The Book of Taltos (33 page)

“I don’t know, Vladimir. I
do
love you, but there’s so much between us now.”

“I could leave the Organization,” I said. This wasn’t the first time I’d said that.

“Not until and unless you want to for your own reasons, not because I disapprove.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said that, either. It was ironic, too; she’d once been part of one of the most feared teams of assassins ever to haunt the alleys of Adrilankha.

We were silent for a while, while I tried to decide how to tell her about the rest of the day’s events. Finally I said, “I’m going to be leaving for a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. A job. Out of town. Across the great salt sea. Out past the horizon. To sail beyond the—”

“When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. Not more than a week or two, I hope.”

“Write when you find work,” she said.

Transportation

I
CAN’T TELL YOU
much about Northport (which ought to have been called Westport, but never mind) because I didn’t really see it. I saw the area near the waterfront, which compared pretty poorly to the waterfront of Adrilankha. It was dirtier and emptier, with fewer inns and more derelicts. It occurred to me in the first few minutes, before I’d even recovered from the teleport, that this was because Adrilankha was still a busy port, whereas Northport had never recovered from Adron’s Disaster and the Interregnum.

Yet there were, once or twice a day, ships that left for Elde or returned from there, as well as a few that went up and down the coast. Of the ships leaving for Elde, many stopped at Greenaere, which was more or less on the way, taking tides and winds into account. (Personally I knew nothing about tides or winds, but as I also knew almost nothing about where these islands could be found, I had no trouble believing what I was told.)

In any case, I located a ship in less than an hour and had only a few hours’ wait. I had arrived in the early afternoon. We weighed anchor just before dusk.

I sometimes wonder if sailors don’t get lessons in how to do strange and confusing things, just to impress the rest of us. There were ten of them, pulling on ropes, tying things, untying things, setting boxes down, and striding
purposefully along the deck. The captain introduced herself as Baroness Mul-something-or-other-inics, but the name I caught was Trice, when they didn’t call her “Captain.” She was stocky for a Dragaeran, with a pinched-in face and an agitated manner. The only other officer was named Yinta, who had a long nose over a wide mouth and always looked like she was half asleep.

The captain welcomed me aboard with no great enthusiasm and a gentle request to “keep your arse out of our way, okay, Whiskers?” Loiosh, riding on my shoulder, generated more interest but no comments. Just as well. The ship was one of those called a “skip”; intended, I’m told, for short ocean jaunts. She was about sixty feet long, and had one mast with two square sails, one with a little triangular sail in front, and a third holding a slightly larger square one in back. I settled down on the deck between a couple of large barrels that smelled of wine. The wind made nice snapping sounds on the sails as they were secured, at which time some ropes were undone and we were pushed away from the dock by a couple of shore hands wielding poles I couldn’t have lifted. Shore hands, crew, and officers were all of the House of the Orca. The mast held a flag which showed an orca and a spear and what looked like the tower of a castle or fort.

Before leaving, I had been given a charm against seasickness. I touched it now and was glad it was there. The boat went up and down, although, frankly, not as much as I’d been afraid it would.

“I’ve never been on one of these before, Loiosh.”

“Me, neither, boss. Looks like fun.”

“I hope so.”

“Better than basements in South Adrilankha.”

“I hope so.”

In the setting sun, I saw the edge of the harbor. There was more activity among the sailors, and then we were in the open sea. I touched the charm again, wondering if I’d be able to sleep. I made myself as comfortable as I could and tried to think cheery thoughts.

W
HEN
I
THINK OF
the House of the Orca, I mostly think of the younger ones, say a hundred or a hundred and fifty years old, and mostly male. When
I was young I’d run into groups of them, hanging around near my father’s restaurant being tough and annoying passersby; especially Easterners and especially me. I’d always wondered why it was Orca who did that. Was it just that they spent so much time alone while their family was out on the seas? Had it something to do with the orca itself, swimming around, often in packs, killing anything smaller than itself? Now I know: It was because they ate so much salted kethna.

Please understand, I don’t dislike salted kethna. It’s tough and rather plain, yes, but not inherently unpleasant. But as I sat in my little box on the
Chorba’s Pride,
huddled against the cold morning breeze, and was handed a couple of slabs with a piece of flatbread and a cup of water, I realized that they must eat a great deal of it, and that, well, this could do things to a person. It isn’t their fault.

The wind was in my face the next morning as I looked forward, making me wonder how the winds could propel the ship, but I didn’t ask. No one seemed especially friendly. I shared the salted kethna with Loiosh, who liked it more than I did. I didn’t think about what I was going to do, because there would be no point in doing so. I didn’t know enough yet, and empty speculation can lead to preconceptions, which can lead to errors. Instead I studied the water, which was green, and listened to the waves lapping on the sides of the ship and to the conversation of the sailors around me. They swore more than Dragons, although with less imagination.

The man who’d delivered the food stood next to me, staring out into the sea, chewing on his own. I was the last to be fed, apparently. I studied his face. It was old and wrinkled, with eyes very deep set and light blue, which is unusual in a Dragaeran of any kind. He studied the sea with a detached interest, as if communing with it.

I said, “Thanks for the food.” He grunted, his eyes not leaving the sea. I said, “Looking for something in particular?”

“No,” he said in the clipped accent of the eastern regions of the Empire, making it sound like “new.”

There is, indeed, a steady rocking motion to a ship, not unlike my own experience with horses (which I won’t detail, if it’s all the same to you). But, within the steady motion, no two actions of the ship are precisely the same.
I studied the ocean with my companion for a while and said, “It never stops, does it?”

He looked at me for the first time, but I couldn’t read his expression. He turned back to the sea and said, “No, she never stops. She’s always the same, and she’s always moving. I never get tired of watching her.” He nodded to me and moved back toward the rear of the ship. The stern, they call it.

Off to the left, the side I was on, a pair of orca surfaced for a moment, then dived. I kept watching, and it happened again, somewhat closer, then yet a third time. They were sleek and graceful; proud. They were very beautiful.

“Yes, they are,” said Yinta, appearing next to me.

I turned and looked at her. “What?”

“They are, indeed, beautiful.”

I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. I nodded and turned back toward the sea, but they didn’t reappear.

Yinta said, “Those were shorttails. Did you notice the white splotches on their backs? When they’re young they tend to travel in pairs. Later they’ll gather into larger groups.”

“Their tails didn’t seem especially short,” I remarked.

“They weren’t. They were both females; the males have shorter tails.”

“Why is that?”

She frowned. “It’s the way they are.”

There were gulls above us, many flying low over the water. I’d been told that this meant we were near land, but I couldn’t see any. There were few other signs of life. Such a large body of water, and we were so alone there. The sails were full and made little sound, save for creaking of the boom every now and then in response to a slight turn of ship or wind. Earlier, they had made snapping sounds as the wind changed its mind more quickly about where it wanted us to go and how fast it wanted us to get there. During the night I had become used to the motion of the ship, so now I hardly noticed it.

Greenaere was somewhere ahead. Something like two hundred thousand Dragaerans lived there. It was an island about a hundred and ten miles long, and perhaps thirty miles wide, looking on my map like a banana, with a crooked stem on the near side. The port was located where the stem joined
the fruit. The major city, holding maybe a tenth of the population, was about twelve miles inland from the stem. Twelve miles; about half a day’s walk, or, according to the notes Kragar had furnished, fifteen hours aboard a pole raft.

The wind changed, sending the boom creaking ponderously over my head. The captain lay on her back, hands behind her head, smoking a short pipe with a sort of umbrella over the top of it, I suppose to keep the spray out. The change in wind direction brought me the brief aroma of burning tobacco, out of place with the sea smells I was now used to. Yinta leaned against the railing.

“You were born to this, weren’t you?” I said.

She turned and studied me. Her eyes were grey. “Yes,” she said at last. “I was.”

“Going to have your own ship, one of these days?”

“Yes.”

I turned back to the sea. It seemed smooth, the green waves painted against the orange-red Dragaeran horizon. I understood seascapes. I looked back for the first time, but, of course, the mainland had long since passed from sight.

“Not one of these, though,” said Yinta.

I turned back, but she was looking past me, at the endless sea. “What?”

“I won’t be captain of one of these. Not a little trading boat.”

“What, then?”

“There are stories of whole lands beyond the sea. Or beneath them, some say. Beyond the Maelstrom, where no ships pass. Except that, maybe, some do. The whirlpools aren’t constant, you know. And there is always talk of ways around them, even though we have charts that show only the Grey Rocks on one side, and the Spindrift Lands on the other. But there is talk of other ways, of exploring Spindrift and launching a ship from there. Of places that can be reached, where people speak strange languages and have magics of which we’ve never heard, where even the Orb is powerless.”

I said, “I’ve heard the Orb is powerless in Greenaere.”

She shrugged, as if this interested her not at all; nothing as commonplace as Greenaere mattered. Her hair was short and brown and curled tightly, although less so as it became wet in the spray. Her wide Orca face was weathered, so she seemed older than she probably was. The wind changed
again, followed by ringing of bells that were tied high on what they called the head stay. I’d asked what that was for just before the boom hit me in the back. Funny people, Orca. This time I ducked, while someone said something about tightening the toesail, or perhaps tying it; I couldn’t hear clearly over the creaking of the masts and the splashing of the waves.

I said, “So you’d like to take a ship through this Maelstrom, to see what’s on the other side?”

She nodded absently, then grinned suddenly. “To tell you the truth, Easterner, what I’d really like to do is design a ship that can stand up to it. My great-great-uncle was a shipwright. He designed the steerage system for the
Luck of the South Wind,
and served on her before the Interregnum. He was aboard her when the breakwaves hit.”

I nodded as if I’d heard of the ship and the “breakwaves.” I said, “Have you married?”

“No. Never wanted to. You?”

“Yes.”

“Mmmm,” she said. “Like it?”

“Sometimes more than other times.”

She chuckled knowingly, although I doubt she did know. “Tell me something: Just what are you going to Greenaere for?”

“Business.”

“What sort of business has us delivering you as cargo?”

“Does the whole crew know about that?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“So what sort of business is it?”

“I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’ve paid for our silence; we have no reason to report every passenger to the Empire, and certainly not to the islanders.”

I didn’t make an answer to this. We spoke no more just then. Currents and hours rolled beneath us. I ate more salted kethna, fed Loiosh, and slept as night collapsed the sea into a small lake which fed waves to the bow of
Chorba’s Pride,
who excreted a narrow wake from her stern.