Chapter 19. What Happened in a Closet
Most sailors in Wefrivain do not use advanced instruments of navigation. They are aware of such tools, but they believe them to be cumbersome and unnecessary. Sailors in the crescent are rarely out of sight of land, and their navigational skills consist of an intimate knowledge of the coastlines of thousands of islands and their accompanying sandbars, tides, and reefs. In addition, grishnard sailors rely heavily on griffins to fly up and look around.
—Gwain, A Guide to Wefrivain
Thessalyn did want to thank Silveo in person. She had been given many fine objects over the years, but she’d left most of them on Holovarus. Since that time, she’d made a point of asking for payment either in room and board, traveling expenses, or cowries to buy those things. She ran her hands over the pages of the book, sniffed its leather, and listened with shining eyes as Gerard read her the titles of the stories. She loves stories, thought Gerard. She always tells them to everyone else, and no one tells them to her.
Nothing would do, but that they should go to the admiral’s cabin at once. When he answered the door, Gerard thought she might have hugged him if he hadn’t taken a swift step back and offered a hand instead of a shoulder to her questing fingers.
“You are very welcome, Lady,” he said in response to her thanks. “You more than deserve it. Last night I was…”
Half mad? thought Gerard.
“Tired,” continued Silveo. “I don’t always sleep so well.”
“Neither does Gerard,” said Thessalyn, busily feeling her way around the outer office and into the library. Gerard frowned, not appreciating the comparison. Silveo noticed and was instantly amused. Gerard could tell he was about to say something embarrassing when Thessalyn spoke again, her fingers flickering over the books. “Gerard said a lot of these are Gwain’s.”
“Were, yes,” said Silveo. “I’d like to bring him to join them as…I don’t know—a lampshade, perhaps. I think he’d make a fine lampshade.”
“That’s not very nice, Admiral,” chided Thessalyn, sniffing delicately at one of the parchments. For a grishnard, she had an extremely good nose.
“As Gerard may have mentioned,” said Silveo, “I’m not a very nice person.”
“You’re nice to me,” said Thessalyn.
“I make a very great exception for you. Don’t be surprised if I occasionally slip. Nice is not a part of my skill-set.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” Thessalyn was examining a shelf of navigational instruments. Silveo had an unusually large collection, as he liked to navigate without the aid of griffins or pegasus—something almost unheard of in Wefrivain. “By the way, there’s a storm coming,” said Thessalyn, “a big one. I’d like to sit on deck a bit before it gets here. I haven’t been in the sun much these last few days.”
“A storm?” repeated Silveo. “How do you know?”
“She always knows,” said Gerard. “It’s part of being a prophetess.”
“I am not a prophetess,” said Thessalyn with a flick of her tail. “It’s not a feeling. I’m not guessing; I know there’s a storm coming—the same way you two know what’s on the far side of the room without walking over and touching it.”
Silveo looked at Gerard quizzically.
Gerard shrugged. “If she says there’s a big storm coming, then there’s a big storm coming.”
Silveo considered this. “In that case, I have things to do. Out of my office, little lambs.”
So they went and sat on the quarterdeck in the sun. The day was clear and bright without a trace of clouds. Thessalyn had put on a sailcloth shirt and breeches to go about deck. She went bare-pawed, her heavy gold hair whipping in the breeze, her cheeks turning pink in the sun. Gerard thought she looked adorable. She stretched out on the warm boards and laid her head in his lap, her hair pooling around them, and he read to her.
Meanwhile, the bewildered sailors began the process of preparing the ship for a storm—securing or removing everything on deck, furling sails, and preparing a sea anchor. Below deck, Gerard knew they were just as busy. He wondered how long it would take the ship’s boys to go around Silveo’s library, putting every book in place so that the doors of the cabinets could all be shut. The oars would be stowed and all portholes shut tight. Preparing for a major storm involved quite a bit of work, and Gerard was surprised Silveo had decided to act on Thessalyn’s statement. He won’t be sorry, though.
About noon, Gerard went below decks to get them something to eat. As he navigated the dim labyrinth of corridors, a shape stepped out of the gloom and tugged him gently into a closet. “Hello, Gerard.”
For a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing—the Priestess, dressed in what looked like dark silk, her deep blue eyes glinting in the half-light. “M-mistress,” he stammered. “How did you—? I mean—” He became aware that he was staring rudely and dropped his gaze. Of course, she flew here on a griffin or pegasus or even a wyvern. She probably just arrived.
She tilted his chin up, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry to have startled you, Captain.”
No, you’re not. You’re enjoying it. Gerard became aware of how very close they were standing in the small space. He started to back out of the closet, but she put her hands on his elbows and stopped him. She was only a little shorter than he and much stronger than he would have expected.
“I won’t keep you long,” purred Morchella. “I only wanted to warn you that a severe storm is coming.”
“We know,” said Gerard. “Thess told us.”
Morchella raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”
“Yes, she always knows when a storm is coming—ever since she was a little girl.”
“Interesting. I suppose being blind makes other senses keener. Still, it makes me wonder whether she’s distant kin of mine.”
Gerard didn’t know what that meant or whether he should ask. “How are you getting along with Silveo?” continued Morchella.
“Better.” Gerard thought for a moment. “He’s still threatening to kill me, but I’m not sure he really would. He likes Thess, but Alsair did something nasty on Sern that upset him.” He told her about the foxling.
Morchella laughed. “That would do it—especially on Sern. Probably gave him nightmares. He can be annoyingly sensitive about a few things.”
Gerard frowned. “Sensitive” was the last word he would have applied to Silveo. “He thinks I want his job,” said Gerard.
Morchella ran a finger down the front of Gerard’s jacket. Her voice was playful. “Do you?”
“No.” Gerard tried again to step out of the closet. This time she leaned up, put one hand around the back of his head and the other around his waist, and kissed him full on the mouth. Gerard was surprised, almost frightened, and he didn’t know what to do. Morchella pushed up the back of his shirt and ran a hand along his bare spine. The shock made him gasp, and her tongue flicked inside his mouth.
She stepped away from him suddenly, and Gerard stumbled back against the doorframe. He could feel his face burning. He wanted to run. Morchella pushed past him out of the closet and stopped to whisper in his ear, “You’re doing fine, Gerard. I heard that you talked to Gwain. That’s very good. But next time try killing him. I’ll be watching.”
Gerard raised his head a moment later and looked around. The corridor was empty. He drew a shuddering breath. He felt sick and guilty and profoundly confused. He couldn’t remember where he’d been going or what he’d meant to do. He visited the head. He thought he might vomit, but he didn’t. When he came on deck again, clouds were rolling in from the South, but the sun was still shining. Silveo was talking to Thessalyn. He was wearing brilliant blue wool, hoop earrings, and a fur cape made of what looked like wolf fur—an extinct species in Wefrivain, though their pelts could still be bought on occasion. Silveo had had food brought up, but no table or chairs, due to the increased motion of the ship. “Well, Gerard, it appears that your wife has many talents. I
n addition to making you almost tolerable, she can also predict the weather. Perhaps I shall make her my pilot. The one I’ve got isn’t entirely satisfactory.”
Gerard smiled faintly and put an arm around Thessalyn, who snuggled against him. The wind had grown cold.
“Have some faun pie,” continued Silveo. “It’s not Gwain, but we can pretend.”
“Thank you,” said Gerard. “I’m not hungry.”
Silveo looked at him narrowly. “Sick already? These waves will get worse.”
Gerard glanced at the bank of black clouds approaching from the south. “Is the Priestess up here?”
“No… Why do you ask?”
“Because I saw her a little while ago below deck. She spoke to me.”
“Ah,” Silveo looked at him even more closely, and Gerard couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “She does that sometimes. It’s always startling. We didn’t see her up here.”
“She’s done it before?” asked Gerard. “To you?”
Silveo pursed his lips. “She’s turned up unexpectedly, yes. I’ve always assumed she came on a wyvern. The gods are swift and secretive.”
“What did she say to you, Gerard?” asked Thessalyn, real concern in her voice. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”
Gerard sighed. She can read me even without eyes. “She just asked about what happened on Sern.”
It began to rain at that moment. Silveo looked at Thessalyn. “Lady, I think you’d better go below deck. Gerard, I want to talk to you in my office.”
A short time later, Gerard was back in Silveo’s outer office. Everything had gotten a lot neater since his last visit. Silveo had a single map on the desk, along with a compass and several other instruments. “Am I in trouble, sir?” asked Gerard.
Silveo looked up. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Gerard said nothing. He felt sick again.
Silveo sighed. “I’m going to give you some more of that useful advice you never listen to: be careful of our mistress. I’ve survived by doing several things. One of them is staying well away from the Police. Another is making sure that I am liked, but not loved, by Morchella. I’m her pet—a vicious little pet that bites every hand but hers, and she likes that. You don’t want to be more than a pet, Gerard.”
Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you—?”
“She was extremely fond of Arundel,” continued Silveo, “but she devours things she loves. She can’t help it; it’s her nature, like the wyverns. She ate him up inside. He should have been put out of his misery after that, but instead she gave him to me. He always had a cruel streak, but now…” Silveo shrugged. “There’s practical-mean—that’s me. And then there’s sadistic—that’s Arundel. I’m not saying I’ve never been there, but I don’t live there, and he does.”
Gerard stared at the floor. “Why are you telling me this? I thought you wanted me killed, Silveo.”
“Killed, sure, but I don’t want to deal with you in that condition. You’d be worse than Arundel. Now stop acting like a wounded animal. Whatever she did to you, it can’t have been worse than what was done to me when I was no bigger than that foxling you rescued. Go get some sleep. I’m sure we’ll need you to haul on a rope soon enough.”
The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Page 24
