A Secret Atlas (29 page)

win a prize from me. My eternal adoration? My family’s wealth of geographical

knowledge? The fortune that has earned us? I don’t know what you thought you would

get. What I was offering you
was
my heart, my devotion, my
love,
and you spurned it.

“And now you come to me and tell me that you
forgive
me and that I shouldn’t

feel
guilty
for your having been whipped? Right now, Majiata, right now”—his voice began to rise and he exercised no restraint—“I wish you’d gotten the full measure of the Prince’s

threat. I’d have been dead, but that would have been fine. Better me dead and you broken

than your believing in your delusions.”

All color had drained from her face. “You are not well. Clearly the Viruk venom has addled

you.”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her with his left hand and spun her back. “Not so

fast.”

“Unhand me.”

“Not yet, for, in the spirit of the Festival, I would tell you something.” He held her tightly in that one hand, certain his fingers would leave bruises on her upper arm. “I
would
be

inclined to forgive you for the scars on my back and the fact that I’m being sent into the

Wastes, but my doing that would require a few things from you. First would be an

acknowledgment that you
are
responsible for what happened to both of us. Yes, I acted to safeguard you, no denying that, but I never would have had to act were you not

unthinking, petulant, and so self-absorbed that you believe the world is centered on you.”

Her eyes went flat, and he knew nothing was getting through. It didn’t matter, though, for

he had an audience and other ears to fill. “Well, Majiata, the Anturasi know, better than

anyone else in the world, that all creation is
not
centered on you. We explore the world.

We broaden it. Those who are capable of seeing outside themselves understand what a

wonder that is. We make the world bigger and that just makes you smaller. Of course,

making you smaller than you make yourself is tough, but you know what?”

He tossed off the last of his wine with relish and deposited the cup in her hands.

“I’m going into the Wastes . . . happily . . . joyously . . . all because I’ll be very far away from
you
.”

3rd day, Month of the Dog, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Stormwolf,
Moriande

Nalenyr

Jorim Anturasi planted fists on his hips as he mounted the deck of the
Stormwolf
. The

massive ship rose and fell ever so slightly under his feet. The Gold River’s sluggish

current did pull at the ship, but its sheer size and weight made it resistant to the river’s

efforts to move it. Above him, purple silk sails hung furled from crosstrees on each of nine

masts. On other ships, some of the nine would be purely ornamental, but on this ship

there was nothing that was not meant to be functional.

“If I could beg your pardon.” A slight voice came from behind him. “You are blocking the

gangway.”

“So I am.” Jorim stepped aside and watched a small man come aboard, bent almost

double beneath an overstuffed bag. He wore a good blue robe and, despite having lost

most of his hair, looked young. He certainly wasn’t a sailor or soldier.
What is he doing

here?

The Anturasi grabbed the bag and lifted it from the man’s back with one hand. “Have you

a concubine hidden in here?”

The little man straightened, his face tight with surprise. “No, I have only necessities.” His

voice took on a bit of an edge. “I do not require your aid with it, either.”

Jorim bit back a riposte. The blue robe had a yellow sash, which was not unusual for one

who functioned as a minor clerk in a ministry, but the ends had been embroidered with a

coiled dragon. That meant the man had some sort of court appointment and if someone so

unsuited to the voyage were on the ship by court choice, he was not a quantity to be made

sport of until his measure had been taken.

Jorim set the bag on the deck. “I beg your pardon. I am Jorim Anturasi.”

“And I am . . . did you say
Anturasi
?”

“Yes.”

The man snapped forward in a deep bow. “Forgive me for speaking sharply to you,

Master.”

Jorim took him by the shoulders and forced him to straighten up again. “No forgiveness

necessary. You were telling me your name.”

“He would be Iesol Pelmir.” The new voice came from a tall woman with dark hair and

hazel eyes. Though she was slender, neither her voice nor stance suggested weakness.

Despite her relative youth, she wore a captain’s robe. It and her mien underscored her

strength of personality. “I would see the both of you in my cabin.
Immediately.
”

“As you will it, Captain Gryst.” Iesol fell in behind her, then hesitated, torn, half-turning

back for his bag.

Jorim hefted it again and swung it easily onto his own back. Iesol’s look of horror was

reward enough as Jorim followed the two toward the ship’s stern and the cabins below the

steersman’s deck. He deposited the sack in the narrow passage outside the captain’s

cabin and followed Iesol.

He’d expected a cramped cabin, but found himself pleasantly surprised. The rear

bulkhead had been made of shutters which, when open as they were now, admitted light

and air while affording a wonderful view of Moriande and the river. Lamps hung on chains

from rafters above the edges of an ancient desk. Off to the right lay the captain’s bunk and

wardrobe. The area to the left of her desk had been set with a table and chairs, clearly

serving as a dining and entertaining area.

But Captain Gryst offered neither Iesol nor Jorim a seat. The little man glanced around

nervously, but Jorim calmly planted his feet and clasped his hands at the small of his

back. He had an idea what was coming and braced himself for it.

Anaeda Gryst positioned herself behind her desk, allowing the cityscape to silhouette her.

She rested her hands on the desktop and studied papers filled with long columns of script.

Her voice began low, but in it Jorim could hear the commanding tone of a leader.

“This is a talk I expected I would only have to give your brother once, Jorim. You might

require it
twice,
but you’ll not get it a third time. In lieu of that, I’ll be leaving you on the nearest rock with fresh water. As for you, Minister Pelmir, I never expected to be giving

you this talk at all. I understand that Minister Hisatal has new duties that require him to

remain on dry land; hence you have been foisted on us.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Her head came up quickly and the small man shook. “When I want you to speak, Minister,

I will invite you to do so. I did not ask you a question, nor do I require confirmation of

something I already knew. I have no idea why
you
were chosen to replace him—what evil,

perceived or real, you performed to get this berth—but . . . Yes, you wish to tell me?”

“Is that a question?”

Her eyes tightened and Jorim began to find her attractive. At least ten years his senior,

her flesh had been darkened by wind, sun, and sea. Her hazel eyes were of the kind

considered handsome within the aristocracy, and the sense of character that shone

through them was riveting. Unlike the women of his class and society, she had steel in her

spine and a mind attuned not to artificial nuances, but to those things that could and did

make the difference between life and death.

“Tell me, Minister.”

“I-I asked to be assigned to the
Stormwolf
.”

She turned her head slightly to the left and said nothing for a moment. Then, coming

upright, she regarded him openly. “Interesting. That makes you even more of a candidate

for this talk, so I’ll begin. This is the
Stormwolf
. I am her captain. On this ship, my word is law. If an event is entered into the ship’s log, it is a fact. If it is not, it never happened. I will require meticulous care be given to the log and account books, but I will review and edit

as I see fit. The Prince, in his wisdom, wishes to know all but needs not be burdened with

details of no consequence.”

Her gaze shifted from the clerk to Jorim, and he felt a jolt. “You are an adventurer. Your

passion, your life, your vocation demand you take chances, and I will expect you to do just

that. On land. You do that on my ship and I’ll have you clapped in irons and stowed below

with the ratters and other livestock. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“This ship has over a thousand crew, plus a hundred and eighty concubines and ninety

distinguished scholars, guests, and assorted others. To actually
sail
this ship I require four hundred and fifty. Attrition can and will occur, but it is my intention to keep it to a minimum.

I want to come back with at least ninety percent of those I go out with, and if we come

back with more, I will be very pleased.

“This ship is as much a village as it is a vessel. The sailors have been drawn from the best

of the Naleni fleet. All have volunteered. All are hoping for riches and glory, but they know

all they’ll be certain of getting is food, water, and older. I don’t know what your thoughts

are on the chances for riches and glory. I don’t care. What I care is that you’re not going

about spreading stories that promise much and deliver nothing.”

She pointed at Jorim. “You, very specifically, are going to be a problem. You have very

little to do while on board. I suggest you find something to do. Learn how to play an

instrument. Visit every concubine we have. Join the scholars in intellectual discussions.

Do
something,
because if I find you to be disruptive, I will find you something to do. And I can guarantee it will not be pleasant.

“As for you, Minister, I will run you ragged. If you get a chance to draw an idle breath it is

because you are shirking duty. You will be available to me at all hours. You will report

instantly, you will draft orders, follow orders, and report back promptly and accurately. No

excuses, no tardiness, no laziness.”

Iesol bobbed his head.

“Has either of you anything to say?”

Jorim nodded. “Permission to speak, Captain.”

She eyed him up and down, then nodded. “Granted.”

“First, I wish to apologize for not having reported before this. I know we will sail with the

tide tonight. But I have spent much of the time leading up to this closeted with my

grandfather and I have with me the best possible charts.”

“Very good.”

“Second, I fully acknowledge you as the Master of this ship, and I shall obey you in all

things—save one.”

Anaeda Gryst’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not listen to what I said?”

“Please, Captain.” Jorim held a hand up. “No disrespect intended, but I have orders from

the Prince to attend to the device in my cabin without failing. If my obligation to deal with it is, in my opinion, more important than your current order, I will do my duty to the Crown.”

“We will discuss that point more, Master Anturasi.” She folded her arms beneath her

breasts. “And you, Minister? What have you to say?”

Iesol bowed his head to her. “I understand all you have said and will obey. I am not the

person who was meant to be here, but I will work very hard to prove to you that fortune

has been kind in appointing me to this position. If there is any service you require of me,

Captain, I shall not hesitate to acquit it.”

The hint of a smile curled the corners of her mouth. “You are from which Ministry?”

“I have studied for Protocol, Etiquette, and Diplomacy, as well as Regulation, and have all

the training for Accounting and Economics. I most recently served Harmony.”

“You did not answer the question.”

His shoulders slumped a bit. “As yet, Captain, I have not been acknowledged by a

Ministry.”

Jorim felt a tug at his heart for the small man. As with any trade, a person studied and

worked hard to be accepted into his occupational community. Captain Gryst had proven,

through her past voyages, to be worthy of the great command she had been given.

Though Jorim’s grandfather often was displeased with him, he, too, had been accepted as

a cartographer in his own right. In both their cases, the laws of the land dictated the

minimums they could be paid, the sort of treatment they would receive, their social

standing, and the like.

Iesol had not yet been acknowledged. While he could and clearly did function as a clerk or

employee—probably for the very Minis-tries that would not acknowledge him—without

their sanction he had few, if any, rights. Had he a powerful patron, his position in a

Ministry could have been assured, which would pave the way to a known and stable

future. Without it, however, he worked at the whim of others and could be used as a pawn

in any manner of political situations.

“Were you promised acknowledgment if you returned?”

“Not precisely, Captain, but the indications were strong.”

She nodded. “As I said, my word here is law. Serve me well and, if the voyage is two

years in duration, you will have served the Maritime Ministry for long enough that

they
must
acknowledge you. They have reciprocity with the other Ministries. It seems