The Mage's Daughter 2: Book Two: Enlightenment

by LeRoy Clary

  As they moved on and left the argument behind, she heard men speaking in a language new to her, and a nearby horn was blown for some reason. A while later, as her head pounded on the side of the crate, she sniffed the pungent smell of the river water, the tar the ships used to seal the hulls, the rotting cargo intended to feed the city that hadn’t arrived in time, and sewage. Indore was built on a slight slope, probably on purpose because culverts, trenches, and pipes all carried liquids down the hill to empty into the stinking river.

  The rough jarring from the pave stones turned to another, softer rattle as the cart rolled over timbers that were the deck of the pier. The men shouting were giving orders. The cart pulled to a stop, and two men spoke, one of them El. His tone was insistent and demanding as if there was a problem.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Prin’s crate tilted as it was carefully lifted after the stern words of warning from El. He told the longshoremen how delicate the contents were, and she couldn’t disagree. She felt the sway as two men carried the crate up a ramp and onto a ship. Prin refused to move or utter any sound, lest they know a person was inside. The box was dropped the last little bit, sending her head crashing back to the bottom, and she almost moaned out loud in pain. The crate was on a ship because even while tied up to the pier on a calm river, the ship moved enough to be felt.

  There were no other crates placed near hers. Sara and the crate with their belongings must be somewhere else on the deck, out of her line of sight, but hopefully, all made it safely onto the ship. The idea of El selling her for the ransom crossed her mind more than once, but she pushed it aside. In her circumstances, another locked in a crate might have dwelled on that idea, but for Prin, there were only three possibilities. There was the unknown, which no one can control, and then there was trust and distrust, both controllable to an extent.

  She had learned early that people can trust each other only until that trust is broken once. After that one time, there can never again fully be trust, in the same sense. Mistakes can be forgiven or overlooked. Promises made and broken. But trust is like a clay pot dropped to the floor. It might be repaired by a clever craftsman, but it will never really be the same. Her mother had taught her that.

  The voices on the pier were shouting, feet stomped or shuffled on the deck nearby, more crates loaded, men bellowed, and the gentle movement of the ship soothed her. She lay in semi-darkness and should be scared for her life, but if necessary, she could set fire to the crate with the flame from her finger and escape. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  She woke several times after dark while trying to stretch her cramped muscles, but as she realized the futility of it because of the lack of space, Prin went back to sleep each time. She regretted leaving the warehouse and Indore. The city and building had been perfect for their needs, and there came several bouts of fear and hate directed at the young mage as a result of her thinking too deeply. But oddly enough, the single item that upset her most was leaving the dog she had yet to name. She finally fell asleep again.

  “Open this one here,” a nearby voice said, pulling her back to awareness.

  A tool struck the crate, and protesting nails were wrenched free. The top lifted to reveal three people looking down at her from the darkness. The motion of the ship was greater than while it was tied to the dock, and she realized it was moving down the river.

  “Welcome aboard,” the same voice growled softer as if speaking in less than shouted orders was unusual.

  Prin sat and said, “Thank you, sir, whoever you are.”

  “Call me Bos’n. I’m to be your mother, father, boss, confident, and enemy.”

  “And I’m Jam,” a younger voice near her age interrupted eagerly. “I’m not the whipping boy anymore. You are.”

  “Whipping boy?”

  “The lowest deckhand on the ship, the one everyone blames for anything that goes wrong. You’re the new whipping boy, so you get all the shit jobs.”

  A third voice snapped, “Hey, watch your language, Jam. Where do you get off talking like that?”

  “Because she’s the new whipping boy. I’m a full deckhand, now,” the boy said, apparently trying to make his point.

  “In case you didn’t notice, this is no boy.” The others laughed, all but Jam. The speaker was a lanky man, middle aged, with what looked like too many large teeth for one mouth. He turned back to Prin as he pointed, “There’s the head. I imagine you’re about to burst.”

  Prin listened to the words but remained standing while trying to understand what they meant. Jam leaned closer to her and whispered, “After being in that crate, he thinks you got to pee.”

  She nodded eagerly.

  Jam said, “Follow me.”

  He took her to the front of the ship and pointed to a section where the rail made a jog around a raised, solid board with a hole in the center, at the perfect height for sitting. Jam turned his back, and Prin took full advantage of the seat while wondering if, during a storm, her bottom would get wet from waves splashing against the hull.

  While sitting, she examined her surroundings. A tall man could stand at the level of the water and almost look over the side to the main deck. The ship was only about six steps wide, and twenty steps to the rear rose a two-level structure. There were at least two people up there looking her way, and she slammed her knees closer together.

  The ship continued behind that structure, but not far. A walkway seemed to circle it, and a ladder rose to the first level, then turned back on itself to the second. A smaller mast with a billowing sail stood near her. Near the center of the ship stood a much larger mast that held a huge sail. There were two raised cargo hatches, and more crates tied down on the deck.

  The movement of the ship was less than expected, the night dark, and only the light of two lanterns and the stars revealed the ship. She looked for the moon and didn’t find it.

  “Prin,” Sara’s voice called. Then Sara rushed up to her and grabbed her in a hug that almost hurt. “I was so scared.”

  Prin motioned to the hole and handles on either side. “Have you used that?”

  “I hope it’s what I think.”

  Prin nodded and turned to Jam. “Don’t you dare turn around.”

  “Having two girls aboard is going to be different. We never look when somebody’s there. Just good manners, whipping boy.”

  “Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to say it,” Prin snarled, tired of him already.

  “It’s true.”

  Sara stood. “What’s with you two?”

  “This is Jam. I haven’t heard that name before, but in our language, I think it means idiot who talks too much.”

  The words were spat as if she had something in her mouth that disagreed with her, but she was not about to let Jam take a superior role without a fight. She headed for the Bos’n. He was busy inspecting the cargo and making sure each crate was tied with at least two ropes and the knots were tight.

  “What’s your name again and how can I help?” she demanded.

  He paused and smiled long enough for his teeth to gleam in the dim light. “Get on the other side of the crates and move along the row with me. Check where they’re tied on the deck and look for anything loose or that might come free in a storm. Call me Bos’n, like I said. The deck and most of the chores on it belong to me.”

  She leaped to help, tugging on each rope and checking for anything unusual. She grabbed one and pulled, and the knot came free. She held it up for the Bos’n to see and to tell her what to do about it.”

  “Jam, get your lazy butt over here. The new whipping boy just found another granny knot you tied. You know what that means?”

  Jam moved closer, a scowl on his face. He curled his lip as he said, “I know. It’ll come untied in a storm. Like you haven’t told me that a hundred times.”

  “And the cargo will swing loose and slide across the deck, and maybe damage the ship or shove one of us over the side, so we drown. The lost cargo will come
out of our ship’s profits. The Captain will have my ass, and all because you can’t tie a decent square knot that I’ve shown you more times than I can count.”

  Prin stood aside and felt the embarrassment radiating from the boy. His eyes went to her and accused her of somehow being responsible for him getting dressed down. Sara came up behind and said, “I’m going to find the cook.”

  The Bos’n grabbed two lengths of rope and held them in front of Prin. He wrapped the ends together as he said and demonstrated, “Left over right. Right over left.”

  She accepted the ropes. The initial part was simple—then she paused and tried the second part of the knot, but realized it was wrong, so she quickly reversed it.”

  The Bos’n took the ropes and pulled. The knot grew tighter. Then he untied the knot and tied it as her initial attempt had been. He pulled the two ends, and the knot twisted and fell apart. He hadn’t said a word until he growled, “Your thoughts?”

  “Give it a pull and see if the knot twists free?”

  “Don’t tell the Captain,” the Bos’n snarled.

  “Tell him what?” she asked.

  “That he assigned a certified genius to my deck crew.”

  Jam spun and stormed off. The Bos’n leaned closer to her and said, “He’s a good boy, just careless and has a chip on his shoulder. Come on, let’s get this cargo checked, and I’ll show you to the crew’s quarters, which is a fancy name for the place where you’ll sleep.”

  They worked their way down the crates on deck, and when she came to another knot tied wrong, she fumbled to correct it before the Bos’n noticed, but when she looked up, his eyes were watching. They moved to the next and the next. She found two more and corrected them.

  He took her to a door on the main deck and showed her how to open it, and refasten it to keep water out, rain or water splashing over the side. Inside the door was a small room with coats and hats hung. The next door opened into a larger room with two tables and chairs, all fastened to the floor, so they remained in one place in rough weather. A narrow set of stairs went up to the deck above.

  “The galley is up there. The other girl will work for the cook.” He motioned with his chin to a set of stairs under those going up. “We’re going down there.”

  She went down first. Inside the room that went from hull to hull, massive beams stood upright, and iron rings were attached between them and the ribs of the ship. Two people were in hammocks attached to the rings. The Bos’n reached on a shelf and pulled out a hammock. He connected the two ends and reached for a thick wool blanket.

  He strung the hammock, then, holding his finger to his lips to keep her quiet, he reached for her waist and lifted her into the hammock and tossed the blanket over her. He grabbed another hammock and strung it at the far end of the room and climbed in. She lay awake listening to the snores of men she didn’t know, the hissing of water passing by the hull, and the creaks and groans of a ship at under sail.

  She woke when the others tried leaving the berth without waking her. They released one end of their hammocks and attached them to the other. The blankets were folded and placed on the shelf, but she noticed each man put his things in different spots. Clearly, they each had hammocks and blankets they preferred.

  At the top of the ladder, men were already eating. An older man glanced at her and motioned to an empty seat near him. She introduced herself quietly, “Prin.”

  “Scotty, or Captain.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. Happy to meet you.”

  “I hear you’re doing a good job on deck.”

  Sara came down the other ladder while balancing a large bowl. She placed it on the serving counter built along one wall and flashed a smile at Prin before disappearing up the ladder again. The captain looked to the counter and said, “Small bowls and scoops over there. Gruel and bread beside it. Apples and grapes, too. We serve ourselves.”

  As he continued eating, Prin filled a bowl and looked for another seat. The captain had been friendly, but she didn’t wish to impose by sitting at his side. The only other empty seat in the small room was beside Jam. After the glare he flashed at her, she sat near the captain and lifted her spoon, which they called a scoop.

  A new voice called, “You going to ignore us?”

  The man was looking at her. “No. What should I do?”

  “Tell us about yourself.”

  Prin didn’t know which lie to tell. The one about her father being a spice merchant didn’t hold up since she had come aboard hidden in a crate. But working in the morning kitchen with the witches there had also taught her that you didn’t allow others to belittle you or that’s what you’d live with your whole life. She noticed the sly smile on Jam’s lips.

  She stood.

  Jam said, too loudly, “Where you going? Running away from us?”

  “Where I come from respect is given and earned. Standing to answer a question shows my respect. Now, about me. I am here to learn the ways of seamen, ships, and of other lands. I intend to work hard enough that by our return voyage most of you in this room will be working for me, so you had better be kind to me while you can—or I’ll remember.”

  The room erupted in laughter, all but Jam. Even the captain seemed to enjoy her words, and he said, “Sit and eat.”

  She spooned the dark gruel and chewed tough bread, enjoying it as much as any meal she’d ever eaten. When the others climbed to their feet, she did too. Out on the deck, she found a chilly breeze and the banks of the river seemed farther away than near Indore. Here the river seemed to move slower, too. Each man appeared to have a duty assigned to him.

  “Bos’n? What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, I guess since you’re going to be taking my place when we head back this way, you better learn a little about the ship. I can’t spare anybody to escort you, so just start looking around and ask anybody about what you’re curious about, just don’t hold them up. After mid-day meal, we’ll find you something to do.”

  “Where do I need to stay away from?”

  “A good question. If’n I was you, I’d not fall over the side. Other than that, we have no secrets or places you can’t go.”

  He returned to his inspection of the ship, the rigging, cargo, sails, and later below decks. He pulled, pushed, scraped, kicked, and eyed the entire ship to determine what might wear out, need fixing or replacement, and what needing cleaning.

  Despite the ship being a cargo ship and showing signs of age, she found all iron painted or greased heavily, the decks remarkably clean and free of obstacles that might prevent free movement or trip a sailor in a storm. The ropes were worn, but in fair shape, the wood in good repair, and the men seemed happy. She had seen six of them, including the cook, captain, and bos’n.

  The bos’n said, “Change my mind, there is one place to stay out of. Sammy was at the helm all night, so he’s sleeping today. Stay out of the crew’s quarters till dinner. He needs his rest for standing watch tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, starting to walk forward.

  “I ain’t no sir. I work for a living,” the bos’n muttered. “Call me Bos’n.”

  She didn’t answer. The deck was sloped from the center to the sides. That made any water they took on slide off. Once she figured that out, she started to identify other details. The ship was far smaller than many that had been in Indore, and as she looked at the vast grasslands on either side of the river, she spotted another ship approaching from their front.

  She noticed two things right away. First, was the white water at the waterline. The ship was moving quick enough to cause that. Then she noticed that the ship had three masts, all equal height. She glanced at the small mast ahead of her, then the large one in the center of the ship.

  Well before the mid-day meal she had toured the ship, asked a hundred questions, and met all the crew but Sammy, the man who worked nights. When she came to Jam, he was on his knees scrubbing the wood deck with a large coarse brush.

  She said, “I was looking aro
und the ship, but I’m done. Got another brush? I’ll give you a hand.”

  He slid the brush in her direction. “Trying to kiss ass? This is work for the whipping boy, anyhow.”

  Prin watched as he stood and strode off to the stern of the ship, leaving the brush at her feet. Her offer had been to help him, not take over the task, but with a sigh, she knelt and dipped the brush into the soapy water and began scrubbing. Someone on the bow was singing, and the melody was familiar. She picked up the words and sang as she cleaned.

  “What’r you doing?”

  She lifted her head to find the bos’n standing behind. “Scrubbing the decks.”

  “Where’s Jam?”

  She hesitated.

  “Don’t give me that. It’s a small ship, I can find him in a heartbeat.” His face had turned red, and his eyes squinted.

  “I think he went back there.”

  The bos’n turned and stormed along the walkway that took him behind the wheelhouse. He hadn’t been there long when Jam ran into sight and back to her. “Give me that brush, damn you.”

  “I didn’t tell on you.”

  He reached over and snatched the brush. She stood, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, Jam. But between you and me, you’re not half the threat of the women in the kitchen where I used to work.”

  He stood back up, fists balled.

  “Another step my way would be a mistake,” she said, prepared to swing for his nose.

  She noticed the bos’n had come up behind Jam but was still eight or ten steps away, where he heard every word. Prin could have turned and walked away, but didn’t. She’d met others like Jam, those who blamed their shortfalls on others. They were bullies as long as someone didn’t stand up to them.

  Jam lifted the broad brush as if ready to use it as a club. Without thinking, Prin reached down and under her long skirt and withdrew the dagger. “Like I said, that would be a mistake.”

  The bos’n didn’t move to stop them. Jam finally started to clean the deck again, and Prin slipped the knife back into its sheath. When she looked up, the bos’n was still standing in the same place, but he gave her a curt nod.