“When Telliyn is full, the ferries run in the morning,” I said. “We’ll have to hurry to make the tide.”
“The undead absolutely can cross water,” she said, meeting my gaze.
“But nothing can get on a boat once it’s left the dock, not on the Ruillin,” I answered. “It’s the fastest way south. At Ballarona we may yet find a watership.”
Letitia nodded; she glanced at Amien. “Is there reason to assume the—” She glanced around at the airship crew, who had unloaded all the gear, right there in the road, and now seemed to be untethering the canopy from the basket—and evidently gave up any hope of stealth. “Any reason to assume the Bard’s Wizard can’t or won’t do the same thing again?”
Arcane noncombatants must not be harmed. It is the first rule of arcane warfare. But we all knew better than to imagine that rule moved our enemy. The dozens of people who would occupy the ferry with us would not be protected by the Aballo code.
Amien raised his eyebrows. “More hope than a reason: what he did this morning was magically expensive; it takes a tremendous amount of energy to bring so much power to bear at distance. I’m not sure how he managed to do it at all. It’s… reasonable to hope that he’s spent his—” The wizard cleared his throat. “That he’ll have to rest before he can do something like that again.”
Letitia fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Have you discovered where he is, then?”
The wizard looked away. “No.”
“And yet you’re confident he’s some distance away.”
Humiliation crept into the wizard’s black eyes. “Mora…” he began.
And suddenly I’d had enough. It was one thing for her to humiliate me; Amien had been utterly steadfast.
“Letitia, if you’ve got a better idea this morning, we are at your disposal!” I snapped. “Save your humiliation for the man who deserves it, and let’s do what is possible!”
She turned and stared at me again. Her chin lifted in that particular way that meant she was about to dig in her heels. I returned the stare. After several interminable seconds, the hardness in her face crumpled into desperate vulnerability, and my fortifying anger gave way to guilt again. She cast a shamefaced glance at Amien and nodded.
I looked around at the knights: while I wasn’t looking, they had removed all the horses from the leads and returned the gear to the horses. Even Letitia’s and Amien’s possessions were back where they belonged. They all stood beside the horses, watching us argue—and more than one of them looked as if our arguing was a source of relief. Amien paid the airship captain the rest of the fare he’d agreed to, in compensation for the damage to the ship; and we all mounted and hurried back into the city.
Water was already spilling across the dock as we rode down the ramp to the ferry; the crew waved us urgently across and cast off the gangway as soon as we gained the deck. Amien paid the fare while most of the crew stared at the Tanaan; I interrupted all the staring by asking where horses were to be lodged during the trip. I got an answer, but I was still irritatingly aware of the bold gazes from crew and passengers alike as we dismounted and led the horses to the makeshift corral at the rear of the ship.
Nevertheless a sort of calm settled over me as the crew cast off from the dock and raised the sail. If we weren’t safe, we occupied a zone in which the threats could likely be managed. We had a few hours in which to rest, gather our wits, and formulate another new plan. The ship’s windcaller summoned a southerly wind; I gathered up the knights, leaving Iminor and his venomous stare with Letitia, and took them on an impromptu tour: it seemed to me that this was an opportunity to experience some of the merits of the Ruillin, and they shouldn’t miss it. Not while I was here.
None of us was in the right frame of mind to truly appreciate the atmosphere of a Ruillin ferry, but at least the Tanaan took in the sights: the charms dealers and fortune tellers who haunt the salons of the lower deck, the floating tavern room and ubiquitous ferryboat card games and ever-present night butterflies. They agreed without discussion that a drink was in order after the disastrous flight, so after a full circuit of the lower deck they trouped straight past the stairs to the tavern room again, towing me along. Mugs of thick ale restored the color to their faces; the tension in their bodies unwound, just a little.
Now they were all ready to eat, finally, and I was hungry again, so we bought skewers of roast pork, sacks of roasted early potatoes and little fried fish and carried them up to the interior portion of the main deck, where a troupe of mummers was performing. Today’s feature was a satire, but it had been more than a month since I left Ilnemedon, and I felt myself missing the nuances of their performance. And of course the Tanaan didn’t understand any of the lines. After we finished eating, we walked back out to the open, to lean against the rail and watch the worn-looking mountains crawl past.
The power of the river infiltrated me again, swirling inside my body and mind until I felt the southward pull of the tide in the bones at the base of my spine and the spiraling currents created by the boat’s passage as a whirlpool in the back of my mind. Something inside me relaxed, and a roaring energy swept into me; I shook my awareness free, but I was still unsettlingly aware of the forces acting on the ship I rode, the thin, bright, self-conscious energy of the windcaller in the high chair on the sailing deck above and the huge, uncaring power of the river herself. I tried again to focus on the mundane, to fill my attention with my companions and the things they saw, heard, and felt.
I spotted the island that must be Lethin in the distance, and pointed. “That’s Lethin Isle,” I said, raising my voice over the wind and rushing water. “Where Nimah was. Remember?”
“The trading outpost, before the Deluge,” Easca said. “Lord Amien rode with the caravans.”
I nodded; we all looked across the water. I’d never ridden this ferry route before today; but had I done so, I would have been one of the hundreds of passengers who pass Lethin every month without giving it a second thought. From across the water it gave no sign of ever having been inhabited, let alone by Tanaan. In these difficult waters, there was little reason to imagine it would have been. But today I wondered what it would be like to live in reasonable proximity to Tanaan, and yet have the life I thought of as normal. What it would be for people up and down the Ruillin to have regular contact with these wondrous alien people and begin to learn their ways.
“Hello,” someone said behind me. I turned: it wasn’t Mattiaci showing off his Ilesian vocabulary, but one of the mummers we’d seen inside, a wiry, compact, dark-haired fellow in the costume and makeup that can be the Rogue or the Lord, depending on the demands of the tale at hand; and he wasn’t talking to me. Leave it to a mummer to have the stones to take a run at an armed Tana.
I glanced around: Tru and Easca considered him with speculative glances; Tru decided to treat the mummer to a smile. He mimed a sudden blow to the heart, grinning.
“I’m sorry, they don’t speak Ilesian,” I said to the mummer.
He glanced at me. “I don’t mind,” he said, and returned his attention to Tru. As the rest of us stood watching, he bowed; mummers dressed as the Damsel, the Farmer, and the Druid capered across the deck and began playing a dance tune on reed pipes and a little drum, and the Rogue performed an extravagant gesture of invitation to dance. Tru laughed and put her hand into his, and he led her straight into it, right there on the deck. Easca began dancing with Tuiri; people on the deck gathered until the Tana and their partners danced in the midst of a circle, watching and clapping along with the drum. Mattiaci and Fiacha meandered across the deck and wordlessly invited a couple of night butterflies to join the dance.
After a few minutes, the whole thing broke up, in the typical easily-distracted way of the ferries; but the Rogue bowed again, in extravagant mummer style, tucked Tru’s arm into his, and began to promenade her around the deck, pointing out the sights beyond the rail. I knew she didn’t understand his narrative; it was easy to see she also didn’t care. She was a
n adult, I decided, and armed: there was no need for me to get involved. I wandered off to take in the sights of the eastern bank, such as they are that far north; I glanced down the length of the deck and saw Letitia and Iminor doing the same. Even from here I could see he stood close enough to feel her breath, and he leaned against the rail in a pose that made it impossible to miss the sword at his hip. I felt certain even the mummers were steering clear of Letitia, and my presence there would be neither welcome nor required.
He was her consort. I was a foreign man who couldn’t even be counted on to stay the course. I had no excuse to feel jealous. I looked out across the water.
After a moment, Amien stood beside me. “Matti and Fiacha think they’ve made new friends,” he said. “Someone is going to have to explain to the Tanaan about the night butterflies.”
“And by someone, you mean me.”
The wizard shrugged. “You know, the Tanaan have no concept of whoring.”
I found myself staring at him, stunned.
“It’s true. They’ve got what they call priestesses of loving, who serve in the temple to the goddess Tiana—but that’s a sacred function. Sex for money… Well… I’m not sure they’ll understand at all.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand them.”
Amien nodded, looking across the water. “I don’t. Not in four hundred years.” He pursed his lips, thoughtful, then cast me a sidelong glance. “But there is no pursuit more fascinating than a thing you cannot understand.”
“I’m certain moths hold very similar conversations,” I said. “Right before they plunge into lamps.”
21. The Dance
Dromineer lies halfway between Goibniu and the city of Ballarona. Now that I had seen Goibniu, I understood: that truth is more than geographical. The city of Dromineer has the same rough-edged quality as Goibniu, but the ferries run both north and south from there; in contrast to Goibniu’s make-money-and-get-out sensibility, Dromineer has the sense of a place that might be satisfactory to men who have never seen the south. There are more inns, better entertainment of every variety, more sophisticated craftwork and better access to the stuff of daily life; men will bring their families to live there. But the streets are still thick with night butterflies, and even the baker is armed.
If the place had changed in five years, I couldn’t tell. But I could count the number of days I had spent in Dromineer on my fingers, and I had never spent more than a night or two there at a stretch. Why would I, when I’d had a home of sorts in Ballarona and the ferries run every day?
At the top of the ramp leading up from the ferry, Amien turned unhesitatingly to the right. I would have, too; I could guess where he was bound. I would have made the same choice: there is no place in Dromineer more comfortable for a loyalist. Except.
I urged my horse a little faster, moved forward to ride beside him.
“The Caithdell,” I said.
He glanced at me and smiled. “Great minds.”
I shook my head. “I played there a few times, years ago. I’m not sure whether the proprietor remembers me, but—”
“He remembers you, I’m sure,” Amien said gruffly, and led us past the Caithdell towards the next block.
“Once we’re settled at the inn, I’m going back out,” he said. “I want to try to get a message to Brinner.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Rohini’s House Healer,” he elaborated, as if I might have forgotten. I nodded again.
“I want to make sure she knows I’m serious about the rendezvous, and I got her message,” Amien continued. “And I’m writing a letter to Sanglin that Brinner can hand him at the Moot—just in case.”
I met his gaze for a moment. I wanted to assure him it wouldn’t be necessary. Instead I just nodded again.
Outside the Ship and Anchor, Amien reined and cast me a faintly amused glance. “Never played here, did you?”
I shook my head again.
“Good.”
We settled our horses in the stable and trooped into the inn. Late-afternoon sunlight lay fractured by the myriad tiny panes of the windows, speckling the scarred plank floor. Dark, narrow panels of wood lined the walls of the main room, which stood immediately to the right of the entry we occupied—and in which the mummers from the ship were already setting up for their first show of the evening.
“Hai!” one of them chortled; the rest followed his gaze to our party. Within seconds they had gathered in the doorway and were attempting to communicate with the Tana without benefit of words. Tru and Easca met them halfway in that effort, to the evident consternation of Mattiaci and Nuad; even Letitia smiled at them.
Amien let three rooms again, then hung back as the Tanaan began climbing the stairs.
“Can you direct me to a shrine?” he said to the innkeeper.
The man looked thoughtful. “Well, there’s a shrine to Goibniu down by—”
Amien shook his head, impatient. “A shrine of the true religion?”
The innkeeper raised his eyebrows. I got the astonishing sense that he considered Amien’s attitude narrow-minded and a bit rude, but that he was prepared to grant a certain leeway to a guest.
“A shrine to Par, out by the north wall,” he said. “Not much traffic there, though.”
“No doubt,” Amien gruffed and followed me upstairs.
In the room, Amien deposited his burdens in a corner and went straight back out; I forestalled Tuiri and Fiacha as they began following him downstairs and gathered all the Tanaan in our room. Letitia, Tru and Easca were the last ones in; Easca shut the door behind them, and they all stood there looking expectant.
I cleared my throat. “This’ll just take a minute. I didn’t realize—” I cleared my throat again. There was nothing for it but to get it over with, like a dart that must be pulled from the flesh.
“Well, then, here it is. You’ve all met the night butterflies.” They all nodded. “Do you realize what business they’re in?”
“Business?” Mattiaci said, and I wondered whether I’d used the wrong word.
“How they make their living? Earn their money?” I said.
“How?” Tuiri said.
Oh, dear gods. “They…” Sell their affections. Rent their bodies by the hour. Lie for a living.
That last was no different from my profession, of course. Just pull out the dart.
“They will bed whoever pays the fee,” I managed.
There. It was out. But the Tanaan just looked thoughtful. After a moment understanding dawned on Letitia’s face.
“Oh!” she said. “Like the priestesses of loving in the Temple of Tiana.”
“Um,” I said. “Not quite. These ladies are not priestesses. They’re… professionals.”
They all looked bewildered. I should try a different angle.
“Here’s what you need to understand,” I said. “On the Ruillin, anything can be had for a price. You can hire a man to protect you, without him being sworn to you or anyone: he will do it for the money. You can buy another man’s death, if you really want, by hiring an assassin. Though that will tend to come back to haunt you. And if you want—” Damn. “Loving, and you want it without the courting, you can hire a night butterfly.”
The Tanaan were still frowning, but now it was different. They understood what I had said, but only intellectually. Letitia put a hand to the scarf, intense analysis in her face; she turned a penetrating look on me. I felt myself flush.
“Bealla are insane,” Iminor said finally.
I shrugged.
“Have you ever—?” Mattiaci began. Someone, probably Ogma, trod on his foot or put an elbow into his ribs, and he stopped speaking; my blush intensified. I couldn’t look at any of the Tana.
“Listen, if it’s all the same to you I’d rather not discuss my sex life,” I said, with a pretense of a smile. “And I’m not here to regulate yours. I just thought you should understand.”
They all stared at me a few seconds more; finally L
etitia said, “Thank you, my lord,” and they all filed out. Mattiaci hung back until most of them had left, looking as if he might try his question again. Ogma grabbed his elbow and pushed him through the door, then pulled it shut behind him. Finally I was alone.
I spent a few minutes unpacking all my damp things and checking on the progress of my harp. It didn’t seem to be buckling, at least not yet, but it still felt clammy to the touch. I set it a little distance from the fireplace, wrestled with the tinderbox someone had thoughtfully left with the extra wood beside the narrow hearth, and nurtured the fire into something that might spread a helpful warmth around the room.
By the time I reached the main room, the mummers were already performing for the early-dinner crowd—the same routine I’d seen earlier—and the Tanaan had managed to order themselves mugs of beer. The room was still far from full, typical for so early in the evening; but this crowd included a decent percentage of women. I crossed the room to the bar and acquired a mug of my own, then claimed a seat at the end of the table.
The deep racing power of the river, the subterranean stirring of the smith-god’s energy, myriad other energies whose names I didn’t know: I felt them gather around me again as I settled into stillness. Not much traffic down at the shrine to Par, the innkeeper had said: little wonder for a place in which the old gods run so fierce and strong, but strange in the abstract. From the parapets of Dromineer’s wall, on a clear day, one can glimpse the high places of Tellnemed: the place in which Lady Tella raised a man with too little Talent to become a druid to the power who changed the course of human history. How could a man look upon that place, even from across the river, and not see Her magnificence? I didn’t understand.
My mind wandered; thoughts of Amien’s current errand rolled across my brain. Seven nights to Bealtan Eve; eight days to the Moot. Five days stood between the party and Aballo, unless we managed to charter a ship tomorrow—and even the back-up plan depended on being able to hire a ship at Priaochan. It would be a close thing for Amien to reach Teamair in time, and he might have to fly there under his own power to accomplish it.
The Shadow of the Sun (The Way of the Gods) Page 36
