Voyage of the Basilisk : A Memoir by Lady Trent (9781429956369) (15 page)

(Furthermore, I was by then self-aware enough to consider a different question, which was how pure my motives were in desiring his company. The irregular packets of mail that awaited us in different ports had not yet included any of the rumours back home, but I knew such things start easily enough, even when they are entirely baseless. Any supposition of attraction to Suhail would
not
have been baseless, and so I had to be doubly careful of my behaviour.)

But he might rescue us from our current straits, and I did not want to lose that chance.

I fear that what I said then was an utter fabrication. “Our captain knows the routes through here quite well, and many of the ships that sail them. Do talk to us before you make any decisions. We may be able to point you toward a better option.”

“Thank you,” Suhail said, and I felt like a terrible bounder for lying. But I could hardly take it back now—and, in the end, it hardly mattered.

*   *   *

I put the matter to Tom once he was strong enough to consider it. He was propped up against one of our packs, with a pillow over it, for the hotel would not give us enough pillows to support him sitting upright in his bed. I had never seen Tom like this, with the hair on his jaw almost longer than that on his head; the next day he begged until Abby entrusted him a razor, so that he might at least remove the former, while he waited for the latter to grow back.

He shrugged wearily. “I’m used to close quarters. If our paths lie together, why not take advantage of it?”

“If we can find a place that serves both our interests at once, it could work very well,” I said. “Many of the Puian islands are volcanic, though of course not all of the peaks are active. There are sure to be fire-lizards in abundance, and sea-serpents. Though we cannot be certain of their relation to the ones near Siaure, given how far we’ve come around the world.”

“Observing them there doesn’t stop us from looking elsewhere. But we’d need to find a place with interesting ruins, too. And unless Suhail can fund this entire byway out of pocket, we’ll need to make an arrangement with Aekinitos.”

That, of course, required our erstwhile captain to return. Which he did near the end of Graminis: somewhat after he had intended, but I suspected he knew enough of dengue to guess that if Tom lived, he would not be up and about any sooner than this.

(This makes Aekinitos sound heartless, which I do not intend. Indeed, I feel for the man, at least in this regard. His line of work made him accustomed to facing off against forces beyond his control, but he relished those cases because there was something for him to
do
. Where illness was concerned, there were no sails to reef, no items of ballast to rearrange. He could do nothing, and so it was no loss for him to at least go where he could distract himself.)

We met in his cabin, and I put the matter to him thusly. “I may have found a way to resolve, or at least lessen, our financial difficulties. But it will require your approval, for it involves an additional passenger aboard your ship—one whose research would likewise shape our itinerary.” Then, realizing that sounded ominous, I hastened to add, “I do not expect the disruption to be much, or I would not suggest it.”

Aekinitos made a low, thoughtful rumble. “Who is this mystery passenger?”

“A fellow we met in Namiquitlan; you may recall me mentioning him. It is Suhail, the gentleman who took us to the ruins.”

The captain’s black brows drew together as if pulled by a magnet. I should like to blame my recent illness for the erroneous thought I had then—but the truth is, I was simply foolish, and thinking too much of propriety, not enough of politics. I thought Aekinitos’ frown was due to my terming Suhail a gentleman, when we had no evidence of his family one way or another. In his defense, I would have pointed out that anyone who could afford to commission a special design of diving bell was at the very least
wealthy,
and in Akhia as in Scirland, I imagined that wealth could go a long way toward purchasing the right to claim good breeding.

Fortunately, Aekinitos spoke before I could embarrass myself with such protests. “An Akhian,” he said, and it was almost a growl.

Then, at last, I understood. I was from northern Anthiope, and while I was moderately well acquainted with the politics of the continent’s southern reaches, they were not often my first thought. The Nichaean Islands, off the southwestern coast, have fought more than one war against Akhia. (Now that I pause to look it up, I count at least seventeen distinct conflicts throughout history, and possibly more; it depends on whether one considers matters like the Atelephaso Schism to have been one war or several, all sliding into one another.) Relations between their two peoples are like those between Thiessois and Eiversch, with the added provocation of religious difference—which is to say, they are not good at all.

“He does not seem to be very close to his people,” I said, feeling it was quite an inadequate response. “At least, I do not think he is on speaking terms with his family.”

Aekinitos’ snort told me this might recommend the gentleman, but not very far. “What kind of research does
he
do?”

“Archaeology. His particular interest is in underwater ruins. He is not a treasure-hunter, though—he is a scholar.”

The captain almost looked disappointed at my last comment. Treasure-hunting would have been far more lucrative for our expedition, and I already knew Aekinitos cared relatively little for respectability.

“It will soon be the season of storms,” he warned me. “They are powerful things in this part of the world, and the Broken Sea is not easy to sail in the best of times.”

Had our plans not been overturned by deportation from Yelang and dengue from Arinevi, we would have been safely inland somewhere in Dajin about now, with Aekinitos free to sail the safer coastal waters. “Is it too dangerous to attempt?” I asked.

Aekinitos chuckled. It was not a reassuring sound. “The storm has not blown that can sink me.” I had enough time to reflect that this only meant he had not been sunk
yet
before he asked, “Where is it you intend to go?”

At my request, he brought out a map. It was not as complete as I might have liked: the Broken Sea was in those days very imperfectly charted by Scirlings, and more accurate maps were jealously guarded by the Heuvaarse, who dominated trade through the region. Still, it was clear enough for me to indicate the general area I considered our best prospect.

The captain barked with laughter when he saw it. “Of course. I should have known that you, with all the Broken Sea to choose from, would want to sail into the dragon’s mouth.”

You may laugh to read this, but after a year travelling about studying dragons, my first interpretation of his words was anatomical rather than metaphorical. “What makes it so perilous?” I asked, once I understood his meaning.

“Pirates or Yelangese—take your pick.” He saw my perplexity and explained, jabbing one finger down at a cluster of islands. The name his fingertip obscured was
Raengaui
. “The king of this place is a man named Waikango.”

“I know that name!” I exclaimed. “At least, I read it in one of the news-sheets that was discussing Her Highness’ diplomatic voyage. He is one of the pirates, yes?”

Aekinitos snorted derisively. “That is what the Yelangese call him. They’d rather say they’re hunting a pirate than admit they’re trying to stop a king from unifying part of the Broken Sea against them. The Puians do their share of piracy, though—ambushing Yelangese vessels, that sort of thing. Keeping the empire out while Waikango marries his female relatives off to the kings of other islands in exchange for support.”

I bit my lip, studying the map. “Do they ambush ships that are not Yelangese?”

“They might,” Aekinitos said. “Or they might not.”

The smile lurking in his beard suggested he relished the thought of sailing into trouble. I did not; I had seen battle in Mouleen, albeit on a small scale as such things go, and did not like it at all. And although the
Basilisk
carried guns (as most deep-sea vessels did back then), and her crew practiced briefly with them every Helimer afternoon, none of us had signed on for a naval battle.

And yet that was one of the more volcanically active regions of the Broken Sea. If I wanted to study fire-lizards, it was a good place to look for them.

“We can head in that direction, and change our plans if it seems too dangerous to proceed,” I said. “I have no wish to involve myself with either pirates or Yelangese. But what of Suhail?”

Aekinitos’ face pulled into graver lines, and for a moment I doubted my chances. Then the smile returned, fierce and showing teeth. “Tell the Akhian he may board.”

NINE

The Broken Sea—Hunting komodos—Rostam’s arm—Suhail and the parang—Aftereffects—The bell

Jake was utterly delighted by this addition to the
Basilisk
’s complement. Quite apart from the fact that he liked Suhail, he could not wait to see the equipment our new companion was bringing on board.

Suhail’s personal effects were extremely sparse, scarcely filling a large rucksack. In addition to that, however, he brought with him not only the diving bell but several large crates of equipment and books. The volume these occupied had been a point of contention when Aekinitos learned the full extent of it, but he had been mollified by the price Suhail offered for his passage. (Later on, their arguments would revolve around the effect that equipment had on the
Basilisk
’s sailing efficiency. I do not pretend to understand the details, but the diving bell was exceedingly heavy, which caused difficulty. It could not be lashed into place on deck, as that put the weight too high; but maneuvering it through the main hatch and into a better position below was not so easily done, given the lack of elbow room down there. Eventually Aekinitos got it stowed to his satisfaction, though—not long before we had to take it out again, of course.)

“I can’t say I’m eager to get back on board,” Tom said with a sigh, looking out at the
Basilisk
while we waited on the dock. His colour had improved, but he could not yet stand for long without becoming fatigued.

I admitted, “Nor I. But if we find a good location for research, we may settle ourselves there while Aekinitos seeks out opportunities for profit. And the Broken Sea is not reputed to be as plagued with fevers as some other regions.” After the places he and I had been, it sounded positively idyllic.

For the price he had paid, Suhail was put with Tom and the officers of the ship, rather than with the common sailors. It was for the best: not only because to do otherwise would have been an insult, but because although the
Basilisk
’s crew was a motley assemblage, a goodly number of the men were Nichaean or Haggadi. Only one of them ever showed outright hostility to Suhail, but I think that if he had been living in their midst, an ugly situation might have resulted.

My son, by contrast, was over the moon to have him with us. He babbled incessantly from the moment Suhail came on board, telling the man everything he had done in Yelang and elsewhere since leaving Namiquitlan. (The tale of the dragon turtle must have been recounted a dozen times in the next week, for Jake never tired of it.) Suhail took this in stride, and deflected Jake’s insistence that the diving bell be demonstrated that very minute. “Soon enough,” he said, grinning at my son’s impatience. “There is nothing of interest to show you here—too much debris and filth from the ships. The bell needs a place worthy of its use.”

We set out for such places not long after. As I had discussed with Aekinitos, we directed ourselves toward Raengaui and the other archipelagos making up that cluster within the Broken Sea, but did not rush; there were opportunities for us along the way, and if political trouble lay ahead of us, we preferred to hear of it before diving in headfirst.

As is my wont, I shall take a moment here to describe the region. To many of my Anthiopean readers, the Broken Sea has the status of a legend: a beautiful and exotic realm on the far side of the world, whose reality seems dubious at best. Indeed, four hundred years ago there were Anthiopeans writing of the Broken Sea as the abode of men with three heads and islands that floated in the air.

But it is a real place, if not so fantastical as our literature has sometimes painted. Its boundaries are indistinct, owing to the fact that geographers divide the islands into different groupings, some of which do not lie wholly within the area customarily referred to as the Broken Sea. But in general terms, it is the sea between Dajin and Otholé, which is pocked with more islands than even the geographers can count. (They have tried, but some of the islands vanish at high tide, or become divided into smaller islands as the sea rushes through the channels between them. Meanwhile, volcanic activity in the region can raise up new land with very little warning. Add to this confusion some general disagreement over what size a rock must be before one can term it an island, plus the sheer scale of the endeavour, and it is no wonder that the numbers vary so widely.)

This complex array lies between the Tropic of Serpents and the Tropic of Storms, but its climate is made extremely pleasant by the mitigating influence of the sea. Oh, it can become airless and despicably hot where the vegetation grows thick—but compared with what we had endured in Eriga, I could find very little to complain about here. Fruit trees grow in abundance, and fish swim the warm, shallow waters in even greater abundance, so that in many places dinner requires little more than pulling a breadfruit from the nearest tree and roasting it over a fire, alongside the fish you have scooped from a lagoon. It may not offer the comforts of what we term civilized life, such as padded armchairs and running water … but for those who idealize a return to nature, it is easy to imagine those islands as close kin to the world described in the very first lines of Scripture, before the Fall of Man.

The social world of the Broken Sea is not so easily described. The geographers group the islands according to one scheme; ethnologists have different groupings entirely, following the divisions of culture. The peoples in the southwestern portion of the sea are generally Melatan, except where other countries have laid claim to territory, while those in the northeast are Puian. Neither group is a unified state, but like neighbouring peoples the world over, they have warred against one another (when they have not been warring against themselves), and in the zone between them a creole strain prevails, mixing the physical and cultural qualities of the two.