Of course, Kasia's post was the galley, though she was also a dab hand at gutting and salting the catch. So they had time to talk.
He was as subtle as he could be, light-hearted, and finding odd bits and pieces of humorous things to tell her, to dispel the sadness which still lurked. And of an evening, or sailing to another likely spot to fish, he would manage to place himself close to her while they helped pass the time by singing. He toned down his heavier baritone to blend with her light voice in duets or choruses. He also picked up a few local work-songs, favoured by the Tillek Fishmen.
The most vivid memory he had of that seven-day was the sight of ship fish who were in the habit, Captain Gostol said, of accompanying the fishing vessels.
'That's old Scarface, that is,' the captain said, pointing to one whose bottle-nose was indeed scarred. 'Got hisself caught somewhere.'
'Are they singing?' Robinton asked, hearing sounds when the leaping shipfish were airborne.
'New, just the sounds they make, shooting the air out of them blow holes,' Gostol said. 'Though I've known instances when a man blown overboard's been rescued by 'em.' He paused and tilted his head mid-ships. 'Storm was too fierce to save that 'un's man. Shame, too. Good fisher. Nice girl. She shouldn't pine too long, ya think?' And now he cocked his head at Robinton, a sly grin on his rugged, weather-worn face.
Robinton laughed. 'Considering how many fellows come round to see her at Tillek Hold, it's only a question of her pointing a willing finger.'
'So you say, do you?' Then Gostol pointed. 'She's got another young'un since last time I saw her. That one with the mottled rostrum. See her?'
The shipfish was in fact almost hovering in the air, squeaking, crackling at the humans, who she knew were admiring her. Her baby, half her size, was doing its best to match her leap.
'Do the same ones swim in these waters all the time?'
'Think so. Recognize 'em certainly.' The captain gave an uncharacteristic sigh. 'Like watching them. Sometimes,' he said, leaning his forearms on the rail, 'I think they sort of' – he made a slanting motion with his thick-fingered tight hand – 'ease us one way or t'other, and we follow, 'cos they seem to know where the fish are schooling.'
'Really?' Robinton leaned his arms on the rail too, as if he could get closer to the leaping shipfish who were still clicking and squeaking at him, almost as if they were saying something he just couldn't quite catch.
'They're good luck, they are. No fishman ignores them. Always give 'em something from each net.' The captain stood up, peering over the rail, his stance alert. 'Watch! Yup! We're sailing tight into a mess a' bordos. Good eating, bordo. Good for saltin'.' And he started forward, shouting orders to the crew to be ready to drop the nets.
Robinton could actually see the school over the starboard side of the Northern Maid. The sleek thick bodies were grey-striped, as long as his forearm, with bulging eyes on either side of their blunt heads. He'd never seen such a concentration of fish. Oh, he'd fished as a child down at Pietie Hold but had never seen a multitude.
However did they wend their way without accident? Did they have a leader' the way some of the herd-beasts did? Or an instinct similar to dragons, who never interfered with each other even when they came out of between in wing formation? He was fascinated.
When Gostol roared out the command to lower the nets, Robinton went forward to lend a hand.
That was actually the last fair day of the run, for the clouds closed in and they had to work in a driving rain, making a difficult job even more arduous. Robinton was exhausted, his muscles protesting their abuse and his hands raw. So, when they finally had time to relax over a late meal and he was asked to play, he brought out his faithful pipe as being the easiest for his sore fingers.
He could not help but be relieved when they sailed back into the deep natural harbour which made Tillek the best port on the long western coast. There were long rows of terraced cots carved out -or built out from – the several levels of cliff above the harbour.
Some fishmen could anchor their ships right in front of their cot-holds. Floats that rose and fell with the tides gave access to stairs, some cut deeply into the cliffside.
As the Northern Maid slid past the breakwaters which extended the arms of the U-shaped harbour, folk waved to the sailors who were making right and tight the sheets and lines, preparatory to docking. Gostol was allowing his second to bring his ship in, and Robinton, knowing how important it was for Vesna to complete the manoeuvre satisfactorily, was holding his breath for her when Kasia joined him. She had changed from her rough-weather gear into a long skirt and a thick woolien jumper against the chilly wind; her hair was newly braided. Her eyes didn't seem quite as shadowed.
Maybe she had sailed with them to dissipate the last vestiges of her sorrow for Merdine. She had actually mentioned his name at one point during the voyage.
'Breathe, Rob,' she said, laughing at him and lightly clasping her hands around his left arm.
The use of a short name for him made him catch his breath twice in a row. Did that mean she liked him?
'Will she make it?' he asked. Kasia had more experience with such things than he.
'The ship's just making enough way, so that I think she'll nudge the dock and come to a full stop. Which is exactly what she should do.'
The Northern Maid did seem to be moving but imperceptibly, the smallest hint of a wake visible on this side of the bow.
Kasia laughed, leaning into him, as he unconsciously exhaled as if his breath could give the ship just that touch more forward motion. They were nearly broadside of the fishing dock, their destination. Seamen stood fore and aft on the Maid's deck, ready with mooring lines. They'd already put out the buffers. Men and women on the dock were edging forward, to catch the lines and snag them on the bollards, eager to proceed with unloading the perishable cargo.
Time seemed suspended as the Maid drifted more and more slowly until she just barely touched the dock and slid along it, the protective bumpers kissing the dock edge, coming to a final halt as the mooring lines were secured with deft loopings which stopped all movement with just the least little jar.
Kasia let go of Robinton's arm and clapped, shouting a 'Well done' in the direction of Vesna at the wheel. There were other congratulatory roars, and Robinton grinned at Vesna's pantomime of wiping sweat from her brow. She was smiling happily.
'Gostol's a hard taskmaster, but I'd say she's passed this test,' Kasia said. 'Let's go. They'll be at the unloading for hours, and I'm dying for a long hot soak. My hair must reek of fish and cooking oils.'
Since she hadn't spoken a word of complaint throughout the voyage, Robinton was surprised at the return of fastidiousness. Not that he wasn't just as eager for a bath as she.
They'd given Gostol formal thanks and made farewells as the Maid was on her final tack into the harbour, so now they were free to disembark with carisaks of wet and dirty clothing over their shoulders.
'There're worn spots on this wharf, Rob,' she said as they started across the wooden expanse. 'Watch where you go.'
'A mere several hundred turns old, Minnarden said.'
'A mere?' She tossed her head sideways, laughing at him, her sea-green eyes sparkling.
They wove past the fish-factory workers, guiding their carts to the ship, and strode up the wide steps to the right and on to the wide road which led to the Hold.
The day was overcast, rain threatening, but the roadway was bustling with people on their everyday activities. Many greeted the harper and Kasia without interrupting their progress. Occasionally their free hands touched, and Robinton was aware of each brush.
He didn't dare look down at Kasia to see if she noticed the contact, but he did feel that the trip had been very worthwhile in cementing a relationship. A glow of satisfaction added to his contented sense of accomplishment.
'Let's do it again, Rob, and soon,' Kasia said, her face glowing.
'You're a good sailor, and Captain Gostol said he'd take you on board any time you wanted to lend a hand.'
'I'll sail again, any time, with you,' he said, grinning down at her and, daringly, caught her hand in his, squeezing it a trifle and eager to see her reaction to such a familiarity.
She squeezed right back. 'I can't wait to get clean,' she exclaimed and raced up the steps to the Hold so he had to follow with more haste than dignity.
