The Magic of Recluce (12 page)

Thwup, thwup, thwup…thwup, thwup, thwup…
The paddles churned, dipping into the water with increasing speed, and a heavier and thicker plume of whitish smoke billowed from the stack.

“…foresail…” Sailors were scurrying over the masts as well, releasing and adjusting the canvas of the sails.

“Do you agree with them?” asked Tamra, thrusting her face closer to me.

“I don't know.”

“Oh…shit…uhhh…arrghhh…”

“Can I do anything?”

“Yes. Just…leave…me…alone…”

As I stood there, she emptied the contents of her guts over the side. I danced away, since I was downwind and didn't have that much in the way of spare clothes. But Tamra was too busy turning her stomach inside out to demand answers to any more philosophical questions.

So I walked toward the bow and watched the black ship heading north, moving at a speed that seemed unbelievable. No paddles, no sails—just a wake, and a thin trail of black smoke. No one even saw it, except the two of us; and Tamra was too sick to care, from waves that were scarcely two cubits high.

Off the bow, the sun dropped toward the now-black waters of the gulf.

Thwap…splat…thwap
…The paddles dipped, and the
Eidolon
rolled, and we all were carried cubit by cubit, rod by rod, kay by kay, toward Candar.

Isolde stood at the rear of the bridge, tacitly ignored, while Myrten shuffled the cards under a swinging lantern and Tamra clutched a rail still tacky from varnish.

I just watched the white foam spill from the wave crests.

T
HE WAVES REMAINED
moderate across the entire gulf, giving the
Eidolon
a near-constant rocking, pitching motion the entire trip. The half-steamer maintained a west-northwest heading.

I hadn't slept well, waking time and time again, but I
had
slept—unlike Sammel, who had eventually shared Tamra's discomfort with the ship's motion, and spent much of the night at the rail.

Isolde slept like a log. She even snored. Myrten arrived back late, and his purses were far fuller than when he had left, proof that knowing the odds was profitable anywhere. He also rose first. Even his quiet movements were enough to keep me awake.

I followed him up the ladder and onto the sun-splashed deck, where various members of the crew were already working—varnishing the other railing, disassembling another winch. Ignoring the industrious types, I trailed Myrten into the ship's mess.

Wrynn, Dorthae, and Krystal were already there.

I eased onto one of the oak benches across from Myrten—the table was empty except for us.

Scuffff…

Sammel stood there, swaying, but not in rhythm to the pitching of the ship. I motioned to the table. He finally staggered to a spot at the end of our table closest to the wall and away from anyone.

Breakfast was dried fruit—apples, red currants, peaches—hard biscuits, and a tea so strong even I winced. The tea was excellent for softening the biscuits.

I ate slowly, not looking up. Clearly, the crew had eaten earlier, much earlier. The mess room, under the bridge, took a space not much bigger than our two cabins together. The two tables were bolted to the floor, as were the backless benches. The grooves in the table would hold something, perhaps trays for dining in heavy weather.

Sammel tried the biscuits, and a touch of tea. After no more than half a biscuit, he got up and left, still greenish around his ears.

Wrynn, Krystal, and Myrten wolfed down everything in sight.

Despite his late night, Myrten looked fresh and rested, although his black hair was more unruly than ever. Myrten was the first to leave, without even a grunt. Dorthae followed him out, a glint in her eye. Wrynn fingered the hilt of her throwing knife, then followed the pair.

Krystal smiled, shaking her head.

“Something funny?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” she answered, except that it wasn't an answer. She continued to sip from her mug, but took nothing else from either of the polished wooden serving platters.

“That's not an answer.”

“Men…” She shook her head. Her hair was bound up, not in silver or gold cords, but in dark blue, as if she didn't want to call any attention to herself. “Men…” she repeated, as she stood up, leaving the mug on the table. Her steps were quick and sure, not that the deck rolled or pitched much, and she was gone before I could figure out what I could have said to keep her.

Just as I was finishing up a second biscuit and some dried peaches by myself and getting ready to leave, Isolde arrived with Tamra in tow.

For an instant, like the palest of china fired by my mother, precious and breakable, the redhead paused. “Urrrppp…” The burp destroyed the fragility. “Excuse me.” She slumped onto the bench where Myrten had been sitting.

Isolde poured the dark tea into two brown hard-glazed earthenware mugs.

“Honey?”

Tamra nodded, swaying slightly to the roll of the
Eidolon
.

I downed the last of my mug and looked around for a place to leave it.

“Don't leave just yet, Lerris.”

“Where would I go?”

Tamra sighed. Isolde glared, and I raised the empty mug to my lips so I didn't have to look at either for a moment. Then I took the heavy teapot and poured another mug, dumping in a large glob of honey from the server, an iron-gray squat pitcher that matched neither the mugs nor the teapot.

“You're quite a pair,” began Isolde, her voice matter-of-fact. “One of you believes that success lies in accomplishment, and the other believes that having answers will explain everything. One of you hates privilege but covets it desperately; the other has it and has rejected it unthinkingly.”

Tamra and I exchanged glances.

“You're both in for some real surprises.” Isolde took a deep swallow of the tea and pulled a pile of mixed fruit off one platter—mostly dried apples. Next came some of the squarish and crumbly biscuits. The guide in the faded green jumpsuit alternated fruit, biscuits, and tea.

I drank more of my own tea, bitter even with the large glob of honey I had dropped into it.

Tamra nibbled at a biscuit, sipping from her mug enough to be able to swallow the crumbs she had placed in her mouth. Without a colored scarf, dressed just in dark gray, she looked washed-out, like a limp china doll.

Finally, as the silence dragged out, I put my half-empty cup in one of the holder slots in the center of the table and stood up, glancing from Isolde to Tamra and back. Neither looked at me, and neither said anything. Isolde just kept eating, slowly and methodically. Tamra stared at the smooth brown wood of the table beside her mug.

I almost paused to see if either would say anything, but kept moving.

Outside on the main deck, the wind had picked up and whipped through my short hair. My steps took me toward the bow, where I stood with the sun on my back watching the wind carry spray from the crests of the dark-blue waves. The
Eidolon
didn't exactly cut through the sea, nor did she lumber. Just like Isolde, the ship was efficiently matter-of-fact.

That solidity was helpful, because my thoughts were anything but solid. Me—a potential order-master? Born to privilege? Convinced that answers would solve everything? How could I even decide what I wanted to do without knowing? Talryn, Kerwin, my parents, even Isolde—they were all saying that everything was obvious, that I was blinding myself, and that I just had to choose. Choose what? What did it mean? Eternal boredom if I chose order? Early death if I chose chaos? From what I already saw, the alternatives weren't exactly wonderful.

Whhstttt
…The
Eidolon
plowed into a bigger-than-normal wave, the spray from the impact almost reaching the railing where I leaned. The ship seemed quieter.

Of course! The paddles were silent, and the steam engine was cold. While the wind held, the captain didn't need to burn the coal.

I wondered if my belated recognitions were typical, that I didn't see things obvious to others until later.

“May I join you?”

I jumped. Tamra stood almost next to me, not quite so pale as at breakfast.

“Fine.”

“You looked worried…” Her voice was softer, but still carried an edge.

Did I really want to talk to her? Ever since I'd started the dangergeld she'd been a bitch. I sighed. What would it cost me? We weren't exactly going anywhere, and she certainly wasn't boring.

“Yes…I guess I was…”

“You didn't know your father was a high temple master?”

“No.”

“I…I'm sorry…”

Her words didn't sound sorry.

“You don't sound sorry.”

“Do we have to fight?” she asked.

“No. But do you have to doubt everything I say or do?”

“It's…hard…I look at you. You had everything. And…”

“And what?”

She didn't answer. Instead, she just leaned on the rail next to me and looked at the waves.

Silence and the swishing of the sea were preferable to a dubious discussion. So I watched the water too.

“Lerris?”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…why do you make it so hard for me?” Her voice was tight again.

I thought for a moment, biting back what I really wanted to say—that she was a conceited bitch who wanted to run the entire world. But what good would that have done?

Whhhhssstttt…
The spray almost touched the edge of the deck.

I watched the waves for a while, and she watched beside me.

Finally, I tried again. “Do you remember when we met…the first thing you said was something like I was a sorry sight…when I was learning staff work, you took the first opportunity to beat the crap out of me…” I looked back at the water, wondering if I'd said too much, wondering why I even bothered.

“Oh…” She actually sounded taken aback, and it felt like she was surprised.

I shook my head.

“You don't make it easy, either, you know.” Her voice was quiet.

I could barely hear her above the waves, the whisper of the wind, and the creaking of the ship. “What did I ever say?” I asked.

“That's it. You never let anyone see you. You're bored, or very polite, and we all know what you feel. That's why no one can get very close, not even Krystal, and she wanted you a lot.”

Krystal? She was older…only said she needed a friend…

“You're upset again.”

I glared at the waves instead of Tamra.

“And angry.”

“Why do you push at me?” I asked.

“Because…I'm scared…and you're scared…”

Scared? Me?

“Yes, you, Lerris. You're scared, scared shitless, no matter what you tell yourself or anyone else.”

Whhsssttttt
…The
Eidolon
lurched, and a sheet of water sprayed past me, leaving me with wet hands and a tighter grip on the railing.

Scared? Maybe? But who wouldn't be?

When I looked up again, a lot later, Tamra was gone. I wished she hadn't left, somehow. But she was still a bitch.

The rest of the day held the same pattern. The
Eidolon
plowed west-northwest. The wind held. The crew kept working on repairs. Sammel stayed seasick, and Isolde and Tamra avoided me. The crew avoided us all, except to ask brief questions of Isolde. We ate bread, cheese, fruit, and tea after the crew did at midday.

I walked the deck, studying how the ship was put together, trying to sense the underlying patterns, the forces, the stresses. In a way, it was like Uncle Sardit's work—simple on the surface, very solid, and a lot more involved than I had thought.

Tracing the flow of the woods, the way the masts were stepped, the flow of the hull and the timbers and braces—that was easy. The metals were harder, especially the mechanical stuff.

Whuffff…whufff…

The belch of the engine and the acrid scent of burning coal broke me away from trying to feel how the stem and the bowsprit were joined.

Flappppp…thwipp…

Aloft, some of the crew were furling sails. Not all of them, but the mainsails.

A line of green hills had stretched southward off the bow—on the side opposite where I had been sitting propped against the forward hatch cover. When I scrambled up, I could also see a fainter line to the north, covered with a haze that had seemed more like low-lying clouds.

Freetown couldn't be that far away, not if we were at the edge of the Great North Bay.

Splattt…thwap…thwap…splatt, thwap, thwap…

The paddles began to bite into the calmer waters of the bay. Then the sun dimmed as the
Eidolon
moved under the high hazy clouds and into suddenly damper air.

Back behind the ship's bridge, a crewman hoisted a huge Nordlan flag to the top of the aft mast. I wondered who the Candarians didn't like. Except that wasn't the way to look at it. Who didn't the Duke of Freetown like? That was the question.

“Are you ready to go?” Isolde stood by my elbow.

“All I have to do is gather my pack and staff.”

“Leave them there for now. It will be a while, but we need to get ashore as soon as the
Eidolon
ties up.”

“Safer for us or them?”

Isolde didn't answer, perhaps because she had left.

The
Eidolon
, with the grizzled captain on the bridge, continued to make surprising speed, the engine substituting for the sails, which now hung nearly limp. Once we had neared the hills and entered the bay, the wind had died, as had the waves.

Sammel appeared at the rail, followed by all of the dangergelders but Dorthae—and Isolde. Myrten wore a white bandage on his forearm, which showed only when he reached to steady himself on the railing.

The sun had disappeared totally behind the shapeless clouds by the time the ship rounded Cape Frentala. Freetown, at first glance, was not prepossessing. Only a single spire graced the gray sky, and the harborfront was mostly of low wooden buildings. The piers were of heavy weathered and unpainted gray timbers, except where a brown line showed the replacement of an older plank by a newer one.

“Get your gear…” Isolde, now wearing solid black and looking grim, was talking to Sammel, but I didn't need a personal reminder. At her belt was a sword, also black-hilted, and a long knife.

In the short time it took me to go down the ladder and claim cloak, pack, and staff, the
Eidolon
was jockeying up to the pier, where a handful of figures waited.

“Tax guards…” muttered Myrten. For whatever reason, he stood nearly next to me at the railing.

“Tax guards?”

“The duke wants his cut first.”

“Of everything?”

“Everything. Isolde will have to shell out a gold penny for each of us.”

“We have to pay to come here?”

“Hell, isn't it?” Myrten smirked.

I hadn't thought about that. Would we have to pay entry taxes in other provinces? My stock of coins was looking less and less adequate.

“Dangergelders!” called Isolde.

I turned to see her motioning and followed her gestures. Someone wanted us off the
Eidolon
as soon as possible. The gangplank was barely in place as we lined up and walked down. A pair of seamen were still tying lines to the bollards on the pier.

A round-faced official with gold braid on both shoulders and a silver breastplate waited at the bottom of the plank. Behind him stood ten soldiers, each wearing a sword but carrying a club ready to use. Their breastplates were cold iron. Behind them lurked a shadowy presence, a woman in white, with the same sense of disorder I had felt once before, in the blade the trader had tried to sell Krystal.