The Sword of the Lady (72 page)

″You are the man Abdou?″ Rudi asked, leaning back in the chair.

That put his back to the window, which would make him an outline against the daylight and his face less readable, always an advantage. Mathilda sat at his right hand and Father Ignatius on the other; the
seidhkona
′s sprawling household had found Matti Norrheimer woman′s garb while their own was repaired and cleaned, a dark blue wool dress, head scarf and long apron of embroidered white linen and shoulder brooches of silver and jet. The pale winter light shone through the broad stretch windows and on his captive; this was an upper chamber, with a loom pushed up against the wall.

The Moor wasn′t bound, but Edain stood behind him with his bow slung and his hand on the hilt of his sword, his square face wary and grim.

″I Abdou. And I commander of fighting men, just same like you.″

The pirate captain was a tall man, as tall as Rudi himself, though more slender. Stripped of armor and outerwear he had a long robelike blue tunic embroidered at the shoulders and loose white pantaloons, both filthy and stained. There was stubble on his cheeks apart from the tuft of chin beard, and straws in his wiry hair beneath his skullcap; he smelled of sweat and dried blood and general misery, but he stood like a prince, his dark brown hawk-face calm despite the bruises and scabs. His injured right arm was in a sling.

″Why did you come to make war here?″ Rudi probed.

″Because I think I win . . . just same like you.″

Rudi laughed; the least shadow of a smile touched the corners of the prisoner′s mouth for an instant. The clansman spoke:

″I am Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie; also called Artos, High King of Montival.″

″I Abdou al-Naari al-Kaolacki, lord,″ the man said. ″You say with English . . . Abdou the Moor from Kaolack.″

″You′re not all Moors?″ Rudi asked, curious.

″No, lord. The peoples of north to the . . . Senegal River, you call it . . . are Moor. Beni Hassan. Many comed to south after the Change; my father be . . . one Moor. Comed Kaolack, comed sailor. Most there, they Wolof, Serer tribes.″

The world is so wide; its folk and their Gods and ways so many!
Rudi thought. Wistfully:
And one man′s life is not enough to learn them all, even if he had no other business.

The corsair′s English was understandable, as long as he spoke slowly. Besides the thick accent, Rudi thought he′d learned from someone who spoke an English dialect unlike any used in Montival; now and then it reminded him a little of the way Sam Aylward sounded. Occasionally he spoke first in a liquid, pleasant-sounding tongue that was probably his own, and then translated.

″You are well?″ Rudi went on.

Again the slightest smile turned up the corners of the man′s mouth; he moved the fingers of his hand in the sling, and touched his temple with the other.

″
Suma bop dey meti
,″ he said. ″I a headache, wounds pain little bit. My father is . . . fighter for Emir. Myself too. Captain of the
Bouel-Mogdad
. Hurt not . . . not big new thing.″

″You
were
a captain,″ Rudi said sternly. ″You are pirates, who came here to plunder; and you were taken in arms. So your lives are forfeit, and by right of battle you and your ship and your men belong to me, who spared you and took your surrender. You are mine to deal with as I will. Is this not so, Abdou al-Naari?″

″Inshallah,″
Abdou said. ″All things as God wills. No God except God; Muhammed is Prophet of God. What you do to me, that is will of God too. If you kill me, I am martyr for Faith and go to Paradise, sins forgiven.″

That little speech was partly a bargaining gambit
, he thought.
And partly what the man actually believes.

It wasn′t that a brave man was impossible to threaten. You just had to do it carefully.

″Who spoke of killing?″ he said, spreading his hands. ″Have you been treated well? Do you have what you need?″

″There food and straw and blankets and fire, medicine for our hurt. Two die, maybe one more soon. Others heal; my son Ahmed heal.″ He shrugged.
″Inshallah.
Need more water to wash, and how say, soap.″

″You shall have it. And now, why did you come here, Abdou al-Naari? This place in particular, I mean.″

″Marabout . . . Holy Man . . . say he have . . . how you say English . . . see in head thing far away.″

″A vision.″

″Yes, vision from God. Say followers of Prophet need help, Muslim like us. Also rich plunder. And worshippers of many false gods . . .″

″Pagans,″ Mathilda said helpfully.

Abdou nodded without deigning to look at her. ″Pagans, Norrheim men . . . fight our people, many time. Fight on sea, fight in dead cities. We teach lesson.″

″The men with the sun sign on their chests met you near here? Led by one in a red robe?″ Rudi asked.

″Yes. Marabout say, them men believers in Prophet.″

His voice sounded dryly skeptical. Father Ignatius leaned forward from Rudi′s other side.

″Followers of
a
Prophet, Abdou al-Naari. Not of
your
Prophet; of a living man who claims that title.″

Rudi could see shock on the corsair leader′s face, and for the first time there was heat in his voice:

″Muhammed is last of prophets, peace upon him! Some before—Issa, Jesus you
nasrani
call him, and Ibrahim before Issa. They prophets with message from God. No more after Muhammed! Is
haraam
. . . unclean thing, from Shaitan!″

″Blasphemy,″ Ignatius said helpfully.

Abdou nodded vigorously, winced and repeated the gesture despite the pain.

″Blasphemy,″ he agreed. ″Is that word.″

And he believes it,
Rudi noted with interest.
This one is no fool. Even a short acquaintance with the Cutters would have shown him they weren′t really of his faith. And this
Holy Man
. . . he must be also a servant of whatever Power the Cutters follow.

″The folk here would kill you,″ Rudi said. ″For vengeance, the which you have earned by falling on them without cause or warning. And they don′t keep slaves. But I have a use for you and your ship.″

Abdou′s spine stiffened a little further. ″Will not aid you against believers, my friends,″ he said. ″Kill us all first.″

Rudi shook his head. ″I wouldn′t ask you to fight your own folk,″ he said, and added to himself:
Nor would I trust you if you said you would. Loyalty to clan and tribe and one′s own blood isn′t the
only
call on a man. But it′s the foundation of all else.
He believed
that
with all his heart. There weren′t many people alive a generation after the Change who didn′t. Aloud he went on:

″I need a ship to take me and my followers to an island—″

They talked back and forth for a few minutes; Abdou had never heard the word
Nantucket
, or seen it except on old maps. His eyes went wide as he realized what his captor meant.

″Isle of the Accursed!″ he said. ″There magic there! Sorcery, strong magic.″

″And to be sure, there is,″ Rudi said implacably. ″Yet there I need to go; and my hosts here can spare neither crew nor ship, after the damage you did them. So it is to there I require your service. There, and back again.″

The Moor thought for a moment. ″You give back ship of my, I do this thing for you?″

Rudi threw back his head and laughed; the man might be a shameless saltwater bandit, but he had courage, to bargain so, alone amongst angry strangers and with a sword hung over his neck.

″You don′t lack for stones, that′s plain, Abdou al-Naari!″ he said. ″No. What you get for this service is your lives and the clothes you wear, no more. The ship and its cargo and gear goes to the folk of Kalksthorpe, as compensation for their losses.″

″As wergild,″ Heidhveig said sternly. ″Blood price. Count yourself lucky that our friend Rudi Mikesson needs you. And that he′s a man of honor, and that we honor his wishes because of our debt to him.″

The Moor looked at
her
. She sat like the spirit of the soil itself; the orange tabby-cat in her lap added its golden stare. The pirate captain blinked and nodded silently with wary respect, making a furtive sign with his good hand. Rudi went on:

″Once we′re back you and your men will be held until an English ship puts in—and the Norrheimers have agreed to
not
ask them to hang you as pirates and enemies of humankind. They′ll say you were shipwrecked here, which in a way is true enough.″

Abdou winced slightly. ″Big money English make our families pay,″ he said.

″Ransom.″

″Ransom, yes.″ Then he shrugged. ″Money come, money go, maybe come again,
inshallah
. Dead man dead always. We do. Go to Sorcerer′s Island, take you.″

He looked down at his arm. ″I can navigate, another day, three, four, arm strong enough to hold sextant. Not enough my men able to work ship goodly. Only ten, not hurt bad too much. Wait, more ready with more days, crew big to sail ship with you.″

This time Rudi′s smile was thin; he didn′t think Abdou al-Naari was stupid . . . and the Moor probably didn′t think Rudi was stupid enough to entrust himself to a crew composed wholly of his corsairs, though he also probably thought there was no harm trying. And while Rudi couldn′t navigate, he did know enough to keep an eye on the compass and the stars, so al-Naari wouldn′t be sailing them off to Dakar or the Saloum delta.

″I have some men who′ve sailed,″ he said. ″I have sailed myself, a little. More who can pull on a rope at need. I′ll be bringing all my war band along; thirty-two of us. With your ten, that should do nicely for a short voyage of no great difficulty in a schooner. The others can stay here and heal from their wounds.″

Al-Naari made that almost-smile again.
And be hostages, especially your son
, went silently between them.

It was good when men understood each other. The dark aquiline face was wholly grave when the book they′d found in his cabin was borne in, unwrapped and placed before him.

″And you will swear on your own holy things,″ Rudi said. ″Let your own God hear your oath.″

A week later two ravens swirled around the masts in Kalksthorpe′s little harbor, on a day that dawned with bleak brightness in the east and a brittle cold in the wind out of the west. Rudi cocked an eye up at the dark forms. This was a natural place for the birds to congregate; the Norrheimer were a cleanly folk, but a fishing haven always had something for the birds. That tang of fish and fish guts was there, and silt, cold seawater, a faint reek of smoke even this long after the raid. There were plenty of gulls, too, though the great black birds ignored those. They perched for a moment on the foremast, and then took off southward along the coast.

The
Bouel-Mogdad
rose and fell slightly at her mooring at the end of the long T-shaped pier; she was a bit bigger than any of the Kalksthorpe ships. Kalk Shipwright himself prodded at her railing near the wheel and binnacle with his carved staff.

″I don′t like this squared stern,″ he sniffed. ″Weakens the stem, to my way of thinking. But the wood′s sound. We don′t have timber like this! The way it′s worked . . . some is good. Some′s strange.″

Rudi nodded gravely. Kalk was old—nearly bald save for a fringe of white hair, stooped, his scalp and gnarled hands liver-spotted. His face reminded the Mackenzie of a turtle′s, ready to snap out from beneath its shell. But his pale eyes were still keen, and so was the mind behind them.

As far as the Mackenzie could see the
Bouel-Mogdad
—it was bad luck to rename a ship—was in fine condition; he′d seen ships often enough in Astoria and Newport, sailed up and down the coast and studied the art of their making a little in shipyards he′d visited. The corsair vessel was a two-master and rigged all fore and aft, which made her a schooner, technically; about a hundred and ten feet long and thirty at its widest a third back from the sharply raked bow. The poop deck was about four feet above the level of the main; the fantail at the rear held one turntable-mounted war engine, crouching like a dragon of coils and angles behind its sloped steel shield. Another like it was placed in the bows—those two had been dismounted for the siege, and were now back in place—and three more sat on each broadside on limited-traverse mounts.

He could appraise the murder-machines with a true expert′s eye, if not the ship. They differed from the ones made in Montival-to-be in a hundred details, but the laws of the mechanic arts knew no boundaries. They had about the same performance as a six-pounder scorpion, though they were marked for
three kilos
instead.

A net full of barrels swung by overhead, with one of the ship′s spars used as a crane, then dropped smoothly into the hold. That was stores for the voyage, though mostly they′d added rock ballast to keep the lightened vessel stable. Folk swarmed about, working at the last touches to make her seaworthy; even the dark grained wood of the deck shone. Ashore a gang were singing as they dragged a long bundled sail down the pier, like a great beige snake with many legs.