by David Duncan
"Sheath it, sailor."
They continued to glare at each other for several minutes. Blood trickled from the captain's battered nose and oozed from his scrapes. If the sailors were pirates and planning to feed Shonsu to the piranha, then now was the moment, and Nnanji would be getting his sword back point first. But it was not the first time he had been threatened with a sword, and there was nothing else to do but wait and see, so he waited. His hand was steady―it was the captain who was shaking. Other sailors were watching. This was important.
The two of them seemed to stand there for a long time, while the sailor's breathing gradually slowed, but eventually Nnanji felt the challenge reverse itself―instead of the sailor inquiring whether he was afraid of the sword at his belly, he himself was inquiring whether the sailor was afraid to return it. Finally Tomiyano lowered it, wiped the blade with the cloth, and held it out hilt first.
Nnanji took it, sheathed it, and said, "Thank you."
He walked away.
That had gone rather well.
The huddle around the wounded man was still there, so he headed for the deckhouse to see if the slave had got the bed ready... and by the door he came face to face with Honakura again. The old relic had apparently recovered from his shock―he was smiling in an irritating manner.
"Well, old man? Have you an explanation for this also?"
"Explanation is like wine, adept," the priest said. "Too much of it in one day can be harmful."
Damned slippery priest-talk! "It can also be like my mother's homemade bread: very good when new, but harder to swallow as it gets older."
The old man just shook his head, and Nnanji blurted, "Why didn't She save him?"
"She did."
He glanced at the watchers grouped around Brota and the stricken swordsman. "That's saving? I saw no miracle."
Honakura chuckled drily. "I saw two! Could you take that sort of a beating and then not finish the job?"
Nnanji thought about that. "Perhaps not. And he'd been totally humiliated in front of his crew."
"That made it easier, though."
"Why? Never mind. What was the second miracle, then?"
The old man cackled in his infuriating way. "I'll let you work that out for yourself, adept."
"I haven't got time to play games," Nnanji snapped. "I've got responsibilities."
He marched into the deckhouse, feeling strangely annoyed by the old man's stupid grin.
* * *
Shonsu had been bandaged and now was carried into the deckhouse and laid on a blue cotton pallet. Brota looked him over, glanced at Nnanji without speaking, then waddled out. The rest of the crew followed her.
Jja began washing blood off her master. He was unconscious and pale as... very pale. Nnanji took his hairclip, his harness and sword. He went over to sit on one of the chests and checked the pockets. Shonsu had told him of the sapphires, but he whistled at the sight of them and hurriedly put them in his own pouch before anyone else saw. Then he counted all his mentor's money. My goods are your goods, but he was going to keep them separate. He laid his own coins on the chest for now. There was a cool breeze blowing in from the window beside him, waving his pony tail.
He removed his scabbard and replaced it with Shonsu's and then he sat and studied the seventh sword for a while before sheathing it on his back. He wished he had a mirror―certainly no Fourth had ever worn a sword like that. Reluctantly he put the hairclip in his pouch, also.
Katanji peered in, still pale. Nnanji beckoned him over.
"How much money have you got, protégé?"
Katanji looked surprised. "Five gold, two silver, three tin, and fourteen copper, mentor."
Where had the little scoundrel gotten that much?
"Okay. Count mine for me, will you?"
Katanji blinked, but he knelt down by the chest and counted without having to use his fingers. "Forty-three gold, nineteen silver, one tin, and six copper."
Right. "Then take it and look after it for me," Nnanji said.
His brother obeyed, stuffing the coins into his pouch. "They're not going to put us ashore," he said. "The others wanted to and Brota refused―for now. The captain's been taken below. Is... is he going to live?"
"Shonsu? Of course."
Katanji looked over doubtfully at the wounded man, then he put on what their mother called his soft-boiled look. "Nanj? They won't speak to me when I'm wearing this sword."
Nnanji opened his mouth to impart some truths about proper swordsman behavior... and remembered. "Take it off, then."
The expression on the nipper's face was almost laughable. So was the speed with which he wrapped himself in that stupid breechclout―as if Nnanji would change his mind. Then he tied on his money pouch and ran. But there would be time enough to turn him into a swordsman when they all got off this rotten floating barnyard.
There were two or three hours of daylight left; Nnanji decided to stay where he was. It was the best defensive position he could have found, and he could keep an eye on Shonsu. The wounded man was neither conscious nor unconscious. When spoken to he would open his eyes and seem to understand, but mostly he just lay and thrashed around restlessly, often asking for drinks, which Jja gave him through a reed. Then he would lay his head back again and close his eyes. He shivered sometimes and sweated. She did not leave him. She had laid a rolled pallet across the door to keep Vixini from straying, but the baby was behaving himself for once.
Nnanji played with Vixini a little and talked to the slave woman a little, but mostly he thought swordsmanship. This shipboard technique was very interesting: very little footwork, and then only short steps. Tremendous armwork; point, not edge. He wouldn't give Tomiyano a fair match, even on land, but he would certainly beat Thana there―she'd never get near him. Yet obviously on the ship he was a scratcher again. A good swordsman ought to know both ways, and clearly Shonsu did.
How good was Tomiyano? Two or three ranks below Shonsu. But he had been fighting with a longer sword than he was used to. Give him a half rank for that and take one off for being on his own deck, and at least two for wielding sword against foil. The trouble was knowing how to grade Shonsu. There was no measuring Sevenths. "To be a Seventh," Briu had liked to say, "is simply to be unbeatable." Shonsu was the best in the World, maybe a ten?
He finally judged that Tomiyano was a high Fifth or low Sixth. And a sailor! Where had he got his practice? Perhaps from that dead brother that Thana had mentioned. If not him, then there must be others around almost as good, for it was very hard to be greatly better than one's fencing partners.
Yes, he would learn this new way of fighting. As a start, he reviewed his match with Thana, and then Shonsu's, carefully going over every step and every stroke.
* * *
The morning sun climbed very slowly; it seemed uncannily slow to a woman who had lived all her life in the tropics. Fair wind, and the River wide and bright. It was a fine day, she could admit; this was a better climate for one of her size. The word in Aus had been that there were no dangers in this direction, no shallows or unexpected bars. Traffic was light. Wisely, the crew were staying away from her while she ground away at her decision, so she sat alone at the tiller with no distractions.
She had slept badly and awakened no closer to a solution, although she usually found that sleeping on problems was the best way to straighten them out. The only progress her dreaming mind had made was that it had seen what was missing. It would come, she was sure, so she was just going to wait for it―for him. A good trader knew when to be patient, so she would let him make the first move.
The swordsman was still alive, and somehow she had known he would be. He seemed to understand when he was spoken to, but he would answer in grunts and nods. She had never seen so much blood come out of one body before. Even at Yok, her deck had not looked so like a slaughterhouse.
Tom'o was still sedated, and she was going to keep him that way for a while. If he had offended the gods, then he had most surely paid for
it. No bones broken, thanks to the Most High, but a terrible beating. It might make him a little easier to handle for a while. He had been getting fractious, even before this torment began, and so had Thana. In fact, Thana had been growing into quite a problem. After Yok they had seemed to settle back into much the same steady, routine life as before, except that they stayed down from Hoof and never gone near Yok or Joof; those had been once-a-year destinations, anyway, for the spring crops. But no, it had not been the same. Change had been in the wind, although she had been refusing to admit it. Now they all had much more change than they could ever have wanted.
Something was going on... people beginning to crowd out on the main deck. She watched warily, out of the corner of her eye, not showing that she was paying attention. Then she saw the tiny figure come into view, painfully climbing the starboard steps. Here he was. This was what had been missing.
He advanced slowly, puffing a little, and smiled at her. He made no greeting and he sat himself beside her on the bench without waiting for an invitation. Only his toes touched the deck.
She glared down at the shiny skin on the top of his head. "You'll have to move off there when I tack," she growled―he had trapped her into speaking first.
"I shan't be long. Have you made a decision, mistress?"
"I've decided I like beggars on my ship as little as swordsmen."
His eyes were surprisingly bright for his obvious great age. "I outrank you."
Lina had been right―he was a priest. She could tell by the way be spoke. A Sixth? For a moment she thought of telling him to prove it, then changed her mind quickly. The mood the crew was in, they'd all fall flat on their faces before him if he really was a priest of the Sixth. He would be giving the orders, instead of her.
She grunted, trying to make him say more, but he stayed silent, hands clasped in his lap, looking straight ahead, scuffing his feet like a child. Waiting for her, of course. Impudence! Then her attention was drawn back to the main deck again.
"What's going on down there?" She hoped her guess was wrong.
"Another fencing lesson."
Oh, no! She reached for her whistle.
"His idea."
"I don't believe it! A male Fourth asking lessons from a female Second?"
The old man nodded, grinning. He was not looking at Brota. Probably it hurt to turn his neck up at that angle. "Adept Nnanji is an ambitious young man. He says your fencing is different. Is it?"
"Yes. But I never met a landlubber who would admit it was better."
"I'm not sure he went quite that far. But he is always eager to learn."
The fencers were in position, most of the ship's company standing around to watch the sport again. The old man was silent once more, still letting her lead the conversation.
"I could put you all ashore," she said. She had seen many local jetties, most of which would likely handle Sapphire's modest draft. No settlements of any size, though―none that would have a healer able to tell a sword cut from a snakebite.
"You're not going to."
"Don't be so sure."
"I'm sure you won't, mistress. I didn't say you might not try."
"So you came to warn me?"
This time he twisted his head around far enough to flash his gums at her in a smile. Then he went back to watching the fencing. The sound of clashing foils drifted up in the wind, but the crowd was oddly silent.
"You're a priest!"
"Yes."
"What's a priest doing running after swordsmen?"
"Collecting miracles."
"Such as?"
"Such as your son not finishing off Shonsu when he had him on the floor. On the deck."
"You think he's still the Goddess' champion after that fool trick he pulled in Aus?"
The little man adjusted himself on the bench. "Don't try to outguess the gods, Mistress Brota. If She wanted a swordsman to do that, Shonsu was the only one she could have chosen. Right?"
"But why―"
"I don't know. But I shall find out if I live long enough... or not, as the case may be. I learned patience a couple of lifetimes ago."
She studied the pennant and adjusted course. The sails filled more fully, and the ship leaned over happily, like a sleepy dog relaxing. 'Tell me another miracle, then."
"Have you ever seen a slave so loved? Or a Fourth so young? Anyone who has helped Shonsu has been rewarded."
"And my son was punished for being difficult?"
He nodded.
"Even if I agree to let you all stay, the rest of the family may not go along."
He chuckled without looking up.
"One!" That was the swordsman's voice. The crowd muttered.
"He's beating her!" Brota exclaimed.
"He is a very fast learner. Don't underestimate Adept Nnanji. He is not nearly as stupid as he would like to be. Youth! He will grow out of it."
"Shonsu lost a lot of blood," she said. "If that's all, then he'll be up and about in a few days―before we even reach Ki San, likely. Then what? He'll need revenge on Tom'o for wounding him."
The old man chuckled again. "Not Shonsu. He'll shake his hand and offer him some lessons."
"Then he's like no swordsman in the whole World!"
"That's very true." He did not explain.
"Besides, I never heard of a landlubber giving a sailor fencing lessons. Some of them won't even admit it's legal."
"Is it?"
"There's some sutra or other," she muttered. Water rats did not bother much with sutras. "And what if he dies? I've seen wounds become cursed, old man. My brother-in-law had a nick on his hand, and it killed him. My nephew―"
"A sword cut?"
Was that a threat? How had this nasty little busybody learned about that? But he was still apparently intent on the fencing, as though he had not spoken.
'Two!" Nnanji shouted.
"Shonsu is not going to die. He may be very sick..." The old man paused as if considering a sudden idea. "Yes, he may be quite sick. But he won't die. And you'll have no trouble with the rest of us. Your daughter can handle Adept Nnanji for you. His brother is―"
"His brother is a little imp! He was getting a lesson on knots from Oligarro this morning. Why would a landlubber need to know knots?"
He laughed aloud, spraying spit. "That's what Nnanji asked him. But you can guess. And the slave won't leave her master's side, so she's no problem."
"It's that other one. I don't like ship's whores. That Katanji was dropping hints to the boys. Does he?"
"I wouldn't put it past him." He looked up at her in surprise. "I don't think Cowie's important any more. You can get rid of Cowie if you want to, mistress."
"How?"
His eye twinkled, and they suddenly laughed together.
"And young Thana has her heart firmly on Lord Shonsu's tray," the priest said. "Isn't youth wonderful? Do you remember what that was like, mistress? The burning? The agony of being apart? How one person became the sun and all the rest of the World only stars?" He sighed.
How could she forget? Tomiy, young and slender, handsome as a string of diamonds. What could landlubbers ever know of the whirlwind courtships of the riverfolk, the few scattered hours together when the two ships met in port? The awesome commitment, a leap of faith, knowing that one might never see one's family again? And what was left now of Tomiy but a son who'd been manic enough to sauce a swordsman of the Seventh and a wayward, shrewd tittle minx of a daughter...
Another yell of triumph from Nnanji. Thana had not scored at all yet. She would not now; not if the red-haired youth had mastered water rat footwork already.
"Thana has always insisted she would marry a Seventh," Brota admitted. "Tom'o says a nightsoil carrier of the Seventh ..." She had allowed the confrontation to be turned into a conversation, almost a conspiracy, as if the two of them were arranging everything between them. This shriveled antiquity was as sharp as any trader she could think of.
"Not this Seventh, though," he said. "No matter h
ow long she has to try."
"Expect to be on board for some time, do you?"
He nodded and rose stiffly. "It will be quite a long voyage, I think."
"Where to? There are swordsmen in Ki San."
"But Shonsu is not able to recruit them, because of the wound your son gave him. So the contract will still be in force." He beamed at her. Even standing, his eyes were no more than level with hers.
She glared angrily. "I could give back his jewel."
He shook his head. "You shook hands. I have given you your warning, Mistress Brota. Don't antagonize the Goddess any further. Serve Her well and you will be rewarded."
"And what if he dies?"
"He won't."
"You can't know that." Yet his eerie confidence impressed her, and she could usually smell lies at a hundred paces.
"I do know that," the old man said simply. "I am certain."
"Certain is a strong word!"
"There is a prophecy, mistress. I know that Shonsu is not going to die this time, because I know who is going to kill him. And it is not your son."
He walked away, unsteady on the sloping deck.
Nnanji shouted, "Four!" He had won the lesson.
††
"It's too late to drop them overboard," Tomiyano said angrily. Sapphire had just overtaken a wallowing ore barge and was about to pass on the leeward side of a cattle boat. It would not steal their wind, but the neighborhood would be low-class for a few minutes.
Yes, it was much too late―there were witnesses. The River was busy as a marketplace. Morning sunlight danced on the bustling waters. River gulls screamed and swooped overhead. Brota said nothing.
"We could buy a ship apiece with that damned sword. Not to mention his hairclip. And however many more gems he may have in his pouch." In four days he had made a remarkable recovery. The swellings were going down, although his shoulders were striped in more shades than a seamstress' silk box, and he moved his arms as if they were old as the sutras. He was leaning on the rail at her side, grumbling. She did not think he was serious, but if she showed interest he might be. Trying her out, tempting. His ordeal had not made him easier to handle. Whatever the cost, he had felled a swordsman of the Seventh, and very few sailors had ever been able to claim that.
