“Hello on the
Fin
,” Rias called, apparently not sharing her concern, at least not insomuch as it’d make him turn around. “Is the captain about?”
A conversation broke out on the deck, and a moment later a barrel-chested and bow-legged man strode down the gangplank with a rolling gait. A second man jogged after him. Both were balding and had the weathered faces of sea veterans. Fortunately both also had the bronze-olive skin of Turgonians, rather than the bronze-yellow of Nurians.
“What d’you want?” The captain spat a wad of tobacco juice at Rias’s feet. Friendly fellow.
Though Rias had once earned bows and salutes from armadas full of men, he didn’t bristle at the lack of respect. He simply asked, “We seek passage to Port Malevek. Are you—”
“No.”
“You’re not heading south?” Rias tilted his head toward the forbidding northern coast.
“We’re heading south, but we’re not taking on passengers.”
“We’d be happy to work for our passage.”
“No work, no passage.” The captain spat again. “Now step aside. We’ve provisions to buy before—”
The second man, the mate Tikaya guessed, touched his captain’s elbow. He nodded toward her and said something in his ear.
Tikaya shifted her weight. Figuring she didn’t have an easily recognizable face,
she
hadn’t put her hood up. Perhaps she should have. Just as the Nurians loathed Rias, the Turgonians had reason to loathe her—she’d decrypted their encoded missives during the war, and her people had handed the results over to the Nurians. But very few Turgonians ought to be able to identify her. She hoped.
“You Kyattese?” the captain asked when the mate finished buzzing in his ear.
Rias eased in front of her, not enough to block her view, but enough to make sure he’d be able to intercept the men if they tried to grab her.
“I am,” Tikaya admitted. “A linguist specifically. I see you have an ecumenical crew. Are you perhaps in need of a translator?” She doubted that was the case, but wanted them thinking of her as a language lover rather than some cryptography expert. “I speak Turgonian—obviously—but also Nurian—” she glanced at the cabin boy, “—and am familiar with several of the desert and rainforest dialects from the Southern Hemisphere as well,” she said with a nod toward the black man.
“We don’t need a linguist,” the captain snarled.
“What
do
you need?” Rias asked.
“Nothing.”
The mate frowned, but didn’t say anything.
“Are you sure?” Tikaya asked. “I’ve also studied history, archaeology, anthropology, philosophy, critical theory, and—” since she sounded like a student reading a class schedule, and they appeared unimpressed, she decided to end with levity, “—I play three instruments as well.”
“Cursed Kyattese overachievers.” The captain spat. So much for levity. “Go away. We’ve got no passage, free or otherwise.”
Again, the mate didn’t comment, though he looked like he wanted to.
Rias and Tikaya walked back to the head of the dock.
“What next?” she asked. “Do we try to find room and board and wait for a more promising ship to come in? Or stow away on the Nurian vessel when they’re not looking?” Tikaya hadn’t been serious about the latter, but maybe she shouldn’t have suggested it at all, for she caught a speculative look behind the fur fringes ringing Rias’s face.
“Let’s wait until these men change their minds and invite us on,” he said.
“Er, what?”
The mate and captain hadn’t left the base of the gangplank, and their heads were tilted together as they conversed.
“The mate’s eyes widened slightly when you mentioned your musical background,” Rias said.
“Widened slightly? That could just mean he found the remark surprising.” Or appreciated her joke.
Rias opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when the captain shooed the mate back up the gangplank and headed in their direction.
“You can come with us as far as Port Malevek, if he works and you—” the captain pointed at Tikaya, “—make yourself available if we need you.”
“Available in
what
capacity?” Rias asked.
Tikaya blinked. Back home she didn’t get a lot of lusty leers from the male persuasion, so she wouldn’t have guessed anyone here had that on his mind, but she supposed it was wise to have the terms defined before agreeing to the contract.
“We might have need of some translating work. Nothing else. Unless she gets tired of you and wants to warm someone else’s hammock.” The captain smirked and spat a brown stream into the water—mostly. Some of it splattered on the edge of the dock.
“Not likely,” Tikaya muttered.
The captain laughed. “Rustle up your gear and be back in an hour. We’re sailing out soon.”
“We have all our gear,” Rias said and took a step toward the ship.
The captain stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Be back in an
hour
,” he repeated, all signs of humor gone from his face. “We like to tidy up for guests.”
Rias lowered his chin to stare at the hand. The captain lowered it, but didn’t change his mind about anything. He spun on his heel and strode back to the schooner.
“Tidy up,” Tikaya murmured, “is that how they say, ‘hide all the stolen goods’ in the empire?”
“Perhaps,” Rias said. “If you want to leave today, it’s this ship or the Nurian vessel.”
“Some choice.” Tikaya doubted this forlorn port saw many visitors. Who knew how long they’d have to wait for more options? “I know I should be tougher than this, but I’m weary of the frozen Turgonian north and long to see my family and enjoy my mother’s cooking again. And to walk barefoot on a sandy beach with sun beating on my shoulders and a warm salty breeze blowing in from the ocean.” She closed her eyes, easily picturing the scene. “How far is it to Port Malevek?”
“By sea, we should make it in three days.”
And from there, they could find passage to Kyatt.
“There’s a limit to how much can happen in three days, right?” Tikaya asked.
Rias’s grunt sounded skeptical.
Part III
Tikaya had to squat
and
duck her head to keep from clunking it when she followed the captain belowdecks. Rias followed behind her, his head bent even lower. He’d been staying close—one might say ‘looming protectively’—throughout their brief tour of the schooner and the captain’s description of his duties.
They descended a few polished wooden stairs. Tikaya wrinkled her nose at the musty, mildewy smell in the close air. At the bottom, one bulkhead held a couple of narrow doors, but the captain headed into an open bay strung with eight hammocks.
He pointed to a ceiling beam at the end of the row. “You can string up your beds here. Hammocks are in that cabinet. Stow your gear there. Don’t leave anything loose. Sea can be rough along the coast.”
“Much pirate activity?” Tikaya asked.
“Along the empire’s coast? Never. The imperial warships and fortresses keep these waters free of trouble.” The captain lowered his voice to mutter something else, and Tikaya thought she caught a “...what I’m hoping” in the jumble. “You—” the captain jabbed a finger at Rias, “—be on deck in five minutes. We’ll need all hands to depart.”
“Understood,” Rias said.
The captain waited a moment, as if he expected a “sir” to be tacked onto the end. Rias gazed blandly at him from where he hunched, forced into an awkward posture by the low ceiling. He hadn’t tugged down his fur hood yet, and Tikaya wondered if anyone would recognize him when he did. Most of the crew wasn’t Turgonian, and the captain, though he might have originated in the empire, had a muddled accent that hinted of many years spent in other lands.
When he didn’t get any more from Rias, the captain stalked out. With the departure imminent, nobody else was down in the hold, and they soon had two hammocks strung from the beams. Tikaya eyed the short, narrow dimensions of the dubious “beds.” Sharing one would be out of the question, not that she’d want to try in a bay full of sailors. This was only for three days, she reminded herself, and far less of a hardship than she’d suffered in the last few weeks.
“Stay safe.” Rias kissed her and headed up the stairs.
For lack of anything else to do, Tikaya sat in her hammock. “Might as well relax.”
That lasted for two or three minutes before she started drumming her fingers on her thigh. She thought of taking out her pack and studying one of the artifacts they’d retrieved, but the last thing she wanted was someone from this crew spotting her with valuable relics.
Shouts echoed from the deck above. A few bumps and scrapes emanated through the wooden hull. The schooner was pulling away from the dock.
The dark bay lacked portholes, so Tikaya could only listen as the
Fin
drifted out of the calm harbor and navigated into the rougher waters beyond. She imagined them turning south to hug the Turgonian west coast as they sailed into the approaching night.
At some point, a pale-skinned boy of fifteen or sixteen came down, dragging a bucket. He gave her no more than a curious glance before kneeling to scrub the floorboards. Tikaya wondered if his chore included keeping an eye on her.
Soon after, a second boy, the Nurian youth she’d noticed watching the merchant ship earlier, came down as well. He flopped into a hammock opposite from Tikaya’s and draped an arm over his eyes.
“No, no, don’t help me or nothing,” the scrubbing boy said.
The Nurian youth didn’t respond.
“I know you understand me, you lazy snot sucker.”
With his arm still flung over his eyes, the Nurian’s face was hard to read, especially in the poor lighting, but Tikaya thought he might have clenched his jaw. Several bandages wrapped his fingers, and he possessed the rag-doll weariness of someone driven hard. She wondered if he might be a slave or indentured servant, perhaps someone who wouldn’t mind divulging his master’s secrets if a friendly ally who spoke his tongue appeared...
“Are you all right?” Tikaya asked in Nurian.
The scrubbing boy kept working, but he watched the exchange as his bristles rasped on the wet wood. The Nurian youth lowered his arm. Without sitting up in his hammock, he looked toward the other boy before focusing on Tikaya.
“Yes.”
When he didn’t offer anything else, Tikaya wobbled. Preferring research to interactions with people, she’d never been the sort to initiate conversations with strangers. By luck—or the Polytechnic president’s wisdom—her position had rarely involved teaching.
“My name is Tikaya,” she finally said. “What’s yours?”
“Garchee.”
“How did you come to be here?” Tikaya waved to encompass the ship.
“I am the cabin boy.”
Hm, that wasn’t the answer to the question she’d asked. Though he hadn’t offered much of a sample, she tried to place his dialect. The eastern Chiefdom maybe. There was a formal touch to his words. Some educated merchant’s son whose family had fallen on rough times, forcing the youth to take to the sea?
“I thought
he
was the cabin boy.” Tikaya smiled and pointed to the other youth, who was still scrubbing though also scowling suspiciously at this spew of foreign words.
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t a ship this small typically have one cabin boy?”
Garchee eyed the steps, as if whatever work might find him should he appear topside might be preferable to being questioned by a nosy passenger. He could simply say he was tired and drop his arm back over his eyes, but maybe he wasn’t yet at the age where he thought he could get away with avoiding questions from adults.
Tikaya lifted a hand to signal that she’d leave him alone, and only said, “If I can help you with anything, let me know.”
At least she’d initiated contact and let the boy know she spoke his language. Maybe he’d be more talkative if she tried again later.
Before the Nurian could close his eyes and resume his rest, the captain clomped down the steps. “The mate has work for you two,” he barked.
The scrubbing boy gathered his brush and bucket and scurried up the steps. Garchee was slower to comply, wincing when his feet hit the deck, but he shambled after the other youth. He kept his head down as he eased around his commander. The captain did not acknowledge his passing. Instead, he stalked toward Tikaya, ducking ceiling beams as he pulled out something long, narrow, and wrapped in black velvet.
She dropped her legs over the edge of the hammock and sat up. Something intangible, like the whisper of a breeze, stirred gooseflesh on her arms. Though she’d not had the feeling in some weeks, she recognized it instantly: a signal that a tool crafted from the mental sciences was nearby.
“Got something for you to look at.” The captain glanced toward the stairs—he was being careful to keep his back to them—before unwrapping his parcel.
Tikaya waited without commenting, though curiosity bubbled up inside. Maybe the captain and the mate wanted her to help with some relic they’d recovered in their adventures. Maybe they weren’t pirates or thieves after all. Of course, they might have
stolen
their prize and were now running from the owner. That could explain the battle damage they’d been repairing, an oddity on a craft with so few guns of its own.