerked the cousin forward from where he had been leaning against a stack of crates.
“He doesn’t look good for much,” Erik opined, “but tell me he can at least tie knots.”
“What can he do?” I asked.
“What he can do?” Haroun declared, incredulous. “He do what you tell him! He is skinny boy, but he work hard.” Erik smirked at this and Ajer rolled his eyes, both undoubtedly recalling their own start as skinny boys.
“We already have a young man to swab the deck and do odd jobs,” I said, meaning Marthin. The subject of our banter was younger than Marthin, or maybe malnourished, and very deliberately trying to show no interest in his fate.
“Maybe he like a friend,” Haroun said, so earnestly I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Another one don’t hurt you, as long as you don't worry about wages."
"We won't," Erik interjected.
"Take my cousin with you, my friend,” Haroun said, pressing a handful of coins on me. “I buy his passage. He like to be called Trout, don’t ask me why. If he cause problem, put him ashore someplace and keep money as gift."
This prompted the first reaction we had seen from Trout, a grimace so unsuited to his youthful face we all roared with laughter. We agreed to take him on, though I would come to wish he shared a bit of Haroun’s garrulous good humour.
We had hired extra hands from among the locals to spell our crew the night before, and the ship was in the last stages of preparation. Ajer guided the red-faced Trout to where Jome was giving the signing-on speech to the other new recruits from Nagoordi.
"All men coming aboard the Peregrine,” Jome bellowed, “you needn't bring anything with you, but if you have any personal articles they must fit inside a five pound sack. If you're smart you'll bring food, and if you know anything about life on a ship you'll bring tobacco. Return here in one hour and we sail."
Trout was transfixed by Jome's tattoos, and remained standing dumbly after he had finished, until Ajer sent him off with a shove and he ran home to gather whatever mattered to him.
* * *
After Nagoordi, Ajer and Erik began to share the role of bartering. The latter haggled with the vendor in an amiable way while the former looked on in stony silence, a tactic which guaranteed us a small profit in every port.
Though hardly essential, Trout proved able enough at the menial tasks he was assigned. He was not given to talk, and didn’t share in the
crew’s camaraderie or speak much with anyone except Marthin. Having in common the disadvantages of a beardless face and narrow back, the two quickly became inseparable.
With the inbred superstition of mariners, most of the men avoided Parsil. More unusually, Huspeth also took no interest in him. The augur spoke little, spending long hours of each day in the captain’s cabin, a convenient circumstance since the crew had no good will for her either. About our talking feline she said only, “Be cautious of the counsel of beasts.”
I started to work extra hours alongside the crew, chasing exhaustion like a fickle lover. Evenings I spent with Ajer and Parsil, the cat nibbling at fish the quartermaster would catch from the aft rail. I so enjoyed his company that for hours at a time I forgot I was speaking to an animal at all. During our talks, I also forgot the nagging dread that our pursuit was too slow, that Isobel would slip away for good.
* * *
Barrowgate, the third stop on our journey, was known both for its glassblowers and the tower in its center square. It was called a clock tower, though its four dials displayed unidentified symbols and obsidian hands which moved according to no known logic or pattern. Whatever mechanism drove the device was equally enigmatic, for the structure was both impregnable, and due to its polished surface, unscalable.
When it was time for him to disembark, Parsil touched the scar on my forearm with one paw.
“From the accounts I had heard, I thought you were a bit of a fool, Captain Sloan. It was a regrettable error on my part.”
“An easy one to make, I’m sure,” I said.
“Remember that many places will not harbour the yellow-eyed merchants, and among their opponents you will find fast friends. You did me a good turn bringing me to Barrowgate, and I look forward to one day returning the favour.”
As the cat sauntered off, Ajer left immediately for the local market, his expression unaccustomedly troubled.
“You know,” I said to Erik, “I suspect Parsil will turn around and return to Nagoordi with the next tide. He wished to test the air between ports, nothing more.”
“What business could a cat have anyway?” Trout asked.
