to be within reasonable distance of a beach, and we need a rolling deck, and we need to not be tied up in the hold when our chance comes.”
3
THE SKY turned gray again that night, and ominous clouds boiled on the horizons, but the gentle rolling of the Amathel barely tilted the deck of the
Their progress was slow. The strange autumn winds were against them much of the time, and with no mages to shape the weather to their taste, they had to move by tack after long, slow tack to the southwest. Volantyne and his crew seemed to care not a whit. Whether they sailed half the world or half a mile, their pay would be the same.
On the night of their fourth day, Locke caught flashes of whitish yellow illuminating the southern horizon, but his excitement died when he realized that he was looking at Lashain.
On the fifth day they picked up speed, and the capricious winds grew stronger. The whole sky bruised over with promising clouds, and just after noon the first drops of cool rain began to fall. Locke and Jean retreated to their cabin, trying to look innocent. They buried themselves in books and idle conversation, glancing out the cabin window every few moments, watching in mutual satisfaction as the troughs between the waves deepened and the strands of foam thickened at their crests.
At the third hour of the afternoon, with the rain steady and the lake rolling at four or five feet, Adalric came to their door to receive instructions for dinner.
“Perhaps the soup of the veal, masters?”
“By all means,” said Locke. If any chance to escape was coming, he wanted to face it with at least one more of the Vadran prodigy’s feasts shoved down his gullet.
“And how about chicken?” said Jean.
“I’ll do one the murder right away.”
“Dessert too,” said Locke. “Let’s have a big one tonight. Storms make me hungry.”
“I have a cake of the honey and ginger,” said Adalric.
“Good man,” said Jean. “And let’s have some wine. Two bottles of sparkling apple, eh?”
“Two bottles,” said the cook. “I has it brung to you.”
“Decent fellow, for all that he tramples the language,” said Locke when the door had closed behind the cook. “I hate to take advantage of him.”
“He won’t miss us if we slip away,” said Jean. “He’s got the whole crew to appreciate him. You know what sort of slop they’d be gagging down if he wasn’t aboard.”
Locke went on deck a few minutes later, letting the rain soak him as he stood by the foremast, feigning indifference as the deck rolled slowly from side to side. It was a gentle motion as yet, but if the weather continued to pick up it was a very promising trend indeed.
“Master Lazari!” Solus Volantyne came down from the quarterdeck, oilcloak fluttering. “Surely you’d be more comfortable in your cabin?”
“Perhaps our mutual friend neglected to tell you, Captain Volantyne, that Master Callas and myself have been at sea. Compared to what we endured down in the Ghostwinds, this is invigorating.”
“I do know something of your history, Lazari, but I’m also charged with your safety.”
“Well, until someone takes these damned bracelets off my ankles I can’t exactly swim to land, can I?”
“And what if you catch cold?”
“With Adalric aboard? He must have possets that would drive back death itself.”
“Will you at least consent to an oilcloak, so you look like less of a crazy landsman?”
“That’d be fine.”
Volantyne summoned a sailor with a spare cloak, and Locke resumed talking as he fastened it over his shoulders. “Now, pardon my ignorance, but where the hell are we, anyway?”
“Forty miles due west of Lashain, give or take a hair in any direction.”
“Ah. I thought I spotted the city last night.”
“We’re not making good westward progress. If I had a schedule to keep I’d be in a black mood, but thanks to you, we’re in no hurry, are we?”
“Quite. Are those heavier storms to the south?”
“That shadow? That’s a lee shore, Master Lazari. A damned lee shore. We’re eight or nine miles off the southern coast of the Amathel, and fighting to get no closer. If we can punch through this mess and claw another twenty or thirty miles west-nor’west, we should be clear straight to the Cavendria, and from there it’s like a wading pond all the way to the Sea of Brass.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” said Locke. “Rest assured, I’ve got absolutely no interest in drowning.”
4
DINNER WAS excellent and productive. Four of Volantyne’s sailors watched from the corners of the cabin while Locke and Jean packed away soup, chicken, bread, cake, and sparkling apple wine. Just after opening the second bottle, however, Locke signaled Jean that he was about to have a clumsy moment.
Timing himself to the sway of the ship, Locke swept the new bottle off the table. It landed awkwardly and broke open, spilling cold frothing wine across his bare feet. Realizing that the bottle hadn’t shattered into the selection of knife-like shards he’d hoped for, he managed to drop his wineglass as well, with more satisfactory results.
“Ah, shit, that was good stuff,” he said loudly, slipping off his chair and crouching above the mess. He waved his hands over it, as though unsure of what to do, and in an instant a long, sturdy piece of glass was shifted from his palm to his tunic-sleeve. It was delicate work; a red stain beneath the cloth would surely draw attention.
“Don’t,” said one of the sailors, waving for one of his companions to go on deck. “Don’t touch anything. We’ll get it for you.”
Locke put his hands up and took several careful steps back.
“I’d call for more wine,” said Jean, hoisting his own glass teasingly, “but it’s possible you’ve had enough.”
“That was the motion of the ship,” said Locke.
The missing guard returned with a brush and a metal pan. He quickly swept up all the fragments.
“We’ll scrub the deck when we give the cabin a turn tomorrow, sir,” said one of the sailors.
“At least it smells nice,” said Locke.
The guards didn’t search him. Locke admired the deepening darkness through the cabin window and allowed himself the luxury of a faint smirk.
When the remains of dinner were cleared (every knife and fork and spoon accounted for) and the cabin was his and Jean’s again, Locke carefully drew out the shard of glass and set it on the table.
“Doesn’t look like much,” said Jean.
“It needs some binding,” said Locke. “And I know just where to get it.”
While Jean leaned against the cabin door, Locke used the glass shard to carefully worry the inside front cover of the copy of
