A short ladder carried me into darkness. The air was redolent of past cargoes, thick and unpleasantly warm. I could see nothing, only grope my way forrard until I reached the stemson. I crouched there, hidden as best I could manage behind one upward-curving rib, slipping off my bags and thinking of the tinderbox within. To strike a spark was too great a risk, and I resisted that temptation. I hoped there should be no cargo taken on from Carsbry.
Time ran slow in that stygian gloom, its passage marked only by the muffled sounds from overhead. I thought the crew must break their fast, but I could smell only the musty odors of my hiding place. I lost track of time; I dozed, and woke as footsteps echoed directly above me. Wood creaked, and I supposed the oarsmen found their benches. I heard shouts, faint through the intervening planks, then felt the ship roll as she cast off. A whistle shrilled, there were muffled thuds, the craft vibrated, trembling slightly. I felt her heave-the bow coming around-and then the familiar undulation of vessel through water. I thought of finding my way above and decided to wait, at least until we were too far from Carsbry for the master to willingly turn back.
More time went slowly by. I curbed my growing impatience. I sweated profusely, the air heady. I grew hungry; thirsty, too. When I deemed us well out onto the Fend, I climbed the ladder and shoved back the hatch.
I had not often seen overmuch expression on the bovine faces of the bull-bred Changed, but those of the oarsmen showed stark surprise as I appeared. One bellowed; several lost their stroke. From the stern came a shout, part inquiry, part anger. I climbed out, blinded by the light as I came into the sun, so that I could only stand, hand raised to shade my dazzled eyes. I heard the same voice shout, this time in bewilderment.
Then a voice I knew, closer, said, “Daviot?” as if she could not believe the evidence of her senses. Then, firmer, “Daviot! What in the God’s name are you thinking of?”
I said, “You.”
I felt at some disadvantage. The sun now stood directly overhead, and I had lurked in darkness long enough it took some while for my eyes to adjust. Rwyan’s voice had sounded as much angry as surprised.
I heard the other voice shout from the stern, “You know this fellow, mage?”
And Rwyan answer, “Aye. He’s a Storyman; Daviot by name.”
“What does he on my ship?” I assumed this was the master. “By the God, are Storymen become stowaways now? Or is he some pirate?”
“He’s a Storyman,” Rwyan called, “but what he does here, I can only guess.”
My sight returned slowly, and I saw the oarsmen had resumed their task, bending over their sweeps, ignoring me as if divorced from this drama. I saw other Changed faces peering down, and then Rwyan’s, Tezdal at her side. The Sky Lord seemed somewhat amused; Rwyan not at all. I grinned and said, “I’ll not lose you again.”
Her expression then was one of naked disbelief: she seemed not quite able to accept I was there. I went up the forrard ladder to where she stood. Four burly Changed moved toward me, marlinespikes in their hands. Rwyan gestured them back, calling to the captain, “He’s no danger, Master Tyron,” and to me, softer, “only a fool.”
“A fool in love,” I said. “I could not bear to let you go.”
Her expression changed. It was as though sun and shadow chased one another across her face. I saw disbelief become pleasure, that turn to anger, then exasperation as she shook her head and beckoned me to follow her. We went to the bow. Master Tyron came after us.
He was a squat, barrel-chested man, tanned dark as ancient leather, his head bald save for a fringe of white hair. He wore a short, wide-bladed sword such as sailors favor, and his right hand curled around the hilt as he studied me. His eyes were a piercing blue; they fixed me as if I were some loathsome creature come slithering out of the depths to soil his ship.
“I’d have an explanation,” he declared. His voice was gruff, hoarse from shouting orders or from outrage. “I’m commissioned to deliver you, lady, and your man here. Not some stowaway Storyman who slinks on board. When?”
This last was barked at me. I said, “This morning, captain. At dawn.”
He grunted, muttering something about a careless watch and punishments to come, and said to me, “How?”
I told him, and he grunted again. Then: “Why?”
I hesitated. I’d no wish to needlessly deliver trouble on Rwyan. I said, “I’d go to Durbrecht, captain. With this lady. She knew nothing of this.”
Tyron said, “I’m minded to put you overboard. Carsbry’s not too far a swim.”
I could not help but glance shoreward at that: there was a suggestion of firm purpose in his tone. I saw the coast shimmering faint in the distance; I doubted I could swim so far.
Rwyan said, “No!” and when I turned toward her, I saw genuine alarm on her lovely face.
Tyron snorted. “You say you know him? Is he crazed?” She said, “No.”
Tyron’s gaze swung from me to her. I watched his fingers clench on his sword. “You had nothing to do with his trespass?” he demanded.
Rwyan and I said, “No,” together. I added, “On my word as a Storyman, captain.”
Tyron considered this awhile. Finally he said, “Then I place him in your charge, mage. You decide what’s to be done with him; but I’ll have payment from his College or yours for his passage.”
Without further ado, granting me a last smoldering stare, he spun and stumped his way aft, shouting irritably at the crew as he went.
Rwyan faced me, and I was abruptly embarrassed. I said, “I could not bear to let you go.”
She said, “You keep repeating that, Daviot,” and sighed. “Shall you tell them that in Durbrecht? Think you it shall be explanation enough?”
I looked at her. She wore a blouse of unbleached linen and a skirt of the same material, dyed blue and divided for ease of traveling. There was no wind to ruffle her hair, and it floated loose about her troubled face. I reached to touch her cheek, but she drew back. That hurt.
I said, “Are you not glad to see me?”
She said, “No!” Then, “Yes.” Then, “In the God’s name, Daviot,
I shook my head; I shrugged and fiddled with my staff. I could think of no proper answer. I had not thought much at all beyond this moment, and it was not progressing as I had anticipated. I was abruptly reminded of childhood transgressions and my mother’s stern face.
Rwyan said, “This is madness. What do you hope to achieve?”
“I thought …” My voice faltered. I shrugged again and said, “I’d not thought too much. Save of losing you again.”
“Think you I don’t feel that hurt?” She seemed torn between anger and fondness. “But we’ve both a duty, and it forces us apart.”
I said obstinately, “I’d not have it so. I’d be with you always.”
She closed her eyes a moment, as if wearied by my insistence, then met my gaze. “That cannot be, my love.” Her voice was no longer angry, but gentle as if she chided some recalcitrant child. “We both know that. I’d have it otherwise no less than you; but I cannot. Nor does your presence help.”
I had hoped for warmer welcome. “At least I’m with you,” I said. “Save you elect to have Tyron put in and deliver me ashore.”
She said, “Aye,” in a contemplative tone that chilled my blood. “What else should I do?” “Let me come with you,” I said.
“To Durbrecht?” She shook her head and sighed. “And what then?”
I said, “That’s in the future, Rwyan. We can be together ere we reach Durbrecht.”
“I think you
I opened my mouth to speak, but she gestured me silent and I obeyed. There was a fierceness in her blind eyes that warned me I had better hold my tongue.
She said, “Do we put in at the next harbor, you might … no! By now they’ll know you gone from Carsbry and guess the reason why. Varius will send word on-to every keep along the coast, and do you land it shall likely be
