Snakehead

by Ann Halam

  Anthe gave the boss a questioning look. He mouthed one more. She filled the cup again with thick, dark, unwatered wine.

  “Aah, thank yer, young Anthe. Now, lemme see.” Yiannis reached for his precious scrolls, then inspected and returned them, one by one, to the breast of his well-seasoned tunic, which stank of ancient fish. He smoothed out the last, with watery-eyed pride and joy.

  “I uster know the stars. I was a steersman once. You didn’t know that, did you?”

  When he was drunk enough, Yiannis always remembered that he had once been a steersman, a great navigator, famed throughout the Middle Sea. Maybe it was true, or partly true. He had those charts, which weren’t the usual gear for a common sailor.

  “Good heavens,” said lady Danae politely. “Yiannis, we never guessed!”

  “Aye, well, it was long, long ago. I fell in the world, from the helm to the bilges. It’s a terrible thing to have a weakness.” He looked at his cup, which was mysteriously empty again. Pali and Andromeda grinned at each other. Yiannis was a magician: you never, ever saw him lift his cup. Anthe moved the jug away.

  “The Graeae are the terror of the sea, tha’s what. Ancient and merciless, we face those Gray Sisters every time we leave port. Nobody has sympathy with what we sailors suffer, and where would yer be without us? But let me tell you about this one time, an’ I’m sure it was off Parga. Between the eye and the tooth, now that’s what we call bein’ ‘tween a whirlpool and a fang of rock….”

  His straggle-bearded chin sank down; his gnarled finger traced a lost path, pricked onto a salt-stained, rat-gnawed, blackened scrap of memories. “It were off Parga, it were. You know what that is, a whirlpool? Horrors, horrors. When the waves is fifty man-heights over your mast, and the wind is ripping the skin from your back. When you see your ship bein’ drawn into a great spinning eyehole in the sea, and the only way past is between it an’ the great fang of the tooth, oooh, then you won’t forget the Gray Sisters.”

  The chin sank to rest with a soft thump. Yiannis gave a snore, and rolled quietly from the bench. He was an expert at dropping out of sight. They would often find him in the morning, peacefully asleep in a corner.

  “Maybe he really knows something,” said Anthe. “We gave him a cup too many.”

  Brébré, who had been sniffing around the table, sneaked up and took a quiet chew at the last star chart. The boss lifted him, dropped him onto the floor and rolled the cracked scroll. He would give it back to Yiannis in the morning.

  “I don’t think so, my dear. We were talking about Parga, then he tells us that’s where the Graeae are. I’m afraid he just wanted to please us.”

  “Good news,” said Perseus to Andromeda. “I went up and down the waterfront again while you were sleeping. I think I’ve found us a berth.”

  A thrill went through her: like falling, like flying.

  She was bound to die, but they were running away together.

  On the last morning she woke from forgotten dreams (if there were horses, they’d galloped away before she opened her eyes), and took her gifts down to breakfast. It was a feast. Spiced sausage pie, fried eggs and cheese, mountain greens in oil and sharp wine. Papa Dicty’s own fresh bread, yogurt and honey; a platter of fruit, cut and arranged; the pastry cook’s finest. Andromeda would have stuffed herself if it had choked her, out of pure love. But she had an appetite, and so did Perseus. They ate until their stomachs begged for mercy, grinning at each other. Once, Palikari and Anthe started talking about the defense of Seatown. How they would meet the threat if the king turned nasty while Perseus was gone, the plans they had for the outlying villages … Papa Dicty was quite angry with them. He wouldn’t have unlucky subjects at a farewell meal.

  Then Andromeda brought out her presents.

  For Anthe the piece with splashes of orange and yellow, blue and red, on a ground of unbleached wool. “Is this really mine?” said the wildcat uncertainly. The flying marks worked below the colors astounded her. “Your new kind of writing! Oh, Andromeda, I love you! I’ll treasure this forever! What does it say?”

  “It says Honest Colors,” said Andromeda gravely, and everybody laughed. The colors Anthe had added to the ancient painting were still on the wall.

  For Palikari the ripening field, the convolvulus motif and flying marks that said Faithful Flowers. At the last minute she’d been afraid that her message was too personal and he’d be offended. She was wrong. Palikari came around and hugged her, wet-eyed. “You may be a princess at home,” he said. “But to me you’ll always be Kore the mystery girl. You’re my best friend, bar the wildcat and that great hunk of yours. Look after yourself, and, er, be safe—” He broke off, in confusion. What could he say?

  “I’m all right,” said Andromeda. “I know I have to do this, so I’m all right. Thank you for making a waitress out of me. Thank you for being my friend.”

  For the boss there was a platter of wheat ribbons and a smiley fried fish above a red furnace surrounded by smithy tools, the two groups divided by a short line of flying marks, all on a deep-yellow ground. The wheat ribbons weren’t a great success. But she had wanted to make him laugh, and tried to give him the signs of kingship.

  “Now, this deserves pride of place!” cried the boss, laughing. “I shall frame it and hang it above the bar. What does my writing mean, dear girl?”

  “It says,” explained Andromeda, “Dearest guests, PLEASE do not take your room towels to the beach. Ask for a beach towel at reception.”

  “Hmm. Really? That’s rather a lot, for such a small number of marks.”

  “It doesn’t,” she confessed, blushing hard. “It says The Good Master.”

  The boss smiled at her, with the same kind, yet piercing, look she remembered from the day she’d come to his house as a fugitive. “Great Mother bless you,” he said quietly. “Don’t give up all hope, Andromeda. Fate takes strange turns.”

  For lady Danae she had a circular piece of very fine bleached linen with a knotted fringe and a wreath of cornflowers, wheat and daisies embroidered in the center. “The linen is the first good thing I ever made,” she said. “I brought it with me. The flowers and the writing I added here, for you. It says The Queen of Summer.”

  Danae took the cloth, and kissed it. “You have given me a promise, Kore,” she said in Achaean Greek. “Keep it, and I will be very glad, my dear daughter.”

  There was a clutch of smaller presents for Koukla and Kefi, and the restaurant staff. She’d worked the beads, and some of the silver coin she’d brought from Haifa, into braided wristbands and necklaces. She left them for lady Danae to distribute. It was a wrench to see them go, all these little things that had given her hours of refuge, steady work to ward off the fear and grief. And had served a double purpose now: making this morning easier, saving her from trying to say what these people meant to her.

  Goodbye to Brainy, and Music and Dolly. Goodbye Mémé and Brébré. She ran upstairs to fetch her bundle, and there was the Perseus weaving, still in her loom. She was leaving the frame behind. She’d thought of hiding that strip of cloth, so that there’d be something of herself in this room, in his house. One day Perseus, hero of the Medusa Challenge, would discover it, and remember Kore…. She couldn’t bear the idea. It would be like leaving a bit of dead flesh for him to find. She cut the warp, and stuffed the lost scrap into her bundle.

  Our bags were already on board the little cargo ship, called the Octopus, that was going to carry us to Paros. We walked along the waterfront in silence: she with her bundle, I with mine. I was thinking that those pieces she’d woven, and the tallyboards in our safe, were very precious. They would be all there was left of Andromeda’s discovery, if I failed…. I was wondering if the boss had guessed my secret plan. I thought he had.

  The news that Kore was probably Princess Andromeda of Haifa, a runaway human sacrifice, had got around, and of course everyone knew about the Medusa Challenge. We’d been expecting some kind of a crowd to see us off. It was one good reason why we’d
said our goodbyes at home, in private. I hadn’t expected to see our baggage on the quay, and the crew of the Octopus hurrying to get cast off.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Wait up!”

  The sailors saw us, and redoubled their efforts. I raced along the quay, Athini’s shield, which I had wrapped in a sheepskin, jolting on my back. The winged sandals were in the same bundle: I was never going to let the Supernatural treasures out of my hand’s reach. The crowd of tale-tellers and idlers yelled encouragement. The Octopus was moving, clear water between her and the dock. I leapt across the gap like a lunatic.

  “What are you doing!” I yelled. “Did you forget you have passengers?”

  The ship was a Parian, and so was her captain, a man called Sika. I didn’t know him personally, but he was a respectable small trader. He stood on his fish-scale-glistening deck, scratching his beard and looking very uncomfortable.

  “I changed my mind, er, young sir. We’ve no room. Can’t take you.”

  “But I paid you! Well over the odds, and in goods. You have the stuff on board!”

  He looked at his crew, hoping they’d help him out. The men just looked away. “I’ll reimburse you, sir, only we can’t do it now, got to catch the breeze.” He lowered his voice. “Look, we could take the noble young lady, no problem with that. But you’ll have to get off the boat. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Suppose I won’t?”

  “Then I s’pose we’ll stay in port.”

  I heard one of the sailors mutter god-touched.

  The crowd on the quay was loving this. Maybe I should give them a real show: draw the harpe, wave it around, order the captain at knifepoint to carry us. “Set me back on the quay,” I said resignedly. “I don’t feel like another long jump. But you’ll regret this. We are god-touched, we’re on a sacred mission, and now the Gods are going to be offended with you. Are you sure you still want to put to sea?”

  All sailors are superstitious, and I am Perseus. But the crew of the Octopus were not shaken. “Go home, lad,” said the captain. “It’s nothing personal.”

  The busybodies dispersed, leaving us alone.

  “There’s something wrong,” said Andromeda.

  “You bet there is. He took our fares! What a crook!”

  We had far too much luggage: two chests full of warm clothes, food supplies, trade goods to save the coin we carried; everything our family’s tender care could overload us with. I’d have to borrow a handcart, or go and fetch a mule.

  “No,” she said. “There’s something wrong with this. Why was it so hard to find a passage to Paros? Why is the ferry mysteriously in dry dock? Perseus, it isn’t an accident. Someone powerful doesn’t want us to get off the island.”

  I’d been thinking the same. Maybe we’d all been thinking the same, and praying we were wrong. But who could be trying to stop us? I had Athini’s shield on my back. I could not be trapped here. How could I be trapped here?

  I felt as if I’d run up against an invisible wall.

  “It’s not us,” I said reluctantly. “It’s me.”

  I told her what the Parian captain had said.

  We had been fretting at the delay, and clinging to the idea of our voyage, alone together. The thought that she could leave and I couldn’t was a cruel blow.

  “We’d better go back to the taverna,” said Andromeda, through stiff lips.

  The boss decided to send for Bozic. “We should have sent for him in the first place,” he said. “Time enough to rely on strangers when you have no choice.” I didn’t like the idea, because it would leave my family with no means of escape, but I saw that he was right.

  Our caïque was back in her usual hiding place up the east coast. Kefi went running off to that two-hovel fishing village while Pali went out to do the rounds of the bars and shipping offices, to see if he could find out what was going on. In Seatown most of the shipping offices were in the bars. They were single-handed operations; if you had the price of a jug of wine, there was usually no problem getting inside information. He returned with nothing. Nobody would talk.

  “They won’t admit there’s a problem,” said Pali. “They’re just not taking passengers, or they’re fully booked (which isn’t true). Or they’re waiting for a consignment that hasn’t arrived.” Unfortunately, Taki’s agent, the most reliable source, was not in port. Apparently, he was on Naxos.

  We spent an anxious night, because Kefi didn’t get back until the next day. When he turned up, he reported that the caïque was gone, and the village was “deserted.” If deserted was the right word for the fact that Kefi hadn’t found anyone at home in those two shacks … He was thoroughly frightened, convinced the king had taken the boat, and was about to descend on Dicty’s and kill us all.

  We opened the restaurant again, just to be occupied. There weren’t many customers. Andromeda went to her room as soon as we’d cleared up, and the rest of us sat in the yard. Kefi kept whimpering, “Trapped! Like rats in a trap! Trapped! Like rats in a trap!” until Anthe told him very sharply to shut up.

  “Perhaps we should apply to Polydectes.” Moumi sounded almost serious. “He has ships. He offered to equip Perseus.”

  There was one other harbor on Serifos, at Megalivadi in the west: deep water in a narrow bay. It belonged to the High Place; it was forbidden territory.

  “What if the king is behind this?” I asked. “He’s the only real enemy I have. But if he wants rid of me, why would he stop me from leaving the island?”

  “Either the king,” said Pali, “or you have competition on the Medusa Challenge, Perseus, and somebody’s rich relatives are putting you out of the running.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” snapped Anthe. “Anyone who stops Andromeda or Perseus from leaving is in trouble with the Achaean Supernaturals. The captains are sailors. They’re terrified of getting on the wrong side of a black cat. Exactly who do you think could have got to them?”

  “Who indeed,” murmured the boss. He stroked Mémé, frowning. “This isn’t Polydectes, Perseus. Your mother may be right about his murderous plans, but he’ll wait until you’re off the island. Let’s give it a few days. Bozic has no doubt vanished on one of his smuggling escapades; he’ll be back. And the Afroditi will be here soon.”

  The Blue Star Afroditi, of course: the ship that had brought Kore here, and carried the earthquake victims. She would be calling at Serifos very soon on her way down the line for the last trip of the season. She could take us to Naxos. It was cutting the timing fine for Andromeda, but at least we could rely on Taki. No power in the Middle Sea told him what to do.

  I felt no relief. The invisible wall was still there.

  The Afroditi duly arrived, and we went out to her on one of the lighters. The lightermen wouldn’t take our heavy luggage. They said the chests could be fetched on board if we got a berth, only they’d heard Taki was poorly, and he wasn’t taking on passengers. He didn’t want the trouble of them. We’ll see about that, I thought.

  But it felt ill-omened, a backward step, to board the Afroditi again.

  Taki seemed to be in perfect health, a big, broad-chested sailor, oiled and adorned like a prince. He received us in his office, a fine saloon on the upper deck, though not as fine or as strange as the stateroom on The Magnificent Escape. We explained that we needed a passage. The shipping magnate played with the weights of his antique Minoan assay scales and asked after everyone at Dicty’s, down to the household gods. He was very pleased to meet Princess Andromeda again, under her own name.

  He knew everything. He’d even heard about the “new kind of writing.”

  “I have a very promising little girl, mother’s a slave, but that’s no odds, she’s my darling. Six years old, very pretty, brainy as a barrelful of monkeys. What d’you think? Could she learn how to do your new trick, noble Andromeda?”

  “I don’t know,” said Andromeda. “The problem would be finding a teacher.”

  Andromeda was the only one who knew the craft, and she would be dead in a month,
if the God of Earthquake had his way. “And you might want to think about the consequences,” she added bleakly. “If you’re fond of your little daughter. The flying marks have not brought me a long life, or happiness.”

  Taki cleared his throat, and arranged the executive toys on his desk again. Normally, our shipping magnate had a heart of stone. It gave him no trouble to lie to anyone. But he was stumbling over this interview. There was something on his mind that made him twitchy as a guilty mule boy.

  “About our passage to Naxos?” I prompted him.

  “It would be a great favor,” added Andromeda.

  “Ah. I’m afraid it can’t be done. Not, er, not this season.”

  So even Taki was against us. But there was one chance….

  “I have gold,” announced Andromeda, as we had agreed beforehand. “I have no more treasure on me, but you will be paid very, very well for setting me on my way to Haifa. I can promise that.”

  “Noble lady,” sighed Taki. “Your money is no good. I can’t help Perseus with this senseless Medusa Challenge.” He glanced meaningfully at the portable shrine, bolted to the paintwork opposite his desk, where his Supernatural sponsor was honored, and raised his voice. “I don’t approve of young men throwing their lives away, tearing off after monster this and treasure that. I’m thinking of your poor mother, Perseus, and Papa Dicty, going down in sorrow to their graves. Don’t argue with me, it’s a serious moral issue.” The shipping magnate glowered righteously.

  “Someone should put a stop to the whole ugly, macho, violent business. It’s barbaric, if you ask me.”

  This, from the man who thought human sacrifice was a fine, modern idea. But I wasn’t tempted to argue. I’d got the message, finally.

  “I won’t take you, and neither will any captain, merchant, trader or pirate who wants to keep on the right side of me. Sorry, but there it is. Do you take my meaning?”

  We did. We understood everything. Our difficulties made perfect sense now.