Father Ignatius went down on his knees beside the fallen man; Rudi signed quickly, and the others dragged the bodies aside and helped the Southsiders. For a moment he was chiefly aware of relief; he′d nearly sent Edain on this errand. That brought a stab of shame, and he moved forward to kneel.
″I need you, Father, but not for that,″ Odard said, in a breathy whisper as the cleric started to reach for the latches of his armor.
The priest examined him through the gear instead; the injured man bit back a gasp at one gentle touch. Ignatius looked up at Rudi and Mathilda, and shook his head very slightly. Odard saw it and nodded a little.
″I can . . . feel the bones grating. The big one . . . caught me full-on. Please. Things to say . . . first. Taking off the hauberk would . . . do it quick. Got to . . . keep still.″
″No,″ Mathilda whispered. ″Not after we′ve come so far!″
″Dice . . . don′t fall sixes . . . forever. Had to be . . . someone,″ Odard said. ″Mathilda . . . I do love you. Didn′t at first. Then I really did. Sorry I ever lied . . . to you.″
She took one of his hands. Tears fell on it, but she raised it to her lips. ″I love you like a brother, Odard. Like the brother I never had. I always will.″
Rudi could see how hard Odard tried not to laugh, and felt a sudden upwelling of emotion in himself he recognized as close to love indeed.
May I face the Huntsman as boldly, he thought. And to be sure I′ve never yet met a woman who understood why saying that drives men crazed.
Odard′s voice was light: ″I don′t even feel mad at hearing that bit about being a . . . brother, Your High . . . Mathilda. So I must be . . . dying. Look . . . after my family.″
This one is not a perfect man, Rudi thought. Who is? Not myself! But he′s a man indeed.
She nodded and clasped the hand in both of hers. ″I will. I′ll try my best for your mother. And I′ll take your brother and sister in ward myself; they′ll always have my protection and my favor. I promise it before God.″
″Tell them . . . I died . . . well?″
Then she leaned closer and kissed him, very gently, on the lips.
″You are my knight, Sir Odard Liu, valiant and true as steel, with honor as golden as your spurs.″
″I . . . think I am, at last.″
His eyes turned to Mary and Ritva and Rudi. ″Mother . . . wanted you dead. Because of my . . . dad. I . . . didn′t, not ever, really. Took a while to . . . see it.″
Rudi leaned forward and—very lightly—touched Odard′s shoulder.
″You′ve been a true friend, brother,″ he said. ″I′ll miss you. For yourself, and because you′d have been a right-hand man to me. One I could trust with my back.″
″To quote . . . your father . . . this . . . sucks,″ Odard sighed, and then a sudden effort not to cough made sweat spring out on his face.
When he spoke again, there was a gurgle to it. ″I would have followed you, Rudi. And I just get my . . . head straightened out and I die. Shit! Good-bye to . . . all of you. It′s been . . . fun.″
He moved one hand; Mathilda helped wrap his fingers around the hilt of his sword and move it, so that he could kiss the cross made by that and the stub of blade.
″Father?″ he said, weak and breathy now. ″We′d better get . . . started. There′s . . . a lot to . . . confess.″
They all moved back, and the priest leaned forward, opening the boiled-leather box across his back, taking out a long strip of cloth, kissing it and draping it about his neck. Rudi took another step backward when he heard Odard struggle to say:
″I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin . . . and to you, Father, that I have sinned exceedingly—″
Some things should be private. They all turned, making a wall between their friend and the world for a long set of moments. Nobody spoke as the murmured words sounded behind them. The twins looked the most stunned; they′d known Odard as long as he had, if not so well, and had always played a half-serious game of verbal feud with him. But even Virginia had been with him for most of a year now, and a damned intense one at that. Ingolf leaned close to Rudi and said very softly:
″I never liked him all that much. But by God, he′s game.″
Rudi nodded and murmured: ″I thought the same.″
The priest′s voice rang a little louder behind them:
″—Paradisi portas aperiat, et ad gaudia sempiterna perducat. Amen.″
Odard′s Amen was thready, barely perceptible.
″Benedicat te omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen.″
″Amen.″
″Quickly, now, my friends,″ Ignatius said. ″The Death Angel comes.″
Odard′s face was very pale now; the oil gleamed on his eyelids as they fluttered. The eyes moved as those he′d known best knelt around him, a greeting and farewell. After a few labored breaths he smiled; it should have looked grotesque, with the blood on his teeth, but it didn′t. His face lit, looking past them somehow.
″So . . . beautiful!″ he said, coughed blood and died.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KALKSTHORPE, LAND OF THE KALKINGS, NORRHEIM (FORMERLY ROBBINSTON, MAINE) JANUARY 10, CHANGE YEAR 24/2023 AD
″You are the man Abdou?″ Rudi asked, leaning back in the chair.
That put his back to the window, which would make him an outline against the daylight and his face less readable, always an advantage. Mathilda sat at his right hand and Father Ignatius on the other; the seidhkona′s sprawling household had found Matti Norrheimer woman′s garb while their own was repaired and cleaned, a dark blue wool dress, head scarf and long apron of embroidered white linen and shoulder brooches of silver and jet. The pale winter light shone through the broad stretch windows and on his captive; this was an upper chamber, with a loom pushed up against the wall.
The Moor wasn′t bound, but Edain stood behind him with his bow slung and his hand on the hilt of his sword, his square face wary and grim.
″I Abdou. And I commander of fighting men, just same like you.″
The pirate captain was a tall man, as tall as Rudi himself, though more slender. Stripped of armor and outerwear he had a long robelike blue tunic embroidered at the shoulders and loose white pantaloons, both filthy and stained. There was stubble on his cheeks apart from the tuft of chin beard, and straws in his wiry hair beneath his skullcap; he smelled of sweat and dried blood and general misery, but he stood like a prince, his dark brown hawk-face calm despite the bruises and scabs. His injured right arm was in a sling.
″Why did you come to make war here?″ Rudi probed.
″Because I think I win . . . just same like you.″
Rudi laughed; the least shadow of a smile touched the corners of the prisoner′s mouth for an instant. The clansman spoke:
″I am Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie; also called Artos, High King of Montival.″
″I Abdou al-Naari al-Kaolacki, lord,″ the man said. ″You say with English . . . Abdou the Moor from Kaolack.″
″You′re not all Moors?″ Rudi asked, curious.
″No, lord. The peoples of north to the . . . Senegal River, you call it . . . are Moor. Beni Hassan. Many comed to south after the Change; my father be . . . one Moor. Comed Kaolack, comed sailor. Most there, they Wolof, Serer tribes.″
The world is so wide; its folk and their Gods and ways so many! Rudi thought. Wistfully: And one man′s life is not enough to learn them all, even if he had no other business.
The corsair′s English was understandable, as long as he spoke slowly. Besides the thick accent, Rudi thought he′d learned from someone who spoke an English dialect unlike any used in Montival; now and then it reminded him a little of the way Sam Aylward sounded. Occasionally he spoke first in a liquid, pleasant-sounding tongue that was probably his own, and then translated.
″You are well?″ Rudi went on.
Again the slightest smile turned up the corners of the man′s mouth; he moved the fingers of his h
and in the sling, and touched his temple with the other.
″Suma bop dey meti,″ he said. ″I a headache, wounds pain little bit. My father is . . . fighter for Emir. Myself too. Captain of the Bouel-Mogdad. Hurt not . . . not big new thing.″
″You were a captain,″ Rudi said sternly. ″You are pirates, who came here to plunder; and you were taken in arms. So your lives are forfeit, and by right of battle you and your ship and your men belong to me, who spared you and took your surrender. You are mine to deal with as I will. Is this not so, Abdou al-Naari?″
″Inshallah,″ Abdou said. ″All things as God wills. No God except God; Muhammed is Prophet of God. What you do to me, that is will of God too. If you kill me, I am martyr for Faith and go to Paradise, sins forgiven.″
That little speech was partly a bargaining gambit, he thought. And partly what the man actually believes.
It wasn′t that a brave man was impossible to threaten. You just had to do it carefully.
″Who spoke of killing?″ he said, spreading his hands. ″Have you been treated well? Do you have what you need?″
″There food and straw and blankets and fire, medicine for our hurt. Two die, maybe one more soon. Others heal; my son Ahmed heal.″ He shrugged. ″Inshallah. Need more water to wash, and how say, soap.″
″You shall have it. And now, why did you come here, Abdou al-Naari? This place in particular, I mean.″
″Marabout . . . Holy Man . . . say he have . . . how you say English . . . see in head thing far away.″
″A vision.″
″Yes, vision from God. Say followers of Prophet need help, Muslim like us. Also rich plunder. And worshippers of many false gods . . .″
″Pagans,″ Mathilda said helpfully.
Abdou nodded without deigning to look at her. ″Pagans, Norrheim men . . . fight our people, many time. Fight on sea, fight in dead cities. We teach lesson.″
″The men with the sun sign on their chests met you near here? Led by one in a red robe?″ Rudi asked.
″Yes. Marabout say, them men believers in Prophet.″
His voice sounded dryly skeptical. Father Ignatius leaned forward from Rudi′s other side.
″Followers of a Prophet, Abdou al-Naari. Not of your Prophet; of a living man who claims that title.″
Rudi could see shock on the corsair leader′s face, and for the first time there was heat in his voice:
″Muhammed is last of prophets, peace upon him! Some before—Issa, Jesus you nasrani call him, and Ibrahim before Issa. They prophets with message from God. No more after Muhammed! Is haraam . . . unclean thing, from Shaitan!″
″Blasphemy,″ Ignatius said helpfully.
Abdou nodded vigorously, winced and repeated the gesture despite the pain.
″Blasphemy,″ he agreed. ″Is that word.″
And he believes it, Rudi noted with interest. This one is no fool. Even a short acquaintance with the Cutters would have shown him they weren′t really of his faith. And this Holy Man . . . he must be also a servant of whatever Power the Cutters follow.
″The folk here would kill you,″ Rudi said. ″For vengeance, the which you have earned by falling on them without cause or warning. And they don′t keep slaves. But I have a use for you and your ship.″
Abdou′s spine stiffened a little further. ″Will not aid you against believers, my friends,″ he said. ″Kill us all first.″
Rudi shook his head. ″I wouldn′t ask you to fight your own folk,″ he said, and added to himself: Nor would I trust you if you said you would. Loyalty to clan and tribe and one′s own blood isn′t the only call on a man. But it′s the foundation of all else. He believed that with all his heart. There weren′t many people alive a generation after the Change who didn′t. Aloud he went on:
″I need a ship to take me and my followers to an island—″
They talked back and forth for a few minutes; Abdou had never heard the word Nantucket, or seen it except on old maps. His eyes went wide as he realized what his captor meant.
″Isle of the Accursed!″ he said. ″There magic there! Sorcery, strong magic.″
″And to be sure, there is,″ Rudi said implacably. ″Yet there I need to go; and my hosts here can spare neither crew nor ship, after the damage you did them. So it is to there I require your service. There, and back again.″
The Moor thought for a moment. ″You give back ship of my, I do this thing for you?″
Rudi threw back his head and laughed; the man might be a shameless saltwater bandit, but he had courage, to bargain so, alone amongst angry strangers and with a sword hung over his neck.
″You don′t lack for stones, that′s plain, Abdou al-Naari!″ he said. ″No. What you get for this service is your lives and the clothes you wear, no more. The ship and its cargo and gear goes to the folk of Kalksthorpe, as compensation for their losses.″
″As wergild,″ Heidhveig said sternly. ″Blood price. Count yourself lucky that our friend Rudi Mikesson needs you. And that he′s a man of honor, and that we honor his wishes because of our debt to him.″
The Moor looked at her. She sat like the spirit of the soil itself; the orange tabby-cat in her lap added its golden stare. The pirate captain blinked and nodded silently with wary respect, making a furtive sign with his good hand. Rudi went on:
″Once we′re back you and your men will be held until an English ship puts in—and the Norrheimers have agreed to not ask them to hang you as pirates and enemies of humankind. They′ll say you were shipwrecked here, which in a way is true enough.″
Abdou winced slightly. ″Big money English make our families pay,″ he said.
″Ransom.″
″Ransom, yes.″ Then he shrugged. ″Money come, money go, maybe come again, inshallah. Dead man dead always. We do. Go to Sorcerer′s Island, take you.″
He looked down at his arm. ″I can navigate, another day, three, four, arm strong enough to hold sextant. Not enough my men able to work ship goodly. Only ten, not hurt bad too much. Wait, more ready with more days, crew big to sail ship with you.″
This time Rudi′s smile was thin; he didn′t think Abdou al-Naari was stupid . . . and the Moor probably didn′t think Rudi was stupid enough to entrust himself to a crew composed wholly of his corsairs, though he also probably thought there was no harm trying. And while Rudi couldn′t navigate, he did know enough to keep an eye on the compass and the stars, so al-Naari wouldn′t be sailing them off to Dakar or the Saloum delta.
″I have some men who′ve sailed,″ he said. ″I have sailed myself, a little. More who can pull on a rope at need. I′ll be bringing all my war band along; thirty-two of us. With your ten, that should do nicely for a short voyage of no great difficulty in a schooner. The others can stay here and heal from their wounds.″
Al-Naari made that almost-smile again. And be hostages, especially your son, went silently between them.
It was good when men understood each other. The dark aquiline face was wholly grave when the book they′d found in his cabin was borne in, unwrapped and placed before him.
″And you will swear on your own holy things,″ Rudi said. ″Let your own God hear your oath.″
A week later two ravens swirled around the masts in Kalksthorpe′s little harbor, on a day that dawned with bleak brightness in the east and a brittle cold in the wind out of the west. Rudi cocked an eye up at the dark forms. This was a natural place for the birds to congregate; the Norrheimer were a cleanly folk, but a fishing haven always had something for the birds. That tang of fish and fish guts was there, and silt, cold seawater, a faint reek of smoke even this long after the raid. There were plenty of gulls, too, though the great black birds ignored those. They perched for a moment on the foremast, and then took off southward along the coast.
The Bouel-Mogdad rose and fell slightly at her mooring at the end of the long T-shaped pier; she was a bit bigger than any of the Kalksthorpe ships. Kalk Shipwright himself prodded at her railing near the wheel and binnacle with his carved s
taff.
″I don′t like this squared stern,″ he sniffed. ″Weakens the stem, to my way of thinking. But the wood′s sound. We don′t have timber like this! The way it′s worked . . . some is good. Some′s strange.″
Rudi nodded gravely. Kalk was old—nearly bald save for a fringe of white hair, stooped, his scalp and gnarled hands liver-spotted. His face reminded the Mackenzie of a turtle′s, ready to snap out from beneath its shell. But his pale eyes were still keen, and so was the mind behind them.
As far as the Mackenzie could see the Bouel-Mogdad—it was bad luck to rename a ship—was in fine condition; he′d seen ships often enough in Astoria and Newport, sailed up and down the coast and studied the art of their making a little in shipyards he′d visited. The corsair vessel was a two-master and rigged all fore and aft, which made her a schooner, technically; about a hundred and ten feet long and thirty at its widest a third back from the sharply raked bow. The poop deck was about four feet above the level of the main; the fantail at the rear held one turntable-mounted war engine, crouching like a dragon of coils and angles behind its sloped steel shield. Another like it was placed in the bows—those two had been dismounted for the siege, and were now back in place—and three more sat on each broadside on limited-traverse mounts.
He could appraise the murder-machines with a true expert′s eye, if not the ship. They differed from the ones made in Montival-to-be in a hundred details, but the laws of the mechanic arts knew no boundaries. They had about the same performance as a six-pounder scorpion, though they were marked for three kilos instead.
A net full of barrels swung by overhead, with one of the ship′s spars used as a crane, then dropped smoothly into the hold. That was stores for the voyage, though mostly they′d added rock ballast to keep the lightened vessel stable. Folk swarmed about, working at the last touches to make her seaworthy; even the dark grained wood of the deck shone. Ashore a gang were singing as they dragged a long bundled sail down the pier, like a great beige snake with many legs.
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