by J. S. Bangs
The streets sounded with the bleating of sheep, the muttering of housewives, and the chanting of dhorsha performing the dawn rites in the temples of Ashti and Jakhur. The citadel was visible from every point in the city, and Patara took whatever route through the streets led towards it.
The wide wooden doors of the citadel were closed when he reached them, but a pair of men stood outside them with spears in their hands. They wore simple white dhotis hanging low about their knees, but across their chests they had red sashes decorated with the spear of Am. So these were the Red Men that Patara had heard so much about. This was the first time he had actually seen one.
When approached one of them called out, “Halt. What’s your business?”
“I wish to speak to your captain,” Patara said humbly.
“At this hour of the morning?”
“At the first hour in which he is free. I’m sure that he is much sought after, and I wouldn’t disturb him during the brighter hours of the day.”
“You better give us a good reason, then.”
“I have information about a woman sought by the Red Men. With a bounty.”
A glance passed between the Red Men. One shrugged and said, “I’ll send a message in.”
The soldier knocked on the gate, and a brief conversation followed, which concluded with an escort leading Patara through the citadel into a small room with a table and an unlit oil lamp on a chain in the corner. Here he waited, growing impatient but trying desperately to hide it, until at last the captain entered.
Like the guards at the gates, he wore a plain white dhoti, but with a scarlet kurta that had the spears of Am stitched onto its sleeves. He nodded at Patara, and Patara bowed deeply.
“You’re know something about a woman?” the captain asked. “Say it quickly.”
“My Captain,” Patara said, “My name is Amabhu Patara of Davrakhanda, and I am the captain of a sailing vessel. We were returning from Kalignas when we were caught up in a storm. During the storm we pulled a woman out of the sea who claimed to have escaped from the colony of thikratta at Davrakhanda. I found out that she was pursued by the Red Men, and that there was a bounty offered for her. And so I’ve come to you.”
“Where is this woman?” the captain asked. “Here?”
“No, not here,” Patara said. “Alas, we went aground in Dasnaya—”
“I do not know where Dasnaya is,” the captain snapped. “We only marched into this city a few weeks ago.”
“Then, my Captain, we are in similar straits, since I normally sail into Davrakhanda, and would not have known of the village of Dasnaya if I had not been forced to row there with my men after our mast broke.”
“How far away is it?”
“If you march quickly, I am told you can get there in four days. Perhaps three.”
The captain narrowed his eyes. “You are told? Didn’t you come from there?”
“I did, but my men and I marched carrying tin, so we moved slowly. Still, I could bring you and your men there.”
The captain sighed in annoyance. “I cannot send men that far away. But you were from Davrakhanda, so you’ll sail back there, right?”
Patara hesitated. “Yes, but first the dhow must be repaired, and we will sail slowly. And the woman might leave.”
“Leave? Is she in your power or not?”
“She is, but we don’t have her bound—”
“Why not?”
Patara wrung his hands together and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Because we took her as a castaway, not a captive. Only later did we find out that the Emperor sought her.”
The captain snorted in annoyance. “This conversation has already gone on too long. I won’t give you anything based on your word. But the Red Men have galleys in Davrakhanda, and a much larger garrison. If you can bring the woman that far, they will pay you.”
“But my captain, there were corsairs—”
“Don’t bother me with corsairs,” the captain said. “I have no boat, and there’s nothing I can do to help you with them. Good day.” The captain turned on his heels and exited the room.
“Wait, sir!” Patara pleaded. “Could you send a message to Davrakhanda? If only the galley of the Red Men would come and meet us on the seas.”
The captain paused. “Why?”
“Because at least we might be safe from the corsairs if the Red Men followed us.”
The captain waved his hands with impatience. “I’ll send your message with the next courier who goes that way. If your boat is as damaged as you say, the message will reach the city ahead of you. I make no promises that the Red Men in Davrakhanda will act on it, though. Now I must be going.”
Patara thanked him effusively as he left. The escort brought Patara back to the gate of the citadel and said, “Good luck. Hope the pirates don’t get you.”
“Thanks,” Patara said bitterly.
The city was now fully awake, sellers of rice, spices, and salt scattering their shouts through the streets, beggars pleading, and workers cursing as they hauled their loads. When he reached the guesthouse he found the boys all awake, drinking strong black tea to recover from the previous night’s revel. Thikritu and Vaija greeted Patara with a polite bow of the head. Ashturma leaned against the wall with a bowl of tea beside him and a scowl on his face. He looked at Patara in pain.
“Where were you this morning?”
Patara bristled. “I’m your father and your captain. You don’t ask me questions like that.”
“You went to the Red Men, didn’t you?”
Patara froze. He turned slowly and meet Ashturma’s glare, one eye swollen nearly shut, the other burning with fury. Ashti’s tits, the boy was completely ruined over this. But what could he say? He wouldn’t lie.
“I had to find out if it was true.”
“If what? If you could betray her to the Red Men and make your money back?”
“I had to know. That’s all that matters.” He went into the room, found the pitcher of water, and washed his hands and face. He heard Ashturma’s feet patter in behind him.
“This is about money, isn’t it?”
“What?” Patara asked. He turned and wiped the water from his face with his sleeve. “What are you complaining about now?”
“You just care about the money. Money for your tin, money for the woman.”
“Of course it’s about money. What do you think it would be about?”
Ashturma stuck his jaw out and looked at Patara defiantly. “About duty. About the learning of centuries, an innocent woman—”
Patara slammed his fist against the wall, creating a violent crash that resulted in silence all the way into the common room. “Duty? You want to speak to me about duty?”
He rose to his feet and approached Ashturma, pressing up against him until their chests touched. “I’ll tell you about duty, my son. You have a duty to your mother and your sisters, to care for them and to protect them. And for that duty you need, yes, money, the money that you seem to hold in such contempt. And you have a duty to your ancestors, to your grandfather and great-grandfather who built our custom in trade. And you have a duty to me, your captain, to say nothing of your father, to obey him like all the other sailors do!”
The last words turned into a shout that rattled the boards in the walls and set the curtain of the room astir. Ashturma backed away from Patara with fear on his face, his hands groping behind him for the door.
“Now,” Patara said, speaking softly, “I haven’t decided what our course of action will be with Idhaji. But I know that whatever I do, I’ll be making my decision for the sake of duty. Now get out.”
Ashturma fled the room.
Patara turned and began shoving their few belongings into the now empty baskets. They still needed to visit the wharves and buy sailcloth. And then food for the journey home. It was a long walk back to Dasnaya.
The village children heralded their arrival in Dasnaya and ran in yelling about the return of the captain. B
y the time they actually arrived in the village, Khinda and Jauda were waiting for them. They cheered gaudily at Patara’s arrival, and Khinda approached and planted a kiss on Patara’s cheeks.
“We missed you, Captain,” Khinda said. “Long trip?”
“Long and difficult and full of bad news,” Patara said. He looked around for Idhaji and did not see her. For a moment a strange mixture of hope and disappointment rose in his stomach. “Where is Idhaji?”
“Oh, hiding off somewhere in the woods. She’s been amusing the village children, mostly, since you left.”
“That’s it? Amusing the villagers?”
Khinda shrugged. “I didn’t try to keep track of her. Why?”
Patara hesitated, then drew his face close to Khinda’s and put his cheek against his mate’s. “Don’t let her leave,” he said. “She may be worth more to us than the tin.”
Khinda drew back and gave Patara a strange look, but nodded.
“Now,” Patara said loudly. “Where’s the dhow? Have you fixed a mast, or have you shaved ewes been lying drunkenly in the sun the whole time we were hauling tin to Bhurnas?”
“Come and see!” Khinda clapped his hands, and the men who had labored over the mast for the past twelve days gathered and led them out onto the beach.
The dhow was there, right where Patara had left it. But a crude wooden piling had been building on the shore to hold the boat upright, and rising above the deck was a mast. It was a little crooked at the center, with fresh scars along its trunk where the larger branches had been hacked off. But it was tall enough and didn’t bend.
“Well, that’s something,” Patara said.
“You don’t like it?” Khinda asked. “Best damn mast I ever saw. Ten times better than our last mast.”
“You haven’t been looking very closely at our masts.”
“No,” Khinda said, “but the last mast is in Ashti’s bosom, while this mast is affixed nicely to the keel. Location makes all the difference.”
“Oh, shut up,” Patara said. “Let me take a look.”
He climbed up the piling and onto the deck. It felt odd to step into the dhow after being gone for half a month. He placed a hand on the tilting deck. Lovely thing. Well, except for the mast.
He climbed down into the hold and examined the wooden step that braced the mast against the keel. Khinda had done good work. The lashings holding everything together were rough palm-fiber rope rather than proper hemp, but they were tight and thick. The step was green and smelled slightly of sap, but the seams were solid. Patara kicked the mast. It didn’t budge.
He climbed back up to the rail. “Well,” he said, “it probably won’t break the first time we catch a strong wind.”
“You mock me!” Khinda shouted.
“No more than you deserve.” Patara swung his leg over the rail and climbed back down the piling. “We’ll have to use the spare spar and rig the sail. That’ll be a day’s work. After that, I think we can try it once. Here in the bay, first. If the mast breaks again—”
Khinda’s face drooped. “It won’t break. Ashti’s mercy, let it not break.”
“Indeed.” Patara waved at the other sailors and shouted. “Everyone rest for the day. Tomorrow we set the spar and the rigging. We’re going back to Davrakhanda.”
Cheers all around. A bit of movement at the edge of the forest caught Patara’s eye, and he glimpsed Idhaji climbing over a fallen tree.
“Captain!” she said gladly as soon as she saw him. “You had raven’s luck on your journey, it seems.”
Patara snorted and folded his arms. He began walking back towards the village. “Nothing I’ve done this journey has been lucky.”
“Eh, dear Captain, you found me. Luck like that you’ve never had.”
“But I doubt whether it was good luck. Listen,” Patara began before Idhaji could start chattering, “we’re sailing out now that we have a mast and a sail. Back to Davrakhanda.”
“I know,” she said.
“And you were attempting to flee Davrakhanda. If you come with us—”
“That would be a silly thing for me to do. Therefore, that’s what I’m doing.”
Idhaji gave him her ineffable smile, the sea breeze blowing wisps of gray hair around her face. He was giving her a chance to escape; if she was too fool to take it, then she deserved to be captured. He spoke cautiously. “You make no sense.”
“On the contrary, my Captain. I must get to Ternas. Going by foot overland would be a fool’s errand. I would be traveling for months by myself, a weak and pitiable woman, through strange country where no one would help me. And I would pass through the region of Sravi, where Aidasa has made himself Emperor and filled the roads up with Red Men. But in Davrakhanda I could find a boat which sails the north coast and would bring me to Pukasra, from which Ternas is only a few days’ journey. So that is where I will go.”
“The Red Men of Davrakhanda are looking for you.”
“There are fewer Red Men in Davrakhanda than along the roads, I suspect.”
Patara began walking towards the village again, slowly, placing his feet cautiously on the weedy sand. She was not as mad as he had thought. “If someone sees you?”
“There are many women on the docks of Davrakhanda, dear Captain. I can blend in. I can choose to be sane and serious if I must. I expect that I can slip into Davrakhanda and sail out again before the Red Men know that I’m there. Unless someone betrays me.”
Patara’s heart tumbled a beat. She must know. Wasn’t it said that some of the thikratta could read thoughts? But if she knew, why was she planning on sailing back with him? No, perhaps his earlier suggestion had been right; she was mad.
“Very well,” he said. “You can sail with us as far as Davrakhanda. But once we get there…”
“In Davrakhanda I’ll be on my own,” she said. “Well understood, dear Captain. Where did Ashturma go?”
“He was… where did he go?” Patara realized that he hadn’t seen the boy since they had walked into the village.
“He met me in the forest,” Idhaji said. “But I thought he had come out onto the beach with us.”
Patara’s thoughts crashed over each other like a wave on the shore. If she had already spoken to Ashturma, he had surely told her about the Red Men. So she knew; she hadn’t read his thoughts, she had heard from Ashturma. But she still chose to come with them. Why?
“Oh, there he is,” Idhaji said, pointing towards one of the houses at the edge of the village where Ashturma and Vaija sat chatting. Vaija seemed cheery enough, but Ashturma’s face wore an expression of forced cheer, as if covering over a deep and disturbing secret. “I shall go and allay his fears. All will be well when we sail to Davrakhanda.” And she bounded away.
Patara watched her go, bouncing on her heels like a child. A grim thought formed in his head: Ashturma had entered into a conspiracy with the thikratta woman. She was unafraid of Davrakhanda, because his son was preparing to betray him.
If his son and the thikratta woman were going to plot against him, then he would have no regrets giving her over to the Red Men.
They mounted the sail the next day, then spent a day cautiously sailing from one end of the bay to the other. The bay wasn’t big enough to catch a full wind, but it was enough to get them some practice with the new mast and reassure Patara that the thing wouldn’t break or fall off when they got out onto the open ocean. But the mast held and the sail filled, and Patara declared them ready to sail as soon as they had packed in new provisions. The last of their silver was spent on dried fish and a sack of rice, which would bring them the last leg of their return to Davrakhanda.
Idhaji gave no indication that she intended to do anything other than sail with them. Ashturma’s mood lightened after the day of practice with the new sail. Patara trusted neither of them.
They sailed as soon as the sun had come all the way above the horizon. The shore breeze caught the lateen sail and pulled at the weak mast; the tackle groaned and snapped in the
wind; the hull knifed through the sea. Patara’s heart rose. He turned his face towards the sea. The bright light of dawn glowed on the water to the east. Khinda called out the commands, and the men trimmed the sails to catch the breeze, gliding through the gap in the reef into the deep green sea.
Idhaji sat on the rail facing the shore. Her feet dangled over the side and caught the spray of the waves.
“Idhaji,” Patara called out, his mood bright enough to encompass even the thikratta woman. “You like riding my ship, or do you prefer to walk?”
She laughed. “Dear Captain, your ship is as fine as walking in Ashti’s palm. And I have no risk of losing my concentration and falling in.”
For three days they sailed west with the shore of Amur on their right and open ocean on the left, their prow piercing the sun at every setting. Patara and Khinda took turns at the steering oar, while Ashturma commanded the men at the sail, keeping slack in the cloth. The mast creaked and groaned when the wind was stiff, and Patara was sure it would break if they met a real storm. So they sailed slow, within sight of land, ready to drive to the shore at the first sign of trouble.
The first sign of trouble was not a storm.
Patara had the steering oar, Khinda lay in a hammock behind him, and Ashturma stood in the prow with the spar tackle. A shout sounded from Jauda at the starboard. Patara looked behind him.
A sail on the horizon.
“Get up, Khinda,” Patara said.
“Something the matter?” the mate said lazily.
“Someone’s coming up behind us.”
“Friend or foe?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Watch.”
Khinda crawled out of the hammock and walked to the aft rail. Patara held the steering oar and watched the prow.
“Can’t tell much,” Khinda said. “No banner on their mast.”
The men in the fore parts of the boat kept glancing backwards nervously. Long, tense minutes passed with no sound except the sloshing of water against the hull.
“Small and light,” Khinda called out. “Much faster than us. They’re gaining.”
