possible would be done to protect you all.’
‘I can’t go,’ she repeated.
‘Taking you somewhere so potentially dangerous must sound insane to you, Tanalvah,’ Karr added. ‘But we’ve reason to believe things are going to get worse here. At least you’d be with friends on the island.’
‘It’s not that. I don’t want to go.’
They were confounded, and it showed.
‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she told them, ‘but I can’t leave.’
Disgleirio recovered first. ‘Why?’
‘If…when Kinsel gets back, he’ll come here, to Bhealfa.’
‘Tan…’
‘I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. I put my trust in Iparrater. The goddess will protect him and bring him back to us.’
‘Your faith’s admirable,’ Karr responded gently, ‘and it gives you strength. But you have to be realistic. It could be that Kinsel won’t-’
Tanalvah got up, awkwardly, knocking over a glass. She pushed away Disgleirio’s helping hand.
‘Kinsel will look for me and the children here,’ she repeated obstinately. ‘Where else would he go?’ She began to move away.
Disgleirio would have followed, had not Karr grasped his arm. ‘Let her be,’ he advised. ‘She needs time.’
‘For what?’
‘To come to terms with the fact that Kinsel’s lost to her.’
Kinsel Rukanis couldn’t sleep.
There was nothing unusual about that in itself; he’d had no better than a few hours of rest on any night since being sentenced, but he dared to hope this night might be different. On some obscure whim, Vance had ordered him taken from his filthy berth in the bowels of the ship and given his own cabin. True, the door was locked and guarded, and Kinsel couldn’t stray far from his bunk due to his ankle being chained to it. All that notwithstanding, his new surroundings were luxurious compared to what he’d grown used to. But sleep was still elusive, despite his exhaustion.
His emotions constantly surprised him. Why should he expect to sleep, given his circumstances? Why suppose he would ever sleep again? Or live to do so, come to that. He began to feel selfish for wanting something as natural as sleep.
Everything seemed so much worse in the middle of the night. Not that things were really any better in the daytime, but during the hours of darkness defences were down. Skin was somehow thinner, fears more pressing. It was when hopelessness triumphed, and the thought of self-destruction took on an allure.
There was no cheer to be had from the cabin. It was spartan to the point of bleakness, containing little more than the cot he occupied, and that was bolted to the floor. The only light came from the three-quarter moon, its frail beams entering by way of a minute porthole.
It was quiet. All he heard was the creaking of the ship at anchor, and the pacing of the guard on the other side of the door. The man was either taking his sentry duties seriously or just trying to keep warm. In any event the measured tread of heavy boots on weathered planks was mesmerising.
Kinsel lay staring at the low timbered ceiling, listening to the rhythm of the guard’s footsteps and trying not to think. He counted the paces. Eight steps took the guard to the limit of his territory, then there was a pause, some shuffling, and eight steps back. Kinsel didn’t find it a comfort exactly, or relaxing, but it did have a kind of consoling quality. Perhaps because it gave him a tenuous connection to another human being, even though the guard had no friendly intent.
So he listened, totted up the footsteps and kept his mind as blank as he could.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight. Pause. Shuffle. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven… eight.
Kinsel remained in his sleepless state for an indefinite period of time, lulled by the tempo of the stranger walking outside.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight. Pause. Shuffle. One…two…three…four…five…
The sudden termination was like a slap in the face. An affront to his reality. He was so startled he instinctively sat up.
There were new sounds. A scuffle, and what might have been a muffled cry. Then the thud of something weighty meeting the deck, followed by a more distant commotion, of men running and shouting, and the chiming of steel. He drew up his knees and hugged them protectively, straining the chain that bound him.
The door rattled, the handle shook, and a hammering began. Kinsel held his peace, not knowing if calling out would be wise or not. He wrenched at the chain, uselessly.
The hammering gave way to a concerted battering. Not a fist now; something metallic. The door shuddered in its frame, and with a crash, the head of an axe burst through. Several more blows followed, sending splinters flying. Kinsel ducked.
The door gave. It flew inward, whacked the wall and bounced half closed again. Somebody shouldered their way in. His appearance was hidden by the gloom, but a moonbeam struck the double-headed axe he was clutching, glinting the steel.
‘Kinsel?’
Rukanis thought he recognised the voice, but didn’t trust his senses and stayed mute.
‘Kinsel?’ The man moved forward, catching enough of the meagre light from the porthole to show his features.
Kinsel fought disbelief. He wanted to speak, and only croaked. Gulping a breath, he tried again. ‘Reeth?’ It came out as a rasp.
Caldason stood over him. ‘You took some finding,’ he said.
‘Reeth?’ Kinsel repeated, gaping. ‘Is it really you or am I dreaming?’
‘It’s no dream. But it’ll turn into a nightmare if we don’t get you out off this ship, and fast.’
‘But how did-’
‘Questions later, all right?’ He took in the singer’s wasted frame and haggard face. ‘Hell, Kinsel, you look rough.’
‘Yes. I expect I do.’ His eyes welled. He began to shake.
Caldason laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. ‘Steady. It’s going to be all right; I’m getting you out of here. Can you walk?’
‘Yes. Well…’ He nodded at the chain securing his ankle.
Caldason went to the foot of the bunk and swung his axe at the wooden upright. The blade sliced through in a single stroke, and he pulled the chain through the loop on Kinsel’s anklet. ‘We’ll get that off later. Up you come.’ He helped him stand.
The noises outside grew wilder.
Kinsel wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. He looked dazed. ‘You’re not alone?’
‘No. But we’re nowhere near the size of Vance’s crew.’ Rukanis visibly tensed at mention of the pirate’s name. ‘We don’t have too far to go. Can you make it?’
‘I’ll cope.’
‘Good. Let’s move.’ He went to take the singer’s arm.
‘There’s no need. I can do it alone. Really.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Just lead me. But, Reeth…’
‘Yes?’
‘Tanalvah. And the children. How…how are…?’
‘They’re fine.’ Caldason had no way of knowing whether they were or not, but felt a judicious lie was in order. ‘You’ve no need to worry about them. Just concentrate on doing as I say.’
Caldason checked that the way was clear and they moved out of the cabin. The door opened directly onto the deck where a stiff, cold wind blew. Kinsel shivered. Caldason unhooked his cloak and wrapped it round the singer’s shoulders. Kinsel didn’t protest.
The body of the guard was slumped against the wall in a gathering pool of blood. Kinsel stared, but said
