'I'm fine, thanks.' He paused to rub his eyes and ease his cramping shoulders and worked on. Music floated up from the bottom deck; Munil could put his flute to more uses than just keeping the rowers pulling in time with each other. Some while later, the cook called out to offer anyone still hungry a last bite before he raked out his stoves for the night and threw the embers over the side.
Kheda ignored the answering bustle. If he tried to eat, he would choke. That would reveal him to everyone as faithless; everyone knew how to read that portent. Showers came and went, none too heavy, their coolness still refreshing with everyone's memories of the baking dry season slow to fade. Full dark came and cloaked the water in a muffling blanket. Voices echoed across from the islands in the bay, bright like the light from the fires flickering on the rocks, shadows and shapes fleeting across the flames. Lamps glowing like polished amber hung around the Beloc pavilion ashore, music flowing liquid and graceful from strings caressed by the hands of musicians as skilled as any the Daish warlord had ever heard. From time to time, laughter threatened to go a little beyond what was decorous but any such excess was soon curbed.
Kheda moved to take advantage of the stern lantern and continued carving as the various galleys at anchor grew still and quiet, oarsmen retreating to their hammocks, the more favoured crew to their cabins. The night closed in around every boat, only held at bay by the lights making soft golden islands of each stern platform. All sound ashore ceased.
'You should get some sleep, soothsayer. We'll be heading north with the dawn.'
Kheda looked up to find Godine looking at him with veiled concern. The lad who fetched and carried for the cook stood beyond him, ready to earn his sleep when the galley was underway by pacing her upper deck to keep the night watch.
'Very true.' Kheda stood and brushed shavings of ivory from his soft, worn trousers. His fingers ached but the carving was finished. He smoothed the edges of the hole he had painstakingly bored one last, unnecessary time. He cut a length from the leather thong he'd stolen along with the quilt and threaded it through the ivory, knotting the leather securely before slipping it over his head.
'What is it?' asked Godine, puzzled.
'A reminder,' Kheda said shortly. 'Good night.'
'I'll see you in the morning,' yawned Godine, disappearing down the wider stair to the accommodation deck.
Kheda followed and made as if to go down to the rowing deck. He didn't, stopping instead to sit on the narrow ladder, listening. The boy's soft footsteps brushed on the planks above his head before disappearing towards the prow. A few rustles and snores came up from the rowing deck but no sound to suggest anyone was wakeful down there. He couldn't hear anything from the lowest hold where the rest of the oarsmen must surely be sleeping soundly. He sat in the darkness and counted off all the constellations he could recall, in order, as they would be set around the unseen compass of the heavens above.
Finally, he moved, climbing noiselessly back up to the accommodation deck. He walked with agonised stealth past light doors fitted with louvred panels to let a little cooling air flow through the niggardly rooms. Not that Godine, Munil or Bee would complain. Lack of living space was a trade they were happy to make, in exchange for the solidly walled storerooms beyond, a share set aside for their own use, their own assets hopefully increasing with every landfall.
Who are you going to steal from this time? It has to be the shipmaster or one of the overseers. If you steal from Ikadi Nass, at best they'll be flogged, at worst hanged from their own mast. No warlord could let such a thing pass, and they'd still be under suspicion even after they'd been lashed till their ribs showed. You owe Godine more than that and you had better make sure you reclaim your rights at the end of all this, so you can make recompense for his losses.
Kheda passed the storerooms close to the cabins where the men slept, where Godine guarded the valuables he carried in trust for his lord. The space they were granted for their own use lay beyond what little light came down the ladder from the stern lantern. Kheda took the heavy stained knife out from beneath his tunic; a dishonourable tool for a dishonourable job. Then he realised he didn't know which store had been granted to which man.
Let this serve as an augury, then, a test. If I am truly doing right by my domain, following a true path, I should find something that will buy me a passage to Shek Kul's domain. If I'm caught and killed, well, that disaster's already overtaken the Daish domain, as far as anyone else is concerned.
With that realisation, the slight tremor in his hands stilled. Feeling his way as much as seeing, Kheda moved cautiously to the first door. He eased the tip of the crude knife into the crack between the lock and the jamb. Leaning all his weight, he forced it in further, at the cost of muted splintering noises. He wrenched the knife towards himself and the wood gave way with a loud crack. Kheda stood, motionless, distantly wondering why the heart hammering in his chest wasn't breaking his ribs.
No one stirred behind the cabin doors. The boy on watch didn't come running on curious feet. No prying face appeared at the top of the ladder down to the rowing deck. Kheda pushed the door and slid inside the store. It was windowless, the better to foil any of the two-footed rats that skulked around some insalubrious anchorages. A small candle lantern hung on a nail beside the door with a spark maker on a little shelf below it. Kheda lit the lantern and put the spark maker back.
Fool. You're a thief now. Steal things that you might need, and think how best to avoid being caught while you're at it.
He pocketed the spark maker and used his bag both to wedge the door shut as best he could and muffle any telltale light slipping beneath it. In the dim candlelight, he considered his options. There were several bolts of fine muslin in pale colours and one of a red-shot golden silk as well as hanks of goat hair for shawls. Kheda ignored them, too big, too heavy, too bulky. He sniffed at a row of middling-sized casks. Sharpnuts, lemon spice and more of that cursed agali root. He stifled a sneeze. All valuable enough but worthless to him at present. An open-topped crate had smaller boxes made of roughly split cane stacked inside it. Kheda untied the cords securing the topmost.
Packed carefully in a nest of grubby tandra fluff, he found a trio of white crystal cups carved like coiled shells. Relief made him almost light-headed. He hastily reknotted the cord, reaching for the next. That held more Ikadi domain quartz, this time a nested set of bowls shaped like vizail blossoms. One more and that would surely be enough. His hand hesitated before snatching up a third box. He opened it to reveal a rock crystal goblet, its rim ornamented with canthira leaves.
Enough. It cannot be that far to Shek Kul's domain and any one of these should buy you passage clear across the Archipelago.
Kheda grabbed his bag and stowed his loot inside. Then he halted, motionless for a moment, before taking the cord from one of the boxes in the crate, knotting it around the leather thong holding the ivory spiral beneath his tunic.
The leather is for the man you stole the quilt from. The spark maker will remind you of the debt to Godine and the ship. This cord can be token of your debt to whomever you're robbing here.
Unbuckling his belt, he slid the end through the strap of the carry sack before securing it around his waist once more. He snuffed the candle with licked fingers and the darkness pressed all around him. His ears reassured him there was no one wakeful in any of the cabins, the only sounds the slow night-time creaks and shifts of the ship's timbers and the waters gently lapping around her.
Where is the cook's boy? If he sees or hears you going overboard, he'll raise a cry for rescue. That must most assuredly not happen, even if the unexplained loss of a man will be taken as a dire portent. Well, until Godine finds this store broken into, his choicest trade goods plundered. Then no one will wonder why you fled. All they'll wonder is how you concealed your perfidious nature for so long.
A sour taste in his mouth, Kheda moved slowly up the corridor, one hand trailing lightly along the wall, the other keeping the bag at his hip from h
ampering him. The faint light of the stern lantern outlined the stair to the deck above and he blinked as his vision strengthened. He climbed slowly, crouching as his head reached the upper deck, his eyes on a level with the planking. The cook's boy sat crouched on the stern platform beneath the lantern, intent on something in his cupped hands. As Kheda watched, the prize flew away. It was a moth drawn to the light. The boy pressed himself against the stern-post, face turned upwards, waiting for the next inquisitive insect to appear.
Kheda eased himself out of the hatch, keeping low to the deck, on knees and one hand, the other taking care his precious bundle didn't bump along the planks. He hurried into the shadow of the galley's deck rails, edging backwards towards the waist of the ship. He'd have to go over the side somewhere around here to fall clear of the steering oars. Rolling over the rail, he lowered himself to the full extent of his arms, feeling with his toes for the telltale upper edge of the oar ports. He braced his feet against the wood of the galley's side, to push himself away as he jumped. A splash might betray him but falling among the oars would definitely make enough noise to guarantee discovery.
He glanced down to see the night sea sliding mysterious beneath the galley, shimmers of curious light here and there beneath muted wreaths of foam. The pain in his shoulders was agonising, burning, tearing. His grip was slipping. Kheda barely managed to kick against the side of the ship before his hand pulled free of the rail and he was falling.
The sea came up to meet him before he realised, still trying to straighten himself for a smooth dive. The impact battered him with a cold shock that made him gasp. The waters closed over his head, filling his mouth and stinging his eyes. He shook his head, kicking and striking out, the bag at his waist trying to drag him down and down. As he reached the surface, it was the night air that felt cold on his skin now. Wet hair blinded him, clinging to his face like seaweed. He tried to tread water, to wipe his eyes clear, but the weight tied to him made that impossible. He began swimming; rolling on to his side as best he could to get a sight of the galley. Was any alarm being raised?
As his frantic breathing slowed and Kheda managed to raise his head above the water, he could make sense of the sounds around him. There were no shouts, no voices raised in panic or confusion. He looked to see where the closest ships lay and began swimming for the darkness between the glow cast by their stern lamps, lapping waves suddenly noisy where they were trapped between the anchored hulls. Beyond he saw the faint lines of the islets in the bay black against the star-filled sky.
Anchor ropes, eels or sharks nosing around the rocks; all manner of hazards could drown him if he got swept among those boats. Kheda kicked out, legs and feet suddenly feeling horribly vulnerable in the endless emptiness of the waters. The thought of dagger-sharp teeth fastening in his leg chilled him more than the sea.
Is it true sea serpents don't even kill their prey outright, dragging it beneath the water instead to the slow agony of death by drowning? What of it? Your people face death by magic if you don't succeed. You can wager your life against the certainty that you're doing right. That should be trial enough to set against the way you've forsworn yourself.
Turning away from the lights, he struck out through the rippling swell for the blackness of the wider strait beyond the bay. This was nothing like carefree afternoons in the lagoon at home, playing in the pretence of making sure all the children could save themselves from drowning. The night and the sea closed around him. He forced his arms and legs in endless repetitive actions, pushing against the water, the bag at his waist a ceaseless counterweight, sodden bulk bumping his thigh with every kick. His limbs grew heavy, hands and feet numb, but he could not stop.
It's very simple. Stop and you drown. You have to go on. Can you go on? Will there be some land before you have to give up?
Some measureless age later, a current took him. He didn't realise it at first, not until the rising pace of the seas buoyed him up, carrying him onwards. He wondered briefly if he should try to escape it then realised he didn't have the strength. All that remained for him was staying afloat, moving forward, snatching a breath with every sweep of his arms.
When the end came, Kheda was too dazed with fatigue to realise what was happening. Something caught at his hands, the unexpected blow rolling him over, breaking the mindless pace of kick and thrust that was all he had thought of through this endless swim. A flurry of foam swept over his head and he felt himself sinking, helpless, wits too slow to cudgel his exhausted limbs into a last effort.
Something caught at his hands: rope, knotted into a net. He grabbed at it, twisting his fingers painfully into the coarse mesh, rolling over in the rushing water, suddenly desperate to get his other hand to the resin-coated strands, panicking lest he let this hope of rescue slip. The net moved, pulling him up. He clung on; feeling himself lifted half out of the water. The net wrapped itself around his legs and he struggled to find some footing for his nerveless toes. Strong hands hauled him aboard, grabbing at his tunic, his belt, anything they could reach. Voices sounded around his head but he couldn't make sense of the unfamiliar dialect until he hit the deck. He lay there, gasping, hands still tangled in the netting, trembling uncontrollably.
'Some catch we've made tonight, lads.' Concern shaded a man's good-humoured rumble.
'Best get him dry, Da.' Brisk hands hauled Kheda up to a sitting position. Someone else tugged at the belt around his waist. He managed some inarticulate protest and pushed whoever it was away.
A slap stung his cheek. He blinked and saw a young man's face scowling in front of him. 'You let us get you dry and warm or we'll throw you back over the side to feed the eels.'
That futile struggle had been the last effort he could summon up. Kheda nodded dumbly and closed his eyes in dazed confusion.
May as well cooperate. What is this boat? Fisherman? Is that fish I can smell?
Someone stripped off his sodden clothing and wrapped a length of coarse cotton around him. Remorseless hands rubbed at his back and arms, pounding the feeling back into his insensate body.
'Here, drink this.' The first voice, the older man, closed his hands carefully around a wooden beaker and guided it to his mouth. The rising steam told him it was steeping thassin leaves.
Good for shock and exposure.
Kheda gulped at the hot liquid, feeling its course down his gullet and into his stomach burn like fire. After a few moments, he began to feel some connection between that warm core and his outer skin now slowly reviving under the merciless assault of his rescuers.
'Thank you,' he croaked.
'What happened to you?' A lamp swung nearer and Kheda saw four inquisitive faces looking down at him. The eldest was plainly father to the other three, whose eyes were wide with curiosity. The youngest member of the family was kneeling before him, a girl whose face was creased with concern.
Kheda managed a smile, cheeks stiff and lips cracked.
'What was it? Shipwreck? Fallen overboard?' persisted the father.
Kheda took another swallow of the warming drink. 'I must get to the Shek domain,' he managed to say, voice hoarse.
'Must you indeed,' retorted the fisherman.
'I must—' Kheda cleared his throat and took another drink. He was too exhausted for subterfuge. 'It is a matter of life and death.'
Wagering your life against the certainty that you're doing right; that's supposed to be trial enough.
'Is it now?' One of the sons sounded a sceptical echo of his father.
'I don't suppose he was swimming in the open seas for fun,' the girl countered.
'We could swing over that way.' The eldest boy looked at his father. 'We could look for coral crabs.'
That's what that rank smell is: crab baskets. I remember it from the harbour at the rainy-season residence.
Kheda finished the drink and gave the cup to the girl. 'Thank you,' he said sincerely.
'You should get some rest,' she told him sternly, before pointing at a heap of nets and sailcloth. 'Yo
u'll be out of everyone's way over there.'
Kheda briefly considered trying to get to his feet. Then he opted for half crawling, half shuffling on his knees before collapsing on to the comparative softness of rope and canvas. The girl fluttered around him, pulling at the damp cotton swaddling him. With an exasperated hiss, she gave up and draped a fold of sailcloth over his legs.
'What do we do with him come morning?' The fisherman and his sons had returned to the more immediate business of sailing their boat.
'Set him ashore or find someone else to take him on his way, wherever that may be,' the father replied. 'I won't risk the ill-luck that comes with hindering him, if whatever drives him is truly life or death.
Or you can hand me over to some Danak trader, to be made zamorin and sold for a slave. Who knows?
Kheda really couldn't bring himself to care, so let sleep claim him with an oblivion as final as drowning.
Chapter Thirteen
Such a narrow strait, and it might as well be a thousand leagues wide.
Kheda sat cross-legged on the steeply shelving sand and burned with frustration. The dark, shingle-strewn bay opposite was twin to the one where he sat, the shallow waters between greenly opaque in the aftermath of the morning's violent storm. There were a few differences, crucial for anyone hoping to make that short crossing. An ominous grey-stone building stood foursquare at the water's far edge, its roof walk patrolled by armoured men, windows no more than arrow slits. The double gates were locked in a forbidding barrier of black wood and iron studs in contrast to the open doors and shutters of the simple houses clustered some way beyond. More of the single-roomed dwellings stretched up a curving track and spread out along the shore on either side. Swiping away insistent sandflies, Kheda watched children scampering to play in the lull between the rains, men and women idling after the noon meal that had brought them respite from their mundane tasks. Kheda's belly had been empty and griping since dawn and hunger distracted him yet again.
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