Our Lady of the Islands (46 page)
Read Our Lady of the Islands Online
Authors: Shannon Page,Jay Lake
The girl nodded, just as firmly.
“She does not want a voice, it seems,” Sian told Rothkin.
He rolled his eyes, and turned to his cousin, throwing his arms up as if to say,
I tried. What more can I do?
Then he looked back at Sian. “I just ask one more favor, then, Our Lady, and we talk about the sandals, yes?”
“What is it?” Sian asked, hoping he did not want her to help arrange somebody else’s
little accident
.
“You come back and see my mother now.” He waved toward the lightless door. “I know
she
wanna be healed. You do this, we talk. I promise.” He glanced at his younger sister. “Bring the light, Faya.” He started for the darkened doorway, beckoning Sian, but still ignoring Arian.
Sian held back, reluctant to go near the door — until Faya had brought the lamp, at least.
“Mamma,” Rothkin cooed. “You got a visitor. Someone gonna help you heal, okay?”
As Faya reached the doorway with her lamp, Sian and Arian were left standing in near darkness. Rothkin turned to Sian, and beckoned her again, impatiently. A few steps from the doorway, Sian realized that whatever she’d been smelling since they’d entered was back there. Everything inside her balked. What was she being asked to heal this time — to experience in her own flesh, however briefly? If this was the price of freedom for herself and Arian … She forced her legs to take her forward, and stepped through the doorway struggling not to retch.
The floor was all but covered with straw pallets in various states of disrepair. This must be where they all slept — in this stench. A rough hole had been cut into one wall; an ad hoc window, she supposed, to ventilate the room a little. Faya stood in the farthest corner now, beside the thickest of these pallets, holding out her lantern over a pile of tangled, rough hemp bedding, which, a second later, moved. An aged woman, almost indistinguishable from her soiled sheets, more skeleton than flesh, turned to look at them, and began to cough convulsively into a blood-soaked towel clutched in her hand.
“
Ohh …”
Sian groaned, backing to the wall to keep from falling, in tears before the word
bloodpox
had finished resounding through her mind. She threw her hands across her eyes but couldn’t keep from sobbing as her mother’s long and dreadful death of this disease came back in every searing detail. An instant later, it
was
her mother lying on that blood-soaked pallet; a lifetime, or was it just a day or two ago. Part of Sian wanted just to rush to her. Make it stop, immediately. The other part was terrified of taking that into herself.
With a sob so deep it nearly choked her, Sian launched herself from the wall and ran across the room to plunge her hands across the woman’s jutting collar bones. “Mother!” she cried, shaken by the force of her own sobbing. She dropped her cheek onto the woman’s chest, above her heart, no longer aware of anyone inside the room but the woman and herself, as her own lungs filled with the agony of thickened blood. “Mother … no!” she gasped as she began to be smothered in it, literally drowning in the sickness. Rotten ginger filled her nostrils — a relief against the even worse putridity of the disease itself. Sian writhed involuntarily, and gasped for air, as the woman she now lay across coughed and writhed and moaned. Sian willed the life back into this woman — into her mother — into herself. She willed all of them — all of her — to hold on, not to fall over … Not to lose consciousness before …
She came back to herself on the floor, still coughing and gasping, to find everyone from Rothkin to Arian, who now leaned wide-eyed with horror against the doorjamb, gaping down at her in shock. Only the mute child and her mother smiled — as if they shared some happy secret that the others hadn’t learned yet.
Struggling to rise off the floor and put her hands back on the woman, Sian could only turn her head, just far enough to see Rothkin’s mother, still and silent, slumped half off the pallet.
“What … did you done to her?” Rothkin breathed in horror, lunging forward to grasp his mother’s body gently, and hoist it back onto her bed. As he set her down the woman took a gasping breath, like a drowning swimmer reaching surface just in time. Rothkin let her go and jerked upright, clearly startled as her eyes flew open, and another gasp was followed by a couple of drier coughs, then another gasp. “Mamma?” Rothkin’s voice was filled with quiet fear.
“Oh … my son,” she whispered. Her voice was filled with wonder. “I can breathe.”
“Mamma?” Rothkin croaked, tears leaking from his eyes as well now, to Sian’s dull amazement. He dropped to his knees beside Sian and lifted his mother’s body into his arms again, crying almost as hard as Sian had done before. “Mamma … are you really well?”
“I … think I may be,” she murmured, sounding at least as surprised.
Rothkin rocked her in his arms and wept like a small child, as Sian felt the horrid darkness she’d been drowning in begin to dissipate within herself as well. Even the air seemed to smell better now — unless her nose had simply become inured to it already.
Thank you
, she thought. She closed her eyes again, and let her strength return, listening to the sound of deep, unencumbered breathing from the straw pallet behind her, between Rothkin’s quiet sobs.
Thank you
…
thank you,
Sian kept repeating in her mind. For the life given, and for what had been taken. There was something missing now, deep inside herself. Something sharp, and dark, and heavy that she’d never been aware of. And always wanted gone.
Thank you.
She felt so much lighter. Almost light enough to drift up off the floor, and stand again.
“Our Lady of the Islands …” she heard Rothkin moan, opening her eyes to find him kneeling at her feet now, bent to kiss the long-dry hem of her soiled silk shift. He looked up at her, still leaking tears. Just minutes earlier, she would not have thought him capable of any such emotion. “When you come into my door tonight … I don’t think you’ll do this …” His face began to cave in on itself again. “For any man … like me.” He shook with a new effort to rein in his tears, and lost again. “It no mistake the god bring you here,” he wept. “I see that now. Real clear.” He nodded, to her or to himself, she couldn’t tell, then turned back to Faya who still held the lamp, trying to stare at everyone and everything at once. “Set that light down, girl, and go get them all. Tell’em to get any kind of weapon they can get, and bring them here.”
Faya stared at him a moment, then set the lantern down and ran out of the room as Arian stared after her. Sian heard the front door thud closed as she left the house.
Rothkin turned to her again. “I give you all the sandals in this village now, and fill them with an army.”
“An … army?”
Instead of answering her, Rothkin turned to look at Arian. “We chase away all kind of armies here today, Factora Lady. We can get you and Our Lady of the Islands to the Factor House to heal your son. Without any trouble. You see now, what the reed people can do.”
As Reikos worked beside Jak beneath the mainmast, half his mind kept straying to the reckless speed at which he’d ordered them to dance across these shallows, while the other half could not quit wondering what on earth Escotte Alkattha was doing out here himself. Powerful, self-important men of the Census Taker’s sort did not risk themselves this way. More importantly, perhaps: what should Reikos do about it? If they blew Alkattha out of the water here, would it end this war? Or just get Reikos and his crew all hung?
Alkattha
was
still the Census Taker of Alizar. And for all most people knew, the Factor had initiated these hostilities. The Factor was now most likely dead, and thus no longer able to rebut whatever stories the Census Taker’s camp spread afterward. History was written by the victors, after all. Everybody knew that. And Alkattha’s conspiracy wouldn’t need Alkattha himself to win this, any more than a Factorate victory was dependent on a living Factor. No. While Reikos would have been all too happy to repay Alkattha’s recent
hospitality
right here, with a cannon, he could not risk making fugitives of all his men — should the conspiracy go on to win this war, and declare Alizar’s second-highest official a martyr to their cause.
So, yes. They ought to run. If there were any hope of doing so. As he hauled on the main topsail sheet, Reikos glanced back to see how much the catamarans had gained on them, only to remember that from down here, he couldn’t see past the poop deck to know what might be happening to stern. That was a captain’s privilege.
Up at the helm, he saw Kyrios in animated conversation with Molian and Eagent. They were clearly planning something, and Reikos itched to know what. But that too was a captain’s privilege, and he had given Kyrios command. It had been perhaps his only good decision that night. The man had proven smarter than himself — or more clear-headed anyway — many times since leaving Cutter’s. Perhaps a week in someone’s dungeon followed by a day with neither food nor sleep to speak of was not the best of preparations for such a … challenging voyage.
“Er, Captain?” Jak broke tentatively into his reverie. “Are we still runnin’, sir? Or … preparin’ to come about?”
Reikos glanced up the mast to find that he’d been hauling at the topsail sheet for far too long now. He grinned sheepishly, and began to play it out again. “Thank you, Jak. I am distracted, I fear. After ordering you all night not to be. If you see me doing it again, don’t be polite about it. Just give me a good cuffing, will you?”
“Sir?”
“I’m joking, lad. I’ll keep my head about me now.”
“You don’t just want to go back up to the helm, sir?”
“Not while we’re racing my ship across this wading pool, no. Let’s tie this off and tighten up that course sail, shall we?”
“Cats now lead the schooner!” Reikos heard Dolous shout from back at the mizzen. “Closing to no more than fifty cables!”
Fifty cables!
By the gods, those boats were flying.
Kyrios called out from the helm, “All hands, prepare to come about, one hundred fifteen degrees to port!”
Damn it, Alkattha will have us as we stall into the turn
, Reikos thought wearily, bending to the mainmast winches beside Jak.
Right back into the bastard’s hands — or to the bottom, more likely
. He could see no way around it now.
“On my mark, boys!” Kyrios shouted.
“Cats at twenty cables!” yelled Dolous.
Reickos closed his eyes. He’d tried.
“Come about!” Kyrios called down. “Now!”
Everyone set to at the winches, hauling the sails above them into close reach. Within seconds, the boat began to slow as it veered hard to port.
They were not even through the turn, however, before Reikos saw the prow and pontoons of one of Alkattha’s cats surge abreast of them to starboard. He shook his head and continued hauling at the winch, wondering if Alkattha would just sink them now, or play with them a bit first. The latter did seem more his style, from what little Reikos had been able to observe back at the Census Hall.
“All hands, prepare to come around, full stop into the wind!” called Kyrios.
Reikos turned back to stare at his first mate, astonished that he hadn’t at least a little more spine than this, then looked back across the prow, and understood. The cat that had just passed them had come about as well, directly in their path, its swivel-mounted cannon manned now and pointed dead on at
Fair Passage
.
“You’re on your own here, Jak,” he sighed, turning to pick up his jacket and go back up to the bridge. He had vainly hoped that Kyrios might pull some further miracle out of his sleeve, but he wasn’t going to ask the man to negotiate their surrender now. That really was a captain’s burden. He climbed up the companion ladder and walked to the wheel to clap a companionable hand on Kyrios’s shoulder. “Thank you for trying, friend. And for everything you’ve accomplished here tonight. I’ll navigate this part.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Kyrios said very quietly, neither looking at him, nor even moving his lips much. “But, the outcome here may still be less clear than it seems. If you wouldn’t mind trying to keep Lord Alkattha talking for a moment, we might see what we see.”
Reikos raised his brows, then quickly lowered them again, seeing the Census Taker’s other cat just off their port side now, Alkattha on its deck in a pool of lamplight, watching him and Kyrios with interest through a spyglass. “Very well,” he said as quietly, wondering exactly what his first mate and his gunmen had been discussing so earnestly up here a short while ago. “Think twice before you kill the Census Taker, though,” he murmured through tight lips. “We could be hung for that, if the Factorate should lose this war.”
Kyrios nodded very slightly. “I’m aware of it, sir.”
Reikos went to the portside railing and raised a hand to greet Alkattha, who lowered his glass and grinned up at him — with … was that a
monkey
on his shoulder?
“Captain Reikos!” Alkattha called across the water with something rather like delight. “How surprising! I had not expected to see you again! Least of all here.”
“I might say the same, Lord Census Taker! Whatever are you doing out here on a boat?”
“Sparing you catastrophe, it seems! Had I not ordered my captain over there to block your way, I’m fairly certain you’d have run your ship into the bottom any minute now! Are you unaware of how much shallower the waters are here?”
“Are you aware that there’s a rat crawling on your shoulder?” Reikos asked.
Sparing them catastrophe, indeed
. “Perhaps you ought to order your captain to keep a cleaner ship, my lord!”
Alkattha frowned at him, reaching up to stroke his monkey’s back, as if concerned about its feelings. “I have heard the most astonishing rumors about your antics tonight, Captain! Can there be any truth to tales that you’ve the Factora-Consort aboard somewhere?”
Reikos saw the Phaeros’ little schooner arriving off the stern, finally caught up again to its larger, faster companions.
Tattletales
. “What an absurd idea, my Lord Census Taker! I am only here executing my
secret mission
for you, of course!”
“So my erstwhile sergeant told you about that, did he? I am aware of his escape as well! He’s been quite the thorn in my side all day long, actually! Is your little friend here too, then? The boy? Sadly, I cannot recall his name!”
If he didn’t know where Pino was, better that he have no reason to keep looking. “
Sadly
, Pino did not survive the destruction of your palace!” he called back flatly.
“A shame,” Alkattha tutted, reaching up to pet his monkey again. “I hate to see my cousin’s talents wasted so!”
“Is that why you handed her to the temple, my lord?”
“What a lot you seem to know, Captain! Is she perhaps aboard your craft as well? What a harem you’ve collected in so short a time! Your reputation does not begin to do you service!”
“I have no idea what you mean, sir! There’s no one on this ship except me and my crew!”
“Don’t waste time being coy, Captain.” Alkattha waved negligently toward the little schooner, now just heading toward
Fair Passage’s
starboard side, hemming him in quite effectively. “I was all but gone when they informed me you were hung up on a pier nearby, in your haste to bring me the Factora-Consort as a parting gift. It would be even kinder if you’ve brought my cousin too, so that I might convey them both safely out of this dreadful conflict!”
“All but gone, my Lord Alkattha?” Reikos said, genuinely surprised. “You’re going somewhere?”
The monkey bared its teeth and hissed at a member of Alkattha’s crew who’d come too close on his way to keep the cat’s huge sails trimmed — drawing Reikos’s attention to the fact that they were maintaining careful readiness to sail again at any moment. Hardly the stance of a man confident of victory. Fleeing! That’s what Alkattha was doing on this boat! Reikos — or more accurately, his imaginary passenger — were just a last-minute afterthought. He glanced back at Kyrios, whose raised brows signaled that the significance of this was not lost on him either.
Alkattha grabbed the irate monkey from his shoulder, and cradled it against his chest — rather more in restraint than in affection. “Though it’s clear by now that I am to be blamed for all of this, I’ve been but a pawn in someone else’s game — as were so many of us here. Now that my poor cousin Viktor has expired, there will be no one who can clear my name, however, so, as you can see, I must be off to join my lovely Violethé on the continent.”
“The continent! Then why your interest in the Factora-Consort?” Reikos asked, no longer bothering with seemingly outmoded honorifics.
“In games like these, scapegoats need bargaining chips at least as badly as real villains do, Captain. If I have someone the real culprit wants, a lot of stupid things may not be done to me that surely will be otherwise. Now, if you’ll send me the Factora-Consort — and Sian Kattë as well, if she’s aboard — without any further trouble, I will not order your ship sunk right here.” With another languid gesture, he indicated the gunman now manning his own craft’s swivel-mounted cannon.
“You’re ready to send your bargaining chip to the bottom with us, are you?” Reikos asked, far from sure a man desperate enough to flee would truly be that cavalier. Time to gamble. Big. “What if your first shot misses — and mine does not?”
“My sources tell me that your guns are all to stern this evening, Captain. You will notice that none of us are there to shoot at, while my ships are positioned to all three of your remaining sides. There seems very little chance that we will miss.”
If he’d really meant to shoot, Reikos thought, he’d almost certainly have fired as soon as he’d received threats instead of compliance. Time to gamble even bigger, then … “Kyrios, I think it’s time we carried on,” he said just loudly enough to feel sure that it would carry. “Ram his cat, if necessary. It can’t be anything like as sturdy as that dock we just knifed through.”
“Don’t be stupid, Captain!” Alkattha shouted. “Carry on to where? You’ll run aground here within minutes — any way you turn!”
Yup. Bluffing — or they’d definitely have been dead by now. Just as he’d assumed, Alkattha was a midnight backstabber, not a fighting man. Probably didn’t want to be accused of murdering the Factora-Consort too as he ran off. What would he do, Reikos wondered, if
Fair Passage
simply started creeping forward again? Alkattha must feel some pressure to be on his way before someone came ‘round to stop him, too. Did he have time to risk a real fight? He’d clearly come expecting
Fair Passage
to be hung up on that pier. Had he just been reaching for low-hanging fruit on his way out of town? Reikos was about to test his luck again, and find out, when the sudden roar of cannon came from port and bow at the same instant, sending him twisting away to throw himself down in shock, along with the rest of his crew.
The bastard! I was wrong!
A third cannon fired from somewhere just to starboard. There wouldn’t even be time to apologize to anyone, he thought.
And yet … The deck beneath him hardly swayed. All the shouting and the sounds of wrecking came from … much too far away. He raised his head, and looked about at other faces as nonplussed as his. He and Kyrios had just started scrambling to their feet when yet another cannon sounded, sending everyone to deck again.
This time,
Fair Passage
bucked fiercely as a crackling spray of shattered planking flew from her forward port side and a chunk of quarterdeck leapt up to fly in pieces just above the heads of crew nearby.
There was a moment of stunned silence then, broken only by continued cries of fear and anger from the other ships around them. Reikos leapt up again, scanning his deck for casualties. Everyone seemed there and up already, rushing to and fro to check for further damage, or staring around themselves in stunned confusion. No one had been lying on that patch of deck, thank all the gods. Both masts were up still, and their rigging seemed intact. It didn’t look as if the cannon ball had taken out anything structural on its way through. Shot from such a short distance away, it had probably punched through fairly cleanly. Reikos spun next to scan the sea around him, unable to make any sense at all of what he found there.