Dark Heart (54 page)

‘You have five minutes,’ Kidson said. He’d positioned himself so the mast partly obscured his face. Noetos had to lean to the left to get a good sight of him.

‘Five minutes are all I need,’ he replied. ‘I did what you asked and stayed away from Miss Sai. If her work was less than satisfactory, it is not I who is to blame.’

‘I’ll save you the trouble of coming to the point,’ Kidson said. ‘You want to make an offer for her. The answer is no.’

‘No? You refuse before you hear what the offer is?’

‘Of course I do. You think having Miss Sai on board is all about business?’

‘No, I think it is about status. By holding on to her you continue your reputation as the premier shipping line on the Inland Sea, and you cock a snook at the descendant of the man your family humbled itself to in order to start this venture. What is mere money compared to that?’

‘We understand each other then,’ Kidson said, and made to leave.

‘Two things,’ Noetos said quietly.

‘And they are?’

‘First, my offer was going to be the exclusive right to ship cargo from Aneheri. You never heard my tale, Captain Kidson, and you do not understand that should I claim Neherius, there is no one who can stand against me. A fortune for the ages, Captain, and you have turned it down.’

The man’s neck went red. ‘You are certain your claim will be entertained?’

‘A hundred or more of the Neherian court died under my sword,’ Noetos said, leaning forward and fixing the captain with his most intense stare. ‘There is no one left to oppose me.’

‘So why are you not there now?’

‘Because I wish first to speak with the Undying Man. I have every reason to believe he will support my claim.’

The captain rubbed at his chin. ‘I do not believe you,’ he said, though Noetos could hear the doubt in his voice. ‘Were you the natural inheritor of the Neherian rulership you would be in Aneheri now, consolidating your position. I think you would be slain if you showed your face there, fisherman.’

His gambit had failed. Even the most despotic ruler would not be able to allocate such rights without consultation with the merchants and traders of the land. And Kidson was right. After slaughtering the Neherian court he’d receive a knife in the back should he ever try to claim the southern power for his own. He’d failed, but he’d needed to try.

‘The second thing,’ Noetos continued, ‘is that you are sitting on a box of dried meat. Why did we suffer such short rations when you had ample food in your cargo holds?’

‘It’s not just dried meat,’ Kidson replied, ‘but venison from the Saysch Valley high in the Weyan Massif. I expect to sell this to the Malayu consortium that supplies Andratan. It’s not for distributing amongst passengers.’

‘I thought as much,’ Noetos said. ‘One box, man, that’s all we needed. Three children are sick down below, and one is unlikely to survive the night. Better food might have made the difference. How do you sleep with such a cruel heart?’

Kidson smiled, though Noetos could tell he’d made him furious. A mistake. He’d thought merely to unsettle the man, but he could see the captain closing to him.

‘I sleep with the help of the woman you cannot afford,’ Kidson said, biting off each word. ‘Now, unless you care to offer me the official customs position at Aneheri, along with the kingship of Jasweyah and the throne of Andratan, our conversation is at an end.’

He stood and made a two-handed gesture, flicking his fingers forward. Immediately the two sailors came and stood either side of the fisherman, a cudgel in their left hands, a dagger in their right.

‘What is this?’ Noetos said.

‘Exactly what it looks like. I have something you want and, if you are to be believed, you are a dangerous killer. Why should I leave you at liberty to plot against me?’

‘You’re going to put us off at Long Pike Mouth?’

‘Of course,’ Kidson said. ‘But don’t worry: I’ll refund you a portion of your fare. You ought to be pleased, as you’ll be solving both shipboard problems at once. Miss Sai will be able to concentrate on what she does best, and the other passengers will have more food to go around. An elegant solution.’

‘Elegant for you—’

Noetos had been watching for a signal from Kidson, but if there was one, the fisherman never saw it. He glimpsed movement from his left and swung around to face it, providing a clear target for the man to his right. The blow blossomed red and he went down in an unknowing heap.

Noetos awoke in a dark, foetid world. He groaned in pain: his eyes felt as though they were about to explode in his head. There was something on his face, a cloth…no, a sack on his head, stinking of sheep dung. He tried to take it off, but his hands were bound behind his back.

‘He’s awake,’ someone said.

He tried to turn his head towards the sound. His stomach suddenly rebelled and he vomited into the cloth. Someone said something, but all sound faded.

Father, wake up. Wake up.
An insistent voice picked at him.
Wake up, wake up, Father.

I am awake,
he replied, then realised the conversation was taking place in his head.

You weren’t breathing. We thought you’d choked on your vomit.

That’s me I smell, isn’t it.

Not just you. Dagla is badly hurt, and has messed himself. He’s making noises but doesn’t seem able to talk.

Where are we, Arathé?

We think we’re in the brig.

How many?

She knew what he meant.
All of us.

This is my fault, Arathé. I thought I could persuade Kidson to let Miss Sai go.

That’s what Anomer thought. He’s awake, in case you wondered.

You’re angry I mentioned her name before his?

He would be.

Noetos cleared his throat and spat something foul out of his mouth. ‘Anomer, are you all right?’

Arathé smiled in his mind.

‘Yes, Father.’ His voice was muffled and faint. ‘And you? You’re fine?’

‘Not exactly, but I’ll mend. Are we all wearing sacks?’

‘Why has this been done to us, Father?’ Anomer’s voice was sharp.

‘You think this is my fault?’ Noetos could not help it: he found himself instantly on the defensive.

‘I know this is your fault. Every time we get into trouble, you are to blame.’

Noetos decided to speak plainly. Or as plainly as he could with a sack over his head. This was not the place for it, nor was it the audience, but the boy was becoming insufferable.

‘I am often to blame, my son, because I seem to be the only one prepared to do anything about injustice. We got into trouble at Saros Rake because I came after you. I suppose I could have stayed at home—like you would have, perhaps. I faced down the whirlwinds at Raceme to protect you and your sister. Are you saying I should have left Arathé to face the Fingers of God alone? I make mistakes because I do things. Until you’ve made your own mistakes, I don’t want to hear any more talk of blame from you.

‘We’re here because I tried to bargain with the captain for Miss Sai’s freedom. Is there anyone here who thinks I ought not to have tried?’

His son had courage, if not sense. ‘Less than three months after my mother died, you are chasing a slattern. Who could possibly agree that a sad old man thinking of his own selfish needs deserves anyone’s support? Father, she’s Arathé’s age. I’m embarrassed for you.’

In the long silence that followed this, Noetos could hear someone—Dagla, if Arathé was right—struggling for breath. A muffled murmuring came from one direction: two voices that sounded like Seren and Tumar, discussing the boy’s injury.

Arathé, have you spoken to Anomer about Miss Sai?

I’m speaking to him now.

Tell him—no, ask him—to think before he speaks, would you? He’s a gifted lad, but no one will follow him if all he does is criticise others. I want to reconcile with him, Arathé, and I’d appreciate your help.

Very well, I will tell him.

The sound of booted feet brought Noetos out of the semi-daze he’d fallen into.

‘Is there going to be any trouble?’ came a voice.
The first mate’s,
Noetos thought.
In the end, he’s the captain’s creature.

‘We’ll not make it,’ Noetos said.

‘Good man. This is what is going t’ happen. We’re going t’ loop a rope through all your bindings and lead you from the ship. All your possessions will be placed in a pile. You’ll get most o’ your coin back, but some goes to one of our agents who will guard you until we’re well clear and on our way back to sea. Then your blindfolds will come off and you’ll be set free. Is that all clear?’

‘It is.’ They were trapped.

No, we’re not.
Arathé’s voice in his mind.
Father, Anomer says he’s sorry, and wonders whether you require the strength of his children. You could overpower the guards—

No, Arathé. We don’t know how many of the crew are out there. And even were I somehow to prevail over them, the whole ship would be against us. Passengers and crew.

But we should try!
Anomer’s voice.

We know where she is,
Noetos told his children.
If we allow the inevitable now, we can rebuild our resources later. I know I normally rush in, but this is not the time for action.

‘Stand up, the lot of you.’

‘One of us can’t stand,’ Seren growled. ‘If you’ve done him permanent harm, be assured I’ll find who did it and—aaah!’ A thump accompanied the shout of pain.

‘Enough!’ Noetos cried. ‘We’re doing what you want. Please, just do as you said you would and let this be ended.’

If Noetos had been on his own, of course he would have tried something. But his children and his sworn men were his responsibility. It hurt him deeply to leave Miss Sai in the hands of such a blackguard, but he truly saw no choice.

They were to be transferred to the longboat, which was lowered and launched with a great deal of shouting and swearing from the crew. The first mate informed his captives of what was happening all the while.

As they shuffled across the deck, Noetos became aware that what sounded like the entire passenger list had been assembled to see them leave. Mutters and mumbles distinguished them from the crew, whose exertions told on their breathing. No doubt this assembly was Kidson’s final attempt to humiliate them. He listened with everything he had as he walked past the watching passengers, their lighter breathing marking them out. Could he tell?

He didn’t need to. ‘Goodbye, fisherman,’ she said.

‘I’ll return.’ It was all he had time to say. So much he wished to tell Cylene; a deep unease at his decision to keep the truth about herself from her. Too late for regrets now.

Slowly down the rope ladder, gently easing themselves into the longboat, the slap of choppy water on the sides. Then slow strokes and the sounds of the ship fading into the distance.

‘Do we really need these sacks on our heads?’ Seren asked.

‘Captain’s orders,’ said the first mate.

‘And do you always follow captain’s orders?’ Noetos countered.

‘When the captain’s nearby, he does,’ Kidson said.

There was no more conversation. Eventually the boat came to a halt, and ropes were secured. By then Noetos was nauseous, the heat working on his fouled head covering. He wondered how the others fared, but would not give Kidson the satisfaction of enquiring. He could check on his children, of course, who told him they were uncomfortable but well. Anomer expressed real concern for Dagla, who was barely breathing.

Up another ladder they were guided, and they found themselves on rough wooden planking, a wharf of some kind. People were watching. Noetos could hear their laughter clearly. A final thump—probably Dagla—and then silence.

‘Untie us,’ Noetos said. ‘We need to see to our man.’

‘You’ll wait until I say,’ a voice growled.

Noetos wriggled his way over to where he’d heard the thump. Someone lay there, someone who wasn’t breathing.

‘Please! He’s dying!’

‘I said wait.’

Anomer! Arathé! Lend me your strength now! Dagla—Shh.

Anomer will do it.

The next minute was among the most frustrating Noetos had ever endured. A great pull in the back of his mind, then a shout, followed by further shouting, scuffling sounds and a thump, then a splash. Someone—it must be Anomer—went to work on Dagla. Heavy breathing, then muttering, and a cry of anguish.

‘What, Anomer? What? Is he all right?’

Hands at his neck, pulling the sack from his head. Anomer’s sweat-streaked face hovering above his own.

‘Dagla is dead,’ his son said to him.

The survivors stood on the dock, free of their bonds and surrounded by inquisitive locals. Noetos swept the sea with his eyes: the longboat had already drawn some distance away. He wanted to scream at the retreating cowards, but he held his tongue.

The boy was dead, and the blame rested firmly on the uncaring shoulders of that thug in the longboat. Noetos walked over to the body and bent bown beside the pale, dirt-streaked face.

‘He never had a chance,’ Tumar said, joining him. ‘Even if we’d bin allowed t’ help him, he woulda died. Head wound was too bad.’ The man had tears in his eyes. ‘He was a luv’ly boy. Never woulda hurt anyone. No need to hit him so hard. My knife an’ I want to hear that captain do some explaining.’

‘So do I,’ said Noetos, ‘but explanations will have to wait a while.’

Anomer approached. ‘Everyone else is well. What shall we do with Dagla?’

‘That depends,’ said Noetos, looking at the young man’s body, ‘on what the captain left us.’

‘No swords, no coin, no luggage,’ Seren reported. Was the miner weeping? Without doubt. ‘Though the ship’s agent has a weapon ’n’ a purse. I’ve secured ’em both.’

Noetos grunted an acknowledgment. No luggage. On the first day of the voyage he’d taken the huanu stone and sewn it into the lining of his pack. He had reasoned that the danger of accidental contact with his children outweighed the need to have the stone on his person. Now the stone was lost; and, surprisingly, he felt more relief than disappointment.