The Coming Of Wisdom (16 page)

Wallie was already fumbling in his money pouch, two fingers feeling among the coins for the jewels that the demigod had given him. He found one and held it up between thumb and forefinger. “I sold one just like this for three hundred, mistress. So I have the fare. We have a deal.”

She scowled, staring at the tiny blue star. Greed won. “Get them aboard!”

The crew members jumped to obey. Two gates flew open in the ship’s side, and hands reached down. Wind caressed the sails and they billowed joyfully. As Wallie jumped off the lumber, figures emerged from the trees. Tomiyano ran for the poop deck to take the tiller. Jja and Vixini went in one gate, Honakura was almost thrown through the other by Nnanji. More crew members began to spill out from doors in fo’c’sle and poop. Wallie dragged a bewildered Cowie behind him and hurled her up, also.
Sapphire
began to drift away, a gap opening between her fenders and the edge of the dock. Katanji scrambled aboard, pushed by his brother and pulled clear by a sailor. Sorcerers were running for the jetty, anonymous monks in their brown robes and cowls. Nnanji and Wallie grabbed at the sides of their respective gates and their feet were dragged free of the dock. They fell against the ship’s side and for a moment dangled there, boots only inches above the piranha-infested waters. Then they scrambled up and were hauled aboard.

As Wallie rose to his feet, the gate banged shut behind him.

Whew!

†††

The sorcerers had halted halfway along the jetty, beaten. Their leader was a Fourth, and he shook his fist. Wallie waited for spell-casting to begin, but the sinister figures just stood there. Already
Sapphire
was a surprising distance out, turning her bow to open River. Either she was now out of range of magic, or the sorcerers were too winded by their run to chant.

Brota was standing in front of Wallie, feet firmly planted, hand outstretched. Male sailors had clustered around. Their faces were unfriendly, and their hands were behind their backs.

If it had been a test of Wallie’s ability to win his way on board, then he had succeeded. If the right answer had been to stay and fight, then he had failed utterly, delivering the sword of the Goddess to a gang of pirates. He would be feeding fish in minutes.

Nnanji’s boots drummed on the deck, and he appeared from around a dinghy that hung in davits amidships, next to the rail. He stopped, started to raise his hand, and then froze, nonplussed.

Wallie fumbled again in his pouch, deliberately taking much longer than necessary so the watchers would not know that there were more jewels there. “Ah!” He brought out a sapphire and dropped it onto Brota’s fat palm.

She studied it carefully, then slid it into a pocket without offering to give him any change. She held out both hands. Awkwardly he did the same, and they made a four-handed shake, a new custom to Wallie. He thought the tension decreased then.

“Come with me, my lord.” Brota turned on her heel, and sailors made way for her as she headed aft. Nnanji stepped back and almost fell into the hold.

Brota had a rolling, ponderous gait. Wallie followed with his head up, waiting for the knife in his back. It did not come, and a moment later Nnanji fell into step behind him.

Sapphire
’s main deck was small and very cluttered. Wallie had boarded alongside a large open hatch. Immediately aft of that, dinghies restricted the deck on either side. Then he had to detour again for the main mast, and a second hatch behind that, avoiding the stays slanting up from the rail, the bollards and racks of pins and fire buckets that seemed to obtrude everywhere, and also piles of lumber, including planks that he decided must be the hatch covers. It was an obstacle course, and dangerous with the two big hatches open. Women and children had emerged from somewhere to study the intruders with sullen resentment.

Brota was heading to a door below the poop deck—that at least was an empty area, with Tomiyano sitting on a helmsman’s bench, holding the tiller and scowling. Two flights of steps led up there, one in each corner of the main deck, further crowding it. Wallie followed her through the doorway, ducking his head. Nnanji was at his heels.

The room was bright and airy, as big as the poop deck above it, although Wallie’s sword hilt almost touched the beams. The only furniture was a pair of big wooden chests at the back, and the only obstruction the mizzenmast, close to the door—that was why the door was off center, then. There were two large windows in each wall, their louvered shutters open to admit a fine view in all directions.

“This we call the deckhouse, my lord. If you are to be aboard overnight, then it must suffice, for we have no spare cabins.”

“It will serve very well,” Wallie said. “But what do you use this for normally? I wish to inconvenience you as little as possible, mistress.”

The bristly white eyebrows rose slightly. “We eat here when the weather is bad. The children play in it. The watch uses it at night. We can dispense with it for a day or so and not suffer unduly.”

He smiled. He got no answering smile, but her manner was not so hostile as her son’s had been; business was business. Wallie realized that he was not going to be tossed overboard . . . not just yet, at least.

“And what rules would you have us obey, as passengers? I want no trouble, mistress. I come in peace.”

Again mild surprise. “Heads and showers are through the forward door, my lord. I ask that you not go below.”

“Agreed.”

She studied him for a moment and glanced at Nnanji.

“Permit me,” Wallie said, and presented him. Both he and Brota used the civilian gestures—it would be difficult to draw a sword under so low a ceiling. Nnanji was curt, obviously still furious.

“There is one matter that often causes trouble, my lord. I am sure that you are honorable swordsmen—”

“Adept Nnanji and I brought our own slaves. The old man is harmless, and we shall warn the novice. If there is any friction at all, Mistress Brota, please inform me at once.”

She nodded, chins bulging. “You are gracious, Lord Shonsu.”

“And you on your side . . . ”

She frowned. “I apologize for my son’s brusque manner. He . . . You are welcome aboard. We shall serve as the Goddess wills.”

If Tomiyano had been brusque, then Wallie had no need to meet hostile. “I understand that the closest city is Aus, about a half-day’s ride to the north.”

She glanced out at the scenery.
Sapphire
was already in mid-River, heading upstream. “That will be our destination, then. One port will do as well as any other for us. When we have restored trim, we shall make better time.”

Wallie turned to look at the main deck outside. Voices and thumps revealed that work was going on in the holds. From time to time one end of a plank would appear and then disappear again. Some children were kneeling on the deck, watching what was going on below. The cargo had shifted and was being rearranged.

“If a couple of strong backs can be of assistance, mistress . . . ”

He had moved too far out of character; surprise turned to suspicion. “We have more hands available than room to use them, my lord. You will excuse me?”

Wallie watched her waddle out to the deck, that incongruous sword hanging on the plump red back, gray ponytail wagging, fleshy arms swinging. He turned to Nnanji and cut off the protests bursting to emerge. ‘Tell me about female swordsmen, brother?”

Nnanji scowled horribly. “It is one of the things about the water rats that annoy other swordsmen. I have heard it argued several times.” Then he quoted three separate conversations between people whom Wallie had never met. More familiar with legal arguments than Nnanji could ever be, he concluded in his own mind that the sutras did not prohibit female swordsmen. They were ambiguous on the subject, and so the water rats were entitled to their interpretation, but it would be unnerving to find oneself fighting a woman. Strictly speaking
swordsman
had no gender. Swordsperson? How could he think of Nnanji, say, as a
swordsperson
?

“She must have been good in her youth,” he said, “to have won her red. She could probably put up a good defense even now. Too slow for much of an attack . . . ”

Nnanji smirked. “We’re safe enough, then. I saw no others, except Novice Matarro.”

“Did you get a good look at the sailors?”

“Yes. Why?”

Wallie grinned and headed for the door. He was not quick enough. “My lord brother! Two hundred golds is robbery!”

“I agree.”

“Then you will take it back when we reach Aus?” Nnanji’s eyes burned. He was still under the influence of the barracks propaganda, planning to cut off ears, perhaps.

“No, I will not! When I shake hands I stay bound. I certainly hope Mistress Brota does, also.”

Nnanji stared back blankly.

“You didn’t look at the sailors. You’re not thinking. Come on!”

Honakura had perched himself on a fire bucket just outside the door.

“Did you miss any of that?” Wallie inquired waspishly.

The shriveled old face looked up at him. “I don’t think so, my lord. An interesting lady!”

“And a bloodthirsty son!”

“True. Tell me, do you feel spurned now?” The shrewd old eyes were mocking.

Wallie had never considered that he himself might be the mighty one of the riddle. And he had criticized Nnanji for not thinking? There could be none mightier than a swordsman of the Seventh.

“I hope so,” he said thoughtfully. “I should not like to be spurned much more than that.
An army earned
?” He had done nothing so far to earn an army. He tried to guess what Honakura was hinting at. The sly old rogue had seen something. “You think that maybe recruiting in Aus will not be as easy as I am hoping?”

“Perhaps. Have you found any circles to turn, yet?”

“Dammit! What have you worked out?”

“Me, my lord? I am but a poor beggar, an old and humble servant . . . ”

Wallie muttered something vulgar and walked away. The little priest was intolerable when he was in that mood.

The clamor in the holds continued, but
Sapphire
was not listing so badly. Jja was sitting on the deck near the fo’c’sle door, patiently restraining Vixini’s desire to explore the hatch. Cowie was slumped beside them. Katanji was in conversation with two adolescent girls and also Matarro, who was now swordless. He had no ponytail and wore nothing but his breech-clout. At this distance, there was no way to tell that he was not a novice sailor. How many more of the crew were swordsmen?

But the sun was shining, the wind cheerful, and the ship was sliding serenely through the water at a fair rate. Snowcapped peaks of RegiVul loomed along the northeastern skyline, majestic and beautiful.

Wallie walked over to the rail and leaned back against it, studying the deck, the coming and going of people. Nnanji stood beside him, frowning and trying to do the same. Jja rose and came over with Vixini in her arms and Cowie trailing behind.

“You’ve been on ships before, my love,” Wallie said. “How does this one compare?”

She smiled and glanced around the deck. “Only once, master. This one is cleaner.”

“Yes, she’s been well cared for.”
Sapphire
was old—the knots in the deck planks were raised lumps, evidence of many years of wear—but brass shone, paint and varnish glistened, the cables looked strong and new. The people were well groomed and healthy. Except for a couple of old women in gowns and a few bare children, everyone wore a breechclout. The women supplemented it with a bra sash, tied at the back. On some of them the bikini effect could catch male eyes like flypaper.

“You can take that rascal into the deckhouse,” Wallie said as Vixini began struggling furiously. A preadolescent girl had just shepherded two toddlers in there. Cowie followed behind Jja like a tame sheep.

Nnanji growled throatily. A lanky, dark-haired girl of about his own age was scrambling up the ratlines on the far side. Her twin sashes were yellow and even skimpier than most. The action was very interesting.

“Drop it!” Wallie said.

“I can look, can’t I?” Nnanji protested, with mock hurt.

“Not like that, you can’t! There’s steam coming out of your ears, and your ponytail is standing straight up.”

Nnanji chuckled, but he continued to watch intently, craning his head farther and farther back as the girl went higher.

Brota was seated at the tiller, swordless now—a harness would be uncomfortable over a gown. Tomiyano and another sailor had gone up to the fo’c’sle and were working on the capstan, probably trying to free the jammed anchor chain. Both wore brown breechclouts, but the captain also had a leather belt to support the dagger that was his symbol of office. Everyone else was unarmed; there were no weapons in sight.

“When I came aboard and was paying Brota, the men crowded around. Were they holding weapons behind their backs?”

“Yes, my lord brother. Long knives.”

“Where did they put them afterward, did you notice?”

“No,” Nnanji said grumpily. “They’re not very respectful, are they?”

The passengers were mostly being ignored, but Wallie caught hints of resentful glances that he was not supposed to have seen. Apparently the work in the hold was completed, and two men replaced the planks over the hatches. They walked by the two swordsmen several times without even seeming to notice them.

“None too friendly,” Wallie agreed. “What was it the captain said when he was about to knife me?” Then he quickly added, “Quietly!” as Nnanji drew a deep breath. Tomiyano had shouted, so Nnanji had been about to shout.

“Oh. Right. ‘No damned landlubber swordsman will ever set foot on my deck again! I swore at Yok that—’ That was all I heard.”

Wallie nodded. “It’s what I heard, too.” Back at the tenancy the women had been nervous and jumpy and too friendly. These riverfolk were being not friendly enough, yet somehow he felt a similarity. Again, there was too much tension.

There was one exception. The girl in the yellow sashes came sliding down a rope and then pranced along the deck toward the fo’c’sle. She was too slim to bounce very much, but that did not seem to matter—Nnanji growled once more. If she was trying to attract his attention, she was winning all the medals. She was younger than Wallie had thought at first, about Quili’s age, and tall, dark, and toothsome.