by Dave Freer
Keilin turned, releasing the rail from his desperate clutch. "If you say another word . . . I'll kill you." His gray face was in such deadly earnest that the boy retreated in haste. Shael forgot she was never going to speak to him again, and groaned a heartfelt, "Thank God. Oh Cay . . . I'm going to die!"
He just groaned.
* * *
Seasickness doesn't last forever, although to the sufferer it feels as if it is going to. By evening Keilin was feeling totally drained, but at least he felt reassured that surviving until tomorrow would not simply mean more punishment. In the morning he ventured cautiously into the officers' mess, wearing the necklace of onions and garlic cloves given to him by the same grinning cabin boy. The Princess was already seated, eating an insubstantial breakfast of tea and toast. She sniffed when he came to sit down. "Don't you ever wash? You stink . . . but I think your jewellery suits you."
He sat down cautiously. "I think," he said in a loud voice, "I'll have gureasy bacon, and half-coooked slimy eggs." He had the satisfaction of seeing her turn green, when a bellow came from above. "Hands! All hands to your stations!" The ship yawed and shuddered as they changed course. They went up on deck to find out what was happening. The grim-faced mate explained. "Masthead lookout spotted raider sails. We'll run nor'east and try to lose 'em. We usually beat those square-riggers trousers down quartering the wind."
They did, but by late afternoon they saw another raider, and had to beat further east into the darkness. Keilin was up on deck the next day, sitting and sharpening his assegai blade when the yell came from the swaying masthead "Sail. Nor'-nor'east."
"What sail?" came the bellow from the bridge.
"Small craft, sir. Lateen." A few moments later the gray-haired harsh-faced skipper himself was climbing the rigging with his telescope.
"What is it, Captain?" Keilin ventured onto the bridge. He was nervous, but he knew he had to find out what had been decided at the masthead. As usual S'kith followed him up.
"Small boat, young man. Maybe a Hashvilli trap. We'll bear away a point or two," the Captain said matter-of-factly, not paying a great deal of attention.
"No. They have no more water, and some of them are dying. They are from Port Lockry," Keilin said in a voice so emotionless it might have come from S'kith. He did not say that, amid the images of thirst and desperation, there was also the image of a face he knew. However, that was why he raised the assegai, until the razor-sharp spearpoint rested on the skipper's breastbone. Behind him he heard the rasp of S'kith's sword coming free. "You will order the crew to make all possible sail and bear for her."
The captain was a tough man, master of his own bridge. He didn't flinch. "This is mutiny, boy. You know what the penalty for that is?" he said, in a voice that showed no sign of quavering.
"I don't want to hurt anyone. But I will kill you if I have to. On that boat there is a Captain Sven Barrow. You are going to rescue him," Keilin said in the kind of voice that brooks no argument.
The stern-faced man reacted far more to this than at the threatening assegai. He started and actually looked frightened. "Barrow . . . he's months overdue. How do you know about him?"
Keilin sighed. "I just do. I also know that they're dying. Sometimes I know things . . . And I'm never wrong . . ." His voice faded away. He wished he could just explain and be believed without killing. But it was a lot of faith to ask of anyone, and if he had to kill someone to get them rescued, he would.
The sea captain looked at him strangely, almost warily. Then after a long pause he said, "Put down the spear, boy."
Keilin dropped the assegai. The captain's eyes were suddenly very wide. "You knew . . . you knew I was going to fetch them, before you did that. Sven and I were shipmates once."
Keilin nodded nodded. "Yes. I knew. It was . . . right. And I promise, if they're not who I say they are, you can do to me whatever you usually do to people for mutiny."
The normal grim countenance was back. "Believe me, boy, I will. Now take that damn sharp thing off my deck. And don't ever come up here with it again. And take that shaven-haired goon of yours with you."
"I think," said S'kith slowly, in his usual expressionless voice, "that I will stay up here and make sure you keep your word."
"Out!" roared the captain.
S'kith stood impassive. "Better leave him, sir," said Keilin quietly. "And whatever you do, don't threaten him with a weapon of any sort."
It was a thirty-two-foot whaleboat, with a jury-rigged mast and sail. There were seventeen dried-out husks of men in it, some unconscious and one dead. The skeletal captain spoke with difficulty through his cracked lips. "Bloody calms to the north. We outran seven lots of Hashvilli. The eighth got us without any wind, and them with oars, just at dusk." He managed the semblance of a smile, "Sank the bastards. But the old Hedda got holed too, and was going down on us."
He sighed. "I lost my youngest boy in the fight. Mara begged me not to take him . . . but he begged harder to come along, I suppose. We've been adrift for six weeks now, and without water for the last three days. Short rations for weeks before that. That cost me my oldest son, too. But I don't think there'd have been a man alive by tomorrow."
He sighed again. "You took a hell of a chance coming to pick us up, Gabe. I'm damn glad you did o' course, but . . ."
"I didn't take a chance at all, Sven. That boy over there knew what you was. Even knew your name, an' where you hail from. Probably knows what your house number is." The captain permitted himself a rare smile. "He was all set to put his pig sticker through me if I didn't go an' fetch you."
The rescued man looked at Keilin, and reached out a hand. "Fey, is he? Had a bosun like that once, got us out of a lot of trouble."
Keilin felt his emotions roiling inside him as he shook the weak hand. "Owe you my life, boy, me an' what's left of the Hedda's crew."
"It's nothing," he muttered, and turned and fled.
Behind him the rescued man said, "Lucky man to have on board, Gabe. I'd listen really careful to what he says. But the fey 'uns are unhappy folk, mostly. That bosun of mine killed himself in the end."
* * *
"There's no way I'm venturing my ship further north, mister. Not after what Cap'n Barrow's told me." The captain's iciness was fully a match for Cap's. "I'll refund your charter, or I'll put you ashore anywhere else you're wishful of going. But not north."
CHAPTER 12
Cap paced the close confines of the cabin. His anger was palpable, dangerous. "So now we're running south again. I'll have the bastard's liver out, when we reach shore. According to all the citizens I spoke to he's the best skipper that dunghill town had to offer me. Now that castaway friend of his, that you"—he rounded viciously on Keilin—"had to persuade him to fish out of the drink, has persuaded him that it's not possible to go north. We're unlikely to get another vessel, so we're back to going overland. Where everybody and his bloody dog is waiting for us!"
There was a long silence. Finally Keilin spoke up in a subdued voice. "There is a way that nobody would be expecting us to use."
Cap turned his sarcasm on the boy. "Where, O my pocket genius? For a thief brat who probably has no idea where he is right now you're mighty full of answers, aren't you? Well? Speak, O master of geography."
"We sail south, round Cape Ebrek, and up the Narrow Sea—"
Cap interrupted, "So you have garnered some geographical knowledge from somewhere. But what you don't know is that Dunbar, at the head of the Narrow Sea, fell to the Morkth nearly ten years back. The caravan route from Dunbar to the east is no more, brat. So that scuppers your plan, which I admit was brighter than I thought you capable of."
"There is a way across the desert and the mountains from Port Tinarana. It comes out near where you found us," Keilin said quietly.
Cap looked at him in surprise. "How the hell do you know that, boy? There used to be . . . maybe two hundred years ago. A little river you could follow . . . I forget its name . . ."
"Syrah."
/> "So it was! Well, well. I wonder where you heard about that from? Doesn't really matter, I suppose. The river is dry, and no one goes that way any more."
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Keilin cautiously, "but I did. And I can take you across the desert and into the Tyn States by the back door, where no one will be looking for us."
Cap's eyes narrowed. "Beywulf. You've been to Tinarana in the last fifteen years, when you were hiring out down in Ebrek. Ask this boy about the place. Show me he's really been there. He's inclined to be a bloody little liar."
"He's lived there, Cap. He knows the food too well to be lying about it. But if he knows the answer to this, you can bet on it. Keilin, what do the locals call that posh eatery on Deale Street with the red doors?"
Keilin couldn't help grinning. "The ring of fire."
"Why?"
"The meat's usually at least on the turn, if it's not from the town cats, so the proprietor makes up for it with lots of those little red bird's-eye chili peppers . . . the really white-hot kind. Most customers end up with the trots, if they're lucky, with the peppers still burning on the way out. No local would ever eat there."
Bey chuckled. "I got caught good. One of the other guards was from Port T. He told me about its local name when he heard my swearing from the heads. The boy's been there all right."
"And he dresses and behaves like the desert. Yet we found him on the other side of the mountains. Hmm. Boy, you've got yourself a job. Now you go and tell that bloody prig of a captain where he's taking us," ordered Cap.
"Why me? I mean, he won't listen to me. I . . . I don't think he wants me up on the bridge," said Keilin, alarmed.
Cap smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Three reasons, boy. Because I've told you to, because you got us into this shit in the first place, and because if I go up there I'll probably wring his scrawny neck. Now get."
So Keilin got.
Despite his nervousness, his reception on the bridge was cordial. He even drew a wintry smile from the captain. To his relief, Captain Barrow was not there. He still didn't want to look the man in the eye. He found that the skipper listened with unusual care to him, and that his request to put ashore at Port Tinarana was also well received.
"We'll have to put in to Port Lockry first, of course."
"Surely, but . . . why? I . . . I need a reason to tell Cap," he hastily explained.
This drew a definite smile. "Tell him we need to reprovision and offload Hedda's crew. Actually, I want to load cargo, and make it a more profitable trip. We're sailing empty now because I thought we'd have to run, and run fast. But around there should be safe enough. Or how do you feel about it?"
Keilin didn't pretend not to understand. "I'm sorry, sir. It only happens every now and again. I can't predict your future. I wish I could even predict my own."
The captain laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Good enough, son. It's not any easy thing that you have. We'll sail to Port Tinarana. All I ask is that you try to keep that arrogant master of yours off my bridge"—he gave a small shudder—"and that shaven-headed enforcer of yours. But you can come up anytime."
* * *
One of the other results of fishing the Hedda's crew out of the sea, was that cabin space had to be reshuffled to make room for them, especially those who had to be nursed. Shael found herself having to share quarters with Leyla. It was a small cubbyhole of a place, with two bunks, a sea chest and little else. Shael burned with resentment, of course, and when angry she could never keep a still tongue in her head. She was subjecting Leyla to a diatribe on the injustice of it all when the sultry woman threw a question that she was not prepared to field.
"So why's the boyfriend so miserable?" she said.
There was silence.
"You want me to get out of the cabin for a while, to give the two of you a bit of . . . privacy?" Leyla continued.
"We're not . . . I mean I don't know what you mean, or who you're talking about." Shael said, defensive tones creeping into her voice.
Amusement showed in Leyla's half smile. "I know you're not sleeping with him. But you're always trying to manipulate him. I was just surprised. I always find men much easier to steer when I've got them by the balls."
It was bluntly said, but it struck home. Shael blushed redly, and spoke in a moment of honesty. "I tried." Then the anger, embarrassment, and embitterment of it all made her burst out. "I asked him! I offered myself to him. And he turned me down! Me! And now he's been sleeping with some fat old woman while we were in that horrible harbor town. I hate him!"
She was crying, furious, miserable and pouring out a torrent of words, in which Keilin featured prominently. A dispassionate observer would have had some difficulty in reconciling her descriptions of events with actuality or the boy's point of view. But Leyla was not dispassionate. And once, very long ago, she'd felt much the same way. So she let Shael finish her eruption, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and an arm to lean on, while they sat down on the sea chest together.
"It's all right, little sister. It's all right. He'll come back."
Shael sobbed and shook her head. "He won't. He . . . he's from the bottom of the gutter. His mother was . . . a prostitute. He's a thief. He should know as much about chivalry as I do about . . . sailing. But . . . the core sections show him as he sees himself. He's a small, small knight in this big suit of armor, on a white horse, fighting evil and dragons and rescuing damsels. And he wants to be big enough to fill that suit of armor."
She sniffed. "So, he says that commoners like him and my kind don't mix. But he'll take me to my father and then disappear. He just doesn't understand!"
"But I do, Shael. And I promise you . . . he said no, but he's been kicking himself every night."
"Are you sure . . . I mean, why?"
"Because he's a normal man, if a young one, and they're even randier and less logical at that stage. Also," she said wryly, "he's stopped following me about with his eyes. It's not often that I lose them like that."
She looked at the surprise and hope in Shael's eyes, seeing as well the unasked question. "No. I always left him to you. You'd clearly marked him as your prey. And I use sex for generating alliances. Taking him would have made you even more my enemy." She smiled. "Besides, to be honest, the poor boy was so frustrated, he would have done anything for me anyway."
"Do you . . . I mean . . . is sex always just a weapon?" Shael asked doubtfully
"Oh no," said Leyla, in a deep throaty voice, with the hungry smile of the tigress. "It can be . . . delicious. Shall I show you?" she said, putting a hand on Shael's inner thigh.
She gave a shriek of laughter as Shael jumped, startled. "There. That's got you to stop feeling quite so sorry for yourself. Now, let's plan your stalking of your flighty knight. You can sit down again. I have had girl lovers, but they were all willing and eager ones. And quite frankly, dear, organizing your chase is more fun. I've never done that before. Now, first off you've got to get talking to him again. He's been really miserable since we rescued those folk. He needs someone to talk to. Go and find him. Be nice . . . for a change. But first," she looked at Shael's face critically, "let's do some repairs."
She found him at the stern rail, looking out at the trailing bubbles, and the lazily following gulls. His shoulders were hunched, and he failed to react to her approach. He was normally so wary that she couldn't come within yards of him without him noticing. This time she had to touch him lightly on the arm before he jumped like a startled cat.
"Careful. You'll end up in the sea, and the captain's in such a hurry to get out of here I don't know how keen he'd be on turning around to pick you up."
He managed a small smile, which, as it failed to extend to his eyes, was a parody of his normal grin. "It wouldn't matter. I can't swim anyway. I'd be drowned before they could get back."
"Then I'd have to jump in after you. And I've just washed my hair." She smiled at him, one of her devastating, saved-for-the-occasion smiles, which she had practiced so often in front of th
e mirror.
He sighed. "What can I do for you this time, Princess?"
It hit her like a douche of cold water. His reaction to her smile was to assume she wanted something. She looked down, bit her lip slightly, and looked vulnerable. Had she but known it, she looked far more beautiful like that than in one of her studied smiles. "Nothing . . . only you seemed so miserable, and I was feeling bad about the way I've been treating you lately. I . . . I just wanted us to be friends again."
He put his arm around her shoulder. It was working, she thought triumphantly. He was quiet for a long time, still staring into the sea. Finally he sighed. "I'm sorry, Kim. I can't explain."
Heartened by the familiar name, she touched his arm lightly. Her voice was gentle, quiet, "Try."
He turned from the sea, and looked into her eyes. Finally he spoke. "It's this mind thing. This psi. I . . . I sometimes get pictures . . . or feelings to do something. Not often. It's just this dread that if I don't . . ." He looked at the sea again. "With the people in that boat. I knew just how thirsty and desperate they were . . . how hopeless."
"You saved them, Cay. Without you they'd have died." Her eyes were soft, sympathetic.
He looked at the deck planking to avoid looking at her. "I knew who they were, see. Because . . ." it came out in a rush, "the woman I was with those nights in Port Lockry. It was her face the captain was thinking of. She . . . I was just an escape, I suppose. Maybe she also felt sorry for me. There'd been the fighting and we'd all been scared to death. And all that killing and . . . well, and she's human, ordinary, not like you. I mean, she also needs, um, just physical . . . But she didn't ever pretend she loved me. She didn't stop loving them. She was worrying about them all the time. Her husband and her three boys. I wanted her to want me."
He looked up. Looked her full in the eyes. "I knew they were there from the night before. And I was going to leave them to die."
