Passages

by Olan Thorensen

  Maghen frowned. “Shouldn’t it worry us that the same people who raided the island are now the ones taking us to Buldor?”

  Mark raised both hands to his waist, palms up. “Nothing we can do about it now. Maybe if I’d known the history earlier, I’d have made different plans. I might also not have been able to retrieve Heather. But that’s all irrelevant now because we’re here and not going anywhere. The only encouragement I can give you is that the captain acts nonchalant in talking about the raids.”

  Mark didn’t say that it sounded like lines from the Godfather movies on how killings might be nothing personal, just business.

  “How’s Heather coming along?” Mark asked.

  “You said she told you she was good at languages, and it’s true. She works hard with Allyr and understands almost as much Caedelli as you and I, even thought she started with nothing. She’s still withdrawn but relaxes more when she’s playing with Alys. I think our daughter believes Heather is another child who’s a little older than she is.”

  Maghen looked around. “I’m making sure she’s not within hearing. I’m surprised that she seems so helpless at ordinary tasks. When I wanted to make the clothing you bought her fit better, I showed her a needle and thread that Allyr found for us. She acted like she didn’t have any idea what to do with it, even though I’m sure she understood it was for her clothes.”

  Mark suppressed a smile. I’ll bet the only tailoring she’s ever done is to go to a mall and buy new clothes when those she had didn’t fit, were out of style, or she wanted something new.

  “Maybe she comes from a family so wealthy that she didn’t do such things,” said Mark.

  Maghen shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible—not that I’ve ever met anyone like that. At first, I thought she expected me to do the altering. I wouldn’t have minded doing it, but not if she thought I should do it. But I’ll give her credit. Once she understood it was up to her, she kept pestering me to show her what to do. Allyr managed to find some extra crewmen’s clothes, and now Heather has two sets, so she can wash one while wearing the other.”

  Two days later, the ship turned under reduced sail into a sheltered bay to anchor. “Storm is coming,” said Adalan. “They can be unpredictable and vicious this time of year. The signs aren’t clear, but I don’t want to be caught if the winds turn against us. There’s no better place to weather a storm between here and Tortut.”

  The captain’s caution was justified, as they endured a full day of heavy winds and torrential rains. Mark’s imagination supplied him with visions of what the ocean was like away from the bay’s sheltering hills. During one daylight lull, he could see out past the mouth of the bay to waves and whitecaps high enough to make him appreciate the minimal jolting the anchored Wicked Woman endured.

  When the storm abated, they raised sail and once again headed southwest. Six days later, Adalan announced that Tortut was in sight.

  CHAPTER 41

  MUSTAFA

  The entrance to the Tortut harbor impressed Mark. It was daunting for anyone who thought of attacking the city by sea. The layout reminded him of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii: a narrow deep-water entrance opening into a multi-fingered bay. In this case, the entrance consisted of two 100-yard-wide channels separated by a rocky island 80 yards across. Both channels were guarded by three stone-block forts, one on each side of the entrance and a single large fort covering the entire island. Cannon faced the channels and the open sea. Sheer cliffs lined the outer coast as far as Mark could see before they entered the harbor. An assault on the forts by land would be difficult, and any unwelcome ship entering the harbor would be pounded to splinters.

  That’s a reasonable assumption, thought Mark, until the first ironclad ship appears, and then it’ll just sail past the forts, take some dents from cannonballs, and proceed to pound the harbor facilities and sink any ship inside this bay.

  By the time the Wicked Woman tied up at a pier, Mark had a good view of most of the city. The land rose steadily from the water to the surrounding craggy upthrusts he estimated were a mile to a mile and a half from the water.

  I wonder if this bay is part of an old volcano or asteroid strike? he thought. Those ridges sure look like crater rims.

  “Kind of monotonous architecture, isn’t it?” said Heather, who had arrived next to Mark without him noticing.

  Mark had been thinking the same thing. Almost every building was constructed of beige-colored stone.

  “Well, it could be a combination of no other material readily available and an accessible, plentiful source of stone to quarry. If I’m seeing right, looks like they add other colors with curtains and different-colored doors and shutters.”

  “Why do you think this Mustafa guy wants to see us?” asked Heather.

  “Can’t say. Adalan thinks we’ll meet him tomorrow. He says he’ll arrange a better place for us to spend the night than that storage locker.”

  She laughed. “No offense, but I wouldn’t mind not turning my head at night and bumping into a foot. Also, you and Maghen snore like you’ve practiced it. About the time one of you stops, the other starts. I wonder if poor Alys even knows what it’s like to sleep without the accompaniment.”

  Before Mark could retort, Allyr Kardyl appeared and spoke in Caedelli.

  “Captain Adalan told me to guide you to his home. You’ll stay there until Galmater Mustafa Adalan can see you. The Galmater is not in Tortut right now but should be back in a day or two.”

  “Galmater?” asked Mark. “Is that a title, a name, or what?”

  “There’s no single ruler in Buldor, like in the Landolin kingdoms or Sulako and Ilskin. Here, a council of important men makes the major decisions. Captain Adalan’s cousin is Mustafa Adalan, and he’s a member of the council. Also, you should only bring clothing you expect to use in the next day or two.”

  Mark turned to Heather and checked that she had understood the boy. She’d caught most of it.

  “What does it mean?” she asked in English. “I don’t have any other possessions, but you guys will be leaving almost everything on the ship we came on. Does it indicate we’re going to be back on the same ship for another voyage?”

  “No idea,” answered Mark. “Whatever the accommodations at Adalan’s home, they’ve got to be better than on this ship. Let’s go tell Maghen.”

  He turned to Allyr. “We’ll be back on deck as soon as we gather the others and some clothes.”

  When they returned to the deck, Allyr was waiting at dockside next to a two-horse wagon with wooden seating benches in the wagon bed. The three adults and Alys sat on the benches; Allyr settled next to the driver.

  The wagon wound through city streets barely wide enough for two wagons abreast. Buildings were uniformly two-story, and small squares apparently served as market areas. Every few blocks were fountains with water bubbling up from unseen sources. Gutters with an inch or more of water flowing toward the ocean lined the edges of the streets. Twice, they passed people emptying chamber pots into the gutters, the contents flushed away by the flow.

  “No wonder the city smells better than others I’ve been to,” said Mark. “I’ll bet somewhere at the bases of those ridges are natural year-round springs. It works because the entire city sits on this slope.”

  “Tell me to change my mind if I ever have the chance to swim in the bay,” said Heather, practicing her Caedelli.

  Allyr heard them and turned his torso to face behind him. “The water and waste go into an underground course just before the harbor. The course empties into the end of the bay near the northern channel we passed through. The ocean current runs southwest to northeast along this coast, so the waste is pushed out into the open ocean.”

  “An impressive use of the natural environment,” Mark said in English to Heather. “I might have to raise my estimation of the Buldorians.”

  “Is there any way to do this in houses not sitting on a slope?” asked Maghen. “It would be wonderful to have a home where the waste was taken aw
ay without people having to do it.”

  Mark patted her. “Dearest, I promise that I’ll build us a house with that feature.”

  Hell, thought Mark, that and anything else I can do to repay her still won’t balance what she’s put up with and how brave she’s been.

  The farther they climbed from the harbor, the larger the houses were and the more often they had entryways wide enough for a wagon. Mark caught glimpses of courtyards of various sizes with people working, children playing, and animals tied or penned.

  “Here we are,” announced Allyr, as they turned into a building more ornate than most. As soon as the wagon was inside the courtyard, Allyr jumped down and ran to embrace a woman with identical straw-colored hair. Moments later, a six-year-old girl joined the embrace.

  “His family,” offered Maghen. “The mother is Serwina, and the sister is Onyla.”

  They waited in the wagon until Allyr returned. “Come with me. I’ll show you where you’ll stay.” He led them to a door across the courtyard from what Mark assumed was the main house—he based his opinion on multiple windows and a balcony on the second floor.

  An outer door led to a hall with doorways and stairs. Allyr opened the first hall door on the right, and they entered a Buldorian version of a two- or three-room apartment. A stove and a fireplace occupied one side of the first room. The furniture was made of plain but solid wood. Mark could see past an open curtain into a room with a bed frame and what appeared to be a mattress. In a corner of the main room was a small built-in room with a wooden door.

  “That’s the washing and voiding room,” Allyr said matter-of-factly. “You refill the bucket in there every time you void or clean up. Water is in the cistern in the courtyard. There’s only one bed, but my mother will bring more bedding. You can figure out the sleeping arrangements. You’ll eat with the servants. I’ll come for you when it’s time. Captain Adalan says you’re to stay in these quarters, except when eating or in the courtyard, until it’s time to meet the Galmater.”

  “Do you know where the meeting will be?” asked Mark.

  “I assume in the Galmater’s home. It’s three houses from here.” After answering, Allyr left.

  “A bed,” sighed Maghen. “At times these last months, I forgot they existed.”

  “I’d fight you for a slot on that bed,” said Heather, “if you both weren’t so damn big. As bad as Sulako was, most of the time I had a comfortable bed. Sleeping on that ship was the worst sleeping accommodations I’ve ever had. My back may take weeks to recover. Sixdays, that is.”

  As promised, Allyr’s mother brought a large pile of blankets, several towels, and two bars of an abrasive brown soap. Serwina Kardyl never spoke when Maghen tried to engage her.

  The washing and voiding room contained what Mark assumed was a place for people to squat—an open slot in the floor with two-inch elevations on each side where feet could be placed. The slot passed under the wall.

  Must empty into the street gutter, thought Mark, helped along by water in the bucket.

  For the next hour, Mark arranged a bed for Heather and made numerous trips to the cistern to replenish water Maghen used to thoroughly clean herself and Alys. Then it was Heather’s turn, with Maghen passing fresh buckets to her. Finally, it was Mark’s turn, with Maghen bringing new buckets.

  Maghen, with Heather’s help, used the same soap bars to clean a second set of clothes for everyone while Mark occupied Alys and talked with Allyr.

  The boy fetched them for evening meal, and they sat with a dozen men, women, and children of various ages. The food was plentiful, though different from anything they had ever experienced. There was also a noticeable strain between the servants and the newcomers.

  “I think they just don’t know who we are and why we’re here,” Maghen whispered.

  The next morning, rested from the most comfortable sleep any of them had had since leaving Sulako and fed well again with the servants, they returned to their quarters. Mark estimated it was an hour later when Allyr knocked on their door. The Galmater was ready for them.

  “I thought this guy wasn’t in town,” said Heather in English as Allyr led them onto the street.

  Mark shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he hustled back when he heard we had arrived, and he couldn’t wait to meet the famous Huthor of Sulako.”

  “My ass,” answered Heather.

  Mark laughed and shook his head at Maghen’s questioning look.

  No more than a minute’s walk from Adel Adalan’s house, Allyr turned into a courtyard twice the size of where they stayed. Several servants scurried around, including an older man who took charge of them after Allyr left. He led them into the main structure. They hadn’t been in the captain’s family’s residence, but this one reeked of wealth and status. Mark didn’t have time to fully examine the inside before they were guided into a room where a man sat at a small table, writing with a quill. He turned and stood when they entered the room.

  The man was tall, perhaps an inch more than Mark. His large frame carried more weight than Mark’s, though he might have been leaner when he was younger. The scars on his face and one visible on a hand and wrist suggested a violent past. His hair was half gray, half black. The eyes were piercing and the demeanor calculating, as he surveyed their group. The only expression he evidenced was when his gaze paused briefly on Heather.

  Well, shit, thought Mark. I thought the Wicked Woman’s crew looked like pirates. He may be dressed fancy, but all this guy needs to be the pirate captain is a colored bandana on his head and an eye patch, along with uttering a few “Aaarrrggghhhs” and “Shiver me timbers” and singing, “Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum.”

  “So, you’re the mysterious refugees my cousin picked up in Iskadon,” he said in Suvalu. “I’m Mustafa Adalan. Please seat yourselves.” He pointed to a cluster of chairs Mark assumed had been prepared for them.

  Heather sat in the leftmost chair and Maghen in the middle, holding Alys. Mark waited until they’d seated themselves and then took the rightmost chair. Mustafa moved his chair to within ten feet and sat facing them before he addressed Mark.

  “I’m told your name is Mark Kaldwel, and obviously you speak Suvalu.”

  “Yes to both, Galmater.”

  “You can call me Adalan, and I’ll call you Kaldwel. Do either of the women speak Suvalu?”

  “No. Only me.”

  “I don’t speak Caedelli or Frangelese—Adel tells me the two languages are very similar. Strange because their peoples are so far apart, but I’ve never heard Frangelese. So, you and I will talk in Suvalu, Kaldwel.”

  “That’s fine. Let me tell the women what we’re doing.” Mark turned to Maghen and Heather. “Suvalu is the only language we can speak with this Mustafa Adalan, so he and I will talk, and I’ll tell you later what he said.”

  Adalan had waited until Mark clued in his companions.

  “My cousin told me what he knows of you, but he thinks there’s more to it. Tell me your story. The more detailed and honest the tale, the better.”

  Mark didn’t hesitate. As soon as he sized up Mustafa Adalan’s appearance, added to what he’d gleaned from the Wicked Woman’s captain and Allyr Kardyl, he’d decided to risk telling all and hoping.

  He started his tale with finding himself on a beach in Frangel, skipped to working on the ranch and his trip to Landylbury to sell hides—not seeing a reason to cover the first years and why he’d fled northern Frangel. Mustafa asked questions as Mark recounted the story.

  “So, the Narthani were interested in you when they thought you knew something about a place called ‘Amerika.’ Well, what do you know about this place?”

  “It’s my homeland. I and the small woman,” he said, pointing the Heather.

  “Where is this ‘Amerika’?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t point to it on an Anyar map. I’d never seen a complete map of Anyar before being cast away, so I don’t know the exact location of Amerika. I can only speculate it might be somewhere in the Gre
at Ocean or lands beyond Krinolin.”

  “Then how did you get to Frangel?”

  “I was taken captive and put on a ship. We traveled a long time, but I never had a window. I can only speculate that either a storm wrecked the ship or my captors threw me overboard—I don’t know which. All I know is that I woke on a beach in Frangel with no knowledge of how to get home. I managed to live among the Frangelese until running afoul of the Narthani.”

  “And your fellow Amerikan? The small woman?”

  “Her story is very similar, except she was in Sulako.”

  “Adel tells me there was some issue with her joining you on the Wicked Woman.”

  “She was being held a slave and forced to work for her owner. I couldn’t leave her when we left for Buldor.”

  “Were there fatalities in freeing her?” asked Mustafa.

  “Not that I know of, although a few men suffered injuries.”

  “That’s good. Adel tells me it’s doubtful the Sulakoans know how the woman got out of Iskadon, but we need to maintain reasonable relations with the Sulakoans. Since the Narthani turned their attention to Landolin, our ships are now forced to be more careful than before. I’m sure you’ve heard stories about Buldorian ships pirating, raiding, and smuggling. It’s all true. It’s been the custom of our people for centuries and the only way we can live because Buldor is so small and the land so poor for agriculture.

  “Now, we risk encountering too many Narthani warships if we attempt coastal raids. Plus, there’s the occasional Fuomi, and even the Iraquiniks are starting to build more warships. Even if our people are better sailors, it makes our previous customs difficult to pursue. Our captains have taken to cargo handling, along with occasional smuggling.”