Cap paced the close confines of the cabin. His anger was palpable, dangerous. "So now we're running south again. I'll have the bastard's liver out, when we reach shore. According to all the citizens I spoke to he's the best skipper that dunghill town had to offer me. Now that castaway friend of his, that you"—he rounded viciously on Keilin—"had to persuade him to fish out of the drink, has persuaded him that it's not possible to go north. We're unlikely to get another vessel, so we're back to going overland. Where everybody and his bloody dog is waiting for us!"
There was a long silence. Finally Keilin spoke up in a subdued voice. "There is a way that nobody would be expecting us to use."
Cap turned his sarcasm on the boy. "Where, O my pocket genius? For a thief brat who probably has no idea where he is right now you're mighty full of answers, aren't you? Well? Speak, O master of geography."
"We sail south, round Cape Ebrek, and up the Narrow Sea—"
Cap interrupted, "So you have garnered some geographical knowledge from somewhere. But what you don't know is that Dunbar, at the head of the Narrow Sea, fell to the Morkth nearly ten years back. The caravan route from Dunbar to the east is no more, brat. So that scuppers your plan, which I admit was brighter than I thought you capable of."
"There is a way across the desert and the mountains from Port Tinarana. It comes out near where you found us," Keilin said quietly.
Cap looked at him in surprise. "How the hell do you know that, boy? There used to be . . . maybe two hundred years ago. A little river you could follow . . . I forget its name . . ."
"Syrah."
"So it was! Well, well. I wonder where you heard about that from? Doesn't really matter, I suppose. The river is dry, and no one goes that way any more."
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Keilin cautiously, "but I did. And I can take you across the desert and into the Tyn States by the back door, where no one will be looking for us."
Cap's eyes narrowed. "Beywulf. You've been to Tinarana in the last fifteen years, when you were hiring out down in Ebrek. Ask this boy about the place. Show me he's really been there. He's inclined to be a bloody little liar."
"He's lived there, Cap. He knows the food too well to be lying about it. But if he knows the answer to this, you can bet on it. Keilin, what do the locals call that posh eatery on Deale Street with the red doors?"
Keilin couldn't help grinning. "The ring of fire."
"Why?"
"The meat's usually at least on the turn, if it's not from the town cats, so the proprietor makes up for it with lots of those little red bird's-eye chili peppers . . . the really white-hot kind. Most customers end up with the trots, if they're lucky, with the peppers still burning on the way out. No local would ever eat there."
Bey chuckled. "I got caught good. One of the other guards was from Port T. He told me about its local name when he heard my swearing from the heads. The boy's been there all right."
"And he dresses and behaves like the desert. Yet we found him on the other side of the mountains. Hmm. Boy, you've got yourself a job. Now you go and tell that bloody prig of a captain where he's taking us," ordered Cap.
"Why me? I mean, he won't listen to me. I . . . I don't think he wants me up on the bridge," said Keilin, alarmed.
Cap smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Three reasons, boy. Because I've told you to, because you got us into this shit in the first place, and because if I go up there I'll probably wring his scrawny neck. Now get."
So Keilin got.
Despite his nervousness, his reception on the bridge was cordial. He even drew a wintry smile from the captain. To his relief, Captain Barrow was not there. He still didn't want to look the man in the eye. He found that the skipper listened with unusual care to him, and that his request to put ashore at Port Tinarana was also well received.
"We'll have to put in to Port Lockry first, of course."
"Surely, but . . . why? I . . . I need a reason to tell Cap," he hastily explained.
This drew a definite smile. "Tell him we need to reprovision and offload Hedda's crew. Actually, I want to load cargo, and make it a more profitable trip. We're sailing empty now because I thought we'd have to run, and run fast. But around there should be safe enough. Or how do you feel about it?"
Keilin didn't pretend not to understand. "I'm sorry, sir. It only happens every now and again. I can't predict your future. I wish I could even predict my own."
The captain laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Good enough, son. It's not any easy thing that you have. We'll sail to Port Tinarana. All I ask is that you try to keep that arrogant master of yours off my bridge"—he gave a small shudder—"and that shaven-headed enforcer of yours. But you can come up anytime."
One of the other results of fishing the Hedda's crew out of the sea, was that cabin space had to be reshuffled to make room for them, especially those who had to be nursed. Shael found herself having to share quarters with Leyla. It was a small cubbyhole of a place, with two bunks, a sea chest and little else. Shael burned with resentment, of course, and when angry she could never keep a still tongue in her head. She was subjecting Leyla to a diatribe on the injustice of it all when the sultry woman threw a question that she was not prepared to field.
"So why's the boyfriend so miserable?" she said.
There was silence.
"You want me to get out of the cabin for a while, to give the two of you a bit of . . . privacy?" Leyla continued.
"We're not . . . I mean I don't know what you mean, or who you're talking about." Shael said, defensive tones creeping into her voice.
Amusement showed in Leyla's half smile. "I know you're not sleeping with him. But you're always trying to manipulate him. I was just surprised. I always find men much easier to steer when I've got them by the balls."
It was bluntly said, but it struck home. Shael blushed redly, and spoke in a moment of honesty. "I tried." Then the anger, embarrassment, and embitterment of it all made her burst out. "I asked him! I offered myself to him. And he turned me down! Me! And now he's been sleeping with some fat old woman while we were in that horrible harbor town. I hate him!"
She was crying, furious, miserable and pouring out a torrent of words, in which Keilin featured prominently. A dispassionate observer would have had some difficulty in reconciling her descriptions of events with actuality or the boy's point of view. But Leyla was not dispassionate. And once, very long ago, she'd felt much the same way. So she let Shael finish her eruption, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and an arm to lean on, while they sat down on the sea chest together.
"It's all right, little sister. It's all right. He'll come back."
Shael sobbed and shook her head. "He won't. He . . . he's from the bottom of the gutter. His mother was . . . a prostitute. He's a thief. He should know as much about chivalry as I do about . . . sailing. But . . . the core sections show him as he sees himself. He's a small, small knight in this big suit of armor, on a white horse, fighting evil and dragons and rescuing damsels. And he wants to be big enough to fill that suit of armor."
She sniffed. "So, he says that commoners like him and my kind don't mix. But he'll take me to my father and then disappear. He just doesn't understand!"
"But I do, Shael. And I promise you . . . he said no, but he's been kicking himself every night."
"Are you sure . . . I mean, why?"
"Because he's a normal man, if a young one, and they're even randier and less logical at that stage. Also," she said wryly, "he's stopped following me about with his eyes. It's not often that I lose them like that."
She looked at the surprise and hope in Shael's eyes, seeing as well the unasked question. "No. I always left him to you. You'd clearly marked him as your prey. And I use sex for generating alliances. Taking him would have made you even more my enemy." She smiled. "Besides, to be honest, the poor boy was so frustrated, he would have done anything for me anyway."
"Do you . . . I mean . . . is sex always just a weapon?" Shael asked doubtfully
"Oh no," said Leyla, in a deep throaty voice, with the hungry smile of the tigress. "It can be . . . delicious. Shall I show you?" she said, putting a hand on Shael's inner thigh.
She gave a shriek of laughter as Shael jumped, startled. "There. That's got you to stop feeling quite so sorry for yourself. Now, let's plan your stalking of your flighty knight. You can sit down again. I have had girl lovers, but they were all willing and eager ones. And quite frankly, dear, organizing your chase is more fun. I've never done that before. Now, first off you've got to get talking to him again. He's been really miserable since we rescued those folk. He needs someone to talk to. Go and find him. Be nice . . . for a change. But first," she looked at Shael's face critically, "let's do some repairs."
She found him at the stern rail, looking out at the trailing bubbles, and the lazily following gulls. His shoulders were hunched, and he failed to react to her approach. He was normally so wary that she couldn't come within yards of him without him noticing. This time she had to touch him lightly on the arm before he jumped like a startled cat.
"Careful. You'll end up in the sea, and the captain's in such a hurry to get out of here I don't know how keen he'd be on turning around to pick you up."
He managed a small smile, which, as it failed to extend to his eyes, was a parody of his normal grin. "It wouldn't matter. I can't swim anyway. I'd be drowned before they could get back."
"Then I'd have to jump in after you. And I've just washed my hair." She smiled at him, one of her devastating, saved-for-the-occasion smiles, which she had practiced so often in front of the mirror.
He sighed. "What can I do for you this time, Princess?"
It hit her like a douche of cold water. His reaction to her smile was to assume she wanted something. She looked down, bit her lip slightly, and looked vulnerable. Had she but known it, she looked far more beautiful like that than in one of her studied smiles. "Nothing . . . only you seemed so miserable, and I was feeling bad about the way I've been treating you lately. I . . . I just wanted us to be friends again."
He put his arm around her shoulder. It was working, she thought triumphantly. He was quiet for a long time, still staring into the sea. Finally he sighed. "I'm sorry, Kim. I can't explain."
Heartened by the familiar name, she touched his arm lightly. Her voice was gentle, quiet, "Try."
He turned from the sea, and looked into her eyes. Finally he spoke. "It's this mind thing. This psi. I . . . I sometimes get pictures . . . or feelings to do something. Not often. It's just this dread that if I don't . . ." He looked at the sea again. "With the people in that boat. I knew just how thirsty and desperate they were . . . how hopeless."
"You saved them, Cay. Without you they'd have died." Her eyes were soft, sympathetic.
He looked at the deck planking to avoid looking at her. "I knew who they were, see. Because . . ." it came out in a rush, "the woman I was with those nights in Port Lockry. It was her face the captain was thinking of. She . . . I was just an escape, I suppose. Maybe she also felt sorry for me. There'd been the fighting and we'd all been scared to death. And all that killing and . . . well, and she's human, ordinary, not like you. I mean, she also needs, um, just physical . . . But she didn't ever pretend she loved me. She didn't stop loving them. She was worrying about them all the time. Her husband and her three boys. I wanted her to want me."
He looked up. Looked her full in the eyes. "I knew they were there from the night before. And I was going to leave them to die."
He turned and walked off, leaving her to stare open-mouthed after him.
A lighthouse had already been erected on the cliff above Port Lockry, and the channel was now clear, even at low water. There was a huge crowd to welcome them into port. Keilin found himself peering into the crowd, his keen eyes looking for her face. He found it, and thus was able to watch the expression as someone called out. "Hey . . . That's Hedda's crew on board!" And he saw hope blossom, and he saw her begin frantically waving.
Keilin was sitting in the deserted ship's mess, getting himself quietly and systematically drunk. Everyone else was ashore. In the excitement of the castaways' return he'd been able to slip away between decks without too much effort. S'kith had wanted to stay on board with him, but Keilin had chased him off to join the three enthusiastically waving girls, with Bey's amused comments still ringing in his ears. But now the ship was ghostly quiet, only the near-still-water sounds of an occasional moving hawser, breaking its tomb stillness. He heard feet on the gangplank, but paid no attention to the noise, other than to hope that whoever it was wouldn't disturb him.
"Boy Hero." Only one person had ever called him that. He stood up unsteadily. She came over to him as he swayed next to the mess table. Took his hands. Her eyes were luminous with a kind of deep happiness that had been absent when he'd last been with her. Then she hugged him. "Gabe told me what you did. Sven and my son wanted to ask you to come and stay with us. I said I didn't think it was a good idea. I said you'd feel awkward there." She gave a small smile, guilty, and yet mischievous, making her face look twenty years younger. "I didn't say you'd probably have walked into the wrong damn bedroom."
Keilin felt his ears burning, and his heart doing uncomfortable bumps. "I'm sorry . . . I couldn't do anything about your other boys," he said, awkwardly.
She sighed. "Lover. Three days ago they were all dead. I didn't want to admit it, but . . . I didn't ever really believe I'd see them again. But I still came down to see every ship that came in, just in case there was news. When I saw it was Starchaser coming in I was bitterly angry . . . with you. What right had you to come back safely when my man and my boys were lost? I didn't want to see you ever again. And then my Sven and Olaf were on board! I even kissed old Gabe Soren's ugly face about sixteen times. And then about an hour later . . . I found out that if it hadn't been for you, Boy Hero, they wouldn't ever have come home."
She smiled softly. Touched his cheek gently. "It . . . couldn't have been easy for you, seeing them go with me, so happy, an' you left here alone, but . . . it was the greatest gift you could ever have given me. I hope you find a girl of your own age soon and"—mischief dimpled her cheek—"I hope she likes your spear as much as I did. If not, well, come an' see me, if Sven's away. If Olaf ever leaves home again. He's taking a job in the boatyard and not going to sea again, I'm glad to say. Sven's got the captaincy of a coaster. It's not what he's used to, but it'll see him home more often."
Keilin swayed, but he managed to smile in return. "I probably won't ever be back, Mara. You, I, it was . . . um. Anyway, you'll be busy with the baby."
Her face blanked. "Baby?"
"You're going to have one. A girl. I know."
She was silent for a long time. "Yours?"
He shook his head. "It just hit me now. I really don't know. I just saw the picture of you . . . and it. Her. Counting toes."
The smile began slowly, and grew, and grew. "Not bloody morning sickness again! At my age!" She hugged him fiercely. "You know what, Keilin. I don't care who her father is. Only . . . she'll never go away to sea. Good-bye . . . Boy Hero." She kissed him slowly, "Good luck and . . . I'll always be thinking of you."
He sat down at the table again, toying with his glass after she'd left. It didn't seem so necessary any more. More footsteps. Furtive ones this time. Who could it be now?
"She must be 'ere. She ain't in any of the other places." Quietly said. Full of sibilant threat.
"Third cabin to the right, upper deck. Cost me a bloody fortune in drinks to find tha' out." A slightly whiny voice replied.
"Never mind. We'll be makin' a bloomin' fortune out of this. I just 'ope 'Enery got them horses ready and waitin'. I wouldn't want ter tangle wiv some of those fellers in the bar, meself. Third right, upper deck, you say?"
"Yep. S'right."
"Then what we' doin' daan 'ere?"
"Keepin' outa sight. Now shut yer gob an' let's get on wiv it."
Keilin found his way to his feet, threat clearing away some of the alcohol fumes. He picked up his assegai, and stumbled over his feet, as he headed towards the door. "Shh! Keilin!"
The whisper had come from the far side of the door. He moved over to it. She was hiding behind the cook's hatch, in the kitchen. He slipped round to its door, and then went inside. Slid the bolt. In the moonlight through the porthole he could see Shael with an eighteen-inch butcher's knife in her hand.
"Why didn't you go after them?" she demanded in a fierce whisper.
He swayed towards the door.
"No! You're drunk. Stay here with me!" she countermanded.
He blinked owlishly at her. "What," he asked, with an attempt at dignity, "are you doing in here?"
"Shhh! They're looking for me," she said in an urgent whisper.
"I may be drunk, but I worked that out. That doesn't answer my question."
"SHHH!"
They were coming back. "Well she ain't there, clever dick. All those bloomin' drinks fer sod all!"
"Try the mess."
Doors opened quietly. "Well, there's a light 'ere. Sign someone's been 'ere. Looks like someone's bin doin' a spot o' private pissin' it up."
"She's probably in bed with 'ooever it is. Come on. We'll check she no' at the tavern after all."
The sounds of the footsteps leaving, and the creak of the gangplank let them both exhale.
"Cay . . . I can't go back to my cabin. They might come back. Can I come to yours?" she asked in a small voice.
He nodded. In silence they went back up to his small cabin. She had to help him up the steep stairway to the next floor, and having watched him fumble with the key for two minutes, she opened his door for him. She locked it behind them. "Have the bunk," he slurred, sitting down against the door, assegai in hand.
She slid into the bunk, bit her lip, and slipped her dress over her head. She lay there for a few moments in the darkness, gathering courage. Finally, she said, quietly, "Cay. I . . . I'm cold."
There was no answer.
Cautiously she leaned over the edge of the bunk. The moonlight from the porthole showed him slumped over sideways, still holding the assegai. He gave a gentle snore.
Shael sighed and lifted her eyes to the uncaring ceiling. "I thought I'd been prepared for everything that could happen on my first night in a man's bed," she muttered. It was a long, long while before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
The vessel was full of noise and moving folk when she awoke. It was also crisp and cool now. It had been anything but cool in this stuffy little cabin before she'd fallen asleep. She'd been going to dress again . . . but it had been too hot. Now the porthole was open. And somebody had thrown a blanket over her. That somebody was still lying under a blanket on the floor. How was she to know that he'd stood there looking at her in the small hours? The light of the sinking moon had streamed in through the porthole, and bathed the bunk in its brightness. It had taken him a very long time to decide to turn away and open the porthole, before covering her curves gently, ever so gently, with a blanket out of his sea chest.
Hastily she slipped on her undergarments and her spangled dress. She got up, stepping over Keilin, waking him as she unbolted the door. With luck she could be safely back in her own cabin before anyone noticed . . .
She listened. All quiet. She stepped out boldly, to find at least three people coming down the passage. She fled, her ears burning at the sound of Beywulf's Wagnerian laughter. "And I was just going to start looking for her."
"So you say they were definitely looking for her." Cap eyed them with more disfavor than the rejected pieces of bacon gristle on his plate.
Keilin nodded. "No doubt, sir."
"Any ideas who they were from?"
"No. I didn't recognize the voices at all," said Shael looking down at her feet, just as she had when she'd been asked where she had been, and why.
"Still, as the whole port thinks we're going north again, and thinks us mad into the bargain, I suppose no harm is done. And no one else knows this trail of yours, do they, boy?"
Keilin shook his head.
Cap waved a hand dismissively at them. "I'll have some coffee, Cook. Hell's teeth, why don't you let my sergeant-major show you a thing or two."
From the distant clifftops three men watched the disappearing Starchaser in puzzlement. "She's on it, that's for sure. But that's a bloody strange course for the north," commented the one, to whom the others referred as 'Enery. Shael would have recognized him at once.
By the time the ship had weathered the storm around Cape Ebrek, and had left the cold midnight-blue depths of the great ocean, to sail up the clear aquamarine waters of the Narrow Sea, Keilin was very glad of his refuge on the bridge. He'd even gone to the length of hiding out in the swaying crows' nest. Didn't she understand what she was doing to him? He'd told her just what their roles in life were. She had a couple of armies looking for her. Wasn't that enough? Why the hell did she want him too? Still, he dwelled at some length, and with remarkable tribute to his powers of observation, on the memory of her lying naked in the moonlight on his bunk.