Corsair (11 page)

“I think,” Gareth said, “I’d best, when things clear up a bit, go for my ship. Since the only way Quindolphin found me was by trailing you, he can’t have any knowledge of the
Steadfast.
“ He grimaced. “But that’ll not let me say farewell to my uncle.”

“Nor,” Cosyra said, “to eat oysters.”

Gareth managed a wry smile. Labala’s eyes brightened.

“You were going to eat oysters? Damn, but that’d be a fine feast, after an outing and playabout like we just had.”

Cosyra giggled.

“Never mind, Labala,” Gareth said. “I’ll give you silver for a bait of them if you want, later. But first, what was that you said about a ‘Feeling’? And can’t you brush that mop off your face?”

“Gives me what they call statyur,” Labala said, but raked a paw through his hair until they could see most of his face. He drank off his glass of spirits, licked his lips.

“Not my style,” he said. “Don’t suppose there’s any beer about?”

Cosyra signaled for a servant.

“What’s this stature?” she asked. “What are you now? Or should I ask?”

“I’m sort of a magician,” Labala said. Gareth choked on his tea, got scowled at.

“Don’t laugh, Gareth, or I’ll sink you. My family, back when they lived in the Eastern Isles, before we come to Saros, generally had some witch in the blood.

“Just after you got took by that lord, giving us a chance to flee — for which I thank you and’ll thank you again — I went back to work, stevedoring, and was down in a hold, loading grain, which is dirty and kind of dangerous, especially if the bastard on the winch lets a net slip.

“I was in the hold, as I said, tossin’ bags around, and I got this
Feeling
that we better move. I called out, everybody scampered, and a cable went and dropped big heavy bags of grain all over the place, but nobody got killed or anything.

“That made me think, and if I see that damned grin again, Gareth, I’ll blat you one, I swear and vow. So I hunted me up a witch, and she showed me some simple spells, and damned if they didn’t work for me.

“So I been doing that, casting fortunes along the docks, which sometimes is right, sometimes wrong, maybe a love potion for one of the whores. Making a little gold, some silver.

“An’ then tonight I got a real strong sense I better be somewhere, and I saw your faces in my mind, and so I come as fast and hard as I could.”

“Saving our lives,” Cosyra said. Suddenly she turned pale, said, “Oh dear,” and sat down very quickly, almost missing the chair.

Gareth was beside her.

“I … I just … realized I never stabbed anyone before,” she whispered. “It’s not at all like fencing, is it?”

Gareth had his arm around her, pulling her against him, feeling her shake. In a few moments the shaking stopped.

“I’m all right. I think,” she said. “But maybe some brandy?” She drank it down as they heard the clatter of a dozen or more horses in the courtyard.

“That’ll be the King’s Guard,” she said. “I’ll have them take you to the
Steadfast,
and make sure your uncle knows where to go to say good-bye.”

“I best be going too,” Labala said, upending his mug. “I don’t need none of the kingsmen, but perhaps I better have myself hid out for a couple of days, since nobility takes shit like we did seriously.”

Gareth was looking intently at Labala. “You really like what you’re doing? Being a fortune-teller and all?”

Labala shrugged uncomfortably.

“Better’n heaving big bags of stuff around, I guess.”

“I know a ship,” Gareth said, “that’s looking for crew.”

“I dreamed, off and on, of going to sea, like my family used to do, before we got stuck here in Saros,” Labala said. “But I never had anybody stand good for me.”

“I’ll do that,” Gareth said.

“Mmmph,” Labala said. “That might be all right See some of the world and all. Gareth, I’ll go with you. Maybe we’ll have a chance to do some more foolery, like we used to.”

“Maybe,” Gareth said. “When we’re ashore, but not aboard ship.”

Labala shrugged indifference.

Gareth turned to Cosyra.

“I’m sorry.”

Cosyra made a face. “There’ll be other times for oysters.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” she whispered, lips parting as she came to him.

• • •

From the
Mercantile Posting
:

The
Steadfast
sailed east-southeast, past Adrianople, Prim, Killis, other cities Gareth had traded with, into the tropics.

Gareth found a new pleasure — seeing friends enjoy something new, things that he’d already discovered: the constant tradewind that now was cooling, instead of freezing the sailors; the blue skies and rolling oceans; the taste of unfamiliar fish netted from the stern yard and grilled on a charcoal brazier and drenched in lime juice; floating coconuts fished up, split and their milk drunk, still unspoiled by the salt water; the warmth of the sun; the soft skies that welcomed a dreamy night watch.

Tom and Knoll learned shipboard routine readily. Labala seemed to have a little trouble at first, but his constant cheerfulness and enormous strength kept him from making enemies.

Gareth watched with amusement. The thought came that he needed but one other friend here to be utterly content, and that brought his mood crashing down.

Cosyra, just a friend? Of course not. He didn’t want to sleep with his other friends. But was just basic lust all of it?

He was afraid not, but he refused to countenance love. Love was an anchor, a millstone, that held you back, and tied you to staleness and the land.

Not that he had any particular reason to think that Cosyra was in love with
him,
of course. He knew lust wasn’t an exclusively male emotion.

But this made him brood further, about what he wasn’t sure. He tried to pay attention to his accounts, which, considering the hidden cargoes, was a little complicated. Gareth was more than happy to be called on deck by Captain Luynes.

He realized it must be a serious matter when Luynes told the deck officer he’d take the watch and took Gareth on up to the deserted stern castle.

“This man Labala,” he said without preamble. “You wanted me to sign him aboard.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything the matter with him?”

“Other than he’s a godsdamned magician, nothing. Did you know he’s a spellcaster?”

“Yes,” Gareth admitted. “He told me he played about with some small pieces of wizardry when he was a longshoreman.”

Luynes growled.

“I do not like magicians aboard my ship.”

“No, sir,” Gareth said. “Most seamen don’t seem to, either. But I’ve sailed with them, and had no trouble. Besides, Labala’s not much more than a witch, really. Love potions and so forth.”

“I’m not being superstitious,” Luynes said. “I’ve a particular reason to not want wizards on the
Steadfast.
”

Gareth waited, but Luynes didn’t seem inclined to explain.

“Look at him,” he said, pointing. “Up there in the foresheets, probably working up some casting or other. You go talk to him, Purser, since you’re his friend. Tell him I’m not pleased, for my own reasons, and he’s to refrain from any witchery while he’s aboard the
Steadfast.
If he’s wise, he’ll take my warning, and not need any further … attention from me.”

Gareth remembered the oath of utter obedience in the articles, said, “Aye, sir,” and went for’rd to where Labala leaned over the railing.

“And how’s the lad?” Labala asked. “All white and like from bending over the accounts, making sure none of us’ve stolen an extra herring?”

“Better than you,” Gareth said, repeating Luynes’s orders.

“Superstitious, he is.”

“He said there’s a good reason.”

“Just bein’ captain’s reason enough for him, I’d guess,” Labala said. “And just when I was starting to get some good ideas.

“You know, Gareth, last night, I came up in the dogwatches, and the mist was swirling about the deck like ghosts dancing. And a spell came, and I started saying it, and those fog-ghosts started dancing to it. I think, with a little thought, I could move a whole harbor full of mist.”

Gareth shivered. “Maybe the skipper’s got a point.”

“Aarh, you’re superstitious too. It wasn’t ghosts, just bits of water-smoke, obeying what I called it to do. Ghosts are another, entirely different thing, which I’m not proposing to fool about with.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Labala sighed. “And coming up with new words and thinking about handling things like water, and fire, and smoke, made the watches pass a lot faster, too. I just wish I could read and cipher, so I could keep track of my ideas.

“But, thinking that maybe the Captain’s got enough of the Gift — or somebody on his side does, anyhoo — I’ll cut my sails closer to the wind.”

He jabbed Gareth in the ribs with an elbow. “Catch that, matey? See how I’m gettin’ as nautical as all shit here?”

Gareth recovered his breath painfully. “Gods, Labala. Can’t you just make your point with words?”

“And words are what I’m no good at,” Labala said. “So you’ll have to live with what I am, won’t you?”

• • •

The next day, Luynes ordered all hands to learn how to fire the ship’s cannon. We
are
going to sail into trouble, Gareth thought.

He was grateful that he’d learned all he could on his first voyages. He, and Thom Tehidy, seemed to have a certain talent with the cannon, able to range in on the crates they threw overside for target practice within a shot or two.

Luynes made Gareth a gun captain.

• • •

Another thing Gareth found unsettling was the way the crew behaved. Some knew little of Luynes, but a bit less than half of the men had sailed with Luynes before.

These experienced sailors, and this included the two watch officers and the bosun, held their experience close, sharing it with none of the newcomers, as if it was some sort of pleasurable but shameful vice they practiced secretly. Some of these men were not much older than Gareth, but all were most experienced seamen.

Even offwatch, yarning, they didn’t mingle with the others.

Gareth asked one of them, when the man had the helm and Gareth was the only other one on the quarterdeck. The man looked innocently wide eyed, and said, “Why sir, it’s not that we’ve secrets or anything. But you should know by now how people tend to hold back when they’re around fellows who’re yet untested.”

Gareth knew that, nodded understanding. His doubts might have vanished if he hadn’t seen the way the man looked at him an instant later, under his brows, his expression calculating, shrewd.

The two watch officers were Kelch and Rooke. They were highly experienced, but they seemed more like prison warders than sailors to Gareth, even though they never laid a hand on any seaman. The bosun, Nomios, wasn’t much better.

Gareth was glad that he had three completely reliable friends, and hoped he was just being overly suspicious.

A week south of Killis, Luynes ordered the crew to gather on the maindeck, save the helmsman and a single lookout.

Luynes clambered atop one of the cannon and stood looking about for a moment, thumbs hooked in his breeches, appearing very satisfied with the world.

“All right, now,” he said. “I’m proposing to finally tell you where we’re bound, and what our intentions are. Some of you, who’ve sailed with me before, have a good idea, for we’ve dabbled in these cargoes before.”

“We’re not bound for spices, then?” one of the new men asked.

“That’ll be the cargo we finish up with, when we finally sail back north,” Luynes said. “And it’ll make us all as rich as I promised.

“But first, we’ll be loading goods damn’ near as valuable.

“Men,” he said. “Men and women.”

“Slaves?” someone asked, and there was a ripple of amusement from the older hands.

“Slaves it is,” Luynes said. “I had the
Steadfast
purpose-built for them. She’s shallow-draft, which is why she rolls so bastardly. But she’ll be able to cruise up the rivers of Linyati and Kashi — that’s the other half of their continent — and take on cargoes the raiders who go into the interior after the natives will bring to us.”

“Which,” Knoll N’b’ry said, “we then take to the Linyati?”

“Exactly, boy. That bother you?”

“It does, sir. First, I don’t like the idea of doing business with the Slavers, second I don’t like being a slaver myself.”

Mutters of agreement came from some of the crewmen.

“Well,” Luynes said, “ain’t that tough titty. You signed aboard to follow my orders, remember?”

“I signed aboard,” Knoll said stubbornly, “to learn to be a sailor, and trade for spices, I thought. Not to be a murderer.”

Rooke the mate growled, and Knoll set his jaw firm.

“You’re not going to be murdering anyone, boy,” Luynes said. “You’ll be going up and down the mast, pulling ropes, standing your watch. What we’ve got under the hatches, now and later, is none of your damned business.”

Knoll was looking at Gareth. Gareth moved his head, very slightly, sideways. N’b’ry looked stubborn, then forced blankness.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said, but his voice still was stubborn. “I’ll follow orders.”

“Damn’ right you will,” Kelch snapped.

Labala started forward, then stopped.

“You have something to say?” Luynes said.

“Nossir. Things is just surprisin’ to me.”

“The only surprise you should concern yourself with is how much more gold you’ll go ashore with when we get back to Ticao,” Luynes said, and there was laughter and agreement.

“Now, back to your posts. Purser, I want a word with you.”

Luynes waited until the crew dispersed, then:

“And what do you think your uncle would think of that?”

“Not my concern, sir,” Gareth said. “He’s a long ways distant, now isn’t he?”

He gave Luynes a gaze of straightforward innocence, and hoped the rakehelly would buy his lie.