“Shut the door, boy,” shouted a man above the howl of the storm, scrambling for papers swirling about behind the counter as the panel slapped to and fro. “I said shut the door, else the storm itself’ll blow us all away.”
Camille lunged to catch hold of the panel madly swinging. Then she struggled against the wind to shut the wild thing, pushing it to with her shoulder. Finally, she got it closed and latched, and relative quietness descended, the moaning wind shut out. Thoroughly drenched and dripping, she cast back her hood and turned toward the man at the counter, who yet chased after paper. Shedding her cloak, she looked at Scruff in the high vest pocket, his feathers soaked. Bedraggled, he looked up at her and grumped a short, sharp “chp!” Camille laughed and said, “You look like a wet dog, my friend.”
“Who you callin’ a wet dog, boy?” came the voice from low, the man down on hands and knees and reaching under a desk for a loose receipt.
“Oh, sieur, I meant not you,” said Camille, stepping forward. “I was speaking to my companion.”
“I didn’t see you come in with any—” Voucher in hand, the man rose to his feet. “Oh, pardon, ma’amselle, I thought you were, um—”
“My companion is here in my pocket, good sieur, and we would like a room, and a hot meal, too, and warm bath, and a good long drink of water.”
“Chp!”
“Oh, and some grain for my friend. Oats, rye, barley, if you please. He is a bit tired of millet.”
The man cocked a skeptical eyebrow at Camille and the sparrow, and Camille fished about in her rucksack and then plunked a gold coin down to the counter.
The man’s eyes lit up and he quickly said, “Right away, ma’amselle.” He turned and called out, “Aicelina, à moi cet instant!”
There came a soft knock on the door, barely heard above the moan of the wind and the drumming of rain on the shingled roof.
“Entré!”
Dressed in a borrowed robe, Camille looked up from her just-finished meal of haddock and red cabbage and green beans and black bread. A dark-haired young maiden, certainly no older than Camille, and perhaps a year or two less, stood at the doorway looking in.
“Mademoiselle, your bath is ready.”
“Merci, Aicelina.” Camille took a last sip of tea, then stood. “Keep guard, Scruff,” she said to the dozing, wee bird, perched on the back of the chair before the red coals on the hearth, wind groaning down the chimney.
“Mademoiselle, shall I add another brick of peat to the fire?”
Camille glanced at the hearth and then at Scruff. “Non, Aicelina. I believe the room is now warm enough. Besides, he is quite comfortable as it is.—Now where is the bathing room?”
“This way, mademoiselle.”
Camille, barefooted, followed Aicelina down the hall—doors on the right, windows on the left—and gusts and rain rattled pane and sash. And Camille said, “Aicelina, I have been pondering a riddle given me. Know you of winds that do not blow, but flow across the sea? The reason I ask is that I have been advised to seek a master of such.”
Aicelina opened the door at the end of the hall. She turned to Camille and said, “Non, mademoiselle, I know of no such thing.” And as wind whistled ’round a corner outside, the maiden’s brown eyes widened and she glanced through the windows at the storm without. “Mayhap ’tis a mage, for ’tis said some are masters of the wind.—Oh, but wait, that would be a wind that blows, rather than one that does not.” Aicelina frowned and fell into momentary thought, but then realizing where she was, she moved aside. “Your bath, mademoiselle.”
Camille stepped into the chamber; a tub of steaming water sat waiting. Aicelina followed and said, “Fresh towels on the bar, mademoiselle, and soap in the dish, three scents in all: mint, lilac, rose. And a fresh sponge is on the board. Is there aught else I can do?”
“Merci, Aicelina, it is enough.”
Aicelina started to leave, but then turned back and said, “About your riddle, mademoiselle . . .”
“Yes?”
“This is a port town, a seaport town.”
Camille nodded and said, “The very first I’ve ever seen, Aicelina. I’m a farm girl and, but for a handful of drawings in a book in Fra Galanni’s library, I know little of ships and boats. Yet when I topped the long hill above the town and saw all the ships at anchor, oh what a thrilling sight it was. —But what has this to do with my riddle?”
“Well, mademoiselle, your riddle speaks of masters, and there are masters of ships, and the ships themselves—”
“Of course!” exclaimed Camille, grabbing the startled girl and embracing her. “And the ships themselves flow across the sea. Oh, merci, merci, Aicelina.”
Yet after the girl had gone, and Camille had slipped into the soothing water, as she luxuriated in the warmth she frowned. But how can ships be winds that do not blow?
“Well, now, young lady, for a tot of rum, I’ll answer your question.”
It was the next morning, and Camille stood on a dock along the harbor. The storm had blown itself out sometime during the night, and the skies were blue above. Even so, great waves yet crashed against the breakwater at the harbor mouth afar, remnants of the blow.
“And how much would that be?—The cost, I mean.” The eld man looked her up and down, as if gauging her wealth, his eyes widening at the sight of the sparrow on her shoulder. Then he said, “A bronze.”
Nearby, a lounging youth snorted. “A tot is but a copper, ma’amselle.” The oldster shot him a glare.
Nevertheless, Camille handed the man a bronze. “Now, sieur, my answer.”
With surprised eyes, the eld man looked at the coin in his hand, then glanced down the dock at the Bald Pelican, a ramshackle tavern sitting ashore just beyond the planking. Then he looked at Camille and said, “Your answer is tied up at pier thirty-two; she’s being laded for a long run.” He bobbed his head, then turned about and trotted away as fast as his legs would bear him, for ten tots of rum awaited, and perhaps out of generosity for a good-paying customer such as he was about to be, the barkeep would set up the eleventh for nought.
Camille looked at the youth. “Which way?”
The lad pointed.
Three-masted she was, and broad, with a wide and flat low prow and a high deck aft, her length some thirty-five paces in all, and her hull was painted red. On her bow were two glaring yellow-orange eyes, and in slashing black lines, a strange symbol was inscribed behind and below each eye. She was tied up at pier thirty-two, and a bustle of dockworkers labored at loading bales and kegs and crates onto the cargo nets of the large vessel, seamen aboard cranking the windlasses and raising the goods and swinging the booms about, to lower the nets down through the hatches and into the bays below.
The crew adeck were men like none Camille had ever seen: the cast of their skin a yellow-tan, their eyes tilted like those of Elves, yet their ears were not tipped. All had hair jet-black, curled in a loop behind and tied by a small bow. And they spoke in a strange tongue, the words short and sharp and at times harsh-sounding.
Most were dressed in red pantaloons, their arms and chests bare, yet among the crew were warriors, or so Camille thought them to be, for each was armed with two gently curved swords held to their waists by broad golden sashes wrapped ’round vibrant red robes.
“Quite a sight, eh, Mademoiselle Sparrow?”
Camille turned to see beside her a brown-haired, brown-eyed, brown-bearded man of middling years. He glanced at Scruff and smiled, then added, “The ship, I mean.”
“Indeed, sieur, for never have I seen such. But that is no wonder, for, in truth, never had I seen any ships at all before yester.—Do you know its name?”
“Her, ma’amselle.”
Camille turned up a hand, an unspoken question in her eyes.
“All ships are female, ma’amselle; and yes, I know her name, and I’ll trade you her name for yours.”
Camille dropped her gaze from his and turned to look at the ship. “I am Camille, sieur.”
“The Higashi No . . . ?”
The harbormaster smiled. “The Higashi No Kaze. I am told by her master it means East Wind.”
Camille’s heart leapt with hope. There are winds that do not blow, but flow across the sea.
“Sieur, I must see this master.”
Jordain pointed. “He’s there on the poop.”
Even as Camille’s gaze followed the harbormaster’s outstretched arm to see a formidable figure standing on the high deck astern, she said, “No, M’sieur Jordain, I mean I must speak with this master. It is urgent I do so.”
He, too, was dressed in a red robe, though elaborate yellow-gold dragons were depicted thereon. About his waist was a broad red-and-yellow sash. His feet were stockinged in white, and strange black sandals he wore. Like his crew, his eyes were tilted, his complexion a yellow-tan. He, too, had his black hair tied in a curl behind by a small black bow. In his right hand he held horizontally an open red fan. Before him, on the straw mat where he knelt, his two gently curved swords lay in jet-black scabbards, one sword longer than the other.
On his knees on a separate straw mat to the left of the man and a bit behind, the interpreter, one of the crew, said, “Lord Hirota says, there can be no such place, Jordain san.” The interpreter had not once looked at Camille.
On the floor of the captain’s cabin, Jordain and Camille also knelt on woven straw mats—“tatami,” Jordain had called them—Camille to Jordain’s right and slightly behind.
Again Hirota spoke, his words chopped short as if each were cut off by an axe, and Camille wondered if Lord Hirota’s scowl was perpetual.
When Hirota fell silent, the interpreter said, “Lord Hirota says, though there are many strange things in Faery, a place east of the sun and west of the moon is not one of those, for Tsuki Musume, um, Daughter Moon, is quite disobedient, for she sometimes runs ahead of, um, Father Sun, and sometimes lags after, sometimes hides her face and sometimes shows it brazenly.”
Camille, her heart falling, said, “Then he knows of no such place?”
The interpreter yet looked only at Jordain, and when the harbormaster nodded, the interpreter spoke rapidly to Hirota. Hirota turned his head and gazed at Camille, the look in his eyes quite insolent, and, without saying a word, he snapped the red fan shut.
“No,” said the interpreter, looking at Jordain.
Camille sighed.
Hirota then said swift words, his haughty eyes never leaving Camille, and the intepreter said to Jordain, “Lord Hirota says, he has never seen hair of gold before, and he wishes to know if you have any more such as she.”
Jordain looked at Camille, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though there was interest in his eyes as well. “Are there?”
Camille blushed, but said, “If I had a fan, I would snap it shut.”
Jordain turned and said to the interpreter, “Tell Lord Hirota she has closed her fan.”
After the interpreter spoke, Hirota growled and looked away from Camille.
“At least he didn’t ask about your sparrow,” said Jordain, “though I have no such reticence.”
Camille smiled. “Scruff is my travelling companion.”
Jordain waited for more, yet Camille added nought.
They walked on down the docks, passing ship after ship, some lading cargo, others off-loading.
“Your port seems quite busy.”
“Aye, for ’tis the season for trading. We have fine wool and wine and cognac and brandy and other such to export, while the ships bring goods from afar.”
“And that’s why the East Wind is in port?”
Jordain nodded.
“Then tell me, are there any other ships herein named after the winds?”
“Certainly none currently in port as great as the Higashi No Kaze, though there are three others who might sail in one day soon.”
“What about ships that are not as great, yet named after the winds?”
“Why is it you want to know?”
Camille sighed and said, “I search for my true love Alain. He is gone to a place east of the sun and west of the moon, or so did Lady Sorcière say. And I was given a riddle to solve, a riddle which will lead to him, or so it is I hope.”
Jordain sighed. “Your true love, eh?”
“Indeed. I love him more than life itself.” Camille’s voice dropped. “It is my fault he is missing.”
“There is a tale here to tell,” said Jordain, “and I would hear it. Yet the riddle first.”
Camille glanced up at Jordain then said: “There are winds that do not
blow,
But flow across the sea;
A master of one might know
Where such a place doth be.”
“Ah,” said Jordain. “Now I see why you seek ships named after the winds. Let us go to the harbor office, and we shall see what ships are harbored that answer to such.”
Registered in port there were currently nine ships with names, some of which needed to be translated, that evoked the winds—Breeze, Windsong, Squall, Little Cyclone, Sea Breath, Gale, Storm Runner, Villion’s Bluster, Wind Walker—and a tenth craft named Puffer, though Jordain thought this last but a small boat named after a fish.
Over the next two days, Camille and Scruff visited every one of these craft, yet none of the masters knew where the place she sought did lie.
“I thought not,” said Jordain. “Most were coastal runners, and not ships that sail across the five oceans and the seven seas.”
“That many?” asked Camille. “—Oceans and seas, I mean.”
“Those are the ones in Faery I know of,” replied Jordain, “though ’tis said there are more—some claim nine oceans in all, and as many as eleven seas.”
Camille stood silent for a while, looking over the harbor, and then she said, “When first we met, you spoke of three other great ships named after the winds, ships that might come.”
Jordain nodded. “Aye, they are the Hawa Kibli, and Aniar Gaoth, and the Nordavind. Fear not, Camille, if any come across la Grande Mer—the Great Sea—and into port, I will send a runner to fetch you. Where are you staying?”
“At the Le Marlin Bleu, but any runner you send must at times find me elsewhere—at mapmakers, for example. Yet I will tell the clerk at the Blue Marlin where I am bound, and the runner can ask him. Oh, and in the evenings, the runner will find me at La Lanterne Rouge, where I will be singing.”
Jordain’s eyes widened in surprise. “The Red Lantern? But, Camille, it is quite an unruly place, and though there are women who work there, I think they are not your sort.”
Camille said, “I will only be singing, Jordain, not, um, not, well, you know. Besides, I have been told that every ship’s captain and crew sooner or later comes to the ’Lantern, and as I did in Les Îles, I shall ask each audience if anyone knows whither lies the place I seek.”
“Bu-but—” Jordain began to protest, yet Camille stopped him with a thrust-out palm.
“As I said, Jordain, I will simply be singing.”
Jordain sighed. “When do you begin?”
“This very eve.”
Jordain shook his head and turned away, peering out over the water. Then he pointed. “There goes the Higashi No Kaze.”
As she watched the red ship tack toward the harbor entrance, Camille frowned and said, “Her sails are not like the other ships I’ve seen leaving port.”
“Aye, they are not,” said Jordain. “But for that matter, the whole ship is different, her bottom is quite flat with but a small keel, and the rudder is long and angles out, somewhat like a lengthy oar. Her sails are called lugsails and have four corners down the outside border; they’re made of coarse cotton and braced flat by long wooden strips running from the haul to the edge. And she’s equipped with oars for the crew to use when the wind does die. No, not like other ships is she, yet quite seaworthy in all, they say, though I myself wouldn�
��t want to be aboard her in a heavy storm.”
They watched as the great ship made her way to the mouth of the harbor and then on out to sea, where she turned to the larboard and soon vanished behind the up-sloping hills to the headland, her strange sails the last to disappear.
Camille sighed. The East Wind was gone, along with her yellow-tan crew.
There came a soft tap on the door, and when Camille opened it, a huge man filled the frame, his hat in hand. “Miss Camille?”
“Yes?”
“Ma’am, I’m t’ go with y’ t’ th’ Red Lantern.”
“Sieur?”
“I’ll be waitin’ down below.”
He turned to go, but Camille called out, “Wait!”
The big man turned back, brushing the shock of red hair out of his pale blue eyes.
“Who are you, and why are you going to the Red Lantern with me?”
“I’m t’ see that no one does y’ wrong, Miss Camille.”
“Does me wrong?”
“Aye. ’At’s what th’ harbormaster sent me t’ do.”
“Jordain.” Camille’s word was a statement, not a question.
“ ’At’s right. Mister Jordain.”
“And if I need no protection . . . ?”
“Oh, you will, miss,” averred the big man. Then his mouth formed an O, as if he just remembered something. “And, miss, my name is John, though most know me as Big Jack.”
“Well, Jacques, I—”
“No, no, miss. Not Jacques. Jack. And it’s Big Jack at that.”
“Well, um, Big Jack, tell Jordain that I thank him for his offer, and I thank you as well, but—”
Jack held up an admonishing index finger. “No, no, miss. He said you’d like as not try t’ say no, but he gave me instructions, he did, and I’ll not take a no.”
Once Upon a Winter's Night Page 34
