The Drowning Eyes (8 page)

“I’ll tell you anything I like,” said the Captain. “Probably had a few people shit themselves to death after eating my day-old shrimp by now. Not my fuckin’ fault they bought it, and it’s not your fuckin’ fault that some of those people were literally too stupid to come in out of the rain.”

Shina blinked. “You sell day-old shrimp?”

“How, after going through all of this, are you still Miss High and Mighty?” Tazir said. “How do you still have this—this—”

“This
duty,
” Shina said. “I have a duty.”

“You have a problem in your head!” Tazir roared, advancing on her. Shina cowered back against the ship’s railing—she knew there was no way on earth she could take this woman in a fight. “These priests and magicians went and brainwashed you,” Tazir continued, “until you didn’t have a lick of common sense left!”

“They didn’t,” Shina said, grabbing the railing.

“Well, I’ll tell you what else,” Tazir said. “They’re not gonna do it again.” She reached forward to grab Shina’s arm.

“Hey!” Shina jerked away. “What are you trying to—”

“I’m trying to get you down below,” Tazir said, “so you can take a damn nap until you come to your senses.”

Chaqal had come up through the hatchway. “Captain—”

“She’s trying to go diving into the harbor!” Tazir snapped back. “After that
fucking
statue—”

“Well, it’s not out here,” Chaqal said. “It would be closer—”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Tazir rounded on her quartermaster. “If you think I’m gonna let this crazy goddamn bitch—”

Shina was too tired for this. Her eyelids were too heavy, and her knees were too weak. All she wanted to do was go down below, to go to bed and try to forget that any of this had happened.

She turned around and dove into the harbor.

“Rum and lime for both of us,” Tazir said, pulling up a stool. “Double strong.”

“You pay cash,” the barmaid said. She was a tall, slender thing, dark as midnight, with a great ball of black hair tied back from her forehead with a red silken scarf.

Tazir glared at her as she fished in her purse for a few dakki. “Do we need a bath that bad?” she said.

Kodin chuckled next to her, but the barmaid’s face stayed placid as she plunked a pair of clay cups down on the table. “It’s a cash bar,” she said. “You pay cash.”

Tazir set the coins down on the bar with a thunk. “I got cash,” she said. “I ain’t poor again just yet.”

She was close, though. Close enough that Leyo was sleeping in his hammock tonight instead of drinking with them on their last evening in Humma. Close enough that they were in Shasa’s again, looking over the crowd of regulars with practiced eyes.

It wasn’t as if she’d spent the money badly. Twenty-five thousand had gone to cover debts for her and Kodin and a dead friend of Kodin’s and Tazir’s twat ex-sister-in-law. Another ten thousand had gone into the
Laughing Dancer,
a younger and less complicated dhow with a rudder that didn’t warp and need replacing every nine months.

“Hey,” Kodin said, nodding toward the edge of the canopy. A young man with his hair in braids was standing there, smoking a pipe and surveying the crowd. He wore a dingy grey dhoti and weathered mat sandals; at his side was a bulging satchel that had been bleached by salt air.

He made eye contact with Tazir and tilted his jaw back. She raised her glass and cocked her head. He walked over, his young face exuding practiced calm.

“Excuse me,” he said with a bow, “but I have a unique problem.”

It was the same story that had been floating around Shasa’s for twenty-five years. Cousin, marriage, running away. Said he had a side girl, she worked the docks in Moliki, could get him a job with her crate crew.

Tazir doubted they’d rebuilt Moliki enough in five years that they had stevedores on the docks, but she took him on anyway. He paid two hundred qyda up front, and he bought them their drinks for the rest of the night. He was funny, he was cute, and he knew a thing or two about handling a later-model dhow. He wasn’t even bad in bed for a kid his age.

* * *

Even with an entertaining passenger like that, the trip to Moliki was slow going and boring as hell. She told the kid—as she told every new acquaintance she made on that hop between islands—about the time she’d done the trip in three days with a wet-eyed weather witch in tow.

He smiled politely, and he nodded politely, and he shared his skin of rum politely, but Tazir could tell he didn’t believe her. That was just as well. She could see her braids turning silver and her face drooping down her skull; she could feel better than anyone the creaking pain in her hip when she had to stand up too long. It wasn’t unreasonable, she guessed, to assume that her mind was starting to go the way of her body.

The boy was gone as soon as they were tied into one of Moliki’s slips. Two hundred qyda was enough to get them a nice little second-story room in the back of Bosso’s, with a reed mat for all three of them and laundry service in the morning.

It was enough to get all three of them plenty of rum, too, but by the time the sun set Tazir had barely managed a mug of rum and lime.

“You’re a lot of fun,” remarked Leyo as he returned to their table with fresh rounds for him and Kodin.

“Yeah?” Tazir took a sip of her drink. “Should’ve seen me a few years ago.”

Leyo rolled his eyes.

“You still think we’re lying,” Kodin said.

“I don’t think you’re
lying,
” said the new quartermaster. “I just think you might be—exaggerating a bit.” He raised his eyebrows and took a big swallow of his rum. He was one of Kodin’s kin, a strapping Tashi boy who’d been nineteen when Chaqal took off in the middle of the night.

“Well,” Tazir grumbled, “no sense yelling at a deaf man.”

“You want me to believe you?” Leyo pointed his finger at her. “Take me up to the temple.”

“Go up there yourself,” Tazir said. “I don’t wanna see that girl again.” Not after she’d gone back to her own prison. Definitely not after she’d subjected herself to that—that torture.

“You don’t want me to catch you lying,” Leyo replied.

“Hey,” Kodin said. “You watch what you’re saying to Tazir.”

“Oh, come on,” the quartermaster moaned. “You two have been blowing smoke at me for the last five years—”

“I’ll go up there with you,” Kodin said. “I ain’t afraid of her now she’s got her eyes taken out.”

“What the
fuck,
Kodin?” Tazir slammed her cup down on the table.

“You saw what she did to this place,” Kodin grumbled. “You wanna go see her, cousin?”

“Yeah.” A broad grin stretched across Leyo’s face. “I ain’t afraid of no skinny blind girl.”

“Show some respect,” Tazir snapped. She growled at the two men as they stood up from the table. “Fuckin’—I gotta follow you, don’t I?”

* * *

By the time they reached the storm temple, Tazir was leaning heavy on Leyo’s shoulder. Her hip was screaming, and she dragged her leg as she hobbled up the hill.

“I can carry you,” Kodin offered for the fourth or fifth time.

“Fuck you,” Tazir snapped back.

The men let her keep dragging and hopskipping her way up to the temple. Like every other temple, it was really a compound surrounded by a spiked bamboo fence. There was a big mud hut in the middle, surrounded by half a dozen outbuildings where the Windspeakers and their staff lived.

A pair of women in yellow-and-blue robes were sweeping the courtyard, their hair and faces covered by brightly printed scarves. They looked up from their task when Tazir and the men opened the gate and came inside. One, tall and thin, went back to her task. The other, short and plump, stared at the visitors for a second before coming toward them.

“Captain Tazir?” she called—and that voice brought back a flood of memories.

“Chaqal?” Tazir blinked, pushed Leyo away, and started walking toward her on her own. “Holy sh—I mean—”

The woman tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh, my gods,” Chaqal said. “I never thought I’d see you here!” She reached Tazir and clasped her in a hug that smelled of incense and chiles. “And you brought Kodin, and—” She looked at Leyo.

“We have to have a quartermaster,” Tazir said.

“Yeah,” said Chaqal. She looked at her feet.

“This is Leyo,” Kodin said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. “He doesn’t believe us when we tell him about this place.”

Chaqal stepped back. “Oh,” she said.

Kodin looked her in the eye for a few quiet, awkward moments. “So, uh,” he said. “Is she around?”

“Is
who
around?” Chaqal crossed her arms.

“You know,” Kodin said. “The girl.”

“Who?”
said Chaqal.

“You know who I’m talking about,” said Kodin, holding his palms out. “The Windspeaker. The one we—”

Chaqal shook her head. “Get out.” She thumped the handle of her broom against the courtyard’s packed clay. “You can’t even say her
name
?”

“Come on,” Tazir said quietly. “We just wanted to see how Shina’s doing.”

“Did you?” said Chaqal.

“Yeah,” Tazir said.

Her old quartermaster stepped back, staring at her with narrowed eyes. Tazir couldn’t see, but could picture the scrunched mouth underneath the veil.

“Fine,” Chaqal said. “I’ll take
you
back to the rectory.
They
can wait back here and think about their manners.”

Tazir opened her mouth to protest as Chaqal turned on her heel and walked back toward the outbuildings, but she couldn’t find a damn thing to say that wouldn’t get her in deeper trouble.

“In here,” Chaqal said, gesturing to the door of a small round hut. “We’re having dinner—I was going to join her once I got chores finished.”

Tazir paused in the threshold to take her shoes off. She noticed that Chaqal now went barefoot. “How long you been here?” she asked, almost under her breath.

“A while,” Chaqal said.

“Since you left me?” Tazir set her shoes down and looked her in the eye.

Chaqal slid her eyes away. “Yeah,” she said. “Since I left you.”

“Huh.” Tazir nodded and took a deep breath as she followed Chaqal inside the hut.

“It’s me,” Chaqal said as she approached the table in the middle. Shina was sitting there, still lanky and baby-faced—as long as she was looking down. When she turned her face up, Tazir could see the bright green stones in her eye sockets.

“Tazir?” she said, perhaps blinking out of habit.

Tazir took a step back. “Y-yeah,” she said. “How—”

“I heard your voice outside,” she said, grinning. “And you smell like tobacco.”

“Oh.” Tazir took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s me.”

“Good,” Shina replied. “I’ve been hoping you’d come for a visit—sit down!” She gestured to her right, where a round cushion sat unoccupied in front of the table. “How was your trip up here?”

“It was smooth sailing,” Tazir said as she shuffled over to the cushion. “You do a good job, I guess.”

“I’m still only part-time,” Shina replied. “Mathul-uncle does most of the work with the trade winds.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re plenty helpful,” Tazir said. She couldn’t take her eyes off those stones—and what kind of sick fuck had gotten her that pink hair scarf embroidered in matching green thread? “They treating you all right?”

“Oh, of course.” Shina smiled. “I’ve been living here since the temple was rebuilt,” she said. “But I went to Druhuk for the surgery.”

“Mmh.” Tazir tried to hide the disgust on her face from Chaqal, but she still earned a filthy look. “I see you got that.”

“It’s better now,” Shina said. “I don’t worry so much,” she said. “About everything.”

“Oh-h?” Tazir forced a smile on her face. “That’s—that’s good.”

The smile faded from Shina’s lips. “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“I—I don’t—it doesn’t matter to me,” Tazir said.

“It was painless, if you want to know,” Shina said. “They were right about that—”

“But your
eyes,
” Tazir blurted. “They took your
eyes
.”

“They did,” said Shina. She felt on the table for the teapot and an empty cup. “What did they take from you?” She carefully moved the teapot until its spout clinked against the cup’s rim, and poured most of a cup of tea. She pushed it across the table to Tazir.

Tazir was staring in front of her. “What?” she asked.

“What did they take from you?” Shina repeated. “I spend my days studying storms, touching clouds, molding winds—for that, I gave up my eyes.”

“I didn’t give up shit,” Tazir said. She picked up the tea and took a drink—it was far too hot to do that, but she refused to show a lick of pain. “And I’m doing what I want, too.”

“I’m sure you are,” Shina said.

The three of them sat in silence after that. Shina resumed popping stuffed olives into her mouth, and Chaqal poured herself a bowl of fish stew. She had pushed her veil back to reveal her long, dark hair, and she avoided Tazir’s gaze.

Suddenly, a bubble of anger welled in Tazir’s chest. “Fuck this,” she growled, standing up and sending the cushion flying behind her. “You two wanna spend the rest of your lives in this creepy eyeball-gouging weather-cult town?” she said. “You go ahead and—
fuck
!” She tumbled as her hip seized up, gritted her teeth, and staggered to the doorway.

“Captain!” Chaqal cried out. She hopped up and ran to Tazir, who was steadying herself and trying to ignore the pain shooting up her back.

“Get away from me,” she growled.

“Captain—”

Tazir shoved Chaqal back. “I said,
get away
from me,” she said. She took a deep breath and began hobbling out of the hut, back toward her crew. “And
fuck
your tea and olives.”

* * *

Tazir lay there on the reed mat until the sun was high overhead.
I can get up,
she told herself.
I’m just a little too tired for that shit right now.

Tazir was starting to get used to mornings like these. She’d lie there for—for however long she was allowed to, depending on the circumstances, and then she’d hobble over to her knapsack for a dose of poppy juice. She’d stretch, she’d curse, she’d smoke some hash, and eventually she’d get herself dressed.

But this morning, there was nothing there for her to sip or smoke.

“What the hell?” Tazir said, staring at the empty room around her. There were no knapsacks, no rum jugs, no piles of clothes left behind by her crew. “What the
hell
?”

She staggered down the stairs in her trousers with her tits flopping on her belly. “Kodin!” she yelled. “Kodin N’jakama, where the
fuck
are you—hey, you!” She pointed at a girl of ten or twelve, pushing a cart of laundry down the hallway. “You see a big guy in locks and a skinny kid with a sun tattooed on his right shoulder?”

The girl blinked. “This morning?” she said.

“Yeah, this morning.” Tazir puffed up her chest and glared at the girl.

“Yeah,” the girl said, staring at her feet. “They paid the bill on room twenty-two and took off. Said they had to be out by sunrise.”

Tazir took a step back and held on to a post for balance. She took one deep breath, then another.

“Hey, were you with them?” said the girl. “I think they left a note with my pa at the front desk.”

* * *

“—and if you agree to the terms, I can have the value of the ship paid back to you within six years,” the clerk said. He was a short, round man with round spectacles balanced on his short, round nose. He wore a clean blue kaftan and a matching turban; his face grew graver and graver as he read the note from Kodin.

“I know you liked that girl, and I know it was hard on you when Chaqal left, but I told you before I don’t want anything to do with the Windspeakers.” The clerk frowned. “We can’t stay in business if we scare a new quartermaster off every six months.”

“He says, as he
ditches his Captain
in Moliki!”