by Chris Bunch
“Let me suggest an alternative to returning to the sea,” Pol said, without preamble.
“Your aunt is concerned that we’ve been unsuccessful thus far in having children, in making sure the Radnor name goes down through the ages.”
Gareth was a little embarrassed at this frankness.
“Be that as it may, I pointed out to her that you’ve advanced rather remarkably since you came to live with us. Of course, you’ve still got more than a bit of wildness, but then, who of us doesn’t when we’re young? That will pass with time.
“Let me make a suggestion, which will have nothing to do with whether or not Priscian and I have children, for there’s more than enough business in this world to richen an entire clan.
“Rather than go back to sea, I would be willing to pay your way for a full course at one of the best seminaries: Tuil, Frenk, even Winhope, although that’s most pricey.”
“Me, a priest?”
“There are many, many sects, as you should know, many of them not requiring vows of silence, withdrawal, celibacy or diet,” Pol said, a bit impatiently. “That should not be a factor in your decision.
“As a licentiate, you would be not only knowledgeable in culture — which never hurts a businessman, as I’ve never tired of saying — but familiar with the ways of business and managing people, almost as thoroughly as if I purchased you an officer’s warrant in the military.
“Better still is the people you’d meet at such a seminary, lifelong friends who’ll help you in your rise, just as you’ll assist them.
“With such training, you’d be more than competent, after some years of seasoning, of assuming responsibility for all that I’ve been able to build, now and in the future.”
Gareth gaped, thinking about being his uncle’s heir. Then he thought on, thought of years — how many he didn’t want to think — of listening to dry, dull voices rasp through dead facts and theories. And then, out of the classroom, associating with those whose every decision would be based on how it could benefit them. He repressed a shudder.
“Uncle,” he said, seeking the right way to put things, aware of what an enormous gift he was refusing, “I’m afraid the sea has ruined me.
“I don’t think I could sit making notes from a book, or checking a ledger when the wind comes sharp off the ocean, and I could hear the gulls’ scream and the distant sound of water.”
Pol took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, nor even surprised,” he said, but his voice was heavy with disappointment. “That was the real reason I fought to keep you ashore: to keep you from hearing the call of the sea, for all too many friends of mine have heard that gull song, water dance, and the land’s promise vanishes for them, and they’ve no need for safety, comfort, or wealth.
“Most likely I was not being honest with myself from the first day you arrived, for growing up in that village might have already … no, I will not say ruined … worked its way with you.
“Very well, very well,” Pol said. “So that’s that, at least for the moment, and you’ll be seeking a ship. Since you’ve evidently not decided whose articles you might sign, perhaps you might go to North Basin. There’s a new ship, just finishing fitting out, named the Steadfast. A little too sleek for a real carrack, but with room enough for a good cargo.”
“Where’s it bound?”
“The captain’s named Luynes,” Pol said. “You might be interested in talking to him.”
Gareth, eager to be away from this uncomfortable scene, stood quickly.
“One thing, though, Gareth,” his uncle said. “Do us a boon, and don’t tell Luynes that you’re there at my request.”
“Why not?”
“Just call it a favor of the moment. Depending on what you think of the man and his ship, I promise I’ll give you a full explanation.”
Gareth realized his uncle wore an unfamiliar expression: stealthy cunning.
• • •
The Steadfast was round-hulled, about one hundred feet long, a quarter of that wide. It was a three-master, fore- and main mast square-rigged, the mizzen mast at the stern, with a lateen sail. Gareth noted a spritsail could be rigged under the bowsprit. He thought, in a cross sea, with its bluff bow and evidently rounded bottom, it would roll like a drunken bitch. But it probably could come close ashore in shallow waters, which was a virtue for a trader.
Gareth saw with some surprise there were four guns on the main deck, each a demi-cannon, eleven feet long, and with a bore almost seven inches in diameter. Those long guns would be hard to load in a seaway, but were longer-ranged than the usual drakes merchantmen carried, more suited for a warship. Gareth concluded the Steadfast was intended to go into troubled waters.
In the bows, above the main deck, was a fairly small foredeck, and here were a pair of swivel guns. Astern of the main deck were two higher decks, the quarter deck the ship was commanded from, and above that, just over the stern, was a sterncastle, again with two swivel guns.
Interesting.
There didn’t appear to be anyone aboard ship. Gareth went down the wharf, stopped at the gangplank of the Steadfast.
“Ahoy the ship.”
There was no reply, and Gareth hailed again.
A hatch opened, and a man came out on the quarterdeck.
“Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted.”
The man came down the steps to the main deck as Gareth went up the gangplank, dropping down onto the main deck between the two guns. The ship smelt new, of tar, just-aged wood, fresh cordage.
“The name’s Luynes,” the man said. “Captain. Yours?”
Luynes may have been one of the best-looking men Gareth had ever seen. His hair was dark, worn medium-length, his face square, honest-looking, his eyes penetrating blue. He was tall, taller than Gareth, and built like an athlete. His smile was open, friendly.
“Gareth Radnor.”
“A relation of King’s Servant Radnor?”
“My uncle.”
“Ah. Then you’re the purser’s man who brought the Zarafshan home. A handy piece of work.”
“There were others aboard,” Gareth said.
“I like a modest man full well. Come into my cabin, Gareth Radnor, and discuss what brings you to the Steadfast.”
Gareth followed Luynes up the companionway and into his cabin. It was fairly large, but outfitted rather spartanly, with a big desk, a chart table, a boxed-in bunk large enough for two people, a dining table, chairs, two cabinets, and a pair of seachests, very battered, securely tied to a pair of ringbolts in the deck.
“A brandy?” Luynes asked.
“No thank you, sir,” Gareth said. “Water if you will.”
Luynes looked surprised. “A sailor not drinking, and the sun’s well up?”
Gareth smiled. Luynes started to pour himself a dram, hesitated, then set the decanter down and poured his cup half full of wine from a different container and watered it.
He nodded to a chair and sat down behind his desk.
“I’m looking for a berth,” Gareth said. “A friend said you might be sailing into interesting waters.”
“A friend, eh? Your uncle?”
“No, sir, although he had nothing bad to say about you or the Steadfast when I told him my intentions.”
“He shouldn’t,” Luynes said. “He made me a loan, at a ruinous interest I might add, that helped me finish fitting her out. And I suppose, when I return to Ticao, he’ll be one of the most interested bidders on my cargo.”
“Which will be?”
“Spices,” Luynes said. “Your spy told you true. I intend to sail far east, through Linyati waters, to certain islands I’ve learned about in my travels.
“They have spices beyond any allspice, cinnamon, ganta, whatever, that the luxury markets hawk. One voyage through hazardous waters and I — and those who sign on with me — will be rich for life. That’s why I ordered the holds of the Steadfast configured differently, with bulkheads that can be moved to create a larg
er or smaller area, depending on what we choose to load.”
His eyes shone.
“That’s also why the guns?” Gareth said.
“It is. There are natives in those isles who like men from the sea but little.”
“What about the Slavers?”
“Mostly I do not worry about them, having had … acceptable, if not joyous, relations with them. But there are exceptions, for the Linyati are an independent race. If we can’t outsail those folks … as you said, there are the guns, and I doubt if they’d think us worth the trouble.
“For one thing, I’ll sail with a large crew. I want forty hands aboard when we cast off.”
Gareth whistled. That was almost double what the ship would require to sail.
“Yes, Hern Radnor, I’ve thought things out full well,” Luynes said. “And I’ve already begun provisioning, which is a sore pain, for I intensely dislike having to deal with figures and merchants and fear I might be swindled or, worse, buy garbage that is bad in the barrel, despite the expensive spells I have cast about them.”
“I know reliable magicians for that task,” Gareth said.
“I don’t doubt you do, Radnor, for you have a bit of a reputation, surprising for someone as young as you are. Indeed, I have no purser nor assistant yet signed aboard.”
“I would be interested in the position of purser.”
“Ah. Ambition.”
“Why not?”
“Why not indeed,” Luynes agreed. “Without it, we’d all be no better than the cook’s punk.”
He mentioned the wages and benefits of the side, which Gareth found quite satisfactory.
“One thing I insist on,” Luynes went on. “When you sign the articles, there’s one that reads you’re to give me absolute obedience. If you disobey in battle, you can be punished as I see fit. If you disobey at other times, you’ll be chained and put ashore on the first land I deem habitable, whether it’s a known port or not.”
“A hard rule,” Gareth said.
“I expect hard times,” Luynes said.
“That seems fair,” Gareth said. “I’ve seen one near-mutiny.”
“Not on a ship of mine,” Luynes said grimly. “The rope’s end to the back or the rope around the neck as soon as trouble bodes keeps that from men’s minds.”
His smile was a bit unpleasant.
“You said you wanted to sail with a large crew,” Gareth asked. “Are you still signing on crewmen?”
“Hells yes,” Luynes said. “Either the pimpsy doodles are feared of my destination, or they’ve got a chance to go aboard a coaster and sleep safe ashore every night or the godsdamned navy has impressed them.”
“I know two men,” Gareth said. “Neither have blue-water experience, but they’re both fishermen, now watermen here in Ticao.”
“Ah?” Luynes said interestedly. “My mates and bosun can teach anyone to scamper up a mast. It’s a damned sight harder to train someone in a small boat. Anyone who’s managed to stay alive on this tidal-damned river is someone I’d welcome aboard, assuming there are no other problems, and there aren’t that many king’s warrants on them.”
“No problems, no warrants,” Gareth said, got up. “In two days, no more, sir,” he said, “I’ll return with my answer to your offer.”
“You’re a careful man,” Luynes said, as he escorted Gareth back to the dock.
“Thank you, sir,” Gareth said, touching his forehead.
• • •
“Now,” Knoll N’b’ry said, wrinkling his nose at the reek as he bailed the wherry’s bilges, “hasn’t it always been you who led us into schemes?”
“Not true,” Thom Tehidy said. “I was the one who found that old wreck of a fishing boat down from the village.”
“It was,” Knoll agreed. “But who was it who said we could fix it up and make a killing in the crab market? I won’t talk about who almost got us killed the first time we dropped a pot too close inshore.”
“But didn’t I see that wave first, and turn the boat into it?” Gareth said.
“Aye,” Knoll said. “So I should ignore who got us in the breakers in the first place?”
“Sweetest crabs are closest to shore,” Thom said. “Everybody knows that. But I’m not sorry we turned to long-lining.”
“This damned discussion has gotten a long damned way from whether we’re going to let Gareth press us into serving on this carrack that’s going trading into mysterious waters, where we’re likely to get ourselves killed,” N’b’ry said.
“Or worse — trapped by those damnable Slavers, to end with an iron collar around our necks.”
“That’ll not happen while I can still lift a fist,” Tehidy said firmly. “And isn’t that a plus, now, giving us a better chance to revenge ourselves on some of the bastards besides hoping one of them hires us to take him across the river and it’s dark enough so nobody raises a cry when we boot his ass overboard?”
Knoll’s smile vanished, and he sat thinking, or perhaps looking back a few years. Finally he nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, there is that.”
“So that’s a decision?” Gareth asked.
“Wonder what we can get for the wherry,” Tehidy said, and the matter was settled.
• • •
“I did, indeed, loan Luynes some money when he ran short, as most ship masters do when they become ambitious and venture into building their own bottoms,” Pol said. “He paid it in full thirty days ago, from a long-term grant another factor made him.”
“Why, Uncle, didn’t you want me to say I was there at your behest? To make me appear less your puppet?”
“I wasn’t being that solicitous of you,” Pol said. “Look. There are many of us here in Saros who, while thinking the world of King Alfieri, do not think his temporizing with pure evil — I refer to the Linyati — is particularly wise.”
Gareth looked at his uncle in surprise.
“Yes, Gareth,” Pol said. “There are those who have opinions, even hatreds, we don’t find necessary to advertise publicly. Sometimes things like that are best held close, until a moment offers itself.”
Gareth nodded in reluctant agreement.
“The problem is, almost nothing is known about the Slavers, about their native lands, about that great continent of Kashi joined to Linyati to the west-southwest, to the spice islands Luynes mentioned far to the east of the Linyati. We also know nothing about their allies and their main customers for slaves.
“It’s not possible that they’re making a great profit off their pinprick raids in Saros or other countries in the north.
“So somewhere there are, if you will, fields for their human harvest, just as there must be large markets. I have a particularly disgusting theory that the slaves they take and sell may be being used up in terrible ways. No, not necessarily screaming sacrifices on the altars of dark magicians, although I’m sure there’s a market there.
“There are worse — or, rather, better — ways to use up mankind. Working men until they drop under a hot tropic sun, or in mines where the air isn’t worth the breathing, or in jobs like diving in shark-infested waters for pearls or other gawdies.”
“Oh,” Gareth said in a small voice, never having thought much about the Linyati other than wanting them dead. Then he recovered a bit.
“Uncle, perhaps you’d best tell me more about Luynes.”
“There’s not much to tell. He claims to have come from northern Saros, where his family owned half a dozen coastal traders. He says he got bored, took his inheritance and signed aboard a ship headed for distant waters.
“Interestingly, unlike most sailors, he’s never been heard to brag of his voyages and the strange people and creatures he’s encountered. But he has done well for himself over five years, always to the south, which suggests to me that he’s a man of uncommon skills and cunning. Or …”
“Or he’s made an alliance with the Slavers,” Gareth said.
“Just so. Another interesting thin
g is that he has about half a crew of regulars: men, hardbitten men, who prefer to sail with him, and are as close-mouthed as he is about their destinations and cargo.”
“Interesting,” Gareth said, and there was interest in his voice. Pol smiled, recognizing it.
“Now, like any normal man, I love a profit. So when you decided you didn’t wish to become safe, rich, and comfortable, I thought I could provide you with all the adventure you could use.”
“As your spy.”
“I would not noise that about,” Pol said. “You’ll be under suspicion as it is, being my nephew, if our good captain has more than one fish on the hook.
“Oh. By the way. Your aunt thinks I’m terrible for letting you go in the way of such danger.”
Gareth smiled happily.
“I can think of no nicer present you could have given me, Uncle.”
• • •
“And I’m glad to have you, Gareth,” Captain Luynes said heartily. “For there’s many a matter I’d rather delegate, what with this new ship and its ballasting, rigging, and such that’s still not right.
“As for your friends, I’ll sign them on as well. By the time we return, they’ll have enough experience to call themselves seamen.
“You’ll be worked hard from now until we sail, for I’ve finally gotten the proper connections for the best trading cargo.”
• • •
“Men are such pond scum,” Cosyra said fiercely.
“Well … yes,” Gareth said uncomfortably. “I mean, I guess so. But why in particular right now … and why me?”
“Because not only do you set up the rules for the world, but any time they get uncomfortable, you can run off to sea, or to war, or … or to anywhere you please.”
“Right,” Gareth agreed. “You see a lot of peasants saying padiddle to their lords, and running off to be bandits. Or sailors deciding they want to be landed gentry. Or the lost ones in the Slavers’ clutches saying they want to be free.”
“All right,” Cosyra grumbled. “So there are limits. But you must admit women are even more constricted than men.”
“I do freely,” Gareth said. “And the minute I’m the king’s advisor, I’ll have a word with him about that.”
Cosyra wrinkled her nose.
