by David Bell
“Calm seas and a fair wind, shipmate.”
Dareka and Akusha looked on from the side of the hall, proud and yet a little sad that the boy had now left boyhood. Akusha’s memory flew back to the desperate days of flight, pursuit and escape across a storm-lashed sea, carrying the secret with her until that moment in the temple when Pasipha said she knew. She felt Dareka’s hand take hers and turned to smile up at him. Dareka saw the smile turn suddenly to a look of wide-eyed shock and heard the sudden catch of her breath as Akusha looked up to the gallery. Before he could ask what was wrong, Sharesh was between them, taking her other hand and after bowing towards the Governor, the three of them, Dareka, Akusha and Sharesh, stepped out into the sunlit square. From the top of the stairway that led from a high gallery down into the hall, Kanesh watched them go.
“Listen,” said Typhis to Namun as they watched the harbourmaster’s crew unload the grain jars and oil kegs, “if your dick is long enough, your balls big enough and your back strong enough, you’re a man, all right? You don’t need any ceremony to prove it, nor have that bit of skin snipped off the end of it, like they do in Kinaani, so think yourself lucky. Now follow that lot to the warehouse and make sure they don’t filch anything for themselves. That’s man’s work.”
At the end of a tiring day Namun was searching in the hold for sacks to sleep on when one of the crew told him the master wanted him on the stern deck. When he got there, wondering what he might have done wrong, he found Kanesh, Potyr and Typhis waiting for him. He was handed a striped kilt, a belt and a shell necklace and told to put them on. Potyr then gave him a bronze knife like the daggers the boys who had gone through the ceremony had been given and all three men gave him a salute of welcome. Not a word was said but Namun now knew he had been admitted to the ship’s crew as a man, and not only this ship: he knew that, too.
“I will speak to Merida,” said Koreta. “It should not take long to convince him that to have made his ship available to the deputy commander as a matter of urgency should work in time to his advantage. As for the deputy commander, he is not a man easily swayed by the plight of others; what might have persuaded him to be so generous to us, I wonder, lord Kanesh?”
“I made so bold as to tell him that the veterans of Gaiduros would regard it as a personal favour.”
“It was certainly bold to put him in a postion with only one possible response but let that pass; the supplies you brought have ensured the survival of many on this island and that is what is most important. What now?”
“A quick turn around,” said Potyr. “The owner is already listing a return cargo for Keftiu; no food items, of course, but there is cloth and pottery, Lemaka salt and timber landed before the winter from Telchina, which he thinks will bring a good price, coming so early in the season. There is one other thing of which you ought to know: a box of the yellow earths from Koros dug out by whose hand, I do not know, but much in demand in Keftiu.”
“I have my suspicions, but again, if profit on this consignment helps funding for the ship, I turn a blind eye,” said Koreta. “And,” he added with a sardonic smile, “you may ponder the subtlety of that remark as long as you like.”
“We have heard of events in the Lagoon,” said Kanesh. “Shaking of the earth and falls of rock; hot water where none was known before. Perhaps they are warnings.”
“Perhaps, but whether in consequence of forbidden landings on Korus, or for some other reason, who can say? There will always be someone who will heed no warning from any source if he sees chance of some profit to be gained.”
“Then let others heed the warnings.”
“And take what kind of action? That is always the difficulty, as I am sure you know. Let us come back to this on another day. Captain, when do you sail?’
“As soon as possible, while this weather holds; at the latest, tomorrow night.”
“I thought so. You have much to do, loading, planning, persuading. I will trouble you no further, except to ask you to take my despatch to the deputy commander with you. My steward has it ready.”
Koreta kept looking at the door long after it had closed behind them. He repeated to himself the last words he had spoken: calm seas and a fair wind. They never lasted long enough.
All was ready. Potyr had given the order to sail at midnight when the stars were bright and the sea was at its calmest. Namun stood at the bowline and Sharesh at the stern, waiting for the order to cast off. The massive cloaked figure standing at the far end of the jetty was unmistakably Kanesh. He seemed to be talking to someone else who stood in the shadows and handed something to him. He made the gesture of a vow, hand across chest and then extended, palm uppermost, then stood motionless, looking into the shadows as if watching someone walking slowly away from him. At last he turned and came towards the ship. He seemed always to be the last to board. He was carrying two leather wallets, one slung from each shoulder.
The orders came to cast off and after slipping their lines, Namun and Sharesh stepped nimbly on board while the ship turned slowly away from the jetty, speeded up as the oars began to pull, and headed for the harbour mouth. With the Sailors’ Star high in the sky behind them they drew out into the open sea and set course for Keftiu.
Potyr sniffed the night air and held up his hand to gauge the force of the wind. The Lady Mother still favoured them: he made the gesture of thankful devotion and gave the order to hoist sail. The next time they saw the coast of Kallista on the horizon it would be from the deck of the new ship, if the Lady Mother willed it, of course.
***
“You don’t know him like I do,” said Namun, “and I don’t know him all that much but he talks to me sometimes. You never know when he’s going to say something; you just have to be there. He says the strangest things. Once he said that next time he builds a ship he first wants to build the place where it’s made. It has to be where a river flows into the sea then you dig a big hole like a box with a wooden gate you can open and close at each end. You build the ship inside like here, but when she’s ready to launch you open the gate and let the river in slowly until the level’s a bit higher than the sea and she floats free, then you close that gate and open the other and she floats out onto the sea. He says you can build a ship as big as you want because it’s so easy to launch her: no need for grease on the planks and men pulling ropes.”
“Why not build up just so far that she can be dragged into the water, lash her to the jetty and go on building the rest while she floats? Digging out a great box like that would take a lifetime.”
“Because if you do have a box like that, she would be safe from storms while she is being built and because you can bring a ship into the box for repairs as well as letting her out. Then there is no need for diving to see what has to be done,” said Kanesh who had come up behind them without being heard. “Perhaps where the sea wall is being built at the Palace harbour some such box could be made. There is a river nearby.”
“Last night when he came out here as usual, I asked him when she would be finished. He didn’t say anything at first but I know if you keep quiet and wait you sometimes get something out of him. After a bit, he said if a ship had two masts it could have two sails and it would go faster. I’ve never seen a ship like that, have you? Then he said a ship was never finished but it could be ready. I don’t know what he meant by that.”
“Naudok means that what you learn from building one ship you put into the next one you build,” said Kanesh. “What we would like to know is when this one will be ready.”
“Oh, I do know that,” replied Namun. “That’s one thing he told me straight to my face. It’s tomorrow.”
The horizon was a thin red band between the blue-grey sea and the dusty pink of the sky. Two boats stood out in the bay with paddlers keeping them steady against the waves pushing towards the shore in the stiff breeze that Naudok had known would come. It brought the water swirling up the launch pathway and closer to the prow of the ship. Long lines running from the two boats were secur
ed to the stem post. Once she was in the water they would be tensed to hold her bow into the waves. Everyone, carpenters, shipwrights, crew from the Dolphin, guards and watchmen, stood waiting for the signal, some in the water, others on the beach, their hands grasping the haul ropes, their feet digging into the sand, others with mallets raised to knock away the props, all ready to pull or strike. Potyr stood on the bow deck, facing out to sea, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. A golden curve tipped the horizon and the instant its light fell on Potyr’s eyelids he threw up his hands and released the white dove he had been holding fast. It fluttered into the air and sped towards the sea.
“Down!” bellowed Typhis, and the props were knocked away from the ship’s sides.
“Heave!” called Kanesh and the ropes lifted and quivered as they took up the strain.
She glided like a bird over the launch way that had been greased by the quarryman with fat washed from the wool of sheep and slipped into the water with a faint swishing noise, to ride there high and proud as if she had never been anywhere else. There was no sound at first except a deep gasp of wonder from everyone and then a great cheer went up, and another, and another and men laughed and wept and struck one another on the back and clasped hands and exulted in what they had done.
She rides well, thought Potyr, even as she is, light without ballast. The heavy keel helps make her steady even though its foot lies almost flush with the first strake, so she could be hauled ashore, but only with great effort. Better to have her ride at anchor whenever possible.
Leilia stood on the sand letting the waves lap against her feet. Sharesh came splashing up to her, panting with effort and excitement.
“This is a great day for Naudok! Look at her riding the waves and wanting to be away! But where is he? Didn’t he see the launch?
She smiled wistfully at him. “He saw no need. He knew all would be well. He is thinking of the next ship now.”
“But the masts and ropes to hold it, and the spars and the sails,” protested Sharesh. “What about them? And the steering oar: where is it?”
“When she is brought fast against the jetty, the rest will be done in time. Look, they are bringing the steering gear now.”
A crowd of men, Typhis at the head, were walking along the jetty towards the stern of the ship which was being lashed tight against the beams. The carpenters and shipwrights among them were carrying pieces of strangely shaped timber. Sharesh rushed off to join them and, after he had wriggled his way to the front of the group, he found Namun already there.
“Come on, then,” jeered Typhis. “Let’s see what he’s been keeping hidden up his tunic all this time. She’ll need something to stop her going round in circles!”
“Just you wait,” said the master shipwright. “She’ll be able to do that, if you want, then turn round and do it the other way once we’ve got this fitted.”
Four of the carpenters were carrying what looked like a thick wooden door except that it was much longer than a man with one side straight and the other slanted so that it was narrower at one end than the other. Embeded at equal distances down the slanted side were short bronze bars with ringed ends. Looking at the stern of the ship, Sharesh saw in a flash what they were going to do because hammered fast into the sternpost were three bronze bars turned up into vertical pins at their ends. This was Naudok’s steering oar that he had kept secret for so long! After a lot of arguing and hand waving, lashing with ropes, lowering and adjusting, not a few trapped fingers and much spluttering and splashing from the men who had to dive to deal with the bottom fittings, the oar was hung onto the stern with its narrower end uppermost, by centring the bronze rings over over the upright pins projecting from the sternpost. Standing on the stern deck, the master shipwright and two carpenters began fitting the last piece of the gear, a long handle which they spliced and pegged onto the top of the oar. When they had finished fitting this, the master shipwright seized the handle and swung it from side to side: the oar moved easily in the water, turning about the greased bronze pins.
“Sternpost-mounted rudder,” said Potyr to Kanesh. That’s why the stern deck is built higher, so the helmsman has a clear view over the cabin top. You find stern rudders lashed on some of the ships in the Black Land; but they are only river boats. This is much bigger and stronger and turning it must be easier with that long tiller; but will the fastenings be strong enough in a rough sea? It would be wise to stow a quarter oar as standby.”
“That we shall find out on her trials. Something the boy said makes me think Naudok was not too satisfied with the Keftiu bronzework and said it would be better done in Gubal. There is a smith there, said to be Kinaani but I know otherwise. Some say he has a divine skill with bronze.”
“Then we should ask Leilia who he might be,” said Potyr with one of his rare smiles. “I have learned that divine aid always comes with a price.”
To everyone’s surprise, Typhis was delighted with the new device. He leaped onto the stern deck, pushing everyone else aside and tested the swing of the handle and the response of the steering blade, declaring that it would allow the ship to outsteer any other, in the hands of the right helmsman, of course.
“Where is that boy?” he bellowed. “He’s a marvel. I’d kiss him, if it didn’t give the wrong idea!”
Later, he spoke to the head shipwright about adapting his own idea used on the quarter steering oar of the Dolphin, a thick dowel fitted to the end of the steering handle, to give better purchase in a tight turn. He was told that the best way of getting this done was for the boy, meaning Namun, to mention it the next time Naudok deigned to speak to him.
Naudok liked the way the full moon strewed its light in a shimmering streak across the dark sea. That must be the path for the ship to follow. He walked along the jetty to where she lay and started to unhitch the stern line.
Namun sat down on the edge of the jetty beside him and said, quietly, as if to himself, “The mast is stepped but the spar has not been rigged. She cannot fly yet.”
“The seabird can rise from the water only if it roughens the surface with its wings. It is already done. The path out to sea is clear.”
“She has no wings yet. They will hoist the sail tomorrow.”
Naudok looked down at him for the first time. “Of course,” he said, “I know that and afterwards they will load the ballast and the anchors. Why are you sitting there?”
“I like the smell of the ship, the smell of something new.”
“The wood, yes, but not the black caulking. Can you tell oak from juniper by the smell, or acacia from cypress? Listen and I will tell you the smell of every wood.”
Namun woke at the first light of dawn. Naudok was nowhere to be seen. The ship lay silent, stirring slightly to the caress of the waves. The stern line was half untied. Namun tightened it to the bollard with two more hitches.
With Sekara’s message delivered and Kanesh’s reply repeated twice to memorise it, the messenger loped away along the track through the dunes in the direction of the port.
“They want to watch her put to sea from here,” said Kanesh. The Commander will be present, Sekara, and some of the commanders but no one else. They want to keep this quiet as long as they can.” He turned to Potyr. “Tomorrow, at dawn, with the offshore wind, just as you said.”
A group of men stood on the jetty, hunching their shoulders against the chill morning breeze. Nearby the horses that had brought them moved restlessly in the gloom, tossing their heads as the grooms attempted to calm them.
“This is her first trial,” said Potyr. “I will take her under ballast along the coast to the quarry, not for stone, but to bring back the quarryman and his gear. He is to be one of the crew. It will be a good test for the new rudder in the currents on the other side of the bay. We will turn her round quickly and be back here later in the day to deal with anything that needs attention after her first meeting with the sea.”
“And then?” demanded Sekara.
“Then we muster the c
rew, spend whatever time it takes to get to know how she handles at sea, test oars, rigging, loading, get the men fit and only then will we be ready.”
“For the voyage to the Endless Ocean?”
“That would hardly be wise. No, we will discover whether we can trust this ship to take us there after we have tried her on a trading passage to Gubal. The owner has cargo ready and needs the profits for fitting out and provisioning the ship for that other voyage.”
“There are others with close interest in that,” said Sekara. “They will be impatient with much further delay.”
“See it not as delay but as time spent in necessary preparation,” said Kanesh reasonably. “As well as shipments, there may well be some technical matters which can be dealt with only in Gubal.”
Sekara was about to say something else when the sound of horses neighing and the crunch of wagon wheels came from the direction of the workshops.
“The Commander,” said Sekara. It must be near time. Is everything ready, Captain?”
“Everyone is at his post. Our new men are at the lines. We await the sunrise, and the Lady Mother’s blessing on our departure.”
Just discernible in the dim light, a cloaked and hooded figure was helped down from the covered coach that now stood near the end of the jetty, by one of the runners who wore the kilt and jerkin of a Palace guard. As the figure approached them, Kanesh muttered to Potyr:
“Too light and dainty a tread for an aged and infirm commander, I think. Whom might he have sent to see us sail?”
Red gold ran along the horizon like molten metal pouring from the crucible and the sky brightened as a dark room does when the lamp is lit and the wick is trimmed. Her cloak was a rich blue with a white stripe along the hem and round the opening of the hood.
