The cook entered with a tray of covered bowls and Rhal set one in front of him. "No wonder you've been off your feet. Perhaps the dessert will be more to your liking."
"Indeed?" Seregil lifted the lid from his dish with a small expectant smile, then froze, the color draining from his face. Inside maggots writhed over severed ears, eyes, and tongues. A hot wave of nausea and panic rolled over him. Dropping the lid with a clatter, he rushed from the room.
"Don't be alarmed, boy!" he heard Rhal say behind him. "It's quite common in her condition—" Reaching the rail, he sagged over it and vomited up his supper, dimly aware that Alec was at his side.
"What's wrong?" the boy demanded in an urgent whisper when he'd finished.
"Get me below," groaned Seregil. "Get me below now!"
Alec half carried him down the companionway to their cabin, where Seregil collapsed on the bunk and buried his face in his hands.
"What happened?" Alec pleaded, hovering anxiously over him. "Should I go for the captain, or fetch some brandy?"
Seregil shook his head violently, then raised his head to look up at the boy. "What did you see?"
"You ran out!"
"No! In the bowls. What did you see?"
"The dessert, you mean?" Alec asked in confusion.
"Baked apples."
Striding to the cabin's single small window, Seregil threw it open and inhaled deeply. Fear, keen as a dagger's point, coursed through him; every instinct screamed for him to arm himself, watch his back, run somewhere, anywhere.
His head was pounding again, too, twisting his empty belly into a painful knot.
Turning to face Alec again, he said softly,
"That's not what I saw. The dishes were full of a steaming mess of—" He stopped at anxiety that had
overwhelmed him at the sight. "Never mind. It's not important. But it wasn't baked apples."
A convulsive shudder racked him and he sagged against the cabin wall.
More alarmed than ever, Alec drew him to the bunk and made him sit down again. Seregil curled into the corner at the head of the bunk, back pressed to the wall. But he was still master of himself enough to send Alec to Captain Rhal with Lady Gwethelyn's apologies; it seemed that in her present state, she could not bear the odor of certain foods.
When Alec returned, he found Seregil pacing restlessly in the narrow confines of the cabin.
"Bolt the door and help me out of this damned dress!" Seregil hissed, but could scarcely stand still for the unlacing. When Alec had finished, he pulled on his leather breeches beneath his nightdress, wrapped a mantle about his shoulders, and returned to his corner of the bunk, sword hidden between the pallet and the wall behind him.
"Come here," he whispered, motioning for Alec to sit beside him.
Pressed shoulder to shoulder with Seregil, Alec could feel the occasional fits of trembling that still seized him, and the feverish heat of his body.
But Seregil's voice was steady, though barely audible. "Something's happening to me, Alec. I'm not sure what, but you should know about it because I don't know how I'm going to end up."
With that said, he told Alec of his latest nightmare, and of the unreasoning dread that had come over him before.
"It's either magic or madness," he concluded grimly. "I'm not sure which would be worse. I've never felt anything like this. The things in the bowls? I've seen sights a hundred times worse and scarcely given it a second thought. I may be a lot of things, Alec, but I'm no coward! Whatever this is, I imagine things are going to get worse before they get better—if they get better." He tugged distractedly at the wooden disk hanging around his neck. If you want to move on without me, I'll understand. You don't owe me anything."
"Maybe not," Alec replied, trying not to think about how frightened he suddenly felt, "but I wouldn't feel right about it. I'll stay on."
"Well, I won't hold you to that, but thank you."
Drawing up his knees, Seregil cradled his head on his arms.
Alec was about to retreat to his alcove when he felt another shiver rock through Seregil. Leaning back against the wall, he stayed silently by him well into the night.
10 Seregil Descending
Seregil struggled free of another nightmare just before dawn. Throwing open the window, he dressed quickly, then sat watching the sky brighten. The anxiety of the dream gradually faded, but the first hint of a renewed headache seemed to grow with the light. Before long he heard Alec moving around in the alcove.
"You've had another bad night," the boy said, not bothering to make it a question.
"Come hold the mirror for me, will you?" Seregil opened a pouch of cosmetics and set to work. Dark circles stood out like bruises under his eyes; the hand holding out the mirror was not as steady as it had been a week before.
"I think Lady Gwethelyn will keep mostly to her cabin today. I'm not up to lengthy dissemblements," he said, inspecting his handiwork when he'd finished.
"Besides, it will give us a chance to get on with your training. It's high time you learned to read. In fact, you can hardly manage our trade without it."
"Is it difficult?"
"You've caught on to everything else I've thrown at you," Seregil assured him. "There's a lot to it, but once you know the letters and their sounds, it comes quickly. Let's take a short walk on deck first, though. I could use the air before attempting breakfast. Let the captain see how ill I look and perhaps he'll leave us alone."
It was snowing in earnest this morning; wet, heavy flakes draped into a heavy curtain about the ship, deadening sound and making it impossible to see much farther than the end of the bow. Every rope and surface was outlined in white, and the deck was a mass of slush.
Captain Rhal stood by the mast, giving orders to several men at once.
"Tell Skywake to keep her in the middle of the channel if he can figure out where it is!" he called to one sailor, jerking a thumb in the direction of the helmsman. "Keep dropping that lead until this clears. We're less likely to get hung up so long as we stay well out in the channel. By the Old Sailor, there's not enough breeze to fill a virgin's— Well, good morning to you, my lady. Feeling better, I trust?"
"The motion of the ship is most unsettling," Seregil answered, leaning on Alec's arm for good effect. "I fear I shall have to spend the remainder of our journey below."
"Aye, it's filthy weather, and damned early for it this far south. At this rate we'll be lucky to reach Torburn by dark tomorrow. It's going to make for a long day, so if you'll excuse me—Ciris, why don't you fetch your mistress some hot wine from the galley?"
With this, he strode off toward the helm.
"I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted!" Seregil chuckled under his breath. "Go fetch us some
breakfast. I'll meet you below."
Despite the strange visions of the previous night, Seregil wasn't prepared for what he saw in the porridge Alec brought back. Pushing his bowl away, he retreated to the bunk.
Alec frowned. "It's happening again, isn't it?"
Seregil nodded, not caring to describe the slithering mass he saw in the bowl, or the stench that wafted up out of the teapot. Gathering up the dishes, Alec carried them away and returned with a mug of water and a bit of bread.
"You've got to get at least this into you," he urged, pressing the cup into Seregil's hand.
Seregil nodded and downed it quickly, doing his best to ignore the disturbing sensations that skittered across his tongue.
"You won't last long on that," Alec fretted.
"Can't you manage a little bread? Look, it's fresh from the ship's oven."
Alec unwrapped a napkin and showed him the thick slice. Sweet, yeasty steam curled up in the sunlight and Seregil's empty belly stirred at the fragrance. As he reached for it, however, maggots erupted out of the bread, tumbling through the boy's fingers onto the table.
Seregil averted his eyes with a grimace. "No, and I think it might be better if you took your meals elsewhere until this is over.
/>
They commenced the writing lesson later that morning.
Seregil's battered leather pack yielded up several small rolls of parchment, quills, and a pot of ink. Crowded together over the small table, Alec watched Seregil draw the letters.
"Now you try," he said, handing Alec the quill.
"Copy each letter underneath mine and I'll tell you its sound."
Alec knew as little about handling a quill as he did about swordplay, so they paused for a brief lesson in penmanship. He was soon inked to the wrists, but Seregil saw progress being made and held his tongue. After he'd mastered the characters, Seregil took the quill and swiftly spelled out their names, then the words for bow, sword, ship, and horse. His script flowed graceful and elegant next to Alec's smudgy scrawls.
Alec watched all this with growing interest. "That word there; that means me?"
"It means anyone named Alec."
"And this is "bow." It's as if these little marks have power. I look at them and the things they stand for
just pop into my head, like magic. That one there doesn't look anything like a bow, yet now that I know the sounds of the letters, I can't look at it without seeing a bow in my head."
"Try this." Seregil wrote out "Alec's Black Radly bow" and read it aloud, pointing to each word in turn.
Alec followed along, grinning. "Now I picture my own bow. Is it magic?"
"Not in the sense you mean. Ordinary words simply preserve ideas. Still, you have to be careful. Words can lie, or be misunderstood. Words don't have magic, but they have power."
"Well, the mayor of Wolde wrote a letter to the mayor of Boersby and it said something like "Aren Windover and his apprentice stole my money. Capture them and I'll reward you." Because the mayor of Boersby knows the mayor of Wolde, he reads and believes. Did we steal the money?"
"No, we just went through those rooms and you—"
"Yes, yes," Seregil snapped, cutting him short. "But the point is that a few words on a piece of paper were all it took to convince the mayor of Boersby that we did!"
Seregil stopped suddenly, realizing he was practically shouting. Alec shrank back, looking as if he expected a blow. Seregil pressed his palms down on his knees and took a deep breath.
The headache was back from wherever it had been lurking, and with the pain came an extraordinary surge of anger.
"I'm not feeling very well, Alec. Why don't you go above for awhile?" It was an effort to speak calmly.
Jaw set in a stubborn line, Alec strode out without a word.
Sinking his head into his hands, Seregil wrestled with the sudden, inexplicable surge of conflicting emotions. He wanted to go after him, try to explain and apologize, but what was he going to say?
Sorry, Alec, but for just a moment there I really wanted to throttle you?
"Damn!" He stalked around the confines of the tiny cabin. The pain in his head swelled to a blinding ache. Beneath the pain, a vague urge began to resolve itself into an almost sensual feeling of need.
It flowed through him, drawing his lips back from his teeth in a terrible, vulpine smile, filling every fiber of him with the desire to lash out. He wanted to grasp. He wanted to strike. He wanted to rend and tear—
He wanted—
And then, in a final searing flash, it was gone, taking the worst of the headache with it. When his vision cleared he found himself grasping the hilt of the penknife they'd been using. Somehow he'd driven it into the tabletop with such force that the little blade had snapped in two.
He didn't even remember picking it up.
The room seemed to spin slowly around him as he stood looking down at the broken knife.
"Illior help me," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm going mad!"
Hurt and confused, Alec paced the deck.
Until last night Seregil had treated him with nothing but kindness and good humor; if not always communicative, he'd certainly been evenhanded and generous.
Now out of the blue, this coldness.
The shock of the morning's events gradually faded, allowing worry to replace his anger. This was what Seregil had been trying to warn him of last night, he realized. Of course, he had only Seregil's word that this was some new aberration; what if he'd been crazy all along?
And yet he couldn't forget his conversation with Micum Cavish back in Boersby. Alec had trusted Micum from the start, and this behavior just didn't fit with what he'd told him that night. No, Alec decided, Seregil wasn't to blame for this behavior.
He didn't have to get me out of Asengai's, he reminded himself sternly. I've said I'll stand by himthrough this and I will!
Nonetheless, he couldn't help wishing that Micum had come south with them.
Alec wandered the deck disconsolately that night, ignoring the questioning looks the sailors exchanged as he passed.
Seregil's erratic behavior had continued throughout the day. Still unable to eat that evening, he'd grown more agitated and irritable as the night wore on.
Alec had tried to talk to him, calm him, but only succeeded in upsetting him more. Seregil had finally ordered him out again, speaking slowly through clenched teeth.
It was too cold to sleep above, so Alec retreated to the companionway, his back to the cabin door. He was just dozing off when Rhal came below.
"What are you doing out here?" the captain asked in surprise. "Is something amiss with your lady?"
The lie he'd rehearsed earlier came out smoothly enough. "My snoring disturbed her sleep, so I came out here," Alec replied, rubbing his stiff neck.
Rhal frowned down at him a moment, then said,
"You're welcome to my bunk. It doesn't look like I'll be needing it, not with this weather."
"Thank you, but I think I better stay close, in case she needs me," Alec replied, wondering at this unexpected generosity.
Just then a hoarse cry came from inside the cabin, followed by what sounded like a struggle.
Scrambling to his feet, Alec tried to prevent Rhal from rushing in. "No! Let me—"The burly captain thrust him aside like a child.
Finding the door bolted, Rhal kicked it open and took a step inside.
Behind him, Alec watched with alarm as the man stopped abruptly, then reached for the long knife at his belt.
"What the hell is this?" growled the captain.
Alec let out a small groan of dismay.
Haggard and white, Seregil stood swaying in the far corner, sword in hand. His nightgown was torn down the front, effectively dashing any illusion of Lady Gwethelyn. For a moment it looked as if he might attack. Instead, he shook his head slightly and tossed his sword down on the bunk.
Waving one thin hand, he motioned for them to enter.
Alec moved to Seregil's side. Rhal remained where he was by the broken door.
"I'll ask you this once," he said slowly, his voice dark with anger. "Whatever it is you're up to, has it endangered my ship or my crew?"
"I don't believe so."
Rhal sized the two of them up for a long moment. "Then what in the name of Bilairy are you doing waltzing around in women's rigging?"
"There were some people I needed to get away from. If I tell you any more, then you will be in danger."
"Is that so?" Rhal looked skeptical.
"Well, I'd say it was either political or you've got one angry husband after you. The Darter wasn't the only ship at Boersby that night. Why load this onto me?"
"I heard you were a man of honor."
"Horse shit!"
Seregil smiled slightly. "But it's no secret that you've no great love for Plenimar."
"That's true enough." Rhal took another long look at him. "I see what it is you're aiming to make me believe. Assuming I buy it, which isn't saying I do, it still doesn't explain all the mummery that's gone on since you came aboard. You've played me for a cully, and I don't care much for that!"
Seregil dropped wearily onto the bunk. "I'm not going to explain my motives; they don't concern you. As for your attentions to the late Lady Gwethely
n, the boy and I both did everything we could to discourage you."
"I'll grant that, I suppose, but it's still my inclination to escort the pair of you over the side."
"You'd have a bit of explaining to do to your crew, wouldn't you?" Seregil suggested with a meaningful lift of an eyebrow.
"Damn you!" Rhal ran a hand over his beard in frustration. "If any of my men find out about this—the story would travel the length of the river before spring!"
"That's easily avoided. We dock at Torburn tomorrow. Lady Gwethelyn can disembark there, pleading ill health. I understand there are some wagers riding on whether or not she'll give you a tumble? If you like, I can be seen emerging from your cabin in the morning, winsome smile playing about my lips—"
Rhal darkened again. "Just see to it that both of you keep to your cabin until we arrive. Play your parts until you're out of sight of my ship and don't ever let me set eyes on either of you again!"
Striding furiously out, he collided with the first mate in the hall. Before the man had time to do more than grin, Rhal snarled, "See to your duties, Nettles!" and slammed into his own cabin.
"Well, that was undoubtedly one of the most embarrassing moments of my life," Seregil groaned, bravado falling away. "It's no easy matter, facing down a big, angry sailor in nothing but a woman's nightgown."
"You threw your sword away!" Alec exclaimed in disbelief, pushing the door back into place.
"We'd have fought if I hadn't. Win or lose, you and I couldn't afford the results. How would we have explained things if I'd killed him, eh? You defending my virtue? The crew would kill you in an instant, and Illior only knows what they'd do with Lady Gwethelyn. If he'd killed me, things would turn out just about the same. No, Alec, it's best to talk your way out whenever you can. As it stands, I don't think our secret could be in safer hands. Besides, he interests me. Blustering rogue that he is, I suspect he's intelligent and shrewd enough when women aren't involved. You never know when someone like that might be useful."
"What makes you think he'd ever help you?"
Seregil shrugged. "Intuition, maybe. I'm seldom wrong."
Alec sat down and rubbed his eyes. "What was all that commotion before we came in?"
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