Into the Thinking Kingdoms (35 page)

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Authors: Alan Dean Foster

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BOOK: Into the Thinking Kingdoms
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“Ayesh, there are ships that cross the Semordria.” He spoke around the stem of a scrimshawed pipe that seemed to grow directly from his mouth, like the extended tooth of a narwhal. “More set sail westward than return. But now and again some master mariner reappears laden with wonderful goods and even better stories. Such captains are rare indeed. They never change ships because their owners keep them content. Their crews adore them and are spoiled for use on other vessels. Having sailed under the best, they refuse to haul a line for anyone not as skilled.”
Ehomba listened intently, making sure to let the mate finish before asking any more questions. “Where might we find such a ship, with such a crew?”
Squinting at the sky and focusing on a hovering cloud that might or might not contain a portion of the evening’s rain, the mate thought carefully before replying.
“Among those of us who sail the Eynharrowk, the
Warebeth
has passed beyond reverence into legend. It is rumored that she has made twelve complete crossings of the Semordria without losing more than the expected number of seamen. I have never heard of her taking passengers, but then it is not the sort of trip most landsmen would consider. Certainly she’s large enough to accommodate guests.” As he related this information the mate kept nodding to himself, eyes half closed.
“A three-master, solid of keel and sound of beam. If any ship would take landsmen on such an arduous voyage, ayesh, it would be the
Warebeth.
”
“Excellent,” declared Ehomba. “Where do we find this craft?”
Removing his pipe, a process that somewhat surprisingly did not require a minor surgical procedure, the mate tapped the bowl gently against the side of a nearby piling. “Sadly, friends, the
Warebeth
left yesterday morning for a two-month journey upriver to the Thalgostian villages. If you’re willing to wait for her return, you might have yourselves a ship.” He placed the stem of the pipe back between his yellow-brown teeth.
“Two months.” Ehomba’s expression fell. “Are there no other choices?”
Sea dragonets perched on a nearby piling sang to one another, punctuating their songs with intermittent puffs of smoke. “Ayesh, maybe one.” Turning, the mate pointed downriver, his finger tracing the line of the waterfront walk. “Try the out-end of quay thirty-six. If I’m not mistaken, the
Grömsketter
is still there. Captain Stanager Rose on deck, unless there’s been a change of command since last I heard of her. She’s done the Semordria transit more than once, though how many times I couldn’t tell you. Not the wave piercer the
Warebeth
is, but a sound ship nonetheless. Whether she’ll take wayfarers or not, much less landsmen, I don’t know. But if she’s still in port, she’s your only other hope.”
Ehomba bowed his head and dipped the point of his spear in the mate’s direction. “Many thanks to you, sir. We can but try.”
“Can but try indeed, bruther.” Simna stayed close to the herdsman as they left the pier and began once more to push their way through the dynamic, industrious crowds. Behind them, the broad beam of Hunkapa Aub kept potential pickpockets and busybodies away by sheer force of his hulking presence. Given a space of his own by the crowd, which despite its preoccupations nevertheless kept well clear of the big cat, the black litah amused itself by pausing every so often to inspect pilings and high water for potentially edible harbor dwellers.
It turned out that in his eulogistic description of the
Warebeth
and its accomplishments, the neighborly and helpful mate had underrated the
Grömsketter.
To Ehomba’s inexperienced eye it looked like a fine ship, with broad, curving sides and a high helm deck. There was only a single mainmast, but a second smaller foremast looked able to carry a respectable spread of sail between its crest and the bowsprit. Heavy-weather shutters protected the ports, and Simna pointed out that her lines were triple instead of double braided. Even to his eyes, she was rigged for serious weather. Her energetic crew looked competent and healthy.
As he contemplated the craft, the herdsman sought his companion’s opinion. “What do you think, Simna?”
“I’m no mariner, Etjole.” The swordsman scrutinized the vessel from stem to stern. “Give me something with legs to ride, any day. But I’ve spent some time on boats, and from what little I know she looks seaworthy enough. Surely no sailor would set out to traverse the Semordria on a craft he wasn’t convinced would carry him across and back again.”
Ehomba nodded once. Together they walked to the base of the boarding ramp. A few sailors were traveling in both directions along its length, but for the most part the majority of activity was taking place on board.
Putting his free hand alongside his mouth, the herdsman hailed the deck. “Hello! We are travelers seeking to cross the ocean, and were told you might be of service in such a matter!”
A tall, broad-chested seaman stopped coiling the rope he was working with to lean toward them. He was entirely bald except for a topknot of black hair that fell in a single thick braid down his back.
“You want passage across the Semordria?” A tense Ehomba nodded in the affirmative, waiting for the expected laugh of derision.
But the sailor neither laughed nor mocked him. “That’s quite a pair you have with you. Are they pets, or tamed for sale?”
The black litah snarled up at the deck. “Come down here, man, and I’ll show you who’s a pet.”
“Bismalath!”
the man exclaimed. “A talking cat, and one of such a size and shape as I have never seen. And the other beast, it is also new to me.” He beckoned to the travelers. “I am Terious Kemarkh, first mate of the
Grömsketter.
Come aboard, and we will see about this request of yours.”
As they started up the ramp, a subdued but still obviously eager Ehomba in the lead, he called across to the mate. “Then you are preparing for a crossing of the Semordria?”
“Ayesh, but it’s not up to me to decide whether you can, or should, travel with us.” Completing the coil he had been working on when they had first arrived, he let it fall heavily to the deck. “That’s a decision for the Captain to make.”
Once aboard, the travelers saw that everything they had suspected about the
Grömsketter
continued to hold true. She was solid and well maintained, with no rigging lying loose to trip an unwary sailor and her teak worn smooth and clean. Lines were neatly stowed and all hatches not in use firmly secured.
The mate greeted them with hearty handshakes, electing to wave instead of accepting the affable Aub’s extended paw. “A seaman has constant need of the use of his fingers,” Terious explained in refusing the handshake. “Come with me.”
He led them toward the stern and the raised cabin there. Bidding them wait, he vanished through an open hatchway like a mouse into its hole. Several moments passed, during which the travelers were able to observe the crew. For their part, the mariners were equally curious about their unfamiliar visitors. Several tried to feel of the litah’s fur, only to be warned off by intimidating coughs.
Hoping that their host would return before the big cat’s patience wore thin and it decided to remove an arm or other available extremity from some member of the crew, Ehomba was relieved when Terious popped back out of the hatchway. His expression was encouraging.
“Though in a surly mood, the Captain has agreed to hear you out. I explained as best I could that you were not from the valley of the Eynharrowk and had obviously traveled a great distance to try and effect this transit. I pointed out that with the
Warebeth
having already sailed, and upriver at that, the
Grömsketter
was your last best hope of crossing the ocean.” Stepping out on the deck, he waited alongside them.
Both travelers studied the dark opening. “What sort of man is this Stanager Rose?” Simna asked anxiously.
The first mate’s expression did not change. “Wait just a moment and you will see for yourself.”
A muttered curse rose from below and a figure started to rise toward the light. An open-necked seaman’s blouse was pushed into bright red pants with yellow striping, the legs of which were in turn tucked into boots of durable black stingray leather. A tousled mop of shoulder-length red hair was held away from the face by a wide yellow bandanna. A sextant hung from one hand, and a long dagger was slung through a double loop at the waist. Its haft was impressively jeweled.
Ehomba bowed once again. “We thank you for allowing us on board your ship, Captain, and for deigning to consider our request for transportation.”
“Right. That’s all it is right now, traveler—a request. But I’ll give you a hearing.” Steel-blue eyes looked the herdsman up and down, speculating openly. “Terious was right: You are a spectacle all by yourself, tall man. Taken together with your companions, you’re unnatural enough to claim a marketplace stage and charge admission just to look at you.” A sea-weathered hand reached up and out to come down firmly on Ehomba’s shoulder.
“Despite what you may have heard, it can get tiresome out in the middle of the ocean. Even on the Semordria. At such times, new entertainment is always welcome.”
“We are not entertainers,” Ehomba explained simply.
“Didn’t say that you were. But you’ll have stories to tell. I can see that just by looking at you.” A hand gestured expansively downward. “You two come with me and we’ll talk. I’m afraid that, garrulous or not, your woolly companions will have to remain on deck, as they’ll never fit through this hatchway.”
Nodding, Ehomba turned to explain the situation to Ahlitah and Hunkapa Aub. Doing so left Simna alone with the Captain. He was trying to think of something to say before his tall friend returned, but with the first mate standing nearby it was difficult to come up with just the right words, and he sensed he would have to be careful. From first sight, Stanager Rose had struck him as someone not to be trifled with. However much he wanted to.
Because, sea-weathered or not, the Captain of the
Grömsketter
was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

 

 

XXIII
A
fter leading them down to the officers’ mess and directing them to their seats, she had drink brought by an attentive mess steward. It was some kind of spiced fruit juice neither Ehomba nor Simna recognized, flavorful but only slightly alcoholic.
“What is this?” Ehomba asked politely.
“Sicharouse. From Calex, across the ocean.” She smiled proudly. “Sealed in oak casks, it ferments during the return crossing and is almost ready to drink when it arrives here in Hamacassar. Turned a tidy profit on it more than once, we have.” Folding her hands on the heavy ship’s table, she stared piercingly at Ehomba. “We leave in two days and I’ve a ship to prepare for departure. You wish passage across the ocean?”
“We do.” As Simna ibn Sind appeared to have been suddenly and uncharacteristically struck dumb, Ehomba found that he had to do all the talking. “We journey to a kingdom called Ehl-Larimar.”
Eyes widening slightly, Stanager leaned into the embrace of her high-backed chair. The swordsman found himself envying the wood. “Heard of the place, but never been there. From what I recall, it lies far inland from any seaport. It’s certainly not close to Calex.” Simna suddenly found his voice: He groaned.
“I understand.” Ehomba was unsurprised and unfazed by this information. “Ultimately reaching Ehl-Larimar is our business. But to get there we must first cross the ocean.”
She nodded once, curtly. “We have space, and I am willing to take you.” Her eyes met Simna’s. “Even though it’s transparently clear there’s not a seaman among you. You and your creatures would have to stay out of the way of my crew. You wouldn’t be confined to quarters, mind. I just ask that you be careful where you go, when you go, and what you do when you get there.”
“Not long ago we crossed the Aboqua,” he told her, “and gave the crew that attended to our needs no cause for complaint.”
Turning her head to her left, she spat contemptuously. “The Aboqua! A pond, for children to splash in. I’ve beaten through storms that were bigger than the Aboqua. But at least you know what saltwater smells like.” To Simna’s chagrin, she returned her full attention to Ehomba. “What can you pay?”
It was the herdsman’s turn to be rendered speechless. In the excitement of searching out and finally finding a ship to carry them, he had completely forgotten that payment for their passage would doubtless be demanded. The oversight was understandable. Among the Naumkib such matters arose but infrequently, when the village received one of its rare visits from a trader making the long trek north from Wallab or Askaskos.
Unable to reply, he turned to his more worldly friend. Simna could only shrug helplessly. “If you’re thinking of the Chlengguu gold, it’s all gone, bruther. We’ve spent every last coin. I know what you’re thinking, but there’s none tucked away in my pack or my shirt. More’s the pity. I should have secreted some more away.”
Stanager listened silently to the brief byplay. “Do you have anything to trade? Anything of significant value you would be willing to part with?”
The swordsman started to respond, but Ehomba stopped him before the words could leave his mouth. “No! We’ve risked our lives to save Ahlitah from just such a fate. I will not see him sold to satisfy my own needs.”
Simna eyed him sharply. “Not even to get yourself across the Semordria?”
“Not even for that.” The herdsman looked back at the Captain. “We have very few possessions, and these we need.”
She nodded tersely, her red hair rippling, and started to rise from the table. “Then I wish you good fortune in your difficult endeavors, gentlemen. Now if you will excuse me, I have a long and strenuous voyage ahead of me, and many last-minute preparations to supervise.” The audience was at an end.
Ehomba did not panic. It was not an emotion he was heir to. But seeing their best and only hope of crossing the ocean about to walk out the door, he certainly became uncommonly anxious. A sudden thought made him rise halfway from his own chair as he raised his voice.
“Wait! Please, one moment.”
An impatient look on her deeply tanned face, Stanager Rose hesitantly resumed her seat. Simna was eyeing his tall friend curiously. The swordsman expected the herdsman to start digging through his pack, but this was not what happened. Instead, Ehomba reached down and fumbled briefly in one of the pockets of his kilt. What he brought out caused Simna’s gaze to narrow.
The Captain nodded at the fist-sized cloth sack. “What’ve you got there, tall man? Gold, silver, trinkets?”
“Pebbles.” Ehomba smiled apologetically. “From a beach near my village. I brought them along to remind me of home, and of the sea. Whenever the longing grew too great, I could always reach into my pocket and rub the pebbles against each other, listen to them scrape and clink.” He handed the sack to Stanager. “Once when I was much younger a trader came to the village from far to the south, farther away even than Askaskos. A friend of mine was playing jump-rock outside his house with some pebbles like these. Passing by, the trader happened to see and admire them. He offered my friend’s family some fine things in exchange. After receiving approval from Asab, the trade was made.” He gestured for the Captain to open the sack.
“If they were valuable to a trader who had come all the way from south of Askaskos, maybe they will have some value to you as well.” He hesitated. “Though I would be sorry to have to give up my little memory bag.”
Stanager was considerate if not hopeful. Taking pity on the lanky foreigner, she pulled the drawstring that closed the neck of the little cloth bag and turned it upside down. The double handful of pebbles promptly spilled out onto the tabletop. Struck by the light that poured in through the ports, the pebbles sparkled brightly. They were rough and sea-tossed, with most of the edges worn off them.
Simna’s eyes opened so wide they threatened to pop right out of his head and roll egglike across the table. Like little else, his reaction did not escape the Captain’s notice.
“So, Owl-eyes, you think these pebbles are valuable too?”
Recovering quickly, the swordsman looked away and exhaled indifferently. “Hoy, what? Oh, perhaps a little. I know very little about such things. To me they’re nothing remarkable, but I believe my friend is right when he says that they might have some value.”
“I see.” Her gaze flicked sharply from one man to the other. “
Ayesh,
I am no expert on ‘pebbles’ either, but my supercargo knows a good deal about stones and their value. We will soon learn if these are worth anything—or if you are trying to cozen me with stories.” Pushing back in her seat, she yelled toward the open doorway. “Terious! Find old Broch and send him down here!”
They waited in silence, the Captain of the
Grömsketter
in all her stern-faced beauty, Ehomba smiling hopefully, and Simna gazing off into the distance with studied indifference.
“What are you gaping at, little man?” an irritated Stanager finally asked the swordsman.
“Hoy, me? Why nothing, Captain, nothing at all. I believe I was momentarily stunned, is all.”
She chuckled softly. “The last man who tried to compliment his way into my berth found himself traveling in the bilges until we reached the town of Harynbrogue. By that time he was so ready to get off the
Grömsketter
he didn’t much care what I or anyone else look like. You could smell him making his way into town even after he was well off the ship.”
Simna adopted an expression so serious Ehomba had to turn away to smother a laugh. “Why Captain, you wrong me deeply! Such a notion would never cross my mind!” Solemnly, he placed one hand over his heart. “Know that I have taken a vow of celibacy until we have successfully concluded our journey, and that every member of this crew, be they male or female, need have no concerns along such lines when in my presence.”
Stanager was still smiling. “I think you are one of the more notable liars I have ever hosted on this ship, but since you will in all likelihood be off it in a few moments, your dubious protestations of innocence do not matter.” She turned as a figure darkened the doorway. “Broch, come in.”
Weatherbeaten as a spar at the end of its useful life, the supercargo entered on bowed legs. He was even shorter than Simna, and considerably thinner. But the wrinkled, leathery brown skin on his arms covered a lean musculature that resembled braided bullwhips. His fulsome beard was gray with a few remaining streaks of black, and his eyes were sharp and alert.
Stanager gestured at the collection of tumbled pebbles spread out on the mess table. “Tell me, what do you think of these?”
The old man looked, and though it seemed impossible, his eyes grew even wider than had the swordsman’s.
“Memoch gharzanz!”
he exclaimed in a language neither Ehomba nor Simna recognized. “Where—where did these come from, Captain?”
She gestured at Ehomba. “These gentlemen together with their two, um, nonhuman companions desire to make the Semordria crossing with us. This is what they offer in payment. Is it sufficient?”
Seating himself at the table, the old mariner removed a small magnifying lens from a pants pocket. It was secured to the interior of the pocket, Ehomba noted, by a strong string. Bending low, he examined several of the pebbles, taking them up one at a time and turning them over between his fingers, making sure the light struck them from different angles. After studying half a dozen of the pebbles, he sat back in his chair and repocketed the glass.
“These are the finest diamonds I have ever seen. Half are flawless, and the other half fine enough to grace the best work of a master jeweler.”
“That’s for the clear ones,” Simna agreed even though he was as surprised as anyone else at the table, “but what kind of stones are the others?”
“They are
all
diamonds,” Broch explained. “Clear, yellow, blue, red, green, and pink, diamonds all. Mostly three to four carats, some smaller, a couple as large as six.” Swallowing, he eyed the tranquil herdsman intently. “Where did you get these, foreigner?”
“There is a beach near my village.”
“Ah.” The supercargo nodded sagely. “You picked them out of the gravel on this beach.”
“No,” Ehomba explained quietly. “I just grabbed up a handful or two and dropped them in my little bag.” He indicated the scattering of sparklers that decorated the tabletop. “The whole beach is like this. The pebbles are all the same. Except for the different colors, of course.” His smile was almost regretful. “I wish I had known that they were so valuable. I would have brought more.”
“More.” The old man swallowed hard.
Ehomba shrugged. “Sometimes the waves wash away all the pebbles and leave behind only sand. After a big storm the pebbles may lie as deep on the shore as a man’s chest. At such times, when the sun comes out, the beach is very pretty.”
“Yes,” murmured the supercargo. He looked slightly shell-shocked. “Yes, I would imagine it is.” Shaking his head, he turned to the expectant Stanager. “They have enough to book passage, Captain—or to buy the ship many times over. Take them. Give them the finest cabin. If they wish, they may have my own and I will sleep belowdecks with the rest of the crew. Give them anything they want.”
“Really,” an embarrassed Ehomba demurred, “passage will be quite sufficient. Our two large friends can find room in your hold, among your cargo.”
“Done.” Reaching across the table, Stanager shook the tall southerner’s hand. “You really didn’t know these stones were diamonds, or that they were valuable?”
“Oh, they have always been valuable to me,” Ehomba conceded. “Feeling of them reminds me of home.” He glanced over at the supercargo. “Take your payment, please.”
“A
fair
payment,” Simna interjected in no-nonsense tones. “We’ve hidden nothing from you, been completely up-front. As the old man says, we could always buy ourselves a ship.”
“Ayesh,” agreed Stanager, “but it wouldn’t be the
Grömsketter,
and whatever crew you engaged wouldn’t be the
Grömsketter
’s crew. Have no fear, foreigner—this is an honorable vessel crewed by honest seamen.” She nodded at her supercargo. “Take the payment, Broch.”
Licking his lips, the elderly mariner contemplated the riches strewn so casually before him. Finally, after much deliberation, he settled on the second-largest stone, a perfect deep pink diamond of some six carats.
“This one, I think.” Hesitating to see if the owners objected, he then quickly plucked the rough gem from the table. “And a few of the smaller.” He smiled. “To give the selection a nice play of color.” Having made his choices, he handed them to Stanager.
“Thank you, Broch.” She deposited them in her empty drinking mug. “Please wait outside for us.”
“Thank you, Captain.” He turned to leave.
“Just a second.” Simna was smiling knowingly. “What about the one that ‘accidentally’ got caught under your fingernail? Middle finger of the left hand, I believe?”
“What? Oh, this.” Feigning confusion, the old man removed a half-carat stone from beneath the offending nail and placed it back on the table. “Sorry. These small stones, you know, are like sand. They can get caught up in anything.”

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