Mad Ship (44 page)

“Keep her nose into the waves. You see that point there, on that island? Where the two trees stand separate from the forest? Fix your eyes on that and row toward it.”

Sa’Adar gave an exasperated scowl. “One man cannot row this! You should take the bench beside me and help. It took four rowers to get us ashore.”

“The boat was more heavily laden then. Besides. I am greatly wearied from our hike. Remember that I am a man still recovering from a grievous injury. But in time, perhaps, I shall take a turn at the oars and let you rest.” Kennit turned his face to the breeze and closed his eyes to slits. The bright sun danced on the moving water. Suddenly even his weariness felt good. This was something he had needed to do. He had taken independent, physical action on his own. He had proved to himself that he could still sway others to his will with little more than words. His body had been diminished, but it was sufficient to his ambition. He would triumph. King Kennit. King Kennit of the Pirate Isles. Would he someday have a palace on Key Island? Perhaps after his mother had died, he could establish himself there. As his father had once foreseen, the opening to the bay in Keyhole Island could be easily fortified. It would make a wonderful stronghold. He was still building his towers when Sa’Adar spoke again.

“Should we be able to see the ships by now?”

Kennit nodded. “If you were pulling at the oars like a man, instead of slapping and skipping them on the water, we’d have cleared the point of that island by now. Then, we’d be able to see the ships, though we would still have a long row ahead of us. Keep rowing.”

“The journey did not seem to take this long last night.”

“Things never seem to take as long or be as hard when someone else is doing the work. It is much like captaining a ship. It seems easy, when someone else is doing it.”

“Do you mock me?” It is hard to be disdainful when one was out of breath, but Sa’Adar managed it.

Kennit shook his head sadly. “You do me wrong. Is it mockery to tell a man a thing he should have learned long ago?”

“That ship … by rights … is mine. We had … already taken it … when you came.” Sa’Adar’s breath was coming harder.

“There. You see. If I had not come alongside and put a prize crew aboard, the
Vivacia
would be at the bottom now. Not even a liveship can sail herself completely.”

“We would have … managed.” Sa’Adar abruptly flung the oars down. One started to slip through the oarlock into the water. He snatched at it, and pulled it half into the boat. “Damn you, take a turn at this!” he gasped. “I am as good as you are. I will be treated like your slave no longer.”

“Slave? I have asked no more of you than I would of any ordinary seaman.”

“I am not yours to command. I never will be! Nor will I give up my claim to the ship. Wherever we go, I shall be sure that all hear of your injustice and greed. How so many can adulate you, I do not know! There is your poor mother, abandoned to a harsh life alone for Sa knows how long! You return to visit her for less than half a day, leaving only a trunkful of trinkets and a half-wit servant to wait on her. How can you treat your own mother so? Is not a man’s mother to be ever revered as the symbol of the female aspect of Sa? Nevertheless, you treat her as you treat everyone else. As a servant! She tried to speak to me, poor thing. I could not make out what distressed her so, but it was not a lack of tea cups!”

Kennit could not help himself. He laughed aloud. It incensed the other man so that his face grew even redder. “You bastard!” he spat. “You heartless bastard!”

Kennit glanced about. It wasn’t far to the point of the island now. He could manage it. Once there, if he grew too weary, his coat tied to an oar and waved would bring someone from either the
Marietta
or the
Vivacia.
They would be watching for him by now.

“Such language, from a priest! You forget yourself. Here. I’ll row for a bit, while you recover.”

That quelled him. Sa’Adar rose from the rowing bench. In a stiff half-crouch, he waited for Kennit to change places with him as he rubbed at his aching back. Kennit tried to rise from his own bench, but sat down again heavily. The small vessel rocked. Sa’Adar cried out and made a wild grab for the gunwales. Kennit grimaced in embarrassment. “Stiff,” he grunted. “Today has taken more out of me than I thought.” He sighed heavily. He narrowed his eyes at the disdainful look on the priest’s face. “Still. I said I would row and I shall.” He picked up his crutch, took a firm grip on it, and then extended the tip towards Sa’Adar. “When I give the word, you heave me to my feet. Once I’m up, I’ll wager I can move about.”

Sa’Adar gripped the crutch end. “Now,” Kennit told him, and tried to rise. He sat down heavily once more. He set his jaw in grim determination. “Again,” he commanded the priest. “And this time, put your back into it.”

The weary man took a double-handed grip on the crutch. Kennit made better his own clutch upon it. “Now!” he commanded him. As the priest heaved, the pirate suddenly thrust forward, shoving with all his strength upon the crutch. It hit the priest in the chest and he went flailing wildly backwards. Kennit had hoped for a clean splash overboard. Instead, the man fell athwart the gunwales, almost out of the boat but not quite. Quick as a tiger springing, Kennit flung himself forward. He kept his weight low, as the landsman had not. He gripped one of Sa’Adar’s feet and lifted it high. The man went over, but as he went he launched a kick at Kennit that slammed his bare foot hard into Kennit’s face. Kennit’s head rocked back on his shoulders; he felt the warm gush as blood flowed from his nose. He wiped it hastily on his sleeve, then scrabbled to the rower’s bench and took up the oars. He seated the oars well in the oarlocks and began to pull mightily.

An instant later, the priest’s head bobbed up in the boat’s wake. “Damn you!” he shouted. “Sa damn you!”

Kennit expected the man’s head to go under again. Instead, he struck out after the boat with long powerful strokes. So, he was a swimmer. Kennit had not reckoned on that. It was a pity the sea was warmer here in these island waters. He couldn’t count on cold to kill him quickly. He might have to do it himself.

Kennit did not strain. Instead, he set a steady pace and pulled on the oars. He had not lied to Sa’Adar. He had been stiff, but this was loosening him up. The priest swam with the swift, frantic strokes of a desperate man. He was gaining on the small boat; his body offered far less resistance to the waves than the lightened boat did. When he was within a stroke or two, Kennit carefully shipped the oars and drew the dagger from his belt. He moved to the stern and waited. He did not try for a killing stroke. He would have had to extend himself too far to do that easily and might end up being dragged into the sea by the priest. Instead, each time the drowning man reached for the boat, he slashed at his hands. He cut his reaching palms, he slashed the back of his knuckles when his grip closed on the stern. Kennit was silent as death itself while the priest cursed him, screamed, and then begged for his life. When he seized hold of the side and clung there stubbornly, the pirate risked a blinding slash across the man’s face. Still he clutched the side, begging and praying to be allowed to live. It infuriated Kennit. “I tried to let you live!” he roared at him. “All you had to do was what I wanted you to do. You refused me! So!”

He risked a stab and the dagger went deep into the side of the man’s throat. In an instant, his hands were warm and slick with blood thicker and more salt than the sea itself. The priest fell away suddenly. Kennit released the haft of the dagger and let him go. For a wave, then two, he bobbed facedown on the water. Then the sea swallowed him up.

Kennit sat for a time, watching the empty water behind the boat. Then he wiped his hands down the front of his coat. Slowly he moved back to the rower’s bench. He took up the oars in hands that had begun to blister. It didn’t matter. They would hurt, but it did not matter. It was done, and he would live. He knew it as surely as he knew his luck still rode with him.

He lifted his eyes and scanned the horizon. Not so far to go and he’d be where the ships’ lookouts could spot him. He smiled to himself. “I’ll wager Vivacia sees me before any of them. I’ll wager she knows right now that I’m coming back to her. Watch for me, my lady! Cast about those lovely eyes!”

“Perhaps I should open those eyes for her,” suggested a small voice close by. Kennit nearly lost his grip on the oars. He looked at the long silent charm strapped to his wrist. His own features in miniature, encarmined now in blood, blinked up at him. The small mouth opened, and a tiny tongue emerged to lick his lips as if they were parched. “What would she think of her captain bold, if she knew you as well as I do?”

Kennit grinned. “Methinks she would think you a liar. She has been with me, and knows my deepest heart. She and the boy both have. And they love me still.”

“They may think they have,” the charm conceded bitterly. “But only one creature has ever seen to the bottom of your dark, dirty heart and still chosen loyalty to you.”

“You refer to yourself, I assume,” Kennit hazarded. “You have little choice in the matter, charm. You are bound to me.”

“As tightly as you are bound to me,” the charm replied.

Kennit shrugged. “So we are bound to one another. So be it. I suggest you make the best of it, and do the duty you were created to do. Perhaps that way, we shall both live longer.”

“I was never created for any duty to you,” the charm informed him. “Nor does my life depend upon yours. But for the sake of another, I will do what I can to preserve you. At least for a time.”

The pirate made no further reply. The blisters on his right palm broke stingingly. An expression, part grimace, part grin, lit Kennit’s dark face. A little pain was nothing. His luck was holding. With luck, a man could do much.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
WISHES FULFILLED

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY FATHER?”

Kennit looked up from the tray of food Wintrow had just placed before him. The pirate was freshly attired, washed and combed. That final effort had exhausted him. All he wanted right now was his food. Etta’s flapping and whining about how worried she had been the whole time he was gone had been taxing enough. After she’d laid out fresh clothing for him, he’d banished her from his room. Nothing was more irritating to his nerves than someone fretting. He would not tolerate that atmosphere for his dinner. He ignored the lad. He picked up a spoon in his sore hand and stirred the soup before him. Pieces of carrot and fish bobbed to the top.

“I beg you. I have to know. What have you done with my father?”

Kennit looked at the boy, a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue, and relented. Wintrow’s face was as pale as such a tanned and swarthy lad could be. He stood very straight and still, as if composed. The quickness of his breath and his teeth clenched on his lower lip betrayed him. His dark eyes were haunted. He supposed the youngster felt bad, but one had to take responsibility for one’s choices. “I only did what you asked me to do. Your father is now somewhere else. You don’t have to worry about him, you don’t have to see him or contend with him.” Before Wintrow could ask, Kennit added, “He is safe. When I keep a promise, I don’t keep it halfway.”

Wintrow rocked slightly forward. He looked as if he’d been punched in the belly. “I didn’t mean it,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Not like this, not just vanished away while I slept. Please, sir. Bring him back. I’ll take care of him and make no complaints.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Kennit pointed out affably. He gave Wintrow a small smile to reassure him, but rebuked him gently with, “Next time, be sure you want what you ask for. I went to a great deal of trouble to arrange this for you.” He took a spoonful of the soup. He wanted to eat in peace. It was time to put an end to Wintrow’s impertinence. “I had expected you to be grateful, not remorseful. You asked for this. I’ve granted it. That’s all there is to say about it. Pour me some wine.”

Wintrow moved woodenly to obey him. Then he stepped back from the table and stood as if frozen, his eyes fixed on the wall. Fine. Kennit put his attention on his food. The exercise had given him a marvelous appetite. His muscles ached and he planned to rest after his meal, but other than that, he felt keen-edged and competent. This had been good for him. He’d have to get out and move about more, once Etta had padded his crutch and stump-cup for him. He tried to decide if he could adapt his peg to allow him to climb the rigging again. Even in miserable times, he’d loved going aloft. The wind up there always seemed cleaner, and the possibilities of life as broad as the horizon.

“There was blood all over your coat. And the side of the gig.” Wintrow’s stubborn words broke into his reverie and his dining.

Kennit sighed and set his spoon down. Wintrow was still staring at the wall, but his rigidity suggested that he was trying to control shaking. “The blood was not your father’s. If you must know, it was Sa’Adar’s.” Sarcasm crept into his voice. “Please don’t tell me that you have revised your feelings about him as well.”

“You killed him because I hated him?” There was panicky disbelief in Wintrow’s voice.

“No. I killed him because he would not do as I wanted him to do. He really left me no choice. His death is no loss to you. The man had only contempt for you and your father.” Kennit lifted his wine and drained off the glass. He held it out to Wintrow. The youth moved as jerkily as a puppet as he refilled the glass.

“And Ankle?” he dared to ask in a sickened voice.

Kennit slammed his glass to the table. Wine leaped out and soiled the white cloth. “Ankle is fine. They are all fine. Sa’Adar is the only one I killed, and I only killed him because I had to. I saved you the trouble of having to do it later for yourself. Do I look so foolish as to waste my time on unnecessary actions? I will not sit here and be badgered by a ship’s boy! Clean up this mess, pour me fresh wine and then leave.” The look Kennit gave him had cowed many a larger man.

To the pirate’s surprise, it suddenly kindled an answering spark in the boy’s eyes. Wintrow straightened himself. Kennit sensed he had pushed the boy across some sort of boundary. Interesting. Wintrow advanced to the table and removed the food and the soiled cloth with a silent, savage efficiency. He restored it, carefully poured more wine, then spoke. He dared to let his anger sound in his voice. “Do not ever lay your deeds at my door. I do not kill people who inconvenience me. Sa gives life, and every life he forms has a meaning and a purpose. No man has the ability to understand fully Sa’s purpose. Rather I must learn to tolerate those others until they have lived to fulfill Sa’s purpose. I am a part of his intention for this world, but my part is no more important than anyone else’s.”

Kennit had leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest while Wintrow tidied the table and preached. Now he sighed out through his nose. “That is because you are not destined to be a king.” A thought occurred to Kennit and he could not control his smirk. “Meditate on this, priest. Perhaps I am one of those you must learn to tolerate until I can fulfill Sa’s purpose.” When the glower on Wintrow’s face only darkened at this jest, Kennit laughed aloud. He shook his head. “You take yourself so seriously. Run along now. Go talk to the ship. I think you’ll find her course aligns closer with mine than yours just now. I mean it. Run along. Send Etta to me on your way.”

Kennit whisked his hand at the door. He turned his attention back to his interrupted meal. The boy took his time about leaving and shut the door a bit loudly. Kennit shook his head. He was getting too fond of Wintrow and allowing him too many liberties. If Opal had taken that tone with him, he’d have worn stripes before sunset. He shrugged at his own leniency. That had always been one of his faults. He was too kind-hearted for his own good. He shook his head to himself and let his thoughts wander back to Key Island.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE ME?”
Wintrow demanded. his unresolved anger at Kennit still roiled within him.

“I told you.” Vivacia reacted stubbornly to his tone. “You were weary and deeply asleep. I did not see any harm in what he was doing. You could not have stopped him anyway. So I saw no sense in waking you.”

“He must have come right up here to get Ankle. She was here when I fell asleep.” A sudden suspicion jabbed him. “Did he tell you not to wake me?”

“And if he did?” Vivacia asked, affronted. “What difference would it make? It was still my decision.”

Wintrow looked down at his feet. The depth of his hurt surprised him. “Once you would have been more loyal to me. You would have wakened me, whether you thought it was wise or not. You must have known I would have wanted that.”

Vivacia turned her head and looked out across the water. “I fail to see your point.”

“You even sound like him,” Wintrow said miserably.

His unhappiness spurred her more than his anger had. “What do you want me to say? That I am sorry Kyle Haven is gone? I am not. I have not known a moment of peace since he took command. I am glad that he is gone, Wintrow. Glad. And you should be glad, also.”

He was. That was the rub. Once she would have known that, but now she was so taken with the pirate, she considered only Kennit’s view. “Do you need me anymore?” he asked her abruptly.

“What?” It was her turn to be shocked. “Why ask such a thing? Of course, I need … ”

“Because I thought that if you were happy with Kennit, perhaps he’d let me go. Both of you could just put me ashore on the mainland. I could make my own way back to the monastery and my life. I could put all this behind me, as something I couldn’t change anyway.” He paused. “You’d be rid of me also, just as you are rid of my father.”

“You sound like a jealous child,” she retorted.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

In that moment, she did. She opened herself to him, and he felt her pain at his hard words.

“Oh,” Wintrow said softly. That was all. His gaze followed hers. The
Marietta
rocked at anchor so close by that Wintrow could see the face of the man on watch. Sorcor had not been pleased when an anxious Brig had sent to ask if he had word of the captain. The new, closer position of the other ship reflected his renewed watchfulness.

She cut to the heart of the squabble. “Why are you jealous that I care for Kennit? You would do away with the bond you and I share, if you could. He is the opposite. He strives so earnestly to build a tie between us. He speaks to me as no one else ever has. He comes up here, while you are off and about your tasks, and he tells me stories. Not just tales from his life, but folk-tales, and stories he has heard from other people. And he listens to me when I speak. He asks me what I think, and what I would like to do. He tells me his plans for his kingdom and the people he will rule. When I make a suggestion, he is pleased. Have you any idea how nice that is, to have someone tell you things and listen in return to what you say?”

“I do.” It put him in mind of his monastery, but he did not say the words aloud. He did not need to.

“I do not know why you will not give him a chance,” she suddenly burst out. “I cannot claim to know him as I know you. However, this we both have seen; he harbors more affection and goodwill toward you than your father ever did. He thinks of others. Ask him, sometime, to show you the plans he has drawn for Divvytown. He has given it great thought, how he would build a tower to warn them of danger, and where he would put the wells to have cleaner water. Askew, too. He has drawn a chart of Askew, with a breakwater to improve the harbor, and docks drawn in. If only they would listen to him and live their lives as he directed, things would be so much better for them. He wants to make things tidy and better. Moreover, he wants to be your friend, Wintrow. Perhaps what he did to Kyle was high-handed, but you did request it. He could have gained the goodwill of the slaves by turning Kyle over to them. His torture and death would have been a spectacle for Divvytown that would have brought Kennit great renown. Surely, you must know that. Alternatively, he could have ransomed him back to your mother, beggaring the Vestrit family in the process of enriching his own coffers. He did neither of those things. Instead, he simply set that nasty, small-hearted man aside, in a place where he cannot hurt you or others.”

She drew a breath, then seemed out of words. Wintrow felt overwhelmed by what she had said. He had not known Kennit dreamed such dreams. Her reasoning seemed valid, but her defense of the pirate still stung him. “That is why he is a pirate, I suppose. To do good?”

The ship was insulted. “I do not pretend he is selfless. Nor that his methods are above reproach. Yes, he savors power and longs for more of it. When he gains it, he does good with it. He frees slaves. Would you prefer he stood and spouted platitudes about the brotherhood of man? What is all your longing to return to your monastery, but a desire to retreat from what is wrong in the world?”

Wintrow gaped in wordless astonishment. A moment later, she bravely confessed, “He has asked me to pirate with him. Did you know that?”

Wintrow tried to remain calm. “No. But I expected it.” Bitterness broke through in his voice.

“Well? What would be so wrong with it?” she demanded defensively. “You see the good he does. I know his ways are harsh. He has admitted that to me himself. He has asked me if I would be able to cope with what I must witness. I have told him honestly of that horrid night when the slaves rose. Do you know what he said?”

“No. What did he say?” Wintrow struggled to master his emotions. She was so gullible, so naïve. Didn’t she see how the pirate was playing her?

“That it was like cutting off his leg. He had suffered a long misery, thinking it might get better if he did nothing. You made him see he had to endure a far greater pain before his anguish could be over. He believed in you, and you were right. He asked me to recall all I had shared of the slaves’ torment, and then to consider that in other ships, that torment continued. It is not piracy, but surgery he performs.”

Wintrow’s lips had been folded tightly. Now he opened them to say, “So Kennit plans to only attack slaver ships after this?”

“And those who profit from slavery. We cannot seize every slaveship between Jamaillia and Chalced. However, if Kennit’s just wrath is felt by all who traffic with slavery, and not just those who run slaveships, soon all will be forced to think about what they do. Those merchants who are honest and good will turn against the slavers when they see what they have brought down on them.”

“You don’t think the Satrap will renew his patrols of this area? His patrol ships will hunt down and destroy the pirate colonies in an effort to be rid of Kennit.”

“Perhaps he will try but I do not believe he will succeed. Kennit champions a holy cause, Wintrow. You of all people should see that. We cannot be turned aside by the prospect of pain or risk. If we do not persevere in this endeavor, who will?”

“Then you have told him you will pirate for him?” Wintrow was incredulous.

“Not yet,” Vivacia replied calmly. “But tomorrow I intend to.”

ALTHEA’S TRADER ROBE SMELLED
of camphor and cedar. Her mother had stored it to keep the moths from the wool. Althea shared the moth’s opinions of the smells. The cedar would have been tolerable, in a milder dose. The camphor made her feel giddy. She had been surprised to find the robe still fit her. It had been several years since she had worn it.

She crossed the room and sat down in front of her glass. A feminine young woman looked back at her. Sometimes her days as ship’s boy aboard the
Reaper
seemed like a dream. Since she had returned home, she had put on weight. Grag had expressed his approval of how her figure had rounded out. As she brushed out her glossy black hair and then pinned it up sedately, she had to admit she was not displeased with the change. The plainly cut Trader’s robe was not especially flattering to her. Just as well, she told herself as she turned slowly before the glass. She did not want to be seen as an ornamental female tonight, but as a sober and industrious Trader’s daughter. She wanted her words to be taken seriously. Nonetheless, she paused to add a bit of scent to her throat, and a touch of color to her lips. Garnet earrings, a recent gift from Grag, swung from her ears. They went well with the magenta robe.