Passages

by Olan Thorensen

  Mark looked around. Obviously, no performance was underway now or evidently in the near future. The tavern section had perhaps twenty customers who talked or dozed, which only served to emphasize the empty tables. No alcoholic drinks were evident.

  “Let’s be who we are—strangers to Iskadon who want to inquire about the Song of Irlan. Admitting ignorance usually dissuades suspicions.”

  They wove their way around tables to one of the bars, where two men cleaned the woodwork and a third man did something with sheets of paper and a quill. The two men cleaning were barefoot, wore rough short tunic-like clothing, and had leather collars around their necks.

  “Slaves,” said Gulgit, after he saw Mark staring at the men. “You must have noticed them at the harbor and on the way here.”

  “I did,” said Mark, “but I guess I thought the collars were a custom, like some kind of jewelry.”

  Haldakit got the third man’s attention and learned that he spoke Suvalu. Mark took over the questioning. After getting the admission of ignorance out of the way, he moved on to why they were there.

  “At the harbor we heard someone singing a song and were told they heard it here, and that this is a place famous for its music.”

  “That it is,” said the man. “You’ll hear music here you haven’t heard anyplace else. Of course, once it’s performed here, people remember and take it elsewhere, but there are always favorites repeated over and over, along with new music coming regularly.”

  “Well, the song I heard at the harbor was memorable. Don’t remember the words, but the tune was something like this.” Mark gave a whistling rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”

  “Hah! Come tonight, and you’ll hear that one half-a-dozen times. Maybe not performed, but a customer will start it, and others will pick it up.”

  “I don’t speak Sulakoan,” said Mark. “What are the words to the song?”

  “I don’t know that it translates easily to match the music, but it celebrates friends drinking together and their fellowship.”

  That figures, though Mark. If you want it repeated and to spread, make it something to reinforce men getting blasted together.

  “Do you know where the song came from originally?” asked Mark.

  “Right here. Efehda Halari’s slave Huthor is a marvel at creating new music. The Efehda blesses the gods regularly that he found her at the slave market three years ago. It shows how favored he is with the gods.”

  “Efehda?” Mark questioned. “Sorry, but we’re visitors to Iskadon. What does Efehda mean?”

  In Sulakoan, the man said something to Haldakit, who then spoke to Gulgit in Rustalian.

  “Evidently, it’s an honorific term,” said Gulgit. “Halari is one of the richest men in Iskadon and has influential connections with the city’s and region’s authorities. He’s also the owner of this place.”

  Mark turned back to the tavern worker. “And the music comes from one of Efehda’s slaves? One named Huthor? Do you know if this Huthor creates the music or learned it from elsewhere?”

  “I wouldn’t know. No one speaks with Huthor without the Efehda’s permission, and I’m too lowly for that privilege. I just know she’s odd looking with those strange eyes. Some people wonder if she’s not some kind of demon. I don’t believe that. Why would a demon know such wonderful music?”

  She? A woman. Strange eyes?

  “Uh . . . yes. Does she come to the Song of Irlan often?”

  The man snorted. “She can hardly leave. Efehda Halari keeps her close and living in the Efehda’s compound behind the Irlan. He’s always afraid someone might steal her. Of course, I’m not privy to such details, but rumor is that the Efehda has been offered as much as fifty thousand dinats for her, and he turned it down. Hard to imagine any slave worth that much, but if anyone is, it has to be Huthor. She might be the best-known slave in Iskadon. The Efehda often takes her with him when he rides in his carriage around the city. He says it reminds people to come to the Song of Irlan. Sometimes he has her sing a song at open-air markets or various gatherings to entice people to come and hear more.”

  “Advertising, huh?” Mark said in English. When the man frowned, Mark added, “Just something from my native language. I was just impressed how clever it is of the Efehda to give people only a taste of Huthor’s music. Song of Irlan must be crowded during performances. By the way, I notice there aren’t many customers now. When does business increase?”

  “Well, we aren’t serving spirits yet. The few people at the tables either have some business here or are meeting someone. The Efehda allows people to just come in before service, but once that begins, they have to be buying. Too bad no spirits are allowed to be sold in Sulako between the first appearance of the sun and sunset, or we might have people in here every hour of the day.”

  “You know, I’d be interested in asking this Huthor where she’s from,” said Mark. “Do you think the Efehda would let me ask her?”

  The man sneered. “As if that’s going to happen. You’re more likely to get a knife in your gut than get near her. The Efehda has her guarded as if she’s made of gold. Now that I think of it, she might as well be, the way her music brings in customers. Anyway, don’t even think about getting near her. See that alcove to the right of the stage?”

  Mark turned and located what looked like a large box seat elevated fifteen feet above the floor.

  “If the Efehda comes to watch and brings her with him, that’s where they sit. She never comes to the main floor.”

  “Thanks for the information and advice. We may come back some evening. About what time would performances start?”

  “As soon as the evening prayer calls end. This time of year it’ll be about an hour after sunset.”

  Gulgit waited until they exited to the street before speaking.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re thinking. You heard the man. Whoever this Huthor is, you’re not getting near her to ask questions.”

  Mark didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, shit!” said Gulgit. “You are thinking of doing something stupid!”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, and I’m not ignoring the risks, assuming it’s true how the man described this Huthor slave being guarded. For now, I need to think. One thing for sure. I have to come back to get sight of her and listen to the music. If, as I believe, she’s from my homeland, then I might recognize other tunes. Even if the right ship comes soon, it would be several days before it sailed again. I can’t wait to see if she shows up tonight—I’d be away from my family too long. I’m thinking to come tomorrow evening. This is more than I can ask of you and Haldakit, but I think I can make my way here and back to the harbor by myself.”

  Gulgit grumbled something in Rustalian to Haldakit, who grunted a few times, then nodded.

  “He’s willing to come again, but it’ll cost you two silver coins, and you buy all the spirits while we’re here.”

  “We? That means you’ll come, too?”

  “I will, but I have to tell you that I need to set a firm date to return to Rustal. Yusup and Tazeeb are threatening to return on their own, and there’s a chance Haldakit might go with them. I can’t be left stranded here, and the weather will only worsen for crossing the Gongalor Mountains. We won’t have your family along this time, but even so, there’s the risk of the same pass being blocked and our having to go farther north to cross back into Rustal—something I don’t want to do. I’ll give it three more days, and we’ll leave for Rustal on the morning of the fourth day.”

  CHAPTER 37

  A PASSAGE AND A RISK

  “I’m going to talk to the Buldorian captain when they dock,” Mark said the next morning.

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Gulgit. “You remember what Lasbani said about the Buldorians. He knows more about them than I do, but what he said matches the little I know.”

  “They’re the only new ship that’s docked today, and I’ve nothing else to do,” said Mark. “No harm in ta
lking to them. There’s also a good chance the captain speaks Suvalu. Anyway, I’ll just walk down to the harbor and check them out.”

  Finding the Buldorian ship was not a problem. Its smoother lines and more gun ports than the other moored ships made it stand out like a yellow patch on a black cloak. Boxes and chests were being unloaded, but no sign of slaves, as Lasbani had suggested might be the cargo.

  Hey, they do kind of look like pirates out of a Hollywood movie or TV show, thought Mark.

  Most of the crew wore baggier pants and more colorful shirts than Mark had seen before. Facial hair was restricted to trimmed mustaches and beards, even for those who looked like common crewmen. Several wore head bandanas tied and hanging in the back.

  All they need is a couple of eye patches and to go around saying, “Argh,” thought Mark.

  A lean man in his late thirties with a hawkish nose was doing the most shouting. His attire was also the most garish.

  Odds are, he’s the captain, Mark thought.

  He moved near a gangplank being used by men carrying items off, then returning to the ship. When the presumed captain looked his way, Mark waved for attention.

  “Do you speak Suvalu?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Are you the captain?”

  “Yeah. Who wants to know?”

  Mark hesitated to use his own name, then figured, What the hell?

  “Name’s Kaldwel. What are you called?”

  “Adalan. Adel Adalan. I’m captain of the Wicked Woman. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “I’m looking for ship’s passage west.”

  The man looked at Mark as if not quite sure he’d heard right.

  “West? What kind of destination is that? Bandapara? Landolin? The Iraquiniks? Or what? Nothing farther west than those until you go over the Great Ocean to Krinolin, which is faster getting to by going east.”

  “It’s personal business that only concerns me,” said Mark. “I can pay for passage and am willing to work if necessary.”

  The man waved in dismissal. “I don’t take passengers, and even if I did, there’s no plan where to go next until I get a cargo.”

  “All right, thanks,” said Mark and turned to leave.

  “Where are you from?” asked the captain. “Your Suvalu accent is odd.”

  “Frangel.”

  “That far? No wonder I didn’t recognize the accent. I’ve been as far as Rumpas, but not Frangel. You’re far from home. What brings you here?”

  “As I said, personal matters.”

  The captain shrugged and turned to yell at the men on deck.

  “And good day to you, too,” said Mark in Frangelese.

  The captain whirled. “I thought you said you were from Frangel?”

  “Huh?”

  “I understood some of what you said. Something about wishing me a good day. I know enough Caedelli to understand what you said.”

  “Caedelli?” questioned Mark. “I was speaking Frangelese, not Caedelli. I thought you said you hadn’t been to Frangel, so how do you speak that language?”

  “Wait,” said Adalan, holding up a hand. “Say what you did before in Frangelese.”

  “I said, ‘And good day to you, too.’”

  “Say something else.”

  “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”

  Adalan shook his head. “No, I think I understood most of the words but not the meaning.”

  Adalan called out something in Buldorian, and a crewman ran off. A minute later, he returned with a youth about ten or eleven years old.

  Adalan addressed the boy in Buldorian.

  The captain turned to Mark. “Start talking to him.”

  “My name is Mark Kaldwel. I am four hundred years old, have three legs, and my hair is green.”

  The boy raised an eyebrow, then spoke to Adalan for almost a minute. The captain smiled and continued speaking to Mark in Suvalu.

  “Allyr is from Caedellium, where they speak Caedelli. He says he understands you, but you say crazy things, and your accent is terrible. I think that means that Caedelli and Frangelese are very close to each other, which is strange because the two peoples are on the opposite ends of Anyar. I’m sure there’s an interesting story worth hearing. However, it still doesn’t answer why you want to go west to some destination for a reason you seem loathe to reveal.”

  Mark was stymied. He didn’t want to tell the Buldorian any more than necessary, but the connection between Frangel and Caedellium confused him.

  “What do you know about the Narthani?” Mark asked.

  Adalan spit into the water. “A scourge that may eventually rule all of Anyar, unless whatever god or gods there are intervene first. I’ve had dealings with them when it was to our advantage, but I wouldn’t trust one not to stick a knife in my back as soon as it pleased him. Unfortunately, my last association with them ended badly, although we profited greatly before we decided to sever our relationship with the assholes. Now, with the Narthani campaigning on Landolin, too many warships sail the Landolin waters for us to venture there unless we have a cursed good reason. And that, my friend, brings us back to where you’re headed and why my ship might take you.”

  What Mark wanted to do was get the Caedelli boy alone, so he could pump him for information about Caedellium and a man named Yozef Kolsko. The ship’s captain seemed firm about not taking passengers. Mark needed to find a reason to change the man’s mind. Seconds passed as he ruminated. The captain started to turn away again. Mark made a leap of faith that the Buldorian’s dislike of the Narthani and some unspecified connection to Caedellium wouldn’t once again put him and his family in danger.

  “I’m going to Caedellium,” Mark said.

  Adalan whirled back. “Caedellium? Why would someone from Frangel want to travel to an island on the other side of the world?”

  “I had to leave Frangel because the Narthani were looking for me. I don’t know why. All I know is that it has something to do with a man who may be living on Caedellium. His name is Yozef Kolsko.”

  The Buldorian captain’s mouth dropped open a fraction, and his eyes widened.

  Whoa, thought Mark. That got a response.

  “Yozef Kolsko,” said Adalan slowly, as if wanting to be sure he enunciated correctly. “What do you know about him, and what is his connection to you?”

  “I’m not sure there is a connection, only that it has something to do with the reason the Narthani are after me.”

  “To kill you?” asked Adalan.

  “No. I know for a fact that they don’t want to kill me, which I assume means they think I know something they want to get out of me. I have no idea why.”

  Adalan looked at Gulgit, who had listened silently to the Suvalu exchange. “And what about you? Are you also from Frangel and trying to reach Caedellium?”

  “Not me. I’m Rustalian and will head home as soon as Kaldwel gets passage west. Sooner the better.”

  The Buldorian turned back to Mark. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued. A cousin of mine is an important person back in Buldor. He’ll want to meet you. I’m willing to take you as far as Tortut, our main city. After that, I couldn’t say anything more. However, my ship still needs more cargo. It takes coin to maintain a ship and pay the crew. Right now, we’re half full, and I can’t leave until I’m full up.”

  “Do you have any idea how long that might be?” asked Mark.

  “No way to estimate. Could be tomorrow, could be several sixdays. But whenever it is, I’ll leave as soon as possible. There’s no coin for sitting in a harbor.”

  “I’ll talk with my companion here,” said Mark, “and come back to you in a few minutes.”

  The captain waved them away and went back to yelling at his crew.

  “What do you think, Gulgit? Would it be foolish to trust this Buldorian captain?”

  “Of course, it is! Only an idiot would trust a Buldorian. My advice is to wait until you find another ship. I won’t
be here, but Lasbani will help. Better to be safe, especially since you’ve got your family with you.”

  Mark shook his head. “If only life were so simple. I didn’t say anything earlier when you wondered whether I was planning to do something stupid about Huthor. Well . . . I am.”

  “You’ll try to talk to her despite the warnings, won’t you?” asked Gulgit.

  “First, I’m going to confirm she’s from Amerika, as I am.”

  “And how will you talk to her to confirm that?”

  “I think I can do it without talking. Right now, I need to speak to the captain for a moment and then find a clothing shop that can do some fast work.”

  Mark wasn’t sure about boarding the Buldorian ship without the captain’s permission, so he waited on the dock until Adalan came into view and spotted him.

  “Yeah. Something else you want to say?”

  “Could I come on board and talk with you privately?”

  The Buldorian waved toward one of two gangplanks the crewmen were using. Mark followed a man with multiple visible scars and at least four knives of different sizes on his belt and tied to his right arm and left leg.

  Adalan waited on the aftcastle. He didn’t speak when Mark approached.

  “Captain, I appreciate your need for a full cargo before leaving. However, how much coin would it take to entice you to set sail before that?”

  The Buldorian’s gaze seemed to make an effort to pierce Mark’s mind for more information.

  “Just you?”

  “At least three of us. Myself, my wife, and our child. Possibly a fourth person, but I can’t confirm that yet.”

  “Well, I suppose the number doesn’t matter if you stay together in a space we can spare. However, you would need to compensate me for lost cargo contracts.”

  “I understand,” said Mark, “but, on the other hand, you might be able to leave sooner than if you had to wait for more cargo. There’s a saying in my country that ‘Time is money.’ Time saved in leaving earlier would pay by making all the following voyages happen sooner.”