The Coming Of Wisdom (17 page)

Nnanji sighed, a stupid leer still on his face as he watched her go. “First-rate equipment.”

“Try looking at some of the other sailors, protégé.”

“The others are a bit young for me. I ought to warn the nipper, I suppose . . . ”

“The men.”

Nnanji frowned. “What am I supposed to see, my lord brother?”

“Scars.” Tiny marks on shoulders and ribs, usually on the right side—old scrapes and recent bruises.

Nnanji had been leaning back dreamily against the gunwale. Now he sprang erect, glaring, as his eyes confirmed what Wallie had said. He began spitting sutras. Fifteen: a civilian must not be allowed to touch a sword, except in emergency. Ninety-five: never could he be given a foil. Ninety-nine: never, never, never might a civilian practice fencing with foil or stick . . . He fell silent, staring at Wallie in shock.

“The women have them also,” Wallie said softly. “I suspect that every person on this ship can use a sword.”

“But Brota is a swordsman! This is abomination, my lord brother!”

“Common sense, though. Ships are prey to pirates, are they not? No garrisons to shout for in the middle of the River.”

Nnanji’s reaction had been a surprise. Probably he had not noticed the scars himself because he was so accustomed to seeing them on his friends, but Wallie had been expecting an explanation. If they were truly evidence of an abomination, that could be why Tomiyano was averse to allowing swordsmen aboard. Yet the marks were obvious on every adult Wallie had been able to see, and every port must contain swordsmen to notice them, also. In some respects Nnanji was as innocent of the World as Wallie, and there must be many things he had not heard mentioned in the barracks. Foil scars on sailors might be an example.

“You don’t want me to denounce them?”

“Oh, Nnanji, Nnanji! Think! Brota and I shook hands. We’re guests, of a sort. That’s all that’s standing between us and the fish. I’ve got a fortune on my back and another in my hair. Now—be nice to sailors, please?”

Nnanji could not appreciate danger except from other swordsmen, but he looked uneasily at the sun-bright waters on either side of the ship, at the far-off smudges of shore. A few fishing boats to starboard were the only signs of human life.

“How many in the crew?”

Nnanji shook his head.

“So far I’ve seen five men, six women, five adolescents, and half a dozen children. That must be about all. I
think
they’re all sailors—apart from Brota and Matarro, of course—but I haven’t had a good look at all the faces.”

“Yes, my lord brother.”

“Now, where did they hide the knives?”

“Hide?” Nnanji looked even more wary.

He peered carefully around the deck. Wallie had never seen him so uneasy; perhaps the landlubber was beginning to appreciate how much of a trap a ship could be. In a few minutes he began to mutter, laying out his logic like playing cards. “Those buckets of sand . . . they don’t grow vegetables . . . fire fighting? Big enough to sit on, but I couldn’t lift one. You could. Why not stack smaller buckets to sit on?” He looked hopefully at Wallie.

“Well done! See, thinking isn’t so hard, is it?”

“It makes my head ache.” But he was pleased by the praise.

“Mentor?”

Wallie turned around to meet Katanji’s earnest gaze. Novice Matarro stood nervously behind him.

“Katanji, we’d better straighten this out—I’m not your mentor, except because of that strange oath Nnanji and I swore, and that’s not standard procedure. So let’s say that I am only your mentor if Nnanji’s not around, all right?”

“Yes, my lord.” Katanji turned glumly to his brother.

Wallie caught Matarro’s eye and winked. The boy twitched in astonishment and then grinned.

“Mentor, may I take my sword off? Mat’o, here, says he’ll take me up the ratlines to the crow’s nest. But swords aren’t allowed aloft.”

Nnanji frowned at the sailor jargon Katanji was flaunting. Wallie could guess at the meanings, but his need to guess showed that Shonsu had never bothered to learn the terms. To a swordsman, evidently, a ship was merely a convenience. “I expect he thinks a landlubber wouldn’t have the nerve to go out on those—what do you call the crosspieces, novice?”

Katanji shot Wallie an alarmed glance to say that he did not need help of that caliber.

“Yards, my lord,” said Matarro.

“Show him, then!” Nnanji said heartily. “Turn cartwheels! I’ll hold your sword. Perhaps he can find you a breechclout, too? A kilt isn’t very suitable for sailoring.”

Astonished by this unexpected indulgence, Katanji hastily stripped off his harness and handed it over, kicked off his boots, then ran off with Matarro. Nnanji’s eyes slid round to Wallie’s again.

Wallie nodded approvingly. “They are more useful.”

Nnanji was a quick learner.

For some time Wallie leaned back against the rail and watched ship life. Two youngsters were playing a board game on one of the hatches, three women peeling vegetables on the other. A very skinny young sailor had begun holystoning the deck. Tomiyano and a couple of other men sat cross-legged in a corner, pretending to splice cable, but mostly keeping a careful eye on the visitors. Laughter drifted out from the deckhouse and down from the rigging, where Katanji and a group of adolescents were apparently clowning, invisible among clouds of sails. The sun was high and warm. Honakura had disappeared. Brota sat like a red mountain at the tiller, chatting to an elderly woman in brown. Traffic on the River was increasing, and that might be a sign that
Sapphire
was approaching Aus. Or somewhere.

Then Nnanji hissed in astonishment. The girl in the yellow bikini had emerged from the fo’c’sle door. Smiling, she sauntered toward the swordsmen, taking her time so that they could enjoy the hip movement. She was wearing a sword.

Not merely female swordsmen, but young, beautiful, and sexy female swordsmen? Nnanji muttered, “How could a man ever fight
that
?” Wallie was wondering the same thing.

Tomiyano roared, “Thana!” and leaped to his feet. She turned and frowned as he bounded across to bar her path. He whispered something angrily and tried to stop her, but she dodged past him.

She walked quickly over to Wallie and saluted, while he stared in disbelief at the two swordmarks on her flawless brow. She had shiny black curls and a smooth, coffee-colored skin—an all-over perfect complexion, very little of it not visible. Her face was lovely, with a classic chiseled beauty. She was too young and too slim for his taste, which preferred Jja’s more ample curves; but he thought of fashion models and he could readily admit that few men would spurn this lithesome warrior maiden. Nnanji was almost panting.

Wallie responded and presented Apprentice Thana to his oath brother. Tomiyano hovered in the background, fingering his dagger.

Thana stood demurely with hands folded and eyes downcast below long lashes, waiting for the highrank to speak first. It had not been Nnanji she had been trying to impress. For a moment Wallie was at a loss for words. The crossed straps of her harness pulled the light cotton of her bra sash very tight, with outstanding results, worthy of much study.

He tore his eyes away and took a deep breath. “I was already enjoying my voyage on your fine ship, apprentice. Your company increases the pleasure greatly.”

She contrived a maidenly blush and fanned him with those eyelashes. “You honor us with your presence, my lord.”

“I am not sure that the captain altogether agrees.”

Thana pouted slightly and glanced around to see what Tomiyano was doing—he was leaning against the mainmast and still fingering the dagger.

“Forgive my brother’s rough tongue, my lord. He means no harm.”

The devil he didn’t! Brother? Then this svelte Thana was great, fat Brota’s daughter—incredible! There was no resemblance at all.

Before Wallie could think of a rejoinder, Thana said, “I can see that you bear a remarkable sword, Lord Shonsu. Would you be so gracious as to let me examine it?”

The obvious undertones were not accidental. Wallie drew the seventh sword for her to see. She had probably not been genuinely interested, but that weapon would impress anyone, and she was startled when she saw the Chioxin craftsmanship. He nodded to Nnanji, who eagerly recounted the legend as she studied the great sapphire, the griffon guard, and the chasing on the blade itself.

Tomiyano was not alone among the crew in disapproving of Thana’s fraternization. The women were frowning and the men openly furious. Wallie decided that Thana was a self-willed young minx. Perhaps her mother could handle her, but her brother clearly could not.

“It is wonderful, my lord,” she said at last, gazing earnestly up at Wallie and ignoring Nnanji. “We are fortunate to have this opportunity to aid the chosen champion of the Goddess.”

Wallie sheathed the sword. “I was fortunate to have
Sapphire
arrive when she did—although I hardly think that it was by chance. She is a fine vessel, and I can see that she is well looked after.”

More fluttering of lashes. “You are kind, Lord Shonsu.”

“Thirty years old, I think your mother said?”

“Oh, she is older than that! My grandfather . . . bought her. He was captain until about two years ago. He died of a fever. He was a great sailor. Then Tom’o took over.” She shrugged. “He’s crude, but not a bad sailor, I suppose.”

“Why not your father?”

Thana sighed conspicuously. “Daddy died a long time ago. Besides, he was a trader. We riverfolk have a saying, my lord, ‘A trader for the head, a swordsman for the hands, and a sailor for the feet.’ We lack a trader at the moment. My older brother, Tomiyarro—now there was a trader! He could buy the shell off a turtle and sell it feathers, Mother always said.”

“Then how do you trade?” asked Wallie, who could guess. He was being vamped. She was too young to have much skill at it, but that very youth made even her clumsy efforts effective.

“Oh, Mother handles it,” Thana said offhandedly.

“Mistress Brota is a very shrewd negotiator.”

Thana sniggered. “You outsmarted her, my lord.”

“I did?”

“She got a nice sapphire out of you, but she was really after your hairclip.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Wallie looked at Nnanji, but Nnanji was glassy-eyed. Time to change the subject. “Your brother said this was a family ship. Who are the others, apart from your mother and brother?”

“Cousins,” Thana said. “Uncles and aunts. Dull! I so rarely get to meet any—” She sighed deeply. “—
real
men.”

“So obviously you have no Jonahs, yet you were brought here by Her Hand last night?”

“It is exciting!” Thana said, with a nervous glance at the landscape. “That has never happened to us before.”

“So your mother said. I expect you will be returned to your home waters as soon as we disembark.”

“Well, I hope not!” She tossed her curls. “We’ve been trading between Hool and Ki for years and years and years. It’s very dull. I keep telling Mother to try somewhere new.”

“And why does she not, then?”

“Profit!” Thana spoke with contempt. “She knows the markets. Sandal wood from Hool to Ki, pots and baskets from Ki to Hool. Back and forth, back and forth. Dull! This is an adventure! We’re not even in the tropics any more, are we?”

“No, we’re not. But excitement can be dangerous.”

Thana smiled winningly. “What should we fear when we have a swordsman of the Seventh on board? I’m sure you could handle a whole shipful of pirates all by yourself, Lord Shonsu.”

“I certainly hope I don’t have to!”

Pirates could be a tricky subject, bringing in the matter of sailors using swords. No sooner had that thought occurred to Wallie than Nnanji blundered into the conversation. “It must be very difficult for you to get fencing practice, Apprentice Thana?”

The topic did not seem to bother her. She turned to look at him rather calculatingly. “Indeed it is, adept. Would you be so kind as to give me a lesson after lunch?”

Nnanji beamed. “I should be delighted!”

Thana smiled and turned back to her main business, Wallie. Wallie had not liked that smile.

“We must be getting close to Aus,” he said. “So there may not be any ‘after lunch.’ But surely we are your Jonahs, and it is said that Jonahs bring a ship good luck.”

“We need it!” Thana dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I have wondered sometimes, Lord Shonsu, if we were cursed.”

“How so?” Wallie sensed the approach of some creative storytelling.

“Well, first my grandfather . . . then Uncle Matyrri died of a cut on his hand . . . and then pirates! A year ago. They killed my brother, and another uncle, and one of my cousins died of wounds later.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Yes. It was tragic. I’ve gotten over the worst of it, you know, but of course I still miss them terribly.”

“This was at Yok?” Wallie inquired.

She reeled backward as if he had struck her, turning so pale that he thought she might be going to faint.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Tomiyano had half drawn his dagger. He was too far off to have heard the words, but he had seen his sister’s reaction.

What had Wallie provoked? “Your brother mentioned Yok.”

She nodded dumbly, staring at him, trembling,

“I assume that these pirates were renegade swordsmen?”

Thana licked white lips and then merely nodded again, seemingly incapable of speech. Wallie felt that he was walking a sheet of glass over an abyss. Tomiyano was not the only one to have noticed.

Wallie lowered his voice. “Of course I would not say this to anyone outside our craft, apprentice, but a bent swordsman is a terrible abomination . . . deserving of no mercy.” He glanced swiftly at the perplexed Nnanji. Even he had noticed Thana’s terror, but he had not yet worked out the only possible explanation. “My oath brother and I ran into a band of renegades two days ago. We dealt with them severely. The World is a better place without such scum.”

Thana seemed to relax slightly, and a trace of color crept back into her cheeks. “That . . . that sentiment does you great honor, my lord.”