The horse reached the ledge. Then out, into the air. And down, plunging into the seething maelstrom.
The presence, breathing darkness, remained in the vast chamber for a time longer. The strewn scatter of coins and baubles glittered on the black stone.
Then came a tapping of a cane upon rock.
CHAPTER THREE
Time now to go out into the cold night
And that voice was chill enough
To awaken me to stillness
There were cries inviting me into the sky
But the ground held me fast -
Well that was long ago now
Yet in this bleak morning the wings
Are shadows hunched on my shoulders
And the stars feel closer than ever before
The time is soon, I fear, to set out in search
Of that voice, and I will draw to the verge
Time now to go out into the cold night
Spoken in so weary a tone
I can make nothing worthy from it
If dreams of flying are the last hope of freedom
I will pray for wings with my last breath
Smoke hung in thick wreaths in the cabin. The portholes were all open, shutters locked back, but the air did not stir and the sweltering heat lapped exposed flesh like a fevered tongue. Clearing her throat against a pervasive itchiness in her upper chest, Felash, Fourteenth Daughter of Queen Abrastal, tilted her head back on the soft, if soiled and damp, pillow.
Her handmaid set about refilling the pipe bowl.
‘Are you certain of the date?’ Felash asked.
‘Yes, Highness.’
‘Well, I suppose I should be excited. I made it to my fifteenth year, let the banners wave. Not that anything waves hereabouts.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, and then blinked them open again. ‘Was that a swell?’
‘I felt nothing, Highness.’
‘It’s the heat I don’t appreciate. It distracts. It whispers of mortality, yielding both despondency and a strange impatience. If I’m to die soon, I say, let’s just get on with it.’
‘Mild congestion, Highness.’
‘And the sore lower back?’
‘Lack of exercise.’
‘Dry throat?’
‘Allergies.’
‘All these aches everywhere?’
‘Highness,’ said the handmaid, ‘are there moments when all these symptoms simply vanish?’
‘Hmm. Orgasm. Or if I find myself, er, suddenly busy.’
The handmaid drew the water pipe to life and handed the princess the mouthpiece.
Felash eyed the silver spigot. ‘When did I start this?’
‘The rustleaf, Highness? You were six.’
‘And why, again?’
‘It was that or chewing your fingernails down to nothing, as I recall, Highness.’
‘Ah yes, childish habits, thank the gods I’m cured. Now, do you think I dare the deck? I swear I felt a swell back then, which must yield optimism.’
‘The situation is dire, Highness,’ the handmaid said. ‘The crew is weary from working the pumps, and still we list badly. No land in sight, not a breath of wind. There is a very serious risk of sinking.’
‘We had no choice, did we?’
‘The captain and first mate do not agree with that assessment, Highness. Lives were lost, we are barely afloat-’
‘Mael’s fault,’ Felash snapped. ‘Never known the bastard to be so hungry.’
‘Highness, we have never before struck such a bargain with an Elder God-’
‘And never again! But Mother heard, didn’t she? She did. How can that not be worth the sacrifices?’
The handmaid said nothing, sitting back and assuming a meditative pose.
Felash studied the older woman with narrowed eyes. ‘Fine. Opinions differ. Have cooler heads finally prevailed?’
‘I cannot say, Highness. Shall I-’
‘No. As you said, exercise will do me good. Select for me a worthy outfit, something both lithe and flaunting, as befits my sudden maturity. Fifteen! Gods, the slide has begun!’
Her first mate, Shurq Elalle saw, was having trouble managing the canted deck. Not enough sound body parts, she assumed, to warrant much confidence, but for all his awkwardness he moved quickly enough, despite the winces and flinches with every step he took. Pain was not a pleasant thing to live with, not day after day, night upon night, not with every damned breath.
‘I do admire you, Skorgen.’
He squinted up at her as he arrived on the poop deck. ‘Captain?’
‘You take it with a grimace and not much else. There are many forms of courage, I believe, most of which pass unseen by the majority of us. It’s not always about facing death, is it? Sometimes it’s about facing life.’
‘If you say so, Captain.’
‘What do you have to report?’ she asked.
‘We’re sinking.’
Well. She imagined she’d float for a while, and then eventually wander down, like a bloated sack of sodden herbs, until she found the sea bottom. Then it would be walking, but where? ‘North, I think.’
‘Captain?’
‘The
‘Hard to say.’
‘Why?’
Skorgen’s good eye squinted. ‘What I meant was, I don’t like saying it. Bad luck, right?’
‘Skorgen, do I need to pack my trunk?’
‘You’re taking your trunk? Will it float? I mean, if we tie it behind the lifeboat? We only got two that’ll float and both are a bit battered. Twenty-nine left in the crew, plus you and me and our guests. Ten in a launch and we’ll be awash at the first whitecap. I ain’t good at numbers but I think we’re off some. Could be people holding on in the water. But not for long, with all those sharks hanging around. Ideal is eight to a boat. We should get down to that quick enough. But your trunk, well, that messes up my figuring.’
‘Skorgen, do you recall loading my trunk?’
‘No.’
‘That’s because I don’t have one. It was a figure of speech.’
