The Forlorn

by Dave Freer

  He turned and walked off, leaving her to stare open-mouthed after him.

  * * *

  A lighthouse had already been erected on the cliff above Port Lockry, and the channel was now clear, even at low water. There was a huge crowd to welcome them into port. Keilin found himself peering into the crowd, his keen eyes looking for her face. He found it, and thus was able to watch the expression as someone called out. "Hey . . . That's Hedda's crew on board!" And he saw hope blossom, and he saw her begin frantically waving.

  Keilin was sitting in the deserted ship's mess, getting himself quietly and systematically drunk. Everyone else was ashore. In the excitement of the castaways' return he'd been able to slip away between decks without too much effort. S'kith had wanted to stay on board with him, but Keilin had chased him off to join the three enthusiastically waving girls, with Bey's amused comments still ringing in his ears. But now the ship was ghostly quiet, only the near-still-water sounds of an occasional moving hawser, breaking its tomb stillness. He heard feet on the gangplank, but paid no attention to the noise, other than to hope that whoever it was wouldn't disturb him.

  "Boy Hero." Only one person had ever called him that. He stood up unsteadily. She came over to him as he swayed next to the mess table. Took his hands. Her eyes were luminous with a kind of deep happiness that had been absent when he'd last been with her. Then she hugged him. "Gabe told me what you did. Sven and my son wanted to ask you to come and stay with us. I said I didn't think it was a good idea. I said you'd feel awkward there." She gave a small smile, guilty, and yet mischievous, making her face look twenty years younger. "I didn't say you'd probably have walked into the wrong damn bedroom."

  Keilin felt his ears burning, and his heart doing uncomfortable bumps. "I'm sorry . . . I couldn't do anything about your other boys," he said, awkwardly.

  She sighed. "Lover. Three days ago they were all dead. I didn't want to admit it, but . . . I didn't ever really believe I'd see them again. But I still came down to see every ship that came in, just in case there was news. When I saw it was Starchaser coming in I was bitterly angry . . . with you. What right had you to come back safely when my man and my boys were lost? I didn't want to see you ever again. And then my Sven and Olaf were on board! I even kissed old Gabe Soren's ugly face about sixteen times. And then about an hour later . . . I found out that if it hadn't been for you, Boy Hero, they wouldn't ever have come home."

  She smiled softly. Touched his cheek gently. "It . . . couldn't have been easy for you, seeing them go with me, so happy, an' you left here alone, but . . . it was the greatest gift you could ever have given me. I hope you find a girl of your own age soon and"—mischief dimpled her cheek—"I hope she likes your spear as much as I did. If not, well, come an' see me, if Sven's away. If Olaf ever leaves home again. He's taking a job in the boatyard and not going to sea again, I'm glad to say. Sven's got the captaincy of a coaster. It's not what he's used to, but it'll see him home more often."

  Keilin swayed, but he managed to smile in return. "I probably won't ever be back, Mara. You, I, it was . . . um. Anyway, you'll be busy with the baby."

  Her face blanked. "Baby?"

  "You're going to have one. A girl. I know."

  She was silent for a long time. "Yours?"

  He shook his head. "It just hit me now. I really don't know. I just saw the picture of you . . . and it. Her. Counting toes."

  The smile began slowly, and grew, and grew. "Not bloody morning sickness again! At my age!" She hugged him fiercely. "You know what, Keilin. I don't care who her father is. Only . . . she'll never go away to sea. Good-bye . . . Boy Hero." She kissed him slowly, "Good luck and . . . I'll always be thinking of you."

  He sat down at the table again, toying with his glass after she'd left. It didn't seem so necessary any more. More footsteps. Furtive ones this time. Who could it be now?

  "She must be 'ere. She ain't in any of the other places." Quietly said. Full of sibilant threat.

  "Third cabin to the right, upper deck. Cost me a bloody fortune in drinks to find tha' out." A slightly whiny voice replied.

  "Never mind. We'll be makin' a bloomin' fortune out of this. I just 'ope 'Enery got them horses ready and waitin'. I wouldn't want ter tangle wiv some of those fellers in the bar, meself. Third right, upper deck, you say?"

  "Yep. S'right."

  "Then what we' doin' daan 'ere?"

  "Keepin' outa sight. Now shut yer gob an' let's get on wiv it."

  Keilin found his way to his feet, threat clearing away some of the alcohol fumes. He picked up his assegai, and stumbled over his feet, as he headed towards the door. "Shh! Keilin!"

  The whisper had come from the far side of the door. He moved over to it. She was hiding behind the cook's hatch, in the kitchen. He slipped round to its door, and then went inside. Slid the bolt. In the moonlight through the porthole he could see Shael with an eighteen-inch butcher's knife in her hand.

  "Why didn't you go after them?" she demanded in a fierce whisper.

  He swayed towards the door.

  "No! You're drunk. Stay here with me!" she countermanded.

  He blinked owlishly at her. "What," he asked, with an attempt at dignity, "are you doing in here?"

  "Shhh! They're looking for me," she said in an urgent whisper.

  "I may be drunk, but I worked that out. That doesn't answer my question."

  "SHHH!"

  They were coming back. "Well she ain't there, clever dick. All those bloomin' drinks fer sod all!"

  "Try the mess."

  Doors opened quietly. "Well, there's a light 'ere. Sign someone's been 'ere. Looks like someone's bin doin' a spot o' private pissin' it up."

  "She's probably in bed with 'ooever it is. Come on. We'll check she no' at the tavern after all."

  The sounds of the footsteps leaving, and the creak of the gangplank let them both exhale.

  "Cay . . . I can't go back to my cabin. They might come back. Can I come to yours?" she asked in a small voice.

  He nodded. In silence they went back up to his small cabin. She had to help him up the steep stairway to the next floor, and having watched him fumble with the key for two minutes, she opened his door for him. She locked it behind them. "Have the bunk," he slurred, sitting down against the door, assegai in hand.

  She slid into the bunk, bit her lip, and slipped her dress over her head. She lay there for a few moments in the darkness, gathering courage. Finally, she said, quietly, "Cay. I . . . I'm cold."

  There was no answer.

  Cautiously she leaned over the edge of the bunk. The moonlight from the porthole showed him slumped over sideways, still holding the assegai. He gave a gentle snore.

  Shael sighed and lifted her eyes to the uncaring ceiling. "I thought I'd been prepared for everything that could happen on my first night in a man's bed," she muttered. It was a long, long while before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  The vessel was full of noise and moving folk when she awoke. It was also crisp and cool now. It had been anything but cool in this stuffy little cabin before she'd fallen asleep. She'd been going to dress again . . . but it had been too hot. Now the porthole was open. And somebody had thrown a blanket over her. That somebody was still lying under a blanket on the floor. How was she to know that he'd stood there looking at her in the small hours? The light of the sinking moon had streamed in through the porthole, and bathed the bunk in its brightness. It had taken him a very long time to decide to turn away and open the porthole, before covering her curves gently, ever so gently, with a blanket out of his sea chest.

  Hastily she slipped on her undergarments and her spangled dress. She got up, stepping over Keilin, waking him as she unbolted the door. With luck she could be safely back in her own cabin before anyone noticed . . .

  She listened. All quiet. She stepped out boldly, to find at least three people coming down the passage. She fled, her ears burning at the sound of Beywulf's Wagnerian laughter. "And I was just going to start looking for her."<
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  * * *

  "So you say they were definitely looking for her." Cap eyed them with more disfavor than the rejected pieces of bacon gristle on his plate.

  Keilin nodded. "No doubt, sir."

  "Any ideas who they were from?"

  "No. I didn't recognize the voices at all," said Shael looking down at her feet, just as she had when she'd been asked where she had been, and why.

  "Still, as the whole port thinks we're going north again, and thinks us mad into the bargain, I suppose no harm is done. And no one else knows this trail of yours, do they, boy?"

  Keilin shook his head.

  Cap waved a hand dismissively at them. "I'll have some coffee, Cook. Hell's teeth, why don't you let my sergeant-major show you a thing or two."

  From the distant clifftops three men watched the disappearing Starchaser in puzzlement. "She's on it, that's for sure. But that's a bloody strange course for the north," commented the one, to whom the others referred as 'Enery. Shael would have recognized him at once.

  By the time the ship had weathered the storm around Cape Ebrek, and had left the cold midnight-blue depths of the great ocean, to sail up the clear aquamarine waters of the Narrow Sea, Keilin was very glad of his refuge on the bridge. He'd even gone to the length of hiding out in the swaying crows' nest. Didn't she understand what she was doing to him? He'd told her just what their roles in life were. She had a couple of armies looking for her. Wasn't that enough? Why the hell did she want him too? Still, he dwelled at some length, and with remarkable tribute to his powers of observation, on the memory of her lying naked in the moonlight on his bunk.

  CHAPTER 13

  The sun burned relentlessly. The sea moved in azure and aquamarine curves around the foam-laced reefs. The sky tinted to copper with the dust and heat. And Port Tinarana stank.

  Keilin stared out at it from the bridge, and tried not to wrinkle his nose at it. How many years of his life were tied up in this stench? And he didn't even remember it. There was the Patrician's palace, hanging above the water. There on the hill stood a burned-out shell of a building too. It was definitely the right town. But . . . how had it become so small?

  "You're sure you won't stay, son?" The captain's heavy hand rested heavily on Keilin's shoulder.

  He shook his head, slowly, "Thank you, sir, but no. There are things I have to do."

  The stern-faced man blew out between his teeth. "I wish I didn't understand what you meant, Keil, my lad. Still, you go carefully. That's some unchancy folk you're mixing with there. Don't you trust that supercilious Cap fellow. You watch that Leyla woman too. She knows too damn well that when a man's balls start thinking, his head doesn't. That," he said, with an almost smile, "is hell of advice from a sour old man that girls steer clear of, but I wasn't always that way. When they start looking at you like that little one does, it's time to take a berth, any berth, to any place else."

  "She's a princess, sir. This is her idea of fun. She knows she'll marry some high muck-a-muck sometime, but in the meanwhile she uses me to keep her claws sharp. I wish she'd pick on someone else," Keilin said with wry acceptance.

  The old sea captain laughed. "You've certainly spent a lot of time up here dodging her. Well, good luck, boy. If you ever need a berth, there's a place for you on Starchaser."

  The captain watched from the bridge as they disembarked onto the crowded quayside, making no effort to come down and speak to his departing passengers. Finally he turned to his first mate. "Notice, Mister Mate, how that boy keeps himself mighty quiet and in the background. Did it here on the ship too. But I found miserable beggars like the purser, and even young snots like that cabin boy of mine listened to him, and did him favors. I've been a ship's captain half my life. I can see a good officer a mile off. That one's got a way about him that breeds loyalty. No high-flying orders and heroics like yon Cap feller, but folk'll do more for that boy in the end, than for him. When that Cru high an' mighty sees that, he'll not like it. I reckon the girl's not stupid either. Reckon they taught her to choose good ones, even if she'd no marriage in mind."

  * * *

  The crowd at the dockside had a haunting familiarity to it. It was strange to Keilin to walk those streets in daylight, and to be an outsider. The shrill cries of the vendors, the whores in their windows, the sharp scents of spices and curries, the overwhelming stink of the drains, the smell of camel-dung fires . . . they all brought it back to him sharply. He kept looking about for faces that he might recognize.

  A military party was coming their way, down from the Patrician's palace. As they drew closer Keilin realized with shock that he did recognize the face of the man who was leading it.

  It was not a face Keilin would ever forget. But the Guard-Captain had obviously seen promotion. He was now Commander of the Patrician's personal Guard, escorting that individual's litter through the streets. Cap's group was wedged against the walls of the narrow street. Keilin lowered his face, wishing the wall would open up and swallow him. This was no alley, but he had his back to a wall again.

  The Guard Commander's eyes washed across them . . . across Keilin's face, and on without pause. Keilin started to breathe again, as the man passed by. He felt the tension run out of him.

  "Yeth? And what do we have here?" The lisping voice was cruel. There was no fear in the voice now—just power. Silence fell. "Commander." Kemp turned, the forty armed men of the bodyguard halting too, readying weapons. Keilin looked for a place to run, and saw no breaks. "That girl. I want her."

  His beringed plump white finger with its exquisitely manicured nail poked at Leyla.

  The silence was torn by the sound of Beywulf's terrible jagged-edged sword being drawn. His lips drew back exposing his own yellow snaggle teeth. "Leave her alone."

  Cap looked over the heads of the crowd, who were doing their best to melt away in a hurry without being obtrusive. "Bey. Let me handle this."

  "Withe. Tell your thervantth that rethithtanth meanth death. Put that ugly thword away and I'll forget it." The Patrician was plainly not that cowed by Beywulf's threat.

  "Hold, Beywulf. Don't sheath . . . yet. Patrician Vedas," Cap said in a clear carrying voice, the voice of a power, speaking as if to one of his councillors, with whom he was a little out of charity, "we're not your citizens. We are simply on our way through your charming city. I don't think you want to delay us. By this patch you know that I speak for the Crew. Remember, you are mine to command. I don't need to tell you about what happens to those who obstruct the Crew's ends."

  The Patrician smiled. Those white teeth were filed. Keilin would swear to it. He wished he'd spent more time telling them about his city and what to avoid. But they had planned a quick walk to the camel yards and then to be away. And he really hadn't wanted to talk about it. "Commander, thee that theth people accompany me back to the palathe. Thereth thomeone I want them to meet."

  Leyla laughed. It cut through all tension. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. After all I've just received a very flattering bit of attention." She looked under lowered lashes at the plump, white-robed man. "I'm dying to see your palace."

  The Patrician gave a high-pitched giggle. "Dying . . . yeth! I mutht thow you my pleathure roomth . . . in the thellars. I'm thure you'll jutht be devoured with pleathure. Come along then." He giggled again.

  Keilin desperately wished he'd told her just what the Patrician's particular perversion was rumored to be.

  They found themselves marched away from the direction of the camel yards, away toward the many-turreted white marble palace. Keilin wondered what had replaced the treasury. He was afraid he might find out. "There. You don't have to solve everything with a sword blade, Sergeant-Major. A little harmless entertainment on Leyla's part, something she's hardly unfamiliar with, and a bit of `big brother is watching you' from me and we'll be on our way without any trouble, and very possibly with some help."

  "Sir," whispered Keilin urgently, "I must . . ."

  "You must learn to keep your long nose o
ut of what doesn't concern you, boy. Now, shut up."

  So Keilin retreated, to find himself buttonholed by Shael. Her childhood training stood her in good stead. "What's frightening you so badly? Does Cap really trust the plump little snake of a local ruler?"

  "Yes. He thinks everyone will still be overawed by his Cru badge. He doesn't understand that it only works with ordinary people nowadays. I don't think Patrician Vedas is superstitious, and anyway he obviously believes that he's above any law, now. He used to have women stolen for him by night . . . now he comes and demands them in the street."

  Beywulf had dropped back to walk just in front of Keilin. In an undervoice he said, "Keil . . . what were you trying to tell the man?"

  "He kills them, Bey. Nobody knows what happens to the girls that go into his cellars." He didn't add that rumor, and the frequency at which girls disappeared, suggested it wasn't a quick death.

  Shael took a long sharp look at him. She could see his fear. She realized that she had often seen him afraid, but always facing that fear. This was the first time she'd seen him ready to break and run. His face was sweat-beaded and almost gray with terror. With shock she realized she could actually feel his fear. The core section in his ankle pouch must be freezing. Any minute now they'd have the Morkth on top of them. He had met other terrible foes along their travels, but this . . . the fear was inculcated in early youth, and distance and experience had done nothing to lessen it. Well, she'd been warned. She'd better prepare for it. "Lend me your small knife for a minute, please, Cay. I need to trim my nails, and put my moisturizing cream on," she said calmly.

  Mutely he handed her the tiny blade from his pocket. Biting the inside of her lip slightly, she set out to manipulate him. At least this time she was doing it for his own good. He was scared, desperately scared for himself. She would shift the fear to worrying about the rest of them. Worrying about her. She knew he would react. He always did. He'd put his own problems behind him somehow, and find the courage and resource to help his companions. She knew she had to break his funk before panic took over, but she still felt despicable doing this. "He's going to kill me . . . and Leyla. Help us, Keilin, please!"