by ich du
"Ariel."
Ariel turned with bared teeth.
"Ariel," Marya said again. "It's over. Put down your knife."
Ariel blinked, looked around. Several bodies lay tumbled over the stained planking; Helseher leaned against the mainmast, holding his arm and groaning; Hugner was sitting on the chest of a man who was bleeding heavily; Gerber was being sick over the side; Jean-Luc had the wheel; Uti was checking bodies. Rudi was dead.
Her knife was clotted with blood. She dropped it.
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt?" She looked up from her knife to Marya. "No." She took a deep breath, then another.
"You're bleeding."
"It's not mine."
"No, here. Look."
Ariel looked. Just below her left breast blood seeped through a slash in her shirt. She felt nothing.
"Let me see."
Ariel raised her arm obediently to let her unlace the shirt.
The cut was six inches long and deep enough to gape, showing pinkish bone. She swayed.
"Easy. Here, sit down." Marya lowered her to the deck.
"Why doesn't it hurt?"
"It will." She eased the shirt off and wadded it up. She pressed it against the wound. "Hold it on." She guided Ariel's hand to the makeshift pressure bandage then stood up and went to where Hugner sat on his prisoner.
"Let him up, Hugner."
He lifted his tear-stained face to hers. "They killed Rudi."
"I know. Let him up."
"He might kill someone else."
"He's dying, Uti. Look at the blood." It was pooling underneath the prisoner. "And we need you."
He hesitated, then climbed off. Marya laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you. We need this deck clearing. Push them overboard, we haven't time for niceties. Not Rudi," she added. "Uti" - he straightened - "you and I have to finish setting some sail. We need to get moving. They might be back." She crossed the deck to where the cook was still heaving dryly. "Gerber," she said gently, "there's nothing left in your stomach and Ariel and the captain both need attention. Can you see to it?" He nodded.
"See to Ariel first," Helseher said, pushing himself upright from the mast. He had some of his colour back. "It's only a broken bone." He glared at Marya.
"Better than a hole in your head," Marya said, swinging herself up the rigging.
Ariel was cold. A great deep ache began to build in her ribs. She felt sick.
"Marya?" she said. "Marya?" And fainted.
She insisted on coming on deck for Rudi's funeral. Helseher, with his arm splinted and strapped across his chest, spoke the ritual to Manann, god of the sea, in Reikspiel, the sailor's native dialect. A stiff breeze made the ropes thrum. When the captain nodded at Marya, Ariel was startled to hear the sunburned sailor offered tribute to Morr, god of death, in classical Old Worlder. She spoke of Rudi's strength, his good humour, his willingness to help anyone when he could. Her words were soothing and peaceful.
Rudi's body, wrapped with a chain, sank with a splash. They were silent for a while.
"Let's not waste this breeze." Helseher said. "Rudi would have liked us to get this cargo to market and make enough money to drink to him in style."
Ariel went below again. In the galley, she found a pair of shears.
Gerber found her five minutes later. "Sweet gods! What have you done?"
She looked up from the pile of shining hair lying around her ankles.
"It had blood on it."
They got to Laguiller in time for the market, though they were so late that they had no time to unload; Jean-Luc had to persuade the buyers to examine the cargo in the hold.
They went to a tavern and drank to Rudi. Ariel drank more than she should have, but the wine would not lessen the numbness deep inside. The others were talking about the stranger in the skiff. "Why'd he go, anyway?" Hugner demanded. He was drunk. "Only the gods know that," Jean-Luc said. "But why'd he help us then run away?" "I don't know, my friend," Marya said. "But I'll tell you this: that was an Elven bow he was using. I've heard the sound those arrows make before now."
Helseher's temper got worse as his arm itched inside its splints; Ariel's wound began to heal and she was strong enough to help Gerber in the galley so he could take the wheel now and again, freeing Jean-Luc to do her share of work topside.
The nights were quiet: now and again Uti or Hugner would stop mid-laugh, remembering how often Rudi's laugh had sounded. Ariel dreamed; again and again she pushed her knife into the man's neck and watched that impossible streak of blood arcing through the air.
She woke up sweating and went up on deck for cooler air. One moon was half full, the other only a sliver in the sky. Marya was steering.
"Here." Marya handed her a bottle. "It helps, sometimes." "Does it?" "Your choice."
Ariel lifted the bottle and drank. "I should leave this ship now." She handed the rum back.
"Can't. We need you till we get to Brionne and can hire someone else." She looked out across the water for a while. "Ariel, they won't attack the Rosamund again." "How do you know?"
"It's you they want. Helseher told me. They'll wait until you're alone. Easier for them that way. You'd be safe if you stayed with us until we got back to Quenelles." She handed over the bottle. "Ever been up the coast to Bordelaux? Worth seeing. Take us a week to get there from Brionne, a day to load the wine, week to get back to Brionne and sell it. Three weeks after that you can be back in Quenelles. With your family."
"Bel won't be there."
She sighed. "Let go, Ariel."
"I can't." She was silent for a while. "Marya, there's nothing for me in Quenelles. Unless I want to get married."
Moonlight glinted on the upraised bottle. "What will you do when we reach Brionne?"
"I don't know yet. Ask more questions."
"And get yourself killed. Lots of people get killed in Brionne."
"Any better ideas?"
"Stay with the Rosamunds."
Ariel shook her head.
"Why not? You're good crew. And the Magrittans won't be able to strangle the life out of trade forever. Some day soon we'll be able to sail to Araby again, or right across the Great Western Ocean. I've always had a mind to see the New World."
Ariel stayed on deck until the stars began to fade, drinking rum and listening to stories of Lustrian treasure.
The Rosamund lay in Brionne harbour. The last of the cargo for Bordelaux was secured in the hold; they would be sailing in four hours. Ariel stood in Helseher's cabin.
"And you're sure you don't want to reconsider my offer?"
"I need to find out about my sister."
The captain sighed, tried to scratch inside the splint on his arm. "Marya was right." He opened a drawer, pulled out a pouch. "Here."
It clinked.
"If you still insist on following Jorge all the way to Magritta, there's enough in there, Empire coin, to buy you passage as far as Bilbali. How you manage from there is up to you. Well, pick it up," he said irritably. "You earned it." "But you said..."
"Didn't think you'd be much use, then. But you learn fast, girl. And Rudi won't be needing his share. Take it." Ariel picked it up. It was heavy. "Thank you." Helseher nodded. Halfway through the door, Ariel paused. "Where will I find Marya?" "Try the tavern nearest the Elven quarter."
Like everything in Brionne, the tavern was huge, overcrowded and noisy. Even though it was officially outside the area populated and run by trading elves, the owner had made an attempt to attract their lucrative custom: the musician in the corner was playing the light, lilting airs preferred by that race and Lustrian wine was available, at a price.
Marya was at a table by herself with a jug and two cups. She was sober.
"Thought you'd find me to say goodbye. Still going ahead with this nonsense?" Ariel nodded. "In that case, I've got news. Jorge came through here a week or more ago. He's gone. Probably to Magritta." Ariel nodded again. That much she had expected. "Also, I've found someone who
'll take you as crew as far as Bilbali." She leaned over and tapped the money pouch at Ariel's belt. "That way, you can save your money to buy passage from Bilbali to Magritta."
Ariel did not know what to say. She reached across the table and poured wine for them both. It was sparkling yellow white: Lustrian.
Marya walked her to the Genevieve."Fornan, her master, runs a tight ship, everything just so. Not like Helseher. I told him you were an experienced hand. Don't let me down. And don't ask any questions, just keep that pouch out of sight and your knife handy."
Ariel touched the knife, remembered their talk of Escribano, and Khorne the Blood God. She reached out and took the sailor's hand. "Goodbye, Marya."
"Until we meet again. Something tells me we will."
On the fifth day at sea, when she was stripping off her sodden shirt to wash it as best she could in a bucket of scummy water, one of the crew saw the newly healed scar across her ribs.
"Who came off worst?"
She paused, remembering the blood, the way he had screamed. "He died."
After that, the crew left her alone. She began to brood. In her nightmares, the figure who spurted blood under her knife was Bel. She would wake and think of Bel laughing and shuddering with pleasure as the olla seeped into her bloodstream. She could have stopped her, if she had not been olla-dreaming herself.
If Captain Fornan had allowed rum on his ship, she would have drunk herself insensible during the hot lonely hours of the night. Instead, she thought about the stranger. Then she thought about Jorge, and fingered her knife.
On a moonless night almost three weeks after leaving Brionne, Fornan gave the order to heave to. All lights were extinguished. Without the hiss and sputter of lamps or the flap of sail, the toll of Bilbali's great bronze bell rolled clearly across the water.
A light blinked in the distance. Fornan, using a shuttered lamp, answered. He gave a few low-voiced orders and there was a bustle of activity. The bell tolled again. As the sound died away, Ariel heard the splash of oars. A boat bumped alongside and the crew started loading it with small casks and bolts of cloth until it rode low in the water.
Fornan whispered to the men below, then motioned Ariel over.
"There's room on that boat for you. They'll be landing three or four miles north of Bilbali. You can walk the rest of the way. Watch your step when you get there - the Bilbalis don't like private vengeance. Or private enterprise." His teeth gleamed white in the darkness.
She let herself down the ladder, hand over hand. The shadowy figures in the boat nodded to her as she crouched against the gunwale. It was so dark she could not tell if they were women or men. But they could not see her either.
They came ashore on a rocky beach.
"Bilbali," one of them said in a heavy Estalian accent, and pointed south and west.
"Thank you."
As she picked her way up the cliff side the lap and foam of waves breaking against the beach grew fainter. It felt strange to be wearing sandals again. At the top of the cliff she stopped and breathed deep. The grass was springy under her feet and the air was sweet with rock rose. She looked down at the sea, then inland towards Bilbali. With nothing except her knife and her money pouch, tucked inside her shirt out of sight, she started walking.
The outskirts of the city were closed and dark. In the flat light of dawn, the smell of the Estalian limegrass which hung in baskets outside many of the shuttered houses cut sharp and green through the dust. Ariel took her sandals off; she did not want to be heard and stared at at this hour. With her cropped hair and sailors' clothes, she doubted she would be taken for a servant hurrying through the street on some errand.
The streets narrowed and the smell of limegrass and dust was replaced by humanity and all its filth. After so long at sea, the stench made Ariel feel ill. She put her sandals back on and picked her way through the sewage and refuse. Here, people were awake and moving.
The smell of rotting fish led her to the wharf where the calls of fish sellers screeched through the air like bright, exotic birds. Feeling pale and insubstantial next to the dark-haired and colourfully clothed Bilbalis, she stood in the middle of the noise and bustle, battered by their harsh and unintelligible cries.
She began to tremble: long slow shudders as though someone had hold of her ribs and was shaking her. Her hands and feet went cold and her heart began to thump up against her ribcage so hard she felt she might fly apart. She was alone. There was nowhere to hide.
"You're sick?"
A middle-aged woman with a sun-wrinkled face peered at her from behind her stall.
"I don't know. I..."
"Well, move out of the way. You're blocking my stall."
Ariel stood there, shaking.
"Move. You think people will buy my fish if some sick foreigner is breathing all over them?" She came out from behind her stall. "Go on, move." Several people were looking. The woman raised her voice, enjoying the attention. "You foreigners think you can get away with anything. Well, things are changing around here." She nodded towards the waterfront where two huge ships lay moored. "And the Magrittans will be sending more soon enough. They're making the water safe from pirates like you." A murmur went round the crowd. "And then you won't be striding around here like lordlings."
"And the cost of fish will come down!" shouted someone from the crowd.
"And wheat," shrilled another.
To stop them shaking, Ariel hooked one hand in her belt, laid the other on her knife.
"I am not a pirate. I'm looking for a particular man. His name..." Her voice caught. She took a deep breath and said firmly, "his name is Capitano Jorge Martinez Castelltort."
Someone threw a cabbage. It hit her arm and she stepped back. The crowd stepped forward. She looked around, searching for an escape route.
From behind the crowd came the jingle of armed soldiers trotting on the double. Several of the crowd turned. Ariel ran, pushing aside bystanders, using her elbows where necessary. One of them caught her on the side of her jaw with a wild punch. She did not stop. Behind her she heard the crowd shouting to the soldiers:
" - and she said she was here for Capitano Castelltort."
" - drew her knife, she did."
" - said she was going to kill him."
" - ran off that way."
She tried to think as she ran, but the streets grew more and more narrow and the sounds of pursuit increased behind her. She ran round a corner into an alley of top-heavy houses, and cursed. The end was a blank wall. She ran to it and leaped. She was too tired: it was too high even to get a fingertip over the top. She tried the nearest house door. Locked. And the next. The shouting was getting louder. Desperate, she ran to the next door.
The figure in the doorway clapped one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist, pinning her arms. Two soldiers trotted into the alley.
"Don't struggle," he whispered, "unless you want them to catch you."
The hand over her mouth was long and calloused; she did not struggle. A cloak of cold air dropped over her shoulders and something flickered and surged past her. The two soldiers stopped mid-stride, turned, and left the alley. Refusing to think about what had just happened, she allowed herself to be pulled back into the house.
"Lock the door."
She turned the key, then took it out of the door and tucked it inside her shirt. Across the room, the strange man was running his hands over a blank wall. With a click, it opened. Ariel followed him through a brick-lined passage. They came out into a garden warmed by early morning sun. From somewhere inside the high walls a bird sang.
"Where are we?"
"The elf quarter." He pulled off his hat. Ariel looked but said nothing. Tiredly, she wondered if he expected her to be surprised. They walked into the house.
"Wait here."
Sunlight streamed through the open shutters, throwing leaf shadow onto the wooden floor. The room was empty but for a plain bench and table of light, sanded oak. Tired and thirsty, she sat down.
What had happened out there?
She closed her eyes. She was too tired to think.
He was gone a long time but when he returned he brought food: bread, fruit and a flagon of water. He put them on the table. They ate together.
"You'll have to stay here," he said.
Ariel cut a slice from her apple. "How long for?"
"Several weeks at least."
She shook her head. "No."
"You don't have a choice. If you go back out there, your life is at risk. If you stay here in my house, you do as I say."
"There are other houses in the elf quarter."
"In this matter, they listen to me."
Ariel pondered that. "Tell me why. I don't even know your name."
"You don't need to know."
"If I'm to stay here, what harm could it do? And, if I knew what was going on I might be more reasonable."
"My name is Senduiuiel Cortengren." It sounded like glass in his mouth. "You will find it easier to call me Send."
"You have followed me all the way from Quenelles to Bilbali. Why?"
"We travelled the same route, no more."
"Why did you have to sneak me in to the elf quarter instead of doing it openly? Elven trade used to be too valuable for humans to risk squabbling over the whereabouts of one female." She looked up at him. "But that's no longer true, is it?"
The muscles around his eyes tightened. "You think you know so much."
"But I'm not wrong so far." She leaned forward. "I could help you. By being out there and visible, I could draw attention away from you. If I knew what questions not to ask."
"Why?"
"I have to know why that olla was contaminated. I think you stand a better chance of finding that out than I do. We could both benefit."
He contemplated her with flat, alien eyes. "Eat. Then get some rest. We'll leave tonight."
They travelled on an elven ship. Ariel was glad that she was not expected to crew: everything aboard felt alien, even the ropes were coiled the wrong way round.
