“Elieve,” Mark said, his voice thick. “You are loved.”
Chapter 7
Pellin, flanked by Allta on one side and Mark with Elieve on the other, surveyed a three-masted ship the following day. The captain—a broad bluff of a man with stump-like legs and the light olive coloring of those from Caisel—looked as though he could have weathered the worst of storms without a thought. As they approached the boarding plank, the captain called imprecations on a poor unfortunate sailor who been a shade too slow to obey an order.
“Curse your worthless, maggot-ridden hide, Jory! The next time you hear me repeat myself it will be because I thought throwing you overboard was so funny I had to laugh twice. You understand me, yah?”
“Aye, uncle.” The boy was faced the other way, and his reply barely made it to Pellin’s hearing.
“Call me Captain Onen, boy, or I’ll have you on kitchen duty for the next year.” He turned to Pellin, still wearing the sneer that had sent Jory scrambling into the rigging to help unfurl the sails. “My sister’s son,” he growled. “I love him dearly, but the lad’s never going to make a good sailor. The call of the sea is just not in him.” He took in Pellin’s clothes and stance with a quick glance. “Who are you?”
Pellin nodded. “I understand the boy’s plight, Captain. It took me a long time and many trips before I acquired my sea legs. My name is Pellin. I’m looking for passage to Erimos.”
The captain scowled as he pursed his lips. “Are you telling me I need to be more patient with the boy?”
“Ah, no, Captain,” Pellin smiled. “When I say a long time, I’m not measuring it in years. Do as you think best. I understand you’re bound for the southern continent.”
“Aye, but I don’t usually take on passengers.” He shot a pointed look at Mark, who still held Elieve close. “They’re fussy. I don’t like the smell of vomit on my ship.” He waved a hand at his nephew. “It’s bad enough I have to put up with Jory’s puking hide, yah?”
Pellin felt for his purse. “I heard you were the best captain with a fast ship.”
“Aye, but travelers to the southern continent usually go farther east. Erimos is a trading port, and you don’t have the look of a merchant.”
He ignored the implied question. “I’m prepared to make it worth your while, Captain Onen.”
“Humph.” Onen looked at the weight of Pellin’s purse. “And how would you know how much my while is worth?”
Pellin smiled. “I’m counting on you to tell me—though I expect you’ll try to deprive my descendants of their inheritance if you can, yah?” He smiled with his brows raised.
“You’ve been to Caisel, then?” the captain asked. “You have the look of a Cynestol man.”
Pellin nodded. “I’ve done more than a bit of traveling, Captain. I’ve probably spent more time in Caisel than you’ve lived. Do you wish to negotiate the terms of our passage with or without bargaining?”
“Without. It’s faster.” Onen’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “One silver crown each to the south and back.”
Pellin stared at the captain. “My compliments, Captain, on your house. I haven’t seen that ruse used in some years, agreeing not to bargain and then using an inflated price anyway—high, but not so high to arouse suspicion from most. That bit of trickery is old enough that most men wouldn’t recognize it.”
Onen smiled. “My granda taught it to me when I was a lad. You must be older than you look.”
“We won’t need passage back, Captain,” Pellin said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be there.”
The captain shook his head. “Have you not heard? The leaders of the one church down there have shut off the interior. No one from the northern continent is allowed to travel past the ports.”
A fist closed around Pellin’s heart. “Have they said why, Captain?”
Onen scowled as he shook his head. “The southern churchmen keep their own counsel. They have no need to explain it to a grizzled seaman like me.”
Pellin took in a deep breath laden with the smell of salt and seaweed. “Three crowns to the south, Captain, for the four of us. If needed, we’ll pay the same rate for passage back.” He looked at the ship. “How heavy are you running?”
Onen’s gaze turned speculative. “Three-quarters of the holds are filled with wheat.”
Pellin checked the waterline on the ship. With a decent wind, it would make the trip at an adequate pace. “Two weeks, wouldn’t you say?”
“Aye,” the captain said. “You’ve served on board, then, yah?”
“No, Captain, but I have an appreciation for the gifts and talents, however they’re shown. You have a talent for nature, and you love the sea. May we board?”
At the captain’s nod, Pellin waved at Allta and Mark, and together they descended to the cabin set aside for passengers. Allta looked at the compartment—functional, if a bit worn. “It seems the captain offers his ship to passengers more than he lets on.”
“Yes,” Pellin said. “Mistress Anan told me as much.” He spied a pitcher and water along with a chamber pot. Sleeping would prove to be a tight affair on board a ship where space came at a premium. “Mark, do you have everything you need to tend to Elieve?”
After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, Eldest, though I may need more water to keep her clean.”
Pellin frowned. “Try to get her to use the chamber pot. The captain is likely to be stingy with his fresh water supply. If you can’t, use as much seawater as you can before using fresh.”
Mark nodded, looking uncomfortable. “How long do you need to wait before removing the rest of Cerena’s memories?”
“I don’t know, lad. We’re in uncharted territory. For all our centuries of experience, there is much of the mind that remains a mystery to us. I’m afraid if I take too many of her memories from her, Elieve will slip into breostfage.”
Mark frowned.
