Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation (22 page)

“She does. He sent her to my room an hour after bed last night,” Father admitted.

“Oh, Father, you
didn’t
!” she exclaimed.

“Of course I didn’t,” he replied with a grimace and shiver. “Gods, she’s barely older than you, girl. Ugh.” He cringed again. “I bid her sit and talk for a while, gave her some medicine for the pain and some herbs to help heal. They don’t do that here, either. Herbs are the work of the devils. She wasn’t easy to convince, but I promised her I’d never mention it. Then I made her sleep on the divan. She seemed both grateful and put upon.”

Riga wasn’t sure she parsed that, but no matter. “Thank you,” she replied.

“For what? Not bedding a child? I need no thanks for that.” He sounded annoyed.

“I wish we could help her. Buy her, perhaps?”

Father leaned up and back, and met her eyes.

“I know you mean well, but no. Her looks make her highly prized.”

“You could ask,” she said. “I have my share to pledge against the cost.”

He sighed and looked uncomfortable.

“Riga, His Beneficent Excellency was struck by your stature and eyes. He offered me a sack of saffron and your weight in gold for your hand for his son.”

Riga choked and stared wide-eyed. Great gods. That was more than both their ships were worth. They might do that gross business in five years.

Feeling nervous ripples, she asked, “And you told him . . . ?”

“I said you were to be betrothed to a wealthy merchant in our lands, but his offer was most generous and thoughtful. I thanked him for the compliment he paid me as a father and merchant.”

Seeing her sunken expression, he added, “Riga, she’s got good food, a warm bed and shelter. Her lot as a free peasant would be no better in this desert. It would be worse. You can’t save everyone. Remember the birds? And the rabbit?”

Yes, she’d tried to save injured animals when younger.

“You stewed them,” she said accusingly.

“I only stewed them after you tried to save them and they died. They were meant for the pot anyway.”

“I didn’t appreciate it at the time,” she said.

Erki said, “If a Kossaki treated a woman like that, he’d be driven from town in disgrace. It’s a strange place. You should have been treated better, Riga. I’m sorry.”

“It keeps me humble,” she said, trying for self-deprecating humor. Few places gave women the status the Kossaki had. This place, though . . .

“Well, tonight we sleep in linen and wool and fur,” Father said. “We have dried goat and fish, berries and nuts. I’ll see about a stew.”

Erki said, “Let me, Father? I’ll be glad to make us some real food.” He leaned over and added, “And I promise not to cook any stray pets you find, Riga.”

She stuck her tongue out. “You cook. I have to help tally the goods, the tariffs and the port fees. Then Father can sign it and pretend I’m just a dumb girl.”

“I’ll pretend nothing,” he said. “They can assume whatever they wish.”

Under the sail-tent, Riga couldn’t sleep. The contrast between the beauty and the evil just seemed to make the evil that much more horrifying.

The girl had been beaten for the slightest of errors, because it “embarrassed” her owner. Then she’d been sent to whore for a guest, while still full of welts and crippling bruises. That was considered redemption here . . . for the amar.

That thought decided it for her. Riga rolled her quilt off carefully, slipped to the deck, and felt for her boots.

In minutes, she was dressed for her mission, and in a way no woman should dare dress in this city. That made it both joyous and sobering. She could wind up dead for what she planned, even if she didn’t succeed.

Erki was still and undisturbed, and she figured to leave him there. He was handsome even asleep, and she smiled. Then she realized there was one thing she needed him for, if nothing else.

She touched him on the shoulder, and his eyes snapped open.

She held a finger to her lips in a shhh! and beckoned him to join her.

He slipped his feet out and fumbled for clothes and gear. He was always twitchy and energetic, but at least he was silent about it.

He seemed excited, probably because he knew she was up to something. Would he be agreeable when he found out what, though? He matched her choice of dull fighting clothes. When she pointed, he grabbed his sword without hesitation.

A few minutes later, they shimmied over the gunwale and onto the beach. None of the crew were awake or had noticed. Some of them were still in rooms in town, in fact, and would only return in time to push off, she hoped. If they were late . . .

Erki whispered, “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to rescue that servant girl, Jesrin.”

“You haven’t discussed this with Father, have you?” he asked at once.

Damn the boy.

“No,” she admitted. “This is my plan.”

“He’ll thrash us both,” Erki said. “How will that help her?”

“He’ll thrash us because we deserve it,” she said. “That girl got far more than that.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” he said. “But how do we keep her from being found?”

With that first part agreed, she started creeping across the beach. “She only has to keep out of sight in our ship. The drove leaves in the morning. With luck, they won’t even start looking this way by then.”

“If they do, Father might just give us to them. We’ll be endangering everyone.”

“Really. I thought we were warriors and nations quivered at our mention,” she said with contemptuous sarcasm.

“Not as much as they did long past,” Erki said. “Look, I’m still with you.”

“Good, then stop trying to argue me out of it,” she said, because he was right. What she proposed was dangerous, foolish, and could start a war.

She also knew it was the right thing to do.

“I swore my Warrior’s Oath to protect the weak,” she said. “And I didn’t swear that it stopped at the edge of our lands.”

The beach was convenient. The docks proper had activity at all hours, but just a few dozen yards away, few people were about. Only small fishing vessels, or the shallow draft Kossaki trade and warships used the beach. Even when trading, the Kossaki ported like raiders, ready to dart away in moments.

The two youths flitted through from shadow to shadow. Their boots were soft-soled leather. Their dull clothes disappeared into the night. Riga had no sword, but she did have her
seachs
knife.

She planned to not need it. That would mean their mission had failed. It was the principle, though. Besides, if she did get caught, she wanted them to know she was a warrior.

It also helped her cope with the knowledge that if discovered, she would at the least be publicly beaten with canes and heavily fined. Or rather, Father would be fined. At worst . . .

In far less time than she remembered, they were at the outer wall of the amar’s residence. The building ran around three sides of a courtyard.

“I know her room is on the left . . . ” Riga said.

“Second window from the far end, down that alley.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“How do you know?”

Erki blushed even in the dark, stuttered, and then said, “She’s very pretty. I watched her go there.”

She had to smile.

“That’s fine. Good lad.” She left it at that. “Lead the way.”

“Right there,” he pointed.

She really hoped he was right. She also hoped that Jesrin was there. If the amar had her in his bed . . . or even if she was just doing scullery work . . . of course, either would let them return, knowing they’d tried.

Or more likely, cause me to escalate until we do have a war
, Riga thought. She had no illusions of her diplomacy or temper.

The shutter opened to the fourth pea-sized pebble.

Once Jesrin understood their gestures, her eyes grew a foot wide and she shook her head in horror. They gestured again, come down, come with us. Riga even held up the spare cloak for emphasis.

It took long minutes, while occasional flickers of lamplight in other windows indicated early risers, up to bake breakfast or reach the tide, before the girl nodded assent.

Erki tossed up a coil of thin, strong silk rope, and it took more minutes to explain she should loop it around the center post of the window and run it back down.

Riga was worried if Jesrin was strong enough to slide down a rope rather than fall, but she managed well enough, though clearly stiff from some beating or other. She bumped the wall and scuffed loose some plaster, which made Riga cringe. Perhaps she was being too cautious. There was no indication anyone else had noticed. She was thankful they didn’t like dogs here. Dogs would have heard and smelled them long before.

The seconds were hour-long, as Jesrin slipped down the slender rope. Her layered dress was not practical, and would be abraded to shreds before she reached the ground.

Then she slipped and fell. Erki and Riga both rushed forward and caught her, and she convulsed in agony, with their hands on her beaten back. The fall had scraped her knuckles and forehead, and she leaned over in the dust and vomited, twitched, lay still for a moment, then twitched again as she woke up. Through it all, she barely uttered a sound.

Erki snatched the rope down as Riga gingerly helped her to her feet. With the shutters ajar and the rope recovered, there was no obvious sign of departure. But it was early, and Father would awaken soon himself. They had to move.

The girl meekly donned the offered hood and tied the cloak around her neck, wincing as even that weight touched her abused flesh. She’d pass as Kossaki from a distance, but her underdress was clearly servant class, and her poise was as submissive as Riga’s was challenging. Still, that shouldn’t matter.

“This way,” Riga said, and led the way. A moment later, Erki grabbed her shoulder and stepped in front.

Oh. Right. Male must lead. She flushed in anger, embarrassment and frustration. Still, that’s why she’d asked him along, and he was doing his part well, the stout boy.

They were five streets away when a Watchman came around the corner, right into their faces.

“Who are you?” he asked. Riga could puzzle out the words, but she couldn’t speak. Had Erki paid attention to their lessons?

And then she knew why she loved her brother, annoying as he could be. He stepped forward, as he did for any problem, and showed no reluctance.

“Harad of the Kossaki,” he lied, “and my sisters. I return to my uncle’s ship.”

“It is very late.” The man spoke simply for them, but his tone made it clear he wanted an explanation.

“My sister took sick and had to stay with friends. We are lucky your gods saw fit to make her healthy in time.”

It was very rude to look at a woman’s face here, but this man was an official. He looked as if he was considering doing so, and stared at their feet.

She’s wearing sandals, not boots
, Riga realized. Explain them as locally supplied? But she couldn’t talk, and would Erki grasp it?

Under her cloak, Riga gripped the hilt of her
seachs
. In about five heartbeats, he was going to find out why she was called “Sworddancer,” even if all she had was a knife.

He looked at Erki again, said, “A blessing on you,” and turned away.

Riga exhaled. Jesrin whimpered. Erki didn’t twitch at all, and led the way forward.

It was definitely near dawn, and gray, as they reached the beach.

Jesrin spoke at last. “We go on your ship?”

“Yes, quickly,” Riga said, gripped her elbow carefully—it might be bruised—and hurried her along.

Some crew were about, securing the ships for sea. The tents would be down soon, then hoisted back up as sails. Luckily, no one paid much attention to three youths.

Erki bounded catlike over the gunwale, and pulled at Jesrin’s hands as Riga shoved at her hips. The girl winced. Beaten there, too. But it took practice or help to board the outward curve of a
kanr
.

In the dim twilight, Father was visible at the stern, checking the steering oar and ballast. Before he turned, Riga shoved Jesrin down behind a pair of barrels.

“Erki,” she said, and stood as he threw a heavy, smelly tarp atop the girl.

He stood and whispered, “Don’t move at all until I say so.”

Father came back, moving easily around netted crates and barrels. He didn’t look or act his age, and the ship was his domain.

“Where have you been?” he demanded crossly.

“I took a last look at the tiled market to the south,” she said. “It’s so pretty.” She tried hard to make that sound honest. It was something she might have done . . . four years before. Would Father catch that?

“You’ll have cleaning duty until I say otherwise. Both of you,” he replied. He looked relieved and annoyed but not angry.

“Sorry, Father,” she said.

“Yes, Father,” Erki agreed.

“Stow the ropes, help with the sail bindings, and get ready to depart. We have a good wind to speed us north by west.”

“At once,” she agreed. Good. Shortly they’d be away from this beautiful hell.

The incoming tide made the ship sway and bob, and the wind and the poles inched them down the sand. All at once they shifted, dragged, shifted again, and
Sea Fox
was back in her realm. The crew jumped to the oars and sculled for deeper water. They were free peasants, hired and paid, and Riga would bet them against any slave rowers. As free men they’d also fight for their master and their pay. Yet another reason the Kossaki traded unmolested.

The ships were just forming up in line to head out to sea, when a bright yellow harbor boat headed for them, with a crewman tooting a brass horn. They all stopped their departure, keeping station in the lapping waves to avoid beaching again.

The boat drew alongside, and some official or other in gleaming white silk accepted a hand aboard. Behind him was the Watchman from the night before, and Riga’s nerves rippled cold.

“May I help you?” Father asked. “I believe our tariffs are in order.” He held out a leather book with a stamped sheet from the revenue agent. He’d paid the tariff Riga had calculated, and tossed in ten percent as “a gift for the temple,” which meant for the agent’s pocket. All should be in order. Though Riga knew that was not the issue in question.