WARP world (11 page)

“Indeed they have,” the thin man returned the gesture.

“So, where are we going on this finest of days?”

“I am a negotiator,” he said, after a lengthy pause, “representing the financial concerns among the Damiar of my home. We have an interest in some mercantile arrangements along the northern seaboard, as far as Malvid, and up certain rivers. Our itinerary will require a large degree of discretion on your part, Captain, as well as a tight schedule to make all our pre-arranged meetings. The payoff will be quite handsome, and, as I mentioned, the retainer will extend to twenty days of travel. Can you take us where we need to go?”

Ama heard one word: discretion.

When customers wanted discretion, they usually didn’t goff about paying for it. This could be good. Better than good. If she played this right, she might make enough to pay for the refit of the
Naida
–to the depths with Judicia Corrus and his threats. She could set sail in time for the seed winds and get herself beyond the reach of the authorities.

Of course, discretion often meant trouble, as well. Trouble she could ill afford. It was a matter, she decided, of setting the price high enough to justify the risk.

Don’t murk this one, Ama
, she thought, as she pretended to contemplate the offer.

“Well…it would mean canceling future bookings with some of my regular clients. And I’d have to miss the Shasir Sky Ceremony, which I look forward to every year.” That she attended the annual Sky Ceremony against her will, only for the sake of Stevan and family peace, was a detail Ama chose to leave out. “But I’d hate to leave you sirs at the mercy of some of these shady types on the Banks,” she jerked her thumb in Captain Tather’s direction. “Speed and discretion
are
my specialty. This girl may not look like much,” she patted the
Naida’s
handrail, “but she’s got triple-cured skins and a shallow draft; she nearly outruns the luxe cruisers on a good day.” Sucking on her lips for a moment, she pretended to calculate figures in her head. “A thousand coin and the
Naida
and I are all yours.”

The thin man opened his mouth to speak but she cut in, “Oh, and of course I would need half of that up front. Just in the most freak happenstance that you and your friend decide to make wake at some port down the way and leave me out of pocket.”

“Actually,” he said, with a trace of cheerfulness, “one of our planned meetings just so happens to be set for the Sky Ceremony. So you won’t be missing that. And I’m thinking that being able to tend to our devotions would make six hundred coin a reasonable offer, with a one-third advance. Given that you’re charging near to double rate for this special charter, it wouldn’t exactly hurt your finances to lose us at the first stop, now would it?”

Ama looked to the horizon, pursing her lips. Not bad. Could be he didn’t know much about boats but he did know negotiating. Six hundred was good coin but she could do better.

“I do tend to charge a bit more for
discretion
. You sirs spin a fine tale but for all I know there could be some shadier business on your schedule–not likely you’d tell me about it ahead of time, now is it? If I’m to risk my boat, I want a fair shake.”

The men grimaced. And Ama caught something else. At the mention of ‘shadier business’, a twitch of the mouth—not from the thin man, he was blank slate—from the big man.

This was no merchant run, she would bet her life on it.

“But since you’re not depriving me of the Sky Service…” damn her ancestors, now she would have to sit through three hours of chanting and gesticulating, “I guess I can come down to eight hundred. Do we have a deal?”

“I think seven-thirty and bump the advance to forty percent, and we’ll both feel somewhat taken advantage of, yes?” he countered.

He raised his hand in front of his stomach, back of his hand facing her, pinky curled in, other fingers splayed out. Ama’s breath stopped for a moment. The hand gesture was one of mutual assent…and pure Shasir. Though not technically incorrect, certainly not a gesture that was used on the docks or for negotiations as casual as these. Her instincts hadn’t failed her; there
was
something more sinister going on here. Even as she smiled and returned the gesture, her brain was churning. Who, exactly, was he and why was he here, on her boat?

He was too young to be put in charge of complicated trade negotiations. Could he be a Shasir spy? Fa had warned her to be cautious and certainly she and the rest of the Kalders would be monitored for the slightest hint of dissention now that Stevan was preparing for ascension.

Perhaps he was in league with Judicia Corrus?

Her free hand drifted to the small of her back and rested on the blade hiding there. She would watch these men closely and watch her step.

“Soon as I have my coin, we can push off. Just tell me which way to point the bow. The head’s below deck and there’s some sleeping quarters in the bow and the stern, nothing fancy but warm and dry. Oh, and there’s grint in that cask at the stern and another cask below deck. I won’t always be free to serve it up, so help yourselves. I’ve got a few supplies but depending where we’re headed I can always load up on foodstuffs at the next port. Anything valuable you want to store, let me know and I’ll lock it up for you. Doubtful that pirates will bother with a vessel as small as this but I’ve got a few hiding spots for special trinkets, just in case. There’s no crew so you might have to pitch in now and then. That’s about it.”

As she waited for the man to offer up the promised deposit, Ama noted every move and stored it in her memory. She glanced at the bigger man and deadpanned, “And I’m sorry but you are just going to have to keep him quiet.”

It took a few beats. The thin man with the hard face gave her a twitchy smile that was as false as his cover story.

“Anyway, I’m Captain Ama Kalder. And you sirs would be…?”

“I am Lord Segkel Eraranat,” he answered, bowing graciously.

“That’s a mouthful.”

“You may call me Seg, for the sake of expediency on this voyage,” he said, with an attempt at a smile. “This is my companion and bodyguard Manatu Dibeld. And you may call him very, very quiet because he’s mute. Right Manatu?”

Manatu nodded and pointed to his mouth, opening it and making no sound.

He produced a cash-purse, counted out the agreed-upon deposit and displayed plenty more available. “And now,” the purse closed with a
snap
and he fixed his stare on her again, “you and your ship belong to me.”

Ama’s jaw muscles tensed briefly but the moment passed like a thunderclap and Seg the Damiar resumed his previous attempt at cheer.

“Manatu will see to our luggage.”

Ama bowed slightly. “And I’ll see to extending the sk—”

“Water rat!”

Ama’s head whipped around, at the sound of Dagga’s voice. As he climbed the stairs to the
Naida
, Dagga cleaned the dirt from under his nails with his knife. She turned her right palm skyward. “Constable Dagga, blessings of the Sh—”

“Pushing off?” Dagga pointed his knife toward the large bags on the dock below.

“I have a charter, yes,” she replied, her tone respectful.

“Where? How long?”

“Twenty days,” Ama answered, “I don’t know every stop yet, since you interrupted my dealings, but as far as Malvid. Anything else I can help you with before you leave, Head Constable?”

“Got business in Malvid?” Dagga asked, pointing the knife toward Seg, an eye on Manatu.

Seg’s hand slid back and touched Manatu’s arm, as if to stop him. “You may point that elsewhere before I officially notice it,” he said, indicating the knife with his chin. With that, he looked back out at the water, the constable once more in his peripheral.

“May I?” Dagga grinned, then flipped the knife, until it was pointing away from Seg. “Now, as I was asking…”

Seg looked back, as if seeing Dagga for the first time. “Oh, yes. Who are you and why are you holding up my charter?”

Ama turned away to hide the smile that rose to her lips.

“Manatu, go collect our things,” Seg continued.

Manatu stepped forward but Dagga blocked the stairs. A miniature war waged in the eyes of the two men and Ama held her breath.

Dagga finally stepped aside with a false display of courtesy and turned his eyes to Seg. “I’m Head Constable Dagga,” he offered, “here on orders of Judicia Corrus.”

“Ah,” Seg said. “If the woman is a problem, I can have my man restrain her for you. Is she in trouble?”

Dagga’s smile looked as if it had been wrung out of him. “This one?” he pointed the knife at Ama now. “She’s always in trouble.”

Ama straightened and shifted her weight to one side. “Constable,” she said, her tone placating but with an edge beneath it, “let me consult with my passenger and then I’ll give you our full itinerary.”

Manatu pushed past Dagga with four bags. At the same moment, Ama crossed toward the stern and beckoned Seg to follow.

She transcribed the list of destinations as Seg recited them to her. When he finished, he pulled a watch from his coat pocket and frowned. “Should we anticipate issues of law at each stop?”

“No,” she flashed a glare at Dagga, her animosity unveiled. “And my apologies about the delay.”

She strode quickly back to the constable and passed him the folded piece of paper, which he took his time reading. “Is that satisfactory? I’d like to push off before dark.”

Dagga tucked the paper inside his shirt pocket, and offered Seg a conspiratorial look, “Can’t be too careful with the water rats.” He rubbed a hand over his head, then redirected his attention to Ama, “I better see this hunk of sticks tied here before your time’s up. You got any notions of running, I’ll be having a chat with your father. Savvy?”

Ama’s reply was a forced smile.

“’Course, that’s assuming this junk heap doesn’t come apart the minute it hits the Big Water.” His laugh was half growl. “Pleasant voyage your Lordship.”

“And a pleasant…whatever it is you do,” Seg said, turning his back on Dagga. “When do we leave?” he asked Ama.

“Now,” she said, her voice and face hard, her eyes monitoring Dagga’s departure. “If Manatu is finished with your bags, I’ll cast off the ropes.”

“He’s finished. Carry on, Captain Kalder,” Seg said, then looked downriver, to the horizon.

Ama moved swiftly to extend the skins and summon the dock runners to help her cast off the ropes. That monster, Dagga, had nearly ruined her opportunity; the sooner she got out of port the better.

As she winched the wide, wing-shaped skin fully open, she caught a glimpse of the Damiar, Seg, watching her, his mute companion hovering nearby. No, not just his companion, his bodyguard. Tather’s guess had been correct.

At the thought of Tather, she locked off the winch, ran to the stern, whistled and called out his name. His head appeared at the bow of his boat and Ama took a deep breath. She was already one favor in debt with him but this was different, this was far more important. “Tell my family to keep their eyes on the horizon for my return,” she shouted.

There was a significant pause, then Tather nodded.

“You’ll have their eyes, Kalder,” he answered. She waved her thanks, then knocked twice on the outside of the hull. Sometimes you can’t have too much protection.

Out on the open sea, the
Naida
rode effortlessly on a warm, west wind that blew steadily at about ten knots. Nen was feeling generous today. Ama worked hard to repress a smile as she watched Seg standing at midship, fingers clutched to the back of a wooden seat. Since leaving port in the morning, he had made a valiant effort to appear at ease, though she wondered why he bothered–Damiar didn’t care what people like her thought of them.

There were a great many things she wondered about this Damiar, not the least of which was that he had given her leave to address him so informally.
You may call me Seg.
Not Lord or even Segkel, but ‘Seg’, as if he were a crew member or family. Well, that could be his age speaking, or perhaps manners in the south were different.

That he was traveling without servants and that his lone companion was mute could be due to the secretive nature of his supposed business, though her suspicions about that remained in place. If his business was so important, why wouldn’t he have scheduled a proper charter, on a proper cruiser? The
Naida
was seaworthy, for short passages, but hardly the type of vessel any self-respecting Damiar would lower himself to travel on for more than a few hours.

He hadn’t balked about the cramped berth, (her berth), in the bow, though he had cleared his throat, several times, as she had gathered her scattered belongings and attempted to give the space some sort of order. When she had shown him the small bunk in the stern, (which she had been using to store tools and charts), for Manatu, he had been equally unperturbed and even his guard had seemed untroubled by the rustic conditions.

Of course, they would likely find their own lodgings whenever they were in port, she didn’t expect a Damiar to sleep on a boat like the
Naida
by choice.