There was an awkward silence between them. She met his eyes steadily though. ‘He is my husband.’
Tor had not expected this, but before he could say anything, she held up her hand to hush him.
‘Let me tell you about my life after you left Hatten, Tor, and you’ll understand.’
She poured him a second glass of finest southern wine and encouraged him to sit back and listen. Tor learned how she had felt unsettled after he had left, how she had been angry with him for not saying goodbye or telling her why he was leaving.
‘Eryn, you were the one who forbade any love…it was just friends, remember?’
‘I do,’ she replied and he thought he heard wistfulness in her voice. Nevertheless, she had felt
empty after his departure. She had continued to work at Miss Vylet’s but when the old girl died suddenly, life changed for the worse. A wealthy couple took over the business; he ran the front of house badly and she ran the brothel nastily. The girls hated her and the custom dropped away.
Tor felt saddened to hear of Miss Vylet. She was a good woman and a valuable sentient. ‘What of your brothers, Eryn?’
‘Ah, here’s the meat to my tale. Petyr, as you may have guessed, was an unhappy young man. I was the eldest, so my word counted, but Petyr struggled with this, being a man. He was not much of a man really, though; he was more like a younger sister, I often thought. He knew it and that just made things worse.’
Tor nodded. Eryn told him of the day when Petyr was badly beaten by a sailor. The sailor escaped to his ship but left Petyr with a broken body. ‘And a rearranged face to boot,’ she added sadly. ‘He took his fun with Petyr, bashed him up and left him bleeding in an alleyway. I’ll never forget his name: Nord Jesper. One day I will find him and I will kill him.’
Tor learned that Petyr had not been able to cope with losing his looks and had fled Hatten.
‘He was always an unhappy person; sullen and insecure. It was a great shame, for he used to be a sunny child until our mother died.’ Eryn shrugged and continued. ‘I went in search of him. I hated my life at the brothel but I loved my brothers; they were all I had. So I decided I’d track him down and we would build a life somewhere else. I even thought of
trying to find you in Tal. I had heard you were very popular at the royal court.’
At this they both shared a smile of regret.
‘It took me three moons but I finally found him in Caradoon. I was just a few hours too late. He was dead.’
Her voice broke and Tor pulled her towards him. She nestled up against him, wiped her tears and finished her tale.
‘He died from the stracca. He was not a strong person and the witch Xantia kept encouraging him to take more.’
‘Xantia? Black hair? Beautiful?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call her that, Tor. How do you know her?’
‘Oh, we met at Ildagarth. We have a score to settle.’
‘You and a hundred others.’ Eryn sounded bitter.
‘Tell me the rest,’ he said. He would come back to Xantia.
‘There was nothing I could do. His body was already stiff with death. I was distraught. I had no money, a young brother to care for, another to bury and nowhere to live. So I turned back to the only trade I knew. That’s how I met Janus. He was my first client. I could hardly bear him to touch me with that one-eyed face. He knew this and, rather than forcing himself, spent his paid hour with me in talking. Other than you, I can’t imagine any other man doing such a thing on paid time.’ She smiled to herself. ‘And then he came back the next night for another hour, to talk again. You know, he did that four nights in a row. I
did all the talking though. He just listened. I think at first he took pity on me, but somewhere during that time he fell in love.’
‘And you with him?’ Tor asked.
‘I don’t love him as I once loved you, Tor.’ She saw his surprise. ‘Yes, I broke my own rule. It was never like that with him. But I loved Janus then for his gentleness, and I love him dearly now for his kindness towards me and his goodness. Tor, if you knew him as I do, you would understand what a just man he is. Yes, he thieves, he’s very good at it, but do you know he gives away large portions of his money to help people? He cares for a family just west of here, who lost their crops and animals to fire and then the husband died leaving six children. Janus provides for them all. And that’s just one example. I could give you a whole list of people who survive because of him, including everyone here.’
Tor stroked her hair. ‘Do you mind that he slave trades, Eryn?’
She shot him an angry look. ‘Janus Quist is the only one of the mainland pirates who would never succumb to slave trading. The only one with any scruples.’
So he had guessed wrong. ‘I’m not sure what to say.’
She waved her hand. ‘Oh, you were not to know any of this. He stole something from you and you want it back. I can understand this, but I would not be living such a good life, Tor, if it wasn’t for his benevolence.’
‘So you own this place?’
‘All of it. Janus bought it off the original owner and gave it to me.’ She laughed out loud. ‘You should have seen the girls’ faces when they found out who the new madam was to be. But I learned a lot at Miss Vylet’s, especially about how to look after the people who make the business successful. All my girls eat well, dress well, live securely and many have families whom I ensure they spend time with. I pay them well and they make excellent business for me in return. I really love my life here, Tor.’
‘And do you still…?’
‘What?’
‘You know…get involved with the day to day business yourself?’
‘Do I give sex for money, do you mean?’
Tor blushed and nodded.
‘Sometimes, if they’re really handsome.’ She grinned. ‘Rarely,’ she added.
He cleared his throat. ‘And what of Quist? He does not mind?’
‘Mind? No. I told you, Janus is an amazing man. He married me to give me status in this town. His name protects me because people respect and…yes, fear him a little. When he is home, which is not all that often, I am his wife and he my husband. But my life is my own; he does not interfere in my business. The money I earn is mine.’
Tor shook his head. ‘And what of that rascal, Locky?’
‘Oh, he’s wonderful, Tor. He’s thirteen, almost a man. He lives here; the girls adore him, as you might
imagine, and he plays up to them ruthlessly. My income means I can afford to educate him. I hired a tutor to teach all our girls to write and read. I think it’s very important; I’ll never forget how much it meant when Captain Margolin helped me with this.’ She sighed, remembering another life. ‘Anyway, Locky is happy, wants to join the Shield when he is of age and is far too clever for his own good sometimes.’
‘He was at eight!’
They both laughed.
‘So what will you do then, Tor…about Janus, I mean?’
It was his turn to shrug. ‘I mean to find him. Will you help me?’
‘What has he taken from you that is so important?’
‘He stole my bird.’
She looked incredulous as he pushed on. ‘We have shared much together, that falcon and I. Janus stole him from my friend, Saxon, and said he would sell him in the Exotic Isles for a high price.’
She nodded. ‘It’s true. Falcons are prized over there. Could you not make a pet of another one if I was able to, shall we say, appropriate one for you?’
‘No. It must be Cloot. I’m sorry, Eryn; he’s my companion. I promise you this. When I find your husband, I will not hurt him.’
Eryn threw her head back and laughed fiercely. ‘Hurt him? Tor, you watch out for yourself. Janus is a fearsome fighter. He is stronger than ten men. I have seen him fight off six on his own, unarmed.’
‘There will be no fight,’ he said calmly. ‘I wish him no harm. I just want back what belongs to me.’
‘And should he no longer have it?’
‘Then he will help me to find it.’
‘Tor, there’s something quite arresting about your arrogance. You have changed from the insecure virgin I met.’
Tor grinned. ‘I had reason to change. But you have not changed at all, Eryn. You are still most direct and very beautiful.’
He could see she enjoyed the compliment.
‘So will you help me?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘How?’
‘Tell me where you think Janus might have sailed to and then help me get aboard the next ship sailing there.’
Eryn took her time. She sipped some wine and stared at the fire. Tor gave her this time. He knew she was weighing up whether such help could be deemed a betrayal of her husband. Finally, she spoke.
‘He sailed to Voronin in the Exotic Isles and on to Cipres.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Three days.’
‘And how long will it take me to get there?’
‘On a fast ship with kind weather, probably an Eighthday.’
Tor nodded. ‘Would you know anyone who has a ship like this—one which is in port now?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But The Black Hand, as we call him, is about as nasty a man as you could be unfortunate enough to meet.’
‘I’ll take my chances, Eryn. How do I get on board?’
‘I can get you on board. He owes me money to begin with and…’
‘He wants to stay on the right side of Janus Quist, right?’
Eryn laughed. ‘Something like that. I believe he’s sailing tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do, Tor, but tonight, what are your plans? Do you have lodgings?’
He noticed she was fighting a yawn. He kissed her hand. ‘I’m staying at The Anchor.’
She pulled a face of disgust.
‘Yes, a flea-ridden pit, to be sure, but adequate. I can cope.’
‘Stay here,’ she said. It was not a suggestion.
Tor shook his head and stood. ‘No, I won’t impose on our old friendship any further. Thank you for what you may be able to do tomorrow.’
‘I absolutely insist, Tor. I can’t let that old rogue at The Anchor take your money. That place is not fit for a dog. Stay here, really. We have plenty of rooms.’
She knew he was wavering. ‘Perhaps one of the girls has taken your fancy? I noticed how your eyes lingered on Aymee. You might as well enjoy your last night on solid ground. I hear you still enjoy the ladies,’ she said, innocently avoiding his gaze and standing to poke around in the fire.
‘Well now, Eryn, how would you hear something like that, living all the way up here?’
‘Oh, I kept in touch with your career. Miss Vylet seemed to know plenty about you and was always happy to tell me. You must have had a mutual friend.’
‘We did,’ he said, running his hands through his hair.
She chuckled. ‘You know, you still betray yourself by fidgeting with your hair like that. You used to do that when you were embarrassed.’
‘Eryn, just how much
did
you notice in that short time we spent together?’
‘Plenty. What happened, Tor? Before Miss Vylet died, she said you had gone away…on some special royal mission to Ildagarth. I didn’t even know where that was then.’
‘I did go there,’ Tor replied, recalling with clarity the moment he had set eyes on his beautiful Alyssa again at Caremboche. ‘And I did not return to the palace or to Tal for a long time.’
‘And?’ she said, intrigued now by his wistful, almost regretful air.
‘It’s a long story, Eryn,’ he said, sadly.
‘May I hear it?’ Her voice was gentle as she sensed his pain.
‘Do you have a long time?’
‘We have all night. I’m not doing anything special, and I have the most comfortable bed in the whole place…I promise you it won’t break either.’
Tor did not know whether to laugh at her reference back to their last night together or to be shocked at what she was suggesting.
‘I’m not sure I carry enough coin to spend a whole night with the famous Madame Eryna.’ He was tempted to push his hand through his hair but stopped himself just in time.
She was smiling at him, a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Oh, this one’s on the house, Tor…for old times’ sake.’
Their lovemaking was passionate and hard. They revelled in rediscovering each other’s bodies, kisses and caresses until Tor fell back onto Eryn’s plump goose-feather cushions, exhausted. This time it was he who snuggled up into her welcoming arms and marvelled at the soft skin of a woman. It was the first time he had touched anything so lovely in so many years; he had forgotten how good for the soul a loving woman could be.
‘You are beautiful, Eryn. Thank you,’ he whispered.
She had never stopped loving him and had always hoped that perhaps one day he might walk back into her life…into her arms. And here he was. Far more worldly now and able to match her in his creative lovemaking, but still so like the lost boy she had chosen as King of the Sea all those years ago. What had happened to make him so sad?
Tor was stroking her breasts and, despite her mood, she giggled when she realised he was talking to them, telling them how much he admired them.
‘It’s lovely to hear you laugh again,’ he said, looking up.
‘Tor, it’s your turn to tell me everything. You have a tale—I sense it and I must know it or I shall go mad.’
She grabbed his thick, dark hair and pulled it hard. Tor smiled ruefully to himself. Old Cyrus was right. He definitely knew women.
‘It is not a pretty tale, Eryn; there are not many laughs to share,’ he warned.
‘All the same, I want to hear your ugly story.’
And so he told her everything. At the end of it, as the first light of sunrise threatened, they hugged each other hard as though they may never let go…and this time they cried together.
Eryn had done well. Understandably amazed and disturbed by Tor’s story, she had vowed never to share a word of it with anyone. After a slow, final helping of Tor’s body, she left to find the captain of
The Wasp
. Tor did not know what passed between Eryn and Blackhand that day but he was at the Caradoon docks by mid-afternoon, hugging her farewell. She had procured for him a tiny but secure cabin on board
The Wasp
which was bound for the Exotic Isles.
‘How to thank you, Eryn,’ he said, wishing he did not have to say goodbye to this lovely woman again so soon.
‘Just keep safe, Tor. Come back and find your Alyssa. You deserve to be together.’
He tried to lighten her sombre mood. ‘Ah…and I thought you were hoping I’d stay safe so I could
come back to you.’ He found his very best smile and used it.
‘Your heart belonged to her first, and…’ she added, very sadly now as she looked at her boots, ‘I suspect it always will.’
A young lad scampered up to them, a seasoned member of the crew by the look of his badly windburned face. ‘Captain Blackhand is anxious to set sail, sir. You will have to come aboard now.’ He did not wait for a reply.
‘Please, Eryn, cheer up. I can’t leave you so maudlin.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, mustering a smile. ‘Last night was lovely. I’m glad you stayed.’
‘Er…you won’t be mentioning it to your husband, will you?’ he said, feigning anxiety and at this she did manage a genuine grin.
‘Just another paying guest, Tor. No one will be any the wiser. By the way, there’s a surprise on board from me.’
He looked at her quizzically but there was no more time. Someone whistled loudly from the deck which meant they were serious about departing. Tor could linger no longer so he kissed her lips, squeezed her hand and walked up the gangplank.
The pirate known as The Black Hand had won his curious
nom de guerre
as a result of the forty-three withered hands tied to the main mast of his ship,
The
Wasp
. These were his prizes from the men and two women whom he felt had slighted him seriously enough to lose this precious part of their body. He proudly showcased his spoils to Tor, precisely recalling which hand had belonged to whom and why they lost it. Captain Blackhand, as he had come to be known, used this treasure as a ghoulish reminder to all who sailed with him, and especially those who did not, that he was a man to be reckoned with.
Almost as tall as Tor and twice as broad, he was an imposing figure, loud of voice with a mouth filled with yellowed teeth and bleeding gums. His breath stank so his crew gave him a wide berth whenever they could. He knew this and used his ailment to intimidate them further. Tor weaved a silent spell to counter the stench and Captain Blackhand was surprised when his new ‘guest’, as he called him, did not recoil the moment he stepped within a foot of him.
The same boy sailor who had called Tor for departure came to his cabin with a terse message from Blackhand.
‘Captain hopes you’ll take supper with him tonight, sir,’ was all he said before disappearing hurriedly.
Well, I simply can’t wait for that treat, Tor thought, as he imagined the bleeding mouth of the captain leering at him across the table.
He looked around the airless cabin, wondering what the surprise from Eryn could be. She had done more than enough for him already. Her disquiet at his
tale had left them both silent towards morning. She had not doubted any of what he had told her, but he had carefully crafted the story. It would do her no good to know of his sentient abilities and so he had been careful to leave out anything which would be inexplicable without the magical component. And she knew nothing of his public execution. Miss Vylet, Eryn’s source of information, had died before it occurred and Tor was glad that news of the famous physic’s death had not reached as far north as Caradoon.
To Eryn’s ears, it was a tragic tale of love lost, found and brutally taken away again. It appealed to her romantic soul and she drank in his words like sweet wine. He did not like hiding the truth from her but knew that it would not help her to know the full extent of his history. It might even harm her.
Eryn, he realised, lived in a cocoon. All trade was carried out off shore; the pirates never brought home their spoils, only the proceeds of them. The revenue was ploughed straight back into Caradoon’s economy and, with good arable soil surrounding most of it, the pirate town was able to function virtually autonomously from the rest of the Kingdom. Tor had wondered how this could occur, but as Eryn had explained, why scratch at what does not itch. It had taken him a moment to work out her odd logic but then he realised that Tal probably found it more convenient to observe from a distance. Caradoon operated as a very tiny separate duchy might, and providing its dubious population and their ways did
not seep further south, why try to police this northern state from such a great distance?
‘But what of the slaves?’ Tor had asked. ‘From where are they sourced?’
Eryn had shrugged. ‘Well, not from here and hardly from Tallinor. Most come from the fragmented, tiny islands of the south west which are, as I understand it, linked by shallow waterways. Janus says they are nomadic people who live by moving between these islands. They are not aggressive, which makes them easy to capture.’
A knock on the cabin door interrupted Tor’s thoughts.
‘Come in,’ he called, turning.
A rangy lad stepped into the room. He was of middling height, around thirteen summers, with a thatch of unruly dark hair.
He grinned broadly. ‘Remember me?’
Tor looked puzzled. ‘I can’t say I do,’ he said, after a pause.
Green eyes regarded him with mirth. ‘A ship on fire…a brothel…three dukes and—’
‘Locky!’ Tor exclaimed. ‘Light, boy, look at you.’
Eryn’s cocky brother showed off his best profile. ‘Handsome, eh?’
‘And modest,’ Tor added, before grabbing the boy’s hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Locky. Eryn has told me so much about you.’
The boy smirked. ‘I’m surprised she found the time,’ he said, eyebrows arching.
Tor had forgotten how direct the small child of
eight had been. The boy of thirteen had not lost the smart mouth; he was simply taller. But Tor was taller still and he used this now to good effect.
‘Being disrespectful towards your sister is rather ignoble of you, considering that it is her wealth—no matter how she has earned it—which has allowed you to look forward to being an educated man with choices.’
It was a rare occasion when Locky Gylbyt was speechless. But he was now.
Tor had not finished; he surprised himself at how angry he sounded. ‘Furthermore, she is an exceptional woman with more sophistication and intelligence than you would find in all the whorehouses of Tallinor put together. Honour her, Locky, for she is worth every ounce of your respect.’
That hurt the boy, Tor could tell. He knew deep down that Locky was simply being witty but he was not in the mood for it. Seeing Eryn again had reminded him of how much pleasure a woman could bring to a man’s life. The physical benefit was obvious, but he could not remember a time since those early halcyon days in the Heartwood, newly married and deeply in love with Alyssa, when he had enjoyed such companionship. His friendship with Cloot was something else—they had shared their bodies more intimately than anyone could imagine possible—but to hold a woman close, to laugh with her, to hear her thoughts and to love her…it was as though one had glimpsed the paradise of the gods.
And now, as he accepted the uncomfortable fact of sailing with Blackhand for at least an Eighthday on a long and tedious voyage to who knows what, and suffering the cramped and stifling conditions of this cabin…well, Locky just happened to be a convenient target for Tor’s bad temper that afternoon.
‘Tor, I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to—’
‘I know you didn’t. It’s all right. Don’t dwell on it, just try and remember—when you are insulting someone, be sure they really deserve it.’
‘I will. Again, my apologies.’
Tor watched him close the door quietly and instantly regretted the incident. He would have to make it up to Locky later. He knew his heavy handling was an over-reaction; he was worried about Cloot and concerned at how Alyssa would react to the news of Goth being alive. He was anxious that in chasing down Janus Quist, he may have let his real enemy slip through his fingers. Where would Goth run to? Tor asked himself over and again. Would he stay with Xantia? The questions tumbled around until he could stand it no longer and decided to head out onto the deck.
There he found Blackhand’s second mate speaking to the crew.
The Wasp
’s sails were being swelled by a handy late afternoon wind, which ensured that she cut swiftly through the narrow pass and out into the open sea. Tor leaned against the rail and half listened to the mate briefing the men.
The Wasp
’s first stop would be a rendezvous with Blackhand’s first mate at one of the uncharted islands of the Trefel archipelago.
Here slaves would be boarded before they made for Cipres, the capital of the Exotic Isles.
Tor had vaguely heard of Cipres, an immensely wealthy city ruled by a Queen Sylven. Merkhud had once told him that it was rumoured she kept a harem of men to ‘service her needs’. Tor remembered how they had both smirked at the thought of it. Nevertheless, Cipres was a powerful city within a powerful nation run by a powerful woman. It demanded respect, even though it was involved in only minor trade with Tallinor.
‘There’s talk of storms coming through,’ the deputy finished. ‘We must be especially alert.’
The ship’s boy, Ryk, who had summoned Tor aboard earlier, sidled up to him.
‘This is our last sailing for the season, sir,’ he offered.
‘Is that right?’ Tor replied, turning around to look at the lad.
‘Captain Blackhand agreed to one more run, even though the weather’s contrary, sir, and he doesn’t like to argue with it.’
‘Are the slaves so important that he would chance an argument with the skies, young Ryk?’
‘Oh, it’s not the slaves, sir. It’s the guests. Madame Eryna paid handsomely for your carriage and we have another special guest on board. I overheard Captain Blackhand saying this man paid enough coin to make anything else we bring on board cold profit, sir.’
Ryk’s eyes widened as he realised he may have shared too much and Tor, keen not to frighten the
lad, for he could be useful during the voyage, quickly turned his attention away from talk of money.
‘And this other guest—will I meet him tonight at dinner?
‘Oh no, sir. He is not to be disturbed for the whole voyage.’ Ryk swelled up with importance. ‘I am personally responsible for his needs, sir,’ he added.
‘I see. That’s an important job you have there, Ryk. And he must be very important to warrant your undivided attention.’
Ryk beamed at the compliment. ‘Oh yes, sir, he is. He is a holy man and very wealthy.’
‘Well, if your priest gets lonely for conversation, I shall be more than happy to discuss the argumentative weather with him during the voyage.’
Ryk grinned. ‘I shall mention it, Physic Petersyn, when I am next in his cabin.’
Tor realised Eryn had kept his true identity a secret and he thanked his stars once more that she was so quick. Not promoting his real name was extremely wise. One never knew who might be eavesdropping on the Link, he reminded himself, recalling Merkhud’s regular grave warnings to be cautious in the use of it while teaching Tor how to shield his mind effectively against outside probing.
The first few days of the voyage were uneventful. The wind had calmed to a light breeze so progress was slow; far slower than Blackhand liked and Tor noticed the captain’s good humour draining away during their evening meals. These dinners were tedious but the pirate insisted on Tor’s presence. Tor had to sit
through hours of Blackhand regaling him with tales of his most prosperous voyages, when he had successfully pirated another ship or filled the bowels of
The Wasp
to overflowing with the Moruk slaves.
‘Who cares if half of them died?’ he would slur between sips of his strong liquor. ‘The live ones fetch a high price in Cipres.’
Tor found the conversation boring and the company offensive. He longed for dry land and the opportunity to do something positive towards finding Cloot. The only moments of the voyage he enjoyed were those spent with Ryk or Locky. Between running errands for Captain Blackhand and the mysterious priest, Ryk was kept very busy, though he always managed to find stolen minutes to talk with Tor, who sensed the boy had something of a crush on him. He could see the awe written on the lad’s face. Locky, he discovered, was working his passage to the Exotic Isles but was on fairly light duties because of his connection to Quist.
‘Blackhand won’t risk giving me anything which might cause him trouble with Janus,’ Locky explained.
‘Is everyone so scared of him?’
‘He is the most successful of the Caradoon pirates and that means they respect him. He’s also known for playing fair. When he pirates, he takes only half the ship’s cargo and no blood is shed, unless the other ship’s crew puts up a physical fight. He quite likes it if they run though. Quist loves the chase, you see, but he isn’t partial to the kill.’
‘And by taking only half, the victims give it willingly?’ Tor said.
‘Yes. Because they know he won’t kill for the sake of it, it’s all quite gentlemanly and amicable. That means he loses no men, it all takes a lot less time and he can profiteer from the captured goods more quickly.’
‘He’s clever,’ said Tor, impressed.
‘He is indeed. I’m sure Eryn told you about how he does not get involved with the slave trade, but his network of listeners, as he calls them, are so adept that he knows every ship and its goods even before it leaves its port. He never misses; every voyage is profitable. He also pays his crew well and looks after them properly, which makes a huge difference to their performance. None of the other pirates seem to understand this,’ Locky continued, a look of distaste on his face. ‘Take Blackhand, for example. He rules with fear and if he doesn’t like the way someone looks at him, he’ll chop off their hand. Light, he’s so thick-skulled! One day someone will finish him off. For now, his crew is made up of the scum of Caradoon; they’re the only men who will take their chance with him.’