by John March
Next to her, Jaquit choked back laughter.
Bae frowned. “Is there somebody in there with you?”
“Just Jaquit,” Palona said, earning herself another jab in the flank.
He visibly relaxed. “Ah — Jaquit, your friend.”
“Yes Jaquit, my companion,” Palona said, presenting him with her sweetest smile. “But you were about to tell me of your adventures, how you managed to capture these villains.”
He started an excruciatingly detailed and fanciful account of how he'd personally risked his life to overcome each of his prisoners. Palona lost interest by the end of the first sentence. If he wasn't such a dolt, she thought, as she looked him over, he would notice and talk about something amusing. Sometimes Jaquit was lucky not to have to hear people droning on.
“We should ask him to the Stilts Ball … do you think we should ask him?” she signed to Jaquit.
Jaquit was maddeningly slow in responding. “He's devoted enough.”
“We'll just have to stop him talking too much,” she signed at Jaquit.
Bae was still busy describing his encounter with some caster. “ … and then I said to Brack—”
“That's really fascinating, but I must ask before I forget — I came to invite you to the ambassador's ball for the Festival of Stilts.”
“Er … stilts? Yes, it will be an honour.”
“Good, that's settled then. We were just heading home when we ambushed you.”
Palona was pleased to see Bae wince. She lent over to tap Doctor Elali on the head again, then let the concealing valance fall back into place.
“I suppose we really must go home now. The market's just deadly today,” she said to no-one in particular.
Shipboard
WHEN EBRYN AND Quentyn reached the deck they were greeted by a man introducing himself as Hui-ta, their steward. Of indeterminate age, dressed in elaborate sky blue robes with panels of songbird yellow accented in dark purple, he behaved with the courtesy and grace Ebryn might have expected from a royal diplomat. He guided them smoothly towards the guest quarters, near the prow of the vessel, where the cabins were organised into rosette-shaped clusters of six, accessed from a small common foyer.
Hui-ta gave Master Quentyn and Ebryn adjacent rooms. Once he'd helped Quentyn into his cabin, which took far longer than expected, he returned and gave Ebryn a brief overview of his own cabin, explaining how to work the catch on the shutters, demonstrated the use of the water faucet positioned above a shallow basin opposite the bunk, and showed him a hanging cord near the door to pull on if he needed assistance. Satisfied that Ebryn was settled, Hui-ta bowed himself out, promising to return after they'd cast off.
Ebryn lay back on his bunk and watched the wan evening light dissolve into darkness. After a while he noticed the cabin remained dimly lit, even as the sky beyond the ship turned black.
A soft glow came from shaped inlays in the panels on each side of the cabin. He ran his fingertips over the surface of the nearest, tracing the fine lines of power running through the wood. The patterns twisted back on themselves, vibrating like the strings on a lute, drawing together at a common point, a small bead under the surface, at the centre of the inlay.
When he tried to feel his way in, it deflected his senses. A quarter the size of the fingernail on his little finger, as impenetrable as diamond.
He was still examining the inlays when Hui-ta returned and tapped lightly on the door.
Ebryn slid the door back and Hui-ta bowed. “Master Ebryn, Captain Lim would be much honoured if you would grace him with your company at his banquet this evening.”
Ebryn hesitated. Faced with the resplendently dressed steward, he wished he'd thought to bring a formal set of clothes with him.
“Or you may desire to dine in your cabin?” Hui-ta said. “However — please may I assure you — the dinner is exclusively for the captain's selected guests.”
“I haven't anything proper to wear,” Ebryn said.
“Ah,” Hui-ta said. “There is no need for concern, master Ebryn. Our guests bound for Vergence are attired according to many customs. One of Captain Lim's guests this evening is wearing no apparel at all.” Hui-ta seemed to be working hard to suppress a smile.
“Will Master Quentyn be there?” Ebryn asked.
“I could not rouse Master Quentyn. I will try once more.”
Hui-ta knocked softly on the adjacent cabin door. “Master Quentyn?”
From behind the door came retching, followed by the sound of irregular splashing.
“Perhaps,” Hui-ta said, “I should try again later.”
When Ebryn reached Captain Lim's banquet he found it already well under way. There were a greater number of people at the reception than Ebryn had been expecting. Other than Captain Lim, he recognised none of them, which he thought made his late arrival more obvious, and more embarrassing.
All the guests stood in loose clumps around a single large table that had been made as a hollow circle with a segment removed so its shape resembled a horseshoe. Lim was near what would have been the head of the table, to his right, and would have been almost completely hidden by the large group surrounding him were it not for the enormous colourful hat he wore.
A number of servants were busy serving food, and replenishing drinks from the open space in the centre. From somewhere in the dark behind Lim a musician played an instrument that sounded like a reedy piccolo, and another a soft lute.
The polished surface of the table, made of a wood so dark it appeared almost black, reflected light from open oil lamps on posts around the perimeter of the dining area, and a single desultory blue were-light drifted aimlessly above the heads of some of those standing opposite.
With the sky empty of stars or moons, the air still and the ship steady beneath them, Ebryn could easily have imagined they were all at the centre of some great hall with the walls, and ceiling just beyond sight.
He guessed there must be no fewer than a hundred people standing around the table, mostly clustered towards the captain's end, although he found it hard to estimate in the half-light. He stood uncertainly on the outside of the gathering, wondering what he was supposed to do.
A few paces in front of him, on his right, stood a very large man, dressed in colourful red and yellow fabric that shimmered in the scratchy torchlight. To his left was another wearing an extraordinarily elaborate headdress of metal, beads, feathers and reflective stones.
The headdress wearer glanced at Ebryn for a moment, caught his eye, and quickly turned away. He had a brief impression of thin angular features with large dark eyes and a complexion the colour of pale wood, but so bedecked with jewellery he could not decide whether it was a man or a woman. Large disk-shaped gilt earrings nearly the size of his palm hung down from each ear, a hefty silvery nose ring ran through both nostrils, covering almost the entire upper lip, and a solid collar-piece as wide as a hand set with glittering stones covered shoulders, and upper chest.
A large brown fur covered creature with a wedge-shaped ferret-like head on the end of a long sinuous neck, and too many arms, stood on the far side of the circle.
It made great enthusiastic noises as it tore into a large haunch of meat with long sharp teeth, splattering the table and surrounding floor with stray fragments of flesh, meat juice, and spittle.
The space around the creature widened as its enthusiasm increased. A pale-faced young woman directly opposite Ebryn, standing nearest the creature, stepped further up the table, cradling a plate of food protectively, frowning with her nose scrunched up.
Ebryn found the variety of people around the table astounding — as if he'd stepped into a dream where people from all Ullvenards Travels had gathered together.
The spectacle of the travelling faire passing through Conant village in the summers, a brief breath of exotic places in the coloured ribbons and strange accents, paled before the riot of shapes, colours, styles of clothing, and mix of languages here.
One of the servants appe
ared in front of Ebryn, balancing a collection of containers on one arm, bobbing his head and nodding towards the table. “Chishiw.”
“Pardon?”
“Chishiw. Chishiw,” the man said.
Ebryn nodded back uncertainly. “Shishew.”
“I do not know this way of speaking. I am told this word means please eat,” the large man to his right said, turning to face them. He had a deep resonant voice and spoke with an easy rhythm, the kind of voice that might belong to a great orator or accomplished bard.
“Oh, I see. Thanks.”
The table held a motley collection of dishes and drink containers. Nearest to him was a bowl with a light brown coloured broth accompanied by two small golden yellow cakes on a platter. Another held an assortment of leaves in various hues of green and purple surrounding small cubes of some soft white substance and drizzled with a sticky translucent brown sauce that looked like honey but smelt strongly of vinegar. A third dish exuded a pungent aroma, the bowl filled with thin worm-like white glistening tubules sitting in a steaming gelatinous mass that looked like partially congealed blood.
Ebryn looked to see what his fellow guests were eating. His bejewelled neighbour picked delicately at the carcass of a small roasted bird, wrapping each mouthful in a thin strip of flat-bread. Pushed to one side were the largely uneaten remnants of the same leafy dish as the one sitting in front of him.
His bigger neighbour tipped a mess of pale tubes and red sauce into his mouth from a bowl cupped in two large hands. Ebryn didn't feel particularly hungry, but picked up the broth because it gave him something to do with his hands, and looked by far the least disgusting option.
“I am Addae Bohma,” the large man said between mouthfuls. “What is your name?”
Ebryn found he didn't want to claim Conant as his home here. For too many years he had endured being called Conant's bastard behind his back, and sometimes to his face.
He supposed it must be a natural conclusion, for why else would a nobleman take on a child as his ward? When he had tentatively broached the accusation with Sarl, during one visit to the smithy, the blacksmith had chuckled, saying he didn't think it likely Lord Conant ever had any children.
“Ebryn,” he said, deciding quickly. “I'm from Fyrenar.”
Addae nodded. “Yes, you have nothing of the likeness or manner of the Icisori.”
Ebryn inclined his neck to look at his neighbour. His skin was so dark it almost looked black in the weak light, making his expression hard to read.
“Where are you from?” Ebryn asked.
Addae paused before answering. “My people are of the Numerian highlands. All the nations and lands are called Epitu by these who live beyond our stars.”
Ebryn wasn't sure what Addae meant, so he took refuge in his food. The biscuits tasted of lemon and some other subtle flavouring, possibly an unfamiliar herb, but he found them pleasant enough.
“Do you think all these people are travelling to Vergence? I mean to the academy?”
“All are going to Vergence,” Addae said. “Who can say after that?”
“What about you, are you going for the academy?”
“Yes,” Addae said.
An enormous belch from the hairy creature opposite overwhelmed conversation and music.
“Good meat,” it said loudly, rubbing the front of its neck with one long-fingered hand as everybody at the table turned to look. “When I have greatness at Vergence, this I will eat on each day.”
Nervous laughter sounded from the length of the table as everybody turned to look. The pale woman opposite turned her head away, flinching as a man stepped up beside her, and slammed a goblet noisily down on the table surface. He had the same pale skin and dark curly hair, and in the half light looked almost identical to her.
Ebryn thought she looked more anxious than disgusted, while he stood with bright red cheeks, his chest thrust out, swaying on his feet, and scowling at the creature.
“He is Muruon—” Addae said in a matter of fact tone.
“Muruon? Who?”
“The one who eats noisily is of Muruon. It is the place of his home — I do not know his name or his kind.”
“What about those two over there? Do you know who they are?” Ebryn asked.
“He is called Romain Marus,” Addae said. “With him is his sister. She is called Paz. They are of Deldeon.”
“He looks like he's upset — angry.”
Addae grinned. “He does.”
Ebryn had just placed his bowl back on the table when a tall man, carrying a long staff and dressed in a dark green cloak, entered the circle in the centre of the table, and tapped three times on the deck. The man had a long face with a hooked nose and sallow skin.
Addae stepped up to the table beside Ebryn. “This one is Kurkuora. He is—”
“The ship's pilot. I recognised the colour of his clothes. It's the same as the one worn by the pilot who brought us to Icisor.”
Addae nodded, “Yes, he is the pilot of the ship.”
Kurkuora waited until they were silent.
“We have a tradition on this ship. On the final voyage to Vergence each year we are privileged to carry many fine applicants for the great academy there. At this celebration you are invited to demonstrate something of your skill for the enjoyment of all. Let us start here, and work our way around the table,” Kurkuora said, gesturing towards a woman standing near him.
She wore pale blue robes of a light fabric covering her from head to foot, with a veil across most of her face. Standing motionless, she turned her head down, until even her eyes couldn't be seen beneath the fold of her headscarf.
Addae leant close to Ebryn, speaking quietly. “This one is called Aara. She is of Deldeon.”
“The same place as those two?”
“She is of a different people.”
Kurkuora cleared his throat. “This is good practice for you Aara. I know Saray. If you were not capable, she would not have sent you.”
She nodded once and fumbled for a small paring knife on the table. Her arm shook visibly as she held it out, with the knife resting on the palm of her hand, speaking low words in a language Ebryn didn't recognise.
A faint glow, dimmer than a were-light, appeared around the knife. All eyes were fixed on her, waiting for something more to happen. Ebryn watched carefully, half expecting to see it vanish.
“Look at the knives,” Addae said. “She is a finder.”
Every knife along the table glowed faintly, a light almost lost against the reflected gleam of the table surface. On the far side of the table Romain's scowl hardened.
“Ah, very good,” Kurkuora said, “very subtle. Now who would like to be next?”
A burly young man stepped forward. “I'll have a go.”
He moved into the circle inside the table, carrying one of the wooden lamp poles. Bending down, he snapped it in half over his knee, then took the longer piece and snapped that again. He dropped the pieces on the floor and grinned in the direction of Lim. He had a round, open face, framed by shoulder length brown hair.
“Do you know this one?” Addae asked. “He is called Jure. He is from your lands.”
“Fyrenar? No. But by the look of him I expect he comes from the western kingdoms. That's a long way from where I live — I should say lived.”
“This can be tricky, and doesn't always work,” Jure said as he retreated from the centre.
At first nothing happened. Jure gestured and chanted, until Ebryn could see a fine sweat building on his forehead. Eventually one of the sections slithered towards the others, slowly at first, then all moved together quickly as splinters moulded cleanly into place, and fracture lines healed over. As the last lines vanished, the lamp pole rose until it was standing upright, completely repaired.
“Ha, fixing wood?” Romain called out from the far side. “Try fixing this.”
A brilliant light appeared between Romain's hands, and with a ripping sound a dazzling arc flashed across the space bet
ween him and the post. The top half of the newly repaired stave exploded, and a dozen smoking pieces clattered across the deck in all directions.
Paz put a restraining hand on Romain's arm, but he shook it off. Ebryn realised he'd started summoning a second bolt just as the brilliant glare reappeared between his hands, but this time much more powerful.
Alarmed that the next strike might shatter the deck, Ebryn reacted instinctively, casting a warding shield across the space inside the table, and anchoring it against the structure of the ship just as the second bolt struck.
Fine glowing ribbons of pure white light crackled across the surface of his ward, dozens of threads fractured the air for yards around the impact, some arching backwards, and dimly through the glare he saw Romain snatch his hands back as if burnt. Ebryn felt the shock of the impact against his senses and a blast of air against his face, but his shield held.
The years of training with master Yale took over, and he had a second, stronger ward around himself and Addae before the last stuttering flare died away. Kurkuora stepped smoothly between the gap in the tables, stopping just short of Ebryn's first ward with one hand raised.
“Please, my good fellow, enough,” Kurkuora said, speaking calmly and looking at Romain, but with a clear edge in his tone.
Romain stepped backwards, glaring red-faced at Kurkuora, shaking his hands. “Tell him that. I'm the one who got hurt.”
Kurkuora glanced towards Captain Lim. “We should stop now. It is time to leave.”
“I wasn't going to stay here anyway. I didn't pay to come on this tub so I could share meals with disgusting animals, and be expected to do tricks for my supper, like some … like some beggar.”
Paz tried to put a hand on Romain's arm again, but he shoved her roughly, and stalked away. She looked like all the blood had drained from her face, and her hands shook as she righted a toppled glass.
“I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice so quiet Ebryn could hardly hear. “He's not normally like this, he's had too much to drink.”
