Dark Heart Part 44

'Was it her choice that saw Saros Rake come down on top of her? That led to a sword through her belly? Father's plan was flawed from the start.'

'The flaw was in trusting the alchemist and the traitorous miners,' Arathe signalled. Her fingers had slowed even since the start of their discussion. Perhaps the heat really was affecting her as she claimed.

'He didn't even grieve at her graveside,' Anomer said.

'That, I'll admit, counts against him. I don't understand why he didn't.'

A flicker of guilt smouldered in Anomer's chest: it had been Bregor and himself who had driven his father away from the site of her burial. He repressed it. If it helped Arathe understand what sort of father she had, if it dimmed him in her eyes, he would allow her to continue believing it.

Anomer leaned forward, not quite meeting his sister's gaze. 'So yesterday he came and tried to apologise. Claimed he'd decided to let his guilt go. I told him I'd seen no evidence of his ever having picked it up in the first place. Oh, he became angry at that. Give him credit, he kept his temper, but it was an effort.'

'Progress, then.'

Anomer sighed audibly. Always she sees the good in him.

'Of a sort, Arathe, or perhaps he's feeling a little more vulnerable now you're not making your magical strength available to him. I admire you, by the way, it was a courageous decision. He could have fallen at any time during that storm, could have been lost overboard.'

'I was ready to help him had he needed it,' she said. 'Besides, it was your idea. It took cowardice, not courage, to agree to it. I should have stood up to you.'

'Nonsense. Once he realises he's not invulnerable, he'll begin to put more trust in those around him.'

'I thought we agreed that's what caused the debacle at Saros Rake.'

She was doing it again. He was accounted a quick thinker, but he had never bested his sister in an argument. She could twist anything he said and use it against him.

'You said that,' he said. 'I didn't agree.'

'You didn't argue the point. Oh, Anomer, why do we so often end up fighting about Father?'

'Both strong-willed, I suppose; another legacy of our dear father.'

'Did you accept his apology?'

'Of course not! How many lives have his actions cost? Why, it may only be his guilt that prevents him making further mistakes.'

'You're harsher than he is,' Arathe said, as her eyes began to droop. She summoned the energy from somewhere. 'He rescued miners from execution; how is that an action that cost lives? You could argue that his wiping out of the Neherian court, and his defeat of their army, saved many more lives than were lost. What if he'd walked away, minding his own business? Would the Neherians now be besieging Sayonae, or Malayu itself?'

'There must have been a better way to do it,' Anomer said sullenly. She was winning again. 'A way that didn't involve the slaughter of the defenceless. I know they weren't blameless, but the images we saw from the ballroom of the Summer Palace were inexcusable.'

'No different from the havoc you caused among the miners who tried to take the huanu stone.'

'I've made my decision. When we land at Malayu, I'm leaving him and returning south. Bregor asked me to join him, you know, to help him in re-establis.h.i.+ng Raceme. I think I'll take up his offer. More productive than the misguided revenge Father is bent on seeking.'

'Very well,' she signalled, her fingers stiffly making the symbols. 'But should he come to me, I'll listen to him.'

'I'd like you to come south with me,' Anomer added.

'And I'd like you to reconcile yourself with our father,' she countered. 'We do not always get what we want, even Father has realised that. Still, he should understand that he cannot take our support for granted. I'll speak to him soon.'

'As you like. I've done speaking.'

He stood, stretched the tension from the muscles in his legs, and turned towards the interminable card game at the stern end of the room, presided over as always by Tumar. Behind him the curtain closed, leaving him feeling yet again as though he'd lost something more than a mere argument.

The only time Arathe felt at ease was on her infrequent excursions above decks. The steerage deck had become quite unbearable: sleeping there actually deprived her of energy. A combination of constant noise, oppressive heat and noisome fumes had ground her down until she found herself more and more sustaining her strength by borrowing-stealing, really-from those around her.

Walking the open deck, or standing at the rail, watching the water break on the s.h.i.+p's bow or churn behind its stern, gulls crying, clouds parading their ever-changing shapes, the wind whipping at her hair, was as life was to death. Steerage pa.s.sengers were allowed two hours on deck if weather permitted, one hour in the morning, the other before dusk. Those hours rushed by, the pleasure she derived from them seeming to make the interminable time below decks even less bearable than it otherwise might have been.

She stood quietly, one hand on the foremast, and watched her fellow steerage pa.s.sengers take the air. Six families made up over half those in steerage; of those, two families had ten members each. Sadly, the Fallows had lost their youngest daughter last week. No one had even known she was ill. She had come down with a fever, apparently, nothing exceptional, but she had insisted the light hurt her eyes and that her neck was sore. A few bewildering hours later her little body had been cooling on the deck, shrouded in sailcloth in preparation for a sea burial. Her parents had wanted to take the body home, but the captain had refused. Two weeks out of port, he said, in this weather, would corrupt the body beyond what anyone could stand. Besides, there was the risk of disease. No one knew what the girl had died of: there were no lumps or pustules, and her sputum had been clear. The only sign of her illness had been a rash on her chest and back. Truth, half those aboard had rashes. The captain decided not to impose disease measures, but the other pa.s.sengers drew away from the family until it was clear none of them had caught the fever.

Her mother's eyes were still hollow, circled in black; Arathe doubted she was sleeping. The rest of the family, though, frolicked about on the deck: the father played loop-toss with his three youngest sons, all beautiful dark-haired children. There had been a death, yes, but life continued; a lesson her brother Anomer had yet to learn, it seemed.

Life not only continued, it burgeoned, even in this awful autumn heat. One of the single men-one who might have been of interest to Arathe before her time in Andratan-waited for his girl beside the main mast. She was the oldest of eight children in what was now the largest family aboard, and it was clear from Arathe's repeated observation that her parents did not know of the liaison.

Arathe smiled. Here she came now, a young thing indeed, probably no older than sixteen years of age, measured against the man's mid-twenties. She looked around, eyes wide, and located her parents walking back towards the hatch. Time almost over for another day. As soon as the mother's sunhat disappeared, the pair were in each other's arms. Arathe doubted the couple would keep knowledge of their liaison private much longer. There were few secrets on a s.h.i.+p.

Her attention turned to her father. He stood amids.h.i.+ps, leaning against the port railing, staring towards the setting sun. His preoccupation was not a secret.

Ah, there she is. Miss Sai emerged from the hatch and walked slowly across the main deck towards the broad ladder-really a stairway-leading to the upper deck and the captain's cabin. She took an age to make the journey; a deliberate action to keep her on view as long as possible. Most of the men's eyes followed her, hunger in many of them, while the women pointedly looked away or stared malevolently. She ignored them all.

But one pair of eyes contained a hunger beyond mere bodily desire. He had turned from his contemplation of the sea and now watched her as she reached the ladder. And there, as she had done every day for the past nine, she turned and smiled her heartbreaking smile at him. Just a momentary contact, all they could reasonably obtain without raising the captain's suspicions.

The trouble was, he already knew.

Miss Sai turned her head back and ascended the stairs, her carriage and gait belying the notion of a slattern-yet that was what she was. A woman employed to have s.e.x with as many men as possible in order to make a profit for the captain. And should anything distract her from that task, the captain would remove it.

So he'd said to Arathe the day before yesterday. He had called her into his cabin, his face set in a grimace as he'd explained the situation.

'I have made a mistake,' he said. 'I gave Miss Sai to your father as a reward; he'd been extremely valuable, even heroic, during the storm. But he has formed an unwholesome attachment to her. I've seen him mooning after her as she advertises herself around the s.h.i.+p. So has the first mate. I doubt he realises how ridiculous he looks, or what comment he is attracting. I am not yet certain what to do about it.'

He'd sucked on his teeth a moment, then leaned forward. 'I see and hear more than the pa.s.sengers think. Have to. It's the secret of running a good s.h.i.+p. And there are reasons I need to keep everything above board, as they say. I've approached you instead of your brother because, from what I hear, your father is more likely to listen to you than to him. So convey my message well, or I'll have to tell your brother.'

Arathe had put her answer down on paper for him. If mooning was a sign of attachment, she'd written, half the men on the boat are guilty. Your slattern does her job too well.

'My slattern is half in love with your father,' the captain said. 'If this attachment interferes with her duties I will put your father in the brig. I want you to tell him so.'

A fine reward for all he has done to a.s.sist you, she wrote.

He shrugged. 'This is a friendly warning. It's not about fairness, it's about business. Sai is the best I've ever had, and I don't want to lose her. You tell your father to stay away from Miss Sai. Is that clear, Arathe of Fossa?'

She had agreed without making a fuss. Her father was not the fickle man Anomer painted him to be. Nothing had happened that night with Cylene-fortunately, given the complication of her heritage. Her father had known that, which was why he acted responsibly. Besides, she could hardly defy the captain. Their swords were deep in the cargo hold, and would be returned only when they stood on the Malayu docks. Out here on the ocean the captain was the only authority. So she had nodded, written a brief thanks to the captain for his forbearance, and promised to deliver the message.

Two days had pa.s.sed, in which she'd hoped to behold proof that the attachment was temporary. Unfortunately, the evidence pointed in quite the opposite direction. Her father's eyes remained on Miss Sai until she disappeared behind the mizzenmast. Two women whispered together directly below Arathe, Noetos's behaviour clearly the topic of their conversation.

To make matters worse, the captain emerged from the hatch just as Miss Sai vanished from view, but not before he took in the scene. He turned about, scanning the deck until he saw Arathe, then came up beside her.

'Remember our agreement, Arathe of Fossa?' he asked. She nodded to him, embarra.s.sed.

He walked to the upper deck ladder, then waited, clearly expecting her to do something immediately. She sighed, descended the steps and walked over to her father, who had resumed his unthinking contemplation of the ocean.

'Father, we must talk,' she signalled.

'What? Is it time to go below?'

She glanced over her shoulder to where the captain waited. 'We've been given a few minutes longer,' she mimed, slow enough, she hoped, for him to understand.

'We have? Have they finally realised how unwell you have become down in steerage?'

'No. Of course not. They see only life and death. Life is conducted in steerage; death means being wrapped in a cloth and thrown overboard.'

He waited until she'd finished signalling this; it took some time. 'My, you are disturbed, daughter. Something you want to tell me?'

'Yes. We can begin here, and later, down in steerage, I will use mind-voice to speak further.'

'Has someone done something to you? Tried to take advantage? Made a threat?'

She seized on his words. 'Yes, that is exactly what has happened.'

'Who? Tell me, Arathe!'

Her father might be many things, she thought, but he did not stint in his love for her. She smiled a moment, then smoothed her face.

'Captain Kidson wants you to stay away from Miss Sai,' she explained. 'He says you are putting her off doing her job. He says-' She stopped. 'What is wrong?'

Her father had begun to chuckle.

'Nothing is wrong, Arathe, absolutely nothing. He said that, did he? The best news I've had in days.'

'What? Father, what do you mean?'

'I've been watching her go about her work. Listening to her. Arathe, you might consider me foolish, but it has been akin to torture. Now I hear her behaviour has changed. Kidson says she's been put off her job. Of course I'm happy.'

'And will you leave her alone?'

'I've done nothing, daughter. We shared a night, as the captain asked me to, but nothing happened of a physical nature. Both Cylene and myself recognised that for me to have slept with her would have been a disaster. Arathe, you were privy to my thoughts; I can't deceive you and I'm not trying to. It's not her body I'm after, it's her conversation. I've never encountered someone so perceptive. I so much want to talk with her again.'

'But you cannot,' she said. 'The captain will put you in the brig as soon as he sees or hears of it.'

'Aye,' he said, his head down. 'He owns her while she is aboard. Well, then, I can be patient.'

'Father,' Arathe signed uneasily, 'what are you thinking?'

'Oh, nothing,' he said, and smiled. 'Time we went down.'

He escorted his daughter down the ladder as though she were a queen, smiling all the while. And as he left her to find his own bunk, she heard him say: 'Put off her job!'

It took no magical powers for Arathe to sense trouble coming.

Northward progress was slow. No wind was worse than a slight head wind, and Noetos had every reason to want a swift pa.s.sage to Malayu. But the smuggler's s.h.i.+p stayed well out to sea, avoiding coastal patrols and certainly not docking at any ports. Nearer the coast, sea breezes would see the s.h.i.+p make progress, but the captain valued secrecy more highly than speed.

After a week in which the Conch made very little headway, whispers of food shortages began to circulate. The rumours translated into reality for the steerage cla.s.s on the fourth week of the journey. Water was rationed, as they had received no rain since the third night of the storm, and they were fed nothing but weevil-infested s.h.i.+p's biscuit. The first mate appeared at what was laughably called the 'evening meal' to explain the situation.

'You've heard we're short on rations,' he said, scratching his bald head as he spoke. ''Tis true. Captain is thinking of putting in on the coast, perhaps at Long Pike Mouth, to bring on supplies. He'll only do this if we make no progress in the next few days.'

'Will he put off pa.s.sengers?' one of the single men wanted to know.

'There'll be no forced disembarkments, but if someone wants to leave, I guess that's two problems solved.'

'How long until we get to Malayu?' asked an older woman.

'Look, ma'am, this ain't like riding in a coach. Arrival times can't be predicted. Were we to get a following wind, we could get to Malayu in a week. But at the current rate o' progress we're more likely to end up back in Sayonae.'

'But I've got a sick mother in Malayu,' the woman said angrily. 'I paid as much money for my single berth as I paid five years ago for my whole family to sail north. Surely something can be done?'

'No, ma'am, it can't,' Noetos said. 'We are at the mercy of the elements. The crew no doubt know some tricks to get a little extra from the s.h.i.+p, but beyond that we must all be patient.'

The woman continued to complain as the first mate took his leave. As he reached the base of the ladder, he beckoned Noetos over.

'Listen, friend,' he said into Noetos's ear. 'Not all of us approve of what the captain's doing with regard t' Miss Sai and yourself. Some of us think that if she wants to talk to you, well, she should be allowed to. So, if you're prepared to help ease the pa.s.sengers' concerns regarding s.h.i.+p's progress, I won't say anything if I see you and she talking in the upper cargo hold in the hour after dusk tonight. And neither will none of my men. We ain't forgotten what you done for us, fisherman. Fair enough?'

Noetos kept his face straight and his voice level, though he wanted to shout and leap with happiness. 'It's fair,' he said. 'But how do I know Miss Sai will be there?'

''Cos I've already arranged it,' the first mate said, scratching away at his ear. 'She'll be there. She looked about as excited as you do, and she fooled me about as well as you are.'

'Aye, well, since I heard the captain's view I've been careful,' Noetos said. 'And thank you, friend. If we are discovered I will not mention you.'

The man nodded. 'Go to the smaller hatch a few minutes after dusk. Knock once and give my name. Tell them Rafe sent you. Old Three-tooth will let you in.' He winked at Noetos. 'An hour ought to be long enough.'

Noetos wanted to protest, to explain that it wasn't like that, he and Cylene were not going to...but he held his tongue. The man wouldn't have understood.

Miss Sai made her circuit of the s.h.i.+p, and Noetos heard her footfalls as she pa.s.sed close by. He forced himself to face out to sea, focusing on the glowering sun setting in a cloudless sky. The bell rang, and the steerage pa.s.sengers made their reluctant way below decks. Noetos went too, but slowly, ensuring he was the last to approach the hatch. He cut left, finding the small door that led to the upper cargo hold: the two sailors watching both smiled widely at him. The first mate had no doubt hand-picked those on duty this evening.

He knocked on the smaller door, and it swung open at his call of 'Rafe'. The old sailor smiled at him, a sight to frighten small children. He let Noetos in, then climbed out of the hatch and closed it behind him.

'h.e.l.lo, fisherman,' she said.

He couldn't help it: his heart surged at her voice, and he hurried over to where she sat as though he was a boy about to begin his first courting. So foolish. He was sure he cut a ridiculous figure.

'h.e.l.lo yourself, Cylene,' he said, and was astonished at how shy his voice sounded. 'May I sit?'

In answer she patted the blanket beside her. As he sat, Noetos took a look around them. By the light of a lamp he saw boxes of silk, but also mountains of other goods: tools, elegant furniture, machinery of some kind, including a lathe, and various other things he could not identify in the poor light. All things that attracted a high duty.

He took a steadying breath and brought his mind back to the girl beside him. 'I'm sorry I've been ignoring you,' he said, 'but the captain warned me off.'

'He warned me off too,' she said. 'And I've been worried my continued employment would offend you.'

'How could it? What other choice do you have?'

'None,' she said, 'but since that night, I have come back to life. And it hurts, fisherman, it hurts. Every time now I'm with a man, I'm with him, and I can't stand it.'