Master and Fool (43 page)

"The most
beautiful," said Jack. "Eyes the color of the midnight sky, skin as
soft as silk, and hair. . . " He shook his head. "Hair as dark and
fragrant as a tropical wood." As he spoke, Jack looked only at the
captain. For some reason he didn't fancy meeting Tawl's gaze.

Quain held the rum
bottle up to the light, found its contents wanting, and brought out another
from a cabinet. The top was corked and waxed. The captain took one of the
candles from the shelf and put the flame to the wax. Catching Jack's puzzled
glance, he said, "Aye, lad, I know what you're thinking. If I broke the
seal by hand I could get to the rum sooner. But if I did I'd be missing out on
the most important pleasure of all."

"Anticipation?"

The captain smiled
his way. "I like you, Jack. You're a smart lad." He gave Jack a quick
searching look, as if he were trying to put a name to a face. Only he knew the
name already. Shaking himself, he brushed the last of the liquid wax from the
bottle top. Taking a cork that was barely blackened in his fist, he pulled the
bottle open. He made a quick gesture to Jack and Tawl, urging them to drink the
last drops in their glasses, and then poured three new measures of rum. In
silence they downed the brew.

Finally, when his
glass was empty once more and enough time had passed for the rum to mellow on
his tongue, the captain spoke. "A woman whose eyes are the color of
midnight is a treasure well worth sailing for.
The Fishy Few's
anchor
has been raised for a lot less, I can tell you. Men sail for many reasons: for
gold, for adventure, to escape their pasts or to find a new future. I sail for
one thing and one thing alone:
for the love of it."

Quain's eyes were
no longer focused on any point in the room. They were seeing something that was
not there. "I sail because the sea changes color from day to day, because
the wind whips and chides one minute and caresses like a lover the next. I sail
because my body has more salt than blood in it, and my soul never follows me
ashore." Slowly, the captain's eyes refocused on the present. He looked
directly at Jack. "I'll sail to Larn, my friend. I'll sail for a beautiful
woman and for the love of the sea, and because a sailor never knows a place
until he's been there thrice. "

Jack's heart was
pumping. Captain Quain spoke with such emotion, such rhythm in his voice, it
was impossible not to be carried away by his words. Jack felt the pull of the
sea, the same pull that Quain spoke of, yet up until today he'd never been on a
boat in his life. He hastily downed his rum. Nothing made any sense.

"How soon can
we sail?" asked Tawl. "How soon do you need to?"

"Tomorrow.
First light."

The captain
smiled. "Tide's no good tomorrow morning, lad. It'll have to be tonight or
not at all."

Jack and Tawl
looked at each other. Neither of them had hoped for this. "Captain, I
don't know how to thank you," said Tawl.

"Oh, I've got
an idea or two," said Quain, eyes twinkling. "I've got a hold full of
silk for one thing. Can't move until it's been off-loaded. And then, I'll need
someone to get me supplies for the journey--plenty of rum o' course. And,
seeing as there's two of you this time, I'll not need to send the cook ashore,
but he'll certainly need some help for the extra hands."

"What about
Nabber?" said Jack to Tawl.

"He stays
here. Lam is no place for a young boy." Tawl turned to Quain. "We
have no money to pay you now, Captain, but our friend may have secured enough
once we return. If he hasn't, then I'll give you all we have, both our horses
and a promissory note."

"No help from
the Old Man this time, eh?" Tawl shook his head.

"Good. I like
it better that way. Not that I've anything against the Old Man, mind. It's just
that I feel happier knowing that my hand's on the tiller, and your hand's on
the coffers." The captain opened the cabin door. "I'll take whatever
you have when we return. You're a man of your word, Tawl. I don't think you'd
leave the crew with empty pockets."

"They'd
keelhaul me if I did." Tawl stood up and walked through the door. Jack
followed him. They took turns grasping the captain's hand and then headed onto
the deck. They had a hard day's work ahead of them.

Tavalisk was
racing frogs. His cook, Master Bunyon, had turned up with them only a few
minutes earlier with the intent of asking the archbishop which one he fancied
delimbing first. Tavalisk had immediately thrown the rubbery little amphibians
onto the floor and was currently encouraging them to jump by promising to eat
the loser in a lemon-garlic sauce.

Neither frog was
taking much notice of him-a fact that caused the archbishop so much
consternation that he was just about to stamp his foot on the most lethargic of
the two when in walked Gamil.

"Know
anything about frogs, Gamil?"

"A frog is a
tailless amphibian, Your Eminence." Standing where he was by the
door-Gamil had not yet spotted the frogs in question. "Their most
distinctive feature is their long hind legs, and they are found most commonly
in damp or aquatic habitats."

Splat!

"Hmm,"
said the archbishop. "They squash well, too." Tavalisk beckoned his
aide forth. Together, they studied the remains of the frog. "You're quite
right, Gamil. No tail."

The sudden
obliteration of its brother-in-arms caused the second frog to rethink its
position on jumping, and it bounded across the floor, managing to successfully
evade both Gamil and Master Bunyon by leaping under the archbishop's desk.

"Get up,
man!" snapped Tavalisk, as his aide dove under said desk in search of the
runaway frog. "Really. I expect a little dignity from those who serve
me." Tavalisk knew Gamil had chased the frog to please him, but he liked
to keep his aide in a constant state of bafflement: it kept him on his toes.
Tavalisk turned to Master Bunyon. "What are you staring at?" He
pointed toward the squashed frog. "Don't just stand there, scrape it up
and cook it."

"But the
legs, Your Eminence. They're ruined."

"Well,
scramble it with some eggs, then. Bake it in a pie. I really don't care what
you do with it as long as I'm eating it within the hour. Now go."

Master Bunyon
nodded, scraped, and then left.

As soon as the
door was closed behind him, Gamil stepped forward. "Your Eminence, we must
take action."

Tavalisk groaned.
"What now, Gamil? Have the knights taken over Marls? Is Kylock calling
himself a god?"

"No, Your
Eminence. The knight has returned to Rorn, and by the looks of things he's
setting sail for Larn." Riddit, riddit, went the frog under the desk.

"This is
interesting. When did he get in?"

"He was
spotted last night in a tavern by the dock. He's still got the pocket in tow,
but he's also picked up someone else. A young man, by all accounts. They headed
down to the docks together this morning. And as luck would have it
The Fishy
Few
had just come in from Marls." Gamil looked a little edgy as he
talked. His brow was slick with sweat, and he dabbed at it with the sleeve of
his robe. "We've got to stop them from leaving the city, Your
Eminence."

"Why on earth
should we, Gamil? What's it to us if they go to the godforsaken isle of
Lam?"

"But the
knight is wanted for the duke of Bren's murder. Catherine's, too. He's a
notorious criminal."

"Not by me,
though. It's Baralis who wants the knight's head on a stake." Tavalisk
took off his left shoe; the sole was slippery with frog scum. "I think we
should just watch and wait as usual."

"But it's
your duty to act, Your Eminence. You're the chosen one."

What was this?
Flattery? Gamil was certainly acting strangely today. "What would you have
me do, Gamil?"

"Send out a
band of armed guards to pick up the knight and his new companion. Bring them
in, torture, then kill them."

"That seems a
little hasty."

"But Your
Eminence, you've said all along that the knight had a part to play in the
coming conflict in the north. What if his part conflicts with your own? He
could rob you of your only chance for glory."

"Gamil, a man
such as myself has many chances for glory." Tavalisk wriggled his pudgy
toes. "Glory is my element It shines upon me like sunlight. No one person
is going to come along and rob me of it-unless of course it's the reaper. Even
then I think I'd make a glorious corpse."

"You would
indeed, Your Eminence."

Tavalisk looked up
sharply. Gamil was looking down.
Riddit, riddit.

"Where are
they staying?" asked the archbishop with a heavy sigh. "It won't do
me any harm to bring them in for questioning."

"The Rose and
Crown, Your Eminence."

"Very well.
I'll send someone round there early tomorrow morning. A predawn raid should
catch them nicely unawares."

"Couldn't we
act today, Your Eminence?"

Tavalisk was
beginning to feel a little suspicious of Gamil's eagerness. "No. I will
take no action before tomorrow. If the ship just came in from Marls, then it
certainly won't sail before morning." The archbishop handed Gamil his
shoe. "Once you've caught that damned frog, Gamil, be so good as to see if
you can remove the stain from this." He thought for a moment, then added:
"Oh, and I'll need you in the palace for the rest of the day. You can help
me with His Holiness' paperwork."

"But, Your
Eminence, I have other matters to attend to." Tavalisk's plump lips turned
as tough as a dried fruit. "You will stay here with me, Gamil, and that's
the last I want to hear of it."

Tawl watched the
last mooring rope being pulled up from the quay. Carver and another crewman
were winding out the sails. It was nearly dark. Soon Rorn would be a white city
that glowed across the waves. A spot on the horizon, like the early moon. Who
could tell what would happen between now and when they saw it next? Perhaps they
might never see it again.

Larn was the
closest thing to hell on earth, and the devil always protected his own.

Even now Tawl
could feel the island. It was out there in the eastern sea, expecting them,
waiting. Confident.

Tawl glanced at
Jack. He was asking Fyler why Carver had called him a green-face. Seasickness
was the answer: first-timers were notorious for suffering from it. Smiling,
Tawl looked away. Jack was a green-face in more ways than one. Here he was,
heading to Larn, without the faintest idea of what was expected of him once he
got there. Tawl knew his part was easy compared to Jack's. All he had to do was
provide the opportunity, find a way in there, clear a path, and keep the
priests at bay. Jack had to do more. So much more that Tawl couldn't bear to
think about it. How could one man raze the temple to the ground? It was the
sort of responsibility that could crush a man's spirit and turn a sound mind
bad Yet, Jack was on the deck with Carver, chatting away as if he didn't have a
care in the world.

Tawl made his way
to the bow of the boat. He would do the worrying for both of them.

Nabber still
hadn't shown up. Which was probably a good thing: the boy would only stamp his
feet and demand to come along. Tawl would have to ignore his pleas. He would
rest easier knowing Nabber was in Rom. If anything should happen to them on
Lam, at least he knew the boy would be safely back in the city he called home.

Larn was not
Nabber's affair. It was for him and Jack alone. In a way Tawl wished it was
just for him. He had earned the right to bring it down. Larn had destroyed his
life, his dreams, and his quest. Its priests had made a murderer out of him,
and it was time they paid the price.

The timbers of
The
Fishy Few
began to creak and roll, and the sails grew fat with the wind.
The ship was on its way.

Tawl moved away
from the bow. He was going belowdecks. He didn't fancy testing his sea legs
just yet. As he drew back the bolt of the main hatch, Jack looked over at him.
Their gazes met, and Tawl suddenly knew he'd been wrong about him. Jack was no
carefree adventurer: he was a young man with fear in his eyes.

It was easy to
fall into the old habits of Rom: nodding discreet
hellos
to fellow
pockets, keeping a safe distance between you and the pimps, pilfering hot pies
from slow barrow-boys, and always keeping an eye out for friends of the Old
Man.

It certainly was
the life! A boy could get right comfortable here, make a home and a living for
himself. Make a boatful of coinage, too. In fact, ever since Jack and Tawl had
sailed off into the sunset nearly four days back, there'd been little else to
do but acquire loot.

Now, it wasn't
that he thought Jack and Tawl were in the wrong about going off without him-a
man's life was his own and he could do with it whatever he wanted, no questions
asked-but a few words of parting might have been nice. You know,
"Bye
Nabber, see you in a few days.
In
a week
In a
month. In the
afterlife. "
Something had been called for. As it was, he'd had to
figure the whole thing out on his own.

And the fact that
he was good at figuring out was beside the point. Tawl should have let him know
the plan from the start. Right dishonorable it was, them taking off in the
middle of the night. Another boy might have considered it a mortal insult.
Another boy might just have wiped his hands of the whole affair.

Not him, though.
Grievously hurt as he was, he would do his duty by them. And it was more than
either of the thankless traitors deserved.

He knew they'd
need loot when they returned. A ship as large and fancy as
The Fishy Few
didn't
set sail without the assurance of gold, and as far as Nabber knew, Tawl hadn't
got a penny on him, which meant that the knight had promised payment to the
good captain when he returned. That was the fast thing Nabber had figured out.