Song of the Current

by Sarah Tolcser

  To my intense relief, he instantly jumped up and did as I commanded. The mast came rattling down, weighted by the lead counterbalance at its base. Lacking experience, Tarquin let part of the sail sag into the water. I couldn’t worry about that right now.

  Without the sail, Cormorant lost speed, slicing through the water foot by foot, then inch by inch. Her bow disappeared, swallowed up by the trees. Branches trailed across her deck like long hair.

  Her stern still hung out, visible to anyone on the river. Without thinking, I jumped overboard, my feet sinking into soft mud. The water was little more than shoulder deep. Leaning hard on Cormorant’s hull, I shoved with all my weight.

  Slowly, slowly she moved under the trees’ veil, helped along by the last of her momentum. I glanced wildly down the river. Cormorant had a low profile and dark paint, but would the shadows be enough to hide us?

  The approaching ship was still mostly concealed by the trees, but I could hear the creak-thump of her rigging and the swish of water streaming past her hull. Any moment she would round the bend. My chest tightened. I crouched in the water like a frog, with only the top of my head above the surface. The smell of mud and grass was thick in my nose.

  The ship passed, her wake sloshing over me. My vantage point was too low to see much of her, other than a glimpse of blue paint.

  Ten minutes slid agonizingly by before Fee’s face appeared over the edge of the deck. Without a word she dropped the rope ladder.

  “Was it—?” I felt for the bottom rung.

  “Them.”

  I heaved myself up. Water streamed out of my clothes, pooling at my feet.

  “This is intolerable.” Tarquin sat in the cockpit, hands balled into fists. “They almost caught us.” I realized he was shaking. “There has to be another way.”

  I felt suddenly weary. “This is the only way to Valonikos.”

  “You don’t understand! You’re not the one in danger!”

  “Aren’t I?” I pressed a hand to my bandaged gunshot wound. “I was shot because of you, but I guess that’s slipped your mind.” I noticed his eyes were cast down at the cockpit floor and demanded, “Why aren’t you looking at me when I’m talking?”

  “Because,” he said stiffly, “your shirt is wet and I can see right through it. Though I suppose manners go unappreciated on this wooden bucket.”

  I slapped my arms over my chest and went down the ladder into the cabin.

  “Wooden bucket,” I muttered. How dare he accuse me of not having manners, when all he’d done all day was insult me? I jerked open the door of my locker, yanking out a towel.

  And froze, my gaze drawn to the curtain separating Pa’s cabin from mine. I glanced over my shoulder at the cockpit steps. Tarquin thought I was changing.

  This might be my only chance.

  Pulling open the drawers of Pa’s desk, I rifled through the papers. Nothing—just old contracts and rolled-up charts. I lifted the straw mattress, feeling the slats under it. He hadn’t hidden the letter there. I hoped I’d be able to hear Tarquin coming over the pounding in my ears. Whirling in a circle, I scanned the rest of the tiny cabin for anywhere he might have stashed the message.

  But the letter wasn’t hidden in Pa’s bunk. Where could it be? Pa’s clothes had no inside pockets to conceal something like that, and I knew every inch of Cormorant’s main cabin—it wasn’t out there. Unless there was no letter.

  Earlier when I’d said his name, Tarquin hadn’t answered, almost as if … An icy chill crept over me. Almost as if Tarquin wasn’t his name at all.

  A royal courier in an enchanted box. It sounded like a fairy tale because it was. A flicker of anger jumped to life inside me. I hated being tricked. Whoever Tarquin Meridios really was, he’d made me look like an idiot.

  A creak on the steps alerted me. I flung the sheets back on the bed and softly slid the desk drawers shut. Heart thudding, I whipped my wet shirt off and whisked the towel around myself. I spun to glimpse Tarquin ducking his head to enter the cabin.

  He bumped into me, and I almost dropped the towel.

  “Why are you snooping around in my room?” He towered over me.

  “It’s not your room.” I clutched the towel tight, acutely aware of my bare shoulders. Water dripped on the floor from my drenched trousers. “I was just—looking for a towel.”

  Tarquin skimmed his fingers across the bandage on my arm. “I—” He cleared his throat. I saw a flutter there. “I didn’t mean to make light of your injury.”

  Something shot through me like a bolt of lightning. My cheeks burned.

  He trailed his hand down the towel. I inhaled, immobilized by the shock of his touch. Then he leaned in, and I knew he was going to kiss me.

  I slapped him across the face.

  His hand flew to his reddened cheek as if he couldn’t quite believe what I’d done. That second of wondering hesitation was all I needed.

  I yanked my knife from its sheath, spinning out of his reach. By the time he recovered enough to react, I was behind him. I grasped a handful of his shirt and twisted, holding him in place.

  And pressed the tip of my blade into his back.

  We stood frozen in a silent, tense stalemate. I felt the erratic up-and-down movement as he tried to get control of his breath. I hoped my knife hand wasn’t shaking. The danger of my situation hit me all at once. He seemed sheltered and spoiled, but for all I knew it was an act. If he was lying about being a courier, he might be anyone.

  “You realize I’m a lot stronger than you.” His voice was steady. “And trained in hand-to-hand fighting. I can break your arm before you know what’s happening. If I choose to.”

  “You realize this is a knife,” I said right back, my heart racing at his threat. “I can gut you before you break my arm. If I choose to.”

  “You won’t do it.”

  “I’ve skinned half a thousand fish,” I said. “I’ll skin you.”

  I couldn’t imagine doing anything of the kind, but I’d never had a boy just up and try to kiss me like that, as if he was entitled to it.

  “You’re bluffing,” he said.

  Of course I was, but what about him? I studied him, my gaze lingering on his arms. Yesterday when he helped me out of the dinghy, I’d noticed his surprising strength. He might be telling the truth about having combat training. Whether he’d ever been in an actual fight … I was more skeptical about that.

  Should I confront him? Accuse him of lying? Alone with him here in the cabin, I suddenly didn’t feel safe. I almost resented him more for that than for lying to me. Cormorant was my home.

  “Why did you do that?” I dug the point of the knife in.

  “Ow! I thought you wanted to. You’re the one who came into my room. With no shirt on. And then you looked at me like—I had the impression—Well, everyone knows girls from the riverlands—” He stopped.

  “Everyone knows girls from the riverlands what?” I poked harder with the blade, hoping my voice sounded dangerous.

  “Never mind,” he muttered. “It wasn’t gracious.”

  Damn right it wasn’t gracious.

  I was beginning to rethink my position. While it was true that I had him at a disadvantage, I was pressed up against his back. I could smell his scent and feel the damp warmth rising off the skin of his neck.

  “I can’t believe you thought I would—ugh!” I let him go, backing across the cabin.

  “I’d heard the girls in the riverlands are more … experienced … than in Akhaia.” He reached his fingers under his shirt, rubbing them together to confirm I hadn’t cut him. “I guess not.”

  “I’ve kissed a boy before, if that’s what you mean.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I didn’t have to explain myself to him.

  “Then what are you so offended about?”

  I held the towel to my chest. “Just because I’ve kissed someone else doesn’t mean I’m interested in you!”

  From the way he stared, I could tell this idea h
ad not occurred to him. “Saying no is a perfectly acceptable option,” he spit out. “One which falls rather short of pulling a blade on someone.”

  “I’m taking you to Valonikos because I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Not because I like you.” He’d called me common, insulted Cormorant, and on top of that, now I was certain his story was a lie.

  “I don’t want you to take me to Valonikos at all!” His lip twitched furiously. “Haven’t I been telling you that?”

  I saw a guilty glint in his eye. “Why did you really try to kiss me?” I demanded.

  “What?” He broke eye contact.

  “You thought if you … you seduced me, I’d take you to Casteria, didn’t you?” He said nothing. “Didn’t you?”

  “All right! I mean, that’s not—” He exhaled. “The thought crossed my mind, yes. When girls think they’re in love, they—”

  “They what?” I brandished my knife.

  “They are willing to do things they wouldn’t usually do.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. He was disgusting.

  “I—this—are the girls you know really that gullible?” I sputtered.

  He eyed my damp trousers. “The girls I know are girls.”

  The words dropped between us, and even he seemed to realize they were too much. He stuck his hand in his rumpled hair.

  I turned and stormed out of the cabin. Snatching a dry shirt from the locker, I flung it over my head and slammed the door. Seeing the murderous look on my face, Fee scampered out of my way. In a fiery red haze, I paced back and forth among the fallen willow leaves that scattered the deck. I couldn’t imagine how Tarquin could get it so wrong. As if I’d been thinking of that.

  The girls I know are girls. It stung because he didn’t know anything about me. When I visited my mother’s family in Siscema, I put my hair up and wore dresses. I went to revels and bonfires, gossiping with my cousins. And last summer, I’d fooled around with a sailor boy. I wasn’t naive enough to think it had been a great love affair or anything, but it had been fun. At least Akemé had made damn sure I wanted to kiss him first.

  This couldn’t be more different. I didn’t trust Tarquin—and even if I did, he wasn’t my type at all. He was a snob, far too concerned with his own honor. And he didn’t know how to do anything. There was nothing attractive about a man who was almost helpless.

  I was so deep in my thoughts, I heard Victorianos before I saw her. Her boom rattled as she came around the bend, and her ropes groaned and creaked. Men’s voices echoed across the still water. Not daring to move, I watched in silence through the curtain of willow leaves.

  So they were hunting up and down the river for us. My head felt giddy and strangely weightless. Diric Melanos might’ve been a blackguard, but he was a skilled captain. It had to be tricky, maneuvering a fast cutter like that through all these twists and turns. Long after the cutter passed, bound downriver, my heartbeat still fluttered.

  “Blessings in small things,” I whispered, wishing the river god would say something in return.

  Dipping a bucket in the river, I rinsed the deck clean of debris. Willow leaves went splashing overboard in a satisfying waterfall. I stopped, focusing on the bucket in my hands.

  I had an idea.

  Refilling it, I strolled back to the cockpit. “Tarquin,” I called, leaning down the hatch. “Come here. I’ve got something for you.”

  He approached cautiously. “I hope it’s an apology,” he said with a sniff.

  I upended the bucket.

  Cursing and spluttering, he splashed around in the puddle. Spitting wet hair out of his mouth, he glared up at me in silent rage. A slimy green weed dangled from his ear. His fine leather boots were soaked, and Pa’s shirt was plastered to his shoulders.

  Good. That ought to cool him off.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  “Why’re we moving?” Tarquin barged up the cabin steps. “The Black Dogs are still out there!”

  It is difficult to live on a small wherry with someone you’re not speaking to. I wrapped my hand around the tiller, steering Cormorant into the middle of the river.

  Over my shoulder I addressed Fee. “Tell our passenger we can’t just hide forever. We’re going to have to take a chance if we want to get to Valonikos.”

  Fee’s eyes swiveled like globes. “Childish,” she said.

  I shrugged. She was right, but I didn’t care. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  He scowled at me from the farthest corner of the cockpit. “I assure you the feeling is mutual.”

  He put his boots up on the cockpit bench. Flecks of dried mud fell off, dirtying the seat. He lifted his chin, daring me to make a comment.

  I seethed in silence. He’d done it on purpose, because he knew it would annoy me. Tarquin hadn’t taken well to having a bucket of water dumped on his head.

  We’d waited a whole day, but the Black Dogs hadn’t come back. I was itching to get under way. Every hour we lay low in those trees was another hour Pa would be stuck in the brig. The River Thrush was the only route to our destination.

  We would simply have to risk it.

  Consulting a chart, I concluded we should be just above Gallos Bridge. The late afternoon sun rode low in the sky. If nothing went amiss, I thought we could make it to the House of the Shipwright before dark.

  The house was a wherrymen’s tavern, set high above the water on rickety stilts. It squatted alone like a long-legged marsh bird, for there were no other buildings from here to Gallos. If the cutter had passed this way, someone there would know.

  Soon the trees gave way to flat marshland and I tensed, scanning the horizon for white sails. I saw none. I relaxed, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. As we sailed on, a wooden structure appeared, no bigger than a dot. Three lights popped into existence one by one. Someone at the House of the Shipwright was lighting lanterns.

  I glanced at Fee. “I’m going into the tavern to ask around.” I couldn’t bear a second agonizing day of not knowing where Victorianos was.

  “I’m coming too,” Tarquin—if that was even his real name—surprised me by saying.

  I gritted my teeth. “You can’t. The Black Dogs might be in there.”

  He rose to his feet, towering over me. “If I say I wish to go, I’m going. You wouldn’t be trying to order me around if you knew—”

  “Knew what?” I demanded, hoping to goad him into giving something away.

  He wrestled down emotion until his face was smooth as the river at dawn. “Nothing.” Unclenching his fists, he let his hands fall limp. “Just—my father is a very influential man.”

  Handing the tiller off to Fee, I descended into the cabin. Since many wherries employed a frogman, no one would spare a second glance for her. Tarquin was another matter. Everything from his manner to his coloring marked him as Akhaian—and not just Akhaian, but of wealth and breeding. I rummaged through Cormorant’s lockers. Scooping together a heap of old garments, I laid them on the bunk.

  “I can’t wear that.” Tarquin flicked the flowered veil sitting atop the pile of clothes. “That’s for an old woman.”

  “That’s right.” My lips twitched at the corners. “Because you’re going to be dressed as an old woman.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Oh yes, you will.” I gestured at the clothes. “You can’t go flaunting that stupid earring in there. That veil will cover your head much better than anything else we’ve got. If you don’t like it, don’t come.” I smirked. “Or come as you are. The Black Dogs will recognize you right away.”

  “Oh, so you want me to be killed?”

  I shrugged. “It would get you out of my hair.”

  He surveyed the frizzy curls trailing down my back. “I don’t see how that could possibly improve things. I assure you, your hair is hopeless with or without me in it.”

  My mouth dropped open, but I bit back a sarcastic reply. Making him dress up like an old woman was revenge enough.

 
He grabbed up the dress, shawl, and veil, and ducked his head to enter the forward cabin. I shrugged on my oilskin coat, stuffing a knit cap over most of my hair. Its color and texture were uncommon enough to be memorable. That was the last thing I wanted.

  Fee steered Cormorant into an empty berth. Judging from the boats, the crowd was mostly locals. Long, curved dories shared slips with smaller dinghies. At the end of the dock, a pair of frogmen, croaking back and forth to each other, unloaded a basket of wriggling eels. The only other wherry had a flag flapping at its masthead—a wine cask crowned with three stars, which I immediately recognized as the Bollard sigil. Throwing a wary glance at it, I hopped down to the dock.

  “This isn’t a very good disguise.” Tarquin’s voice came from the depths of the flowered veil. “How many old women more than six feet tall are we likely to see wandering around the riverlands?”

  “I reckon just as many as eighteen-year-old boys with Akhaian looks.”

  He bristled and shot me a rude look. I had to admit he made an uncannily funny old woman, with his skirt swishing around his boots.

  Making our way up the dock, we passed a pair of fishermen. They smelled of sweat and the pungent river mud caked onto their thigh-length waders.

  Tarquin wrinkled his nose. “Why must everything in Kynthessa be so filthy?”

  I gave him a disdainful sideways glance. Doubtless he would find the cities in Kynthessa more to his liking. Most of the wealth was concentrated along the coast, where shipping companies controlled empires of trade. Bollard Company, for instance, had a whole fleet of brigs and barks and wherries. He couldn’t possibly look down his nose at them.

  On the other hand, I suspected Tarquin was better off with us. It was well known in these parts that, in addition to goods, the Bollards dealt in information. They could sniff out a secret a mile away.

  Tarquin tugged at his shawl.

  “Stop fidgeting,” I hissed. We began to climb the stairs to the tavern. Fee padded behind us, trailing wet footprints.