His shackles were secured to a pin set in the floor and the men left him there. The moment they let go of his arms, Wintrow lifted his hand to his face. He touched it gingerly, feeling the puffing and seeping of his outraged flesh. A pink-tinged liquid ran slowly down his face and dripped from his chin. He had nothing to blot it.
He stared around at the other slaves. He realized he had not said a word since he had spoken to the tattooist. “What happens now?” he asked dazedly of them.
A tall, skinny youth picked his nose with a dirty finger. “We get sold,” he said sarcastically. “And we're slaves the rest of our lives. Unless you kill someone and get away.” He was sullenly defiant, but Wintrow heard it was only words. Words were all that were left of his resistance. The others seemed not even to have that much. They stood or sat or leaned, and waited for whatever would happen to them next. Wintrow recognized the state. Severely injured people fell into it. Left to themselves, they would simply sit and stare and sometimes shiver.
“I can't believe it,” Wintrow heard his own voice whisper. “I can't believe Torg didn't tell my father.” Then he wondered why he had ever expected that Torg would. What was the matter with him, why had he been so stupid? He'd trusted his fate to a sadistic brutal idiot. Why hadn't he sent word for his father, why hadn't he told the keeper the first day? Come to think of it, why had he fled the ship? Had it really been so bad there? At least there had been an end in sight, a two-year wait to his deliverance from his father. Now there was no end to it. And he would not have the Vivacia to sustain him. The thought of her brought a terrible pang of loneliness welling up in him. He'd betrayed her, and he'd sent himself into slavery. This was real. He was a slave now. Now and forever. He curled up in the dirty straw on his side, clasping his knees to his chest. In the distance, he seemed to hear a roaring wind.
The Vivacia rocked disconsolately in the placid harbor. It was a lovely day. The sunlight glittered on fabled white Jamaillia City. The winds were from the south today, ameliorating the winter day and the stench of the other slavers anchored alongside her. Not so long now to spring. Farther south, where Ephron had used to take her, fruit trees would be cascades of white or pink blossoms. Somewhere to the south, it was warm and beautiful. But she would be going north, to Chalced.
The banging and sawing from within her were stilled at last; all her modifications for being a slaver were complete. Today would be spent loading the last of the supplies, and tomorrow her human cargo would be ferried out to her. She would sail away from Jamaillia, alone. Wintrow was gone. As soon as she lifted anchor, one or more of the sluggish serpents in the harbor muck below would uncoil and follow her. Serpents would be her companions from now on. Last night, when the rest of the harbor was still, a small one had risen, to slink about among the anchored slavers. When it came to her, it had lifted its head above the water, to gaze at her warily. Something about its stare had closed her throat tight with terror. She had not even been able to call the watch. If Wintrow had been aboard, at least someone would have sensed her fear and come to her. She dragged her thoughts free of him. She'd have to take care of herself now. Loss clawed at her heart. She denied it. She refused it all. It was a lovely day. She listened to the waves slap against her hull as she rocked at anchor. So peaceful.
“Ship? Vivacia?”
She turned her head slowly and looked back and up. It was Gantry, standing on her foredeck and leaning on the rail to speak to her.
“Vivacia? Could you stop that, please? It's unnerving the whole crew. We're two hands short today; they didn't come back from liberty. And I think it's because you've frightened them off.”
Frightened. What was so frightening about isolation and loneliness and serpents no one else ever saw?
“Vivacia? I'm going to have Findow come play his fiddle for you. And I've got liberty myself today for a few hours, and I promise you I'll spend every moment of it looking for Wintrow. I promise you that.”
Did they think that would make her happy? If they found Wintrow and dragged him back to her, forced him to serve her, did they think she would be content and docile? Kyle would believe that. That was how Kyle had brought Wintrow aboard her in the first place. Kyle understood nothing of the willing heart.
“Vivacia,” Gantry asked with despair in his voice. “Please. Please, can you just stop rocking? The water is smooth as glass today. Every other ship in the harbor is still. Please.”
She felt sorry for Gantry. He was a good mate, and a very able seaman. None of this was his fault. He shouldn't have to suffer for it.
But then, neither should she.
She made an effort to find her strength. He was a good sailor; she owed him some small explanation. “I'm losing myself,” she began, and then heard how peculiar that sounded. She tried again. “It's not so hard, when I know someone is coming back. But when I don't, it suddenly gets harder to hold on to who I am. I start thinking… no. Not thinking. Almost like a dream, but we liveships cannot sleep. But it's like a dream, and in the dream I'm someone else. Something else. And the serpents touch me and that makes it worse.”
The man only looked more worried now. “Serpents,” he repeated doubtfully.
“Gantry,” she said in a very faint voice. “Gantry, there are serpents here in the harbor. Hiding down at the bottom in the muck.”
He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “So you told me before. But, Vivacia, no one else has seen any sign of them. So, I think you might be mistaken.” He paused, hoping for a response.
She looked away from him. “If Wintrow were here, he would feel them. He'd know I wasn't being foolish.”
“Well,” Gantry said reluctantly. “I'm afraid he's not here. And I know that makes you unhappy. And maybe it makes you fearful, just a bit.” He paused. His voice took on a cajoling tone, as if she were a nervous child. “Maybe there are serpents down there. But if there are, what can we do about them? They're not hurting us. I think we should both just ignore them, don't you?”
She turned her head to stare at him, but he would not meet her gaze. What did he think of her? That she was imagining serpents? That her grief at Wintrow abandoning her was making her crazy? She spoke quietly. “I'm not mad, Gantry. It is… hard… for me to be alone like this. But I'm not going crazy. Maybe I'm even seeing things more clearly than I used to. Seeing things my own way, not a… Vestrit way.”
Her efforts to explain only confused him. “Well. Of course. Uh.” He looked away from her.
“Gantry, you're a good man. I like you.” She almost didn't say the words. But then she did. “You should get onto a different ship.”
She could smell the sudden fear in his sweat when he spoke to her. “Now, what other ship could compare to you?” he asked her hastily.
“After sailing aboard you, why would I want to take ship on another?” False heartiness in his voice.
“Maybe because you want to live,” she said in a very low voice. “I've a very bad feeling about this voyage. A very bad feeling. Especially if I must make it alone.”
“Don't talk like that!” he said roughly, as if she were an unruly hand. Then, in a calmer voice, he offered, “You won't be alone. I'll be here with you. I'll go and tell Findow to come fiddle for you, shall I?”
She shrugged. She had tried. She fixed her eyes on the distant spire of the Satrap's palace.
After a while, he went away.
She had been afraid Captain Tenira would recognize her. She had danced with his son at the Winter gathering, three years ago. But if the Bingtown Trader saw any resemblance between Athel the sailor and Althea the daughter of Ephron Vestrit, he gave no sign of it. He looked her up and down critically, then shook his head. “You've the look of a good sailor to you, boy. But I've told you. I don't need another hand. My crew is full.” He spoke as if that settled the matter.
Althea kept her eyes down. Two days ago she had spotted the Ophelia in the harbor. The sight of the old liveship's silvery hull and smiling figurehead had moved her with a depth that shocked her. A question or two in the waterfront taverns had given her all the information she needed. The liveship was homeward bound, heading back for Bingtown in a matter of days. In the instant of hearing that, Althea had resolved that one way or another, she would be on board her. She had hung about the docks, watching and waiting for her chance to catch the captain alone. Her plan was simple. She'd first try to hire aboard as a ship's boy. If that didn't work, she'd reveal to him who she was and beg for passage home. She didn't think he'd turn her down. Still, it had taken all her courage to follow Tenira to this waterfront tavern and wait while he dined. She had stood in a corner, waiting until he had finished eating before she approached him. When he set down his fork and leaned back in his chair, she'd placed herself before him. Now she summoned all her courage. “Sir, begging your pardon, sir. I'd work for nothing, just for my passage back to Bingtown.”
