Mad Ship (43 page)

“You’re trying to frighten me.” From somewhere, Captain Haven had found a last measure of aplomb. “I’m not easily scared. The only problem is that I have no idea what you want from me. Why don’t you simply tell me?” He even managed to keep his voice steady as the male map-face led him down the steep steps. The woman had gone ahead to rummage for chains while her docile and implacable mate dealt with the man. “Regardless of what my son has told you, I am not an unreasonable man. Everything is negotiable. Even if you keep the ship and the boy, you could get a handsome ransom for me. Have you thought of that? I am worth far more to you alive than dead. Come. I’m not a stingy man. This profits no one.”

Kennit smiled sardonically. “My dear captain, not all of life is about profit. Sometimes it is about convenience. This is convenient for me.”

Kyle maintained his composure. He struggled savagely but silently when the rusty manacles were snapped about his ankles. It did him no good. His time shut up in his cabin had wasted him. Either of the map-faces alone could have bested him. Together they handled him as if he were a recalcitrant five-year-old. The lock was stiff but the old keys hanging on the ring by the kitchen door still turned it. Kennit thought he knew the precise moment the man broke. It was at the quiet snap of the lock being fastened. That was when he began cursing. He swore oaths of vengeance and called down the wrath of a dozen gods on them as they climbed the stairs and left him there. As they closed the door, shutting him into the dark and dank, he began to scream. The door to the wine cellar was heavy and well fitted. When it shut, it cut off his screams, just as Kennit had recalled. He hung the keys back on their peg.

“Be sure you show Ankle the way here. I want him kept alive. Do you understand?”

The woman nodded. Seeing her do so, Dedge nodded also. Kennit smiled, well pleased. These two would do fine here. Life on Key Island would offer them more than their wildest dreams. They would have their own cottage, plenty of food, peace and a place to raise their child. So simply had he bought their lives from them, he reflected. Strange how men would resist slavery savagely, only to sell themselves for a simple chance at life.

As he walked back to the big house, they followed at his heels. He spoke over his shoulder to them. “My mother can show you all you need to know about the island. Pigs are plentiful. There are goats as well. Almost anything you need, the island can provide. If it is outside the big house, you can help yourself to what you need. All I ask in return is that you do the heavier chores for my mother. That, and be sure the priest never attempts to leave. If he does, simply put him in the cellar with the captain. Encourage him to amuse my mother.” He stopped and looked back at them when they reached the cottage door. “Is there anything I’ve forgotten?” he asked them. “Anything you don’t understand?”

“It’s all quite clear,” the woman replied quickly. “We’ll keep our end of the bargain, Captain Kennit. Make no mistake.” She rested one hand atop her belly, as if pledging to the child within rather than to him. That as much as anything they had done convinced him he had chosen well. He nodded, well satisfied with himself. He was rid of Sa’Adar without the bad luck associated with killing a priest. Kyle Haven would be where neither he nor Wintrow had to fret about him, yet he was still available to be ransomed off later if Kennit chose to do so. The disposal of the others had been convenient. They had rowed the boat ashore and seen that neither the priest nor the captain gave trouble. Yes. He had planned well.

He went into the cottage and glanced around. The priest stood in a corner, his arms folded on his chest. He did not look as if he were praying. His mother crouched over the open chest, aahing and clucking over the contents. She had already donned the turquoise earrings. As he entered the room, Ankle gimped the short distance from the hearth to the table with a platter of fresh flat bread. There was a bowl of berry preserves on the table, and a slab of yellow spring butter. Beside the butter, herb tea was steaming from the cracked lid of a pot. The table was set with odds and ends of crockery. Not a cup matched its fellow. Kennit knew a moment’s annoyance. Although those gathered here would never leave this island, he did not like anyone to see his mother living in such circumstances. When he was king, it would not do for such tales to be noised about. “Next time I come to visit, I shall bring you a proper tea set, Mother,” he announced. “I know you are fond of these old pieces, but really … ”

He let the words trail off as he helped himself to a piece of warm bread. His mother gabbled away at him as she poured him a cup of tea and offered him the only chair at the table. He seated himself gratefully. The crutch head was beginning to chafe him severely. He slathered his bread with butter and heaped it with preserves. His first bite nearly swept him away on a wave of sensory memories. These humble foods, still so delicious to his palate, were like ghosts. They belonged to the world of a very small boy, coddled and indulged and safe beyond all imagining. All that had been betrayed nearly thirty-five years ago. Odd, that such a sweet taste could summon up such bitterness. He ate the rest of his bread and three more pieces, caught between enjoyment and painful memory.

The others joined him in the meal, obeying his mother’s gestures to stand about the table. Only the priest demurred. His supercilious stare included Kennit. It did not bother the pirate. Hunger would cure him of his snobbery soon enough. For now, it was an oddly pleasant gathering. His mother gabbled on in her singsong way. The map-faces responded to her gestures and mouthing with nods and smiles, but few words. Her dumbness seemed contagious. Ankle appeared almost competent in this humble setting. She took up the brush and swept the ashes back into the hearth without being told. Her eyes had already lost some of their bruised look. Kennit knew a moment’s reconsideration of her. He had wanted a docile servant for his mother; he hoped this girl did not recover too much of her spirits.

He finished his tea and rose. “Well. I must be going. Now, Mother, don’t start to carry on. You know I can’t stay.”

Despite his words, she caught at his sleeve. The pleading look in her eyes spoke eloquently but he chose to misunderstand. “I won’t forget the tea cups, I promise you. I’ll bring them the next time I come. Yes, all done with pretty little designs, I’ll remember. I know what you like.” As he set her hands firmly away from his sleeve, he spoke over her shoulder to the others. “See that you mind well, Ankle. I shall expect to see a fine, fat baby when next I call, Dedge. No doubt there will be another on the way by then, eh?” He felt quite patriarchal as he said this. It occurred to him that eventually he could select others to come and live here. It could become his secret kingdom within a kingdom.

As he stepped away from his mother, she surrendered, as she always did. She sank down onto the chair, bowed her head into her hands and wept. She always wept. It made no sense to him. How many times had she found that tears solved nothing? Yet still, she wept. He patted her gingerly on the shoulder and headed for the door.

“I am not staying here,” the priest declared.

Kennit paused to stare at him. “Oh?” he queried pleasantly.

“No. I’m going back to the ship with you.”

Kennit considered this. “A pity. I am so sure my mother would have enjoyed having you here. You’re certain you won’t reconsider?”

The pirate’s smooth courtesy seemed to rattle Sa’Adar. He looked all around himself. Kennit’s mother still wept. Ankle had approached her and was cautiously patting the old woman’s shoulder. Dedge and Saylah looked only at Kennit. Their alert and expectant waiting reminded Kennit of well-trained hunting dogs. He made a small hand motion; the two map-faces relaxed slightly but remained attentive. The priest looked back at Kennit.

“No. I will not stay. There is nothing here for me.”

Kennit gave a small sigh. “I was so sure you’d stay. Certain of it. Well. If you will not stay, at least do something for my mother before you depart. Bless the house or cow.”

Sa’Adar gave him a disdainful look. It was as if the pirate had given him a command more suited to a horse or dog. He looked over his shoulder at the weeping woman. “I suppose I could do that.”

“I know you could. Take your time. As you have noticed, I do not move swiftly these days. I’ll await you at the beach.” Kennit shrugged. “You can row the boat for me.”

Kennit could see the priest weighing this. He knew the pirate could not outrun him. There was small chance he could launch the gig alone. Sa’Adar gave a grudging nod. “I’ll be right along. I’ll put a blessing on her house and garden.”

“How kind of you,” Kennit enthused. “I shall wait for you on the beach, then. Farewell, Mother. I shan’t forget your tea cups.”

“Captain?” Saylah dared to ask softly. “Will you want any help to launch the boat?” She gave the priest a narrowed, sideways glance as she spoke. Her offer was plain.

He managed a smile. “No, thank you all the same. I am sure the priest and I can manage it. You stay here and get settled in. Farewell.” He tucked his crutch more securely under his arm and began his swinging trek back to the boat.

The ground of the garden was soft. After that, his path led uphill. Kennit was more tired than he had realized. Nevertheless, he persevered until he was out of sight of the cottage before he paused to rest. He mopped sweat from his face and considered. He decided he did not need to fear treachery from the priest. Not just yet, anyway. Sa’Adar needed him to return to the ship. He would not be welcomed aboard without the captain.

He took up a more leisurely pace. Once he stopped, and listened to the rustling of a pig in the brush. It did not come his way and he soon went on. He almost expected the priest to overtake him before he reached the beach, but he did not. Perhaps he was bestowing a very lengthy blessing upon the house. That would please his mother.

The sand of the beach was loose and dry. His peg dragged through it. He was so weary. He could scarcely lift his leg high enough for the peg to clear the sand. He reached the gig and sat down. The tide was coming in. Soon the boat would be almost afloat, but it promised to be a long row back to the ship. Had he overestimated his strength? The warmth of the day and the aching fatigue of his body worked against him. He wanted to drowse. He wanted to sit still and drift in the warm afternoon. Instead, he massaged his aching armpit where the crutch had chafed him. He spurred himself, wondering if the priest delayed to visit Captain Haven. No. Dedge would not allow that. Not unless they had been in league all along. If that were so, they would come soon to kill him. They would have killed his mother already, of course. They would have found his treasure, carefully stowed in the big house. They would come to kill him, because he had been stupid. What would they do then? They could not return to the ship. Alternatively, could they? Was there enough treasure there to buy Sorcor and Etta, Wintrow and Brig? Perhaps. His heart grew cold with anger at his own stupidity. Then he smiled a wolf’s smile. Perhaps there was enough treasure to buy human hearts. But not Vivacia’s. The ship had already come to love him. He knew that. One could not buy nor steal the heart of a liveship. The heart of a liveship was true.

Igrot had proved that, many years ago.

Kennit smiled as he prepared himself and waited.

When the priest finally came, he tramped like an angry man. So, Kennit thought to himself, you did try to sway Dedge to your cause. You failed. Turning his head to regard Sa’Adar, Kennit became certain of his conjecture. He had the rumpled look of a man who has narrowly averted a bad beating by fleeing. His face was redder than the walk back to the boat would explain. As he approached, Kennit climbed into the gig and seated himself on the rowing seat. He did not bother with a greeting. “Push it out into the water.”

Sa’Adar glared at him. “It would be easier if the gig were empty.”

“Probably,” Kennit agreed affably. He didn’t move.

The man was not soft, but he was not a hardened sailor either. He set his hands to the gig and pushed. Nothing happened. “Wait for a wave,” Kennit suggested.

Sa’Adar gritted his teeth but obeyed the suggestion. The bottom of the gig grated on the sand and then abruptly bobbed free. “Keep pushing or she’ll beach again,” Kennit warned him as he took up the oars. Soon Sa’Adar was wading alongside, trying to pull himself over and into the boat. Kennit pulled steadily at the oars. It had been some time since he had rowed a boat, but his body remembered it well enough. He braced his peg against the bottom of the boat to keep from slipping. Even so, it was difficult to pull evenly on the oars. A wave of desolation engulfed him as he decided that nothing would ever be completely as it had been. He had lost a part of his body and for the rest of his life, all his actions would have to compensate for what was missing.

“Wait!” Sa’Adar complained as he scrabbled to get aboard. Kennit ignored him and continued to row. Sa’Adar was still only halfway in when the next wave lifted the gig. The priest clambered aboard like a landsman, gasping and shivering as the brisk sea wind hit his soaked clothing. Once he was well aboard, Kennit shipped the oars. It pleased him that even with a peg and crutch, he moved more gracefully than Sa’Adar as he shifted his seat. The priest, arms clutched about himself, sneered at him. “You expect me to row?”

“It will warm you,” Kennit pointed out.

He sat in the bow, holding his crutch, and watched Sa’Adar struggle. Rowing a gig, even on a calm day, soon becomes serious work. There was a rising wind and a bit of a chop for him to contend with also. He worked the oars unevenly. Sometimes they skipped and splashed across the top of the water. Even when they bit well into the water, their progress was slow. Kennit was unconcerned. He could see Sa’Adar’s impatience to be back aboard the ship in the furious energy he poured into his task. He decided to engage him in conversation as well.

“So. Are you satisfied with the justice meted out to Captain Haven?”

Sa’Adar had little breath to spare, but could not resist making speeches. “I wanted to see him before I left. To spit on him one more time and wish him joy of his chains and darkness.” He caught his breath. “Dedge would not let me. He and Saylah both turned on me.” Another breath. “But for me, they’d be slaves in Chalced right now. They would not be together still, and Saylah’s child could celebrate his birth with a tattoo on his face.” He was panting now.