Talis stood at the railing of
The Pride of Pela
, watching the massive bank of inky storm clouds racing toward the ship.
The wind was rising, cold and dank. She shivered. Behind her the crew was racing around like insects boiling out of a disturbed nest, reefing the sails and battening down the hatches. She could hear the thud of their bare feet, mixed with the shouts from the officers.
A hand fell on her shoulder. “Mistress Aloro!” a gruff voice barked.
Talis jumped and spun around to see Captain Garano, accompanied by a Chonao guard. “Captain!”
“Mistress, the deck is no place for passengers. We face a major blow, no doubt about it. Get below, and stay there.”
Talis nodded meekly. “Yes, Captain.”
She headed for the belowdecks ladder. As she reached it, she glanced back at the deck, and saw Falar half rear in her pen. Her wind-tossed mane looked like tarnished silver; her eyes were white-rimmed with fear.
I can’t leave her alone,
she thought.
The crew won’t do
anything for her, they’re too busy.
She glanced over to see the captain still watching, and hastily made her way down the heaving ladder.
Once belowdecks, she went to her small cabin and pulled on her oiled weather-cloak and her boots. Then, holding tight to the ladder, she cautiously crept back out on deck.
Scuttling, keeping low, she made it to Falar’s pen and hid behind the bales of hay stacked there.
I can’t help Jezzil,
she thought,
but perhaps I can help
Falar.
The ship plunged as the first of a series of massive waves smashed into her bow. Talis hesitated.
Maybe the captain was right.
But one look at Falar, sweating and wild-eyed in her makeshift enclosure beneath the flimsy overhang, and she knew she couldn’t leave the frantic animal alone. She crawled over to the stall, petting the mare as the ship’s pitching worsened. As the wind grew strong enough to send waves lashing at the railings, she realized that anything that wasn’t fastened to the deck would probably be washed overboard.
Talking soothingly, she fetched the heavy rope harness that the
Pride
had used to hoist the mare over the side. Usually it was attached to a winch, but, crouching behind bales of hay so she wouldn’t be seen, Talis worked to modify it.
Finally she had it rigged to her satisfaction.
It took all her skill as an experienced horsewoman to sling the harness over Falar’s back, then fasten it between her forelegs and around her girth. All the while, the nervous horse tossed her head, pawed, and skittered around the limited confines of her pen. Despite Talis’s best efforts, Falar managed to stamp on both of her feet. The woman blinked back tears of pain, thankful that Jezzil had the mare’s shoes pulled before bringing her aboard. And if she hadn’t thought to don her boots …
Gritting her teeth, she worked doggedly, trying to soothe the horse as her fingers skidded on leather, metal, and rope made slick with wind-driven spray.
Finally the harness was rigged. Talis stretched the two heavy ropes out to each side and fastened them to the anchoring posts of the pen. The pen itself might not survive intact, but it was the best she could do. Then she crouched just outside the enclosure, where Falar could see her and take comfort from her presence. By the time she’d tied the last length of rope around herself and secured it, the storm was at gale force. Talis faced Falar, talking soothingly, then pulled her cloak over her head—small good it did, she was already as soaked as if she’d been dipped into the sea—and hunkered down to ride it out.
The tempest raged. Talis hung onto her post as the ship heaved. There was no way to tell how much time had passed; it was so dark she could hardly tell when night fell. Falar was nothing but a pale bulk in the dimness. Waves washed over the deck, sending everything not tied down over the side. The hay vanished. The barrels of feed and water were gone. The awning ripped loose early on.
Massive waves sent
The Pride of Pela
bouncing from swell to swell like a ball thrown by two small, clumsy children. The captain and crew did their best to keep her headed into the waves, and their efforts paid off. The
Pride
stayed upright, though at times she listed so far over that the tips of her masts nearly kissed the whitecaps atop the massive swells.
Talis clung to her pole, barely conscious, nearly drowned.
She struggled to breathe, holding a fold of her cloak over her mouth and nose. Even so, she retched up seawater she’d swallowed, though she felt no return of seasickness, and silently blessed Master Khith. How were her friends faring belowdecks? At one point there was a momentary lull in the storm, and Talis thought about making a run for it. But when she investigated the ropes that bound her, they were too water-swelled to budge. And the Chonao had taken her knife.
It seemed it would never end, that the
Pride
must capsize and sink, but somehow the ship did not founder. Once, Talis faintly heard a long, agonized scream over the demon howl of the wind. The cry stopped abruptly. She clung to her post, trying to pray, but kept getting the words mixed up.
She knew she must have lost consciousness at some point, because she came back to herself and realized the storm was abating. The waves showed blue-green now, topped with whitecaps. Day had broken.
Slowly, painfully, she unwrapped her arms from around her post and looked up at Falar. The mare stood sagging in her harness, exhausted, but very much alive and unharmed.
Talis slid down on the now gently heaving deck, laid her head on her arm, pulled her soaked cloak over her and fell asleep.
She was awakened sometime later by one of the sailors, shaking her shoulder and asking her what she thought she was doing up on deck. Talis maintained just enough presence of mind to remind the man that the horse needed fresh water.
Then, slowly, painfully, she untied the ropes from around herself and unfastened Falar’s harness. Looking around, she saw that the Sun was nearly overhead and the sea as smooth as glass. There was hardly a cloud left in the sky.
“Mistress Aloro! What are you doing up here?”
It was Captain Garano, accompanied by Barus. Talis blinked at them both, wondering if she were still dreaming.
“I came up when the storm broke,” she said slowly. “I knew the horse would need attention.”
Just then the crewman hurried up with a bucket. Falar, scenting the water, nickered and moved over to drink thirstily. Talis looked over at Barus. “It is my understanding that your people take good care of your mounts.”
The soldier nodded. “You are correct, Mistress. I will take Falar for my own string after we are finished with the traitor.”
Talis did not permit her expression to change. She addressed her next words to Garano. “Captain, I must check with my people below to see that they are unharmed by the storm. May I be permitted to visit them?” She spread her hands wide. “They have been accused of no crime. They are guarded by warriors. In addition to being a duly appointed emissary to the Redai, I am unarmed, and a woman. What harm can it do?”
The captain turned to look at Barus. The Chonao considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Our guests below will
need to be fed anyway,” Barus said. “Allow her five minutes with the three of them.”
Talis kept her expression blank, but relief made her knees even weaker.
Five minutes with Master Khith is what I need!
She followed the Chonao guard below. The man was burly, stolid, and Talis suspected he did not speak Pelanese.
When they reached the cabin where her friends were confined, she gave her escort a wide and winning smile. “I’m so glad your leader assigned you to me. You seem like an incredibly stupid chap. Oh, and by the way, I heard that your leader fondles donkey organs,” she finished liltingly. “How perverted.”
The man’s expression never changed. He simply smiled faintly, shrugged, then shook his head.
He might be smarter
than I am, and a better actor,
she thought,
but I don’t think
so. I’m going to risk it …
The guard unlocked the door, then opened it. Talis stepped into the tiny cabin, her nose twitching at the stench from the spilled chamber pot. Seeing her, Thia leaped up off the bunk and rushed over to her. Talis threw her arms around the other woman and, while they hugged, whispered, “Keep talking as loudly as possible in your own language while I’m speaking to Khith. Tell me all about the big storm and how scared you were.”
Thia stepped back and burst into a high-pitched, noisy barrage of Amaranian, gesticulating, as Talis went over to look at Eregard. He gave her a wondering glance, and she mouthed, “Trust me,” careful to keep her back to the guard.
Finally, she turned to Khith and went over to the little physician. The Hthras stood, and she bent over to give it a hug. As she nestled her face into the silky, furry skin of Khith’s neck, she said, as softly as she dared, “Master, I will be taken to meet with the Redai. I have a sharpened hairpin.
I need you to give me something poisonous to put on the tip.”
The Hthras tensed in her grasp, and she heard its thready voice in her ear, hard to make out over Thia’s excited decla-mation. “Mistress, I cannot. As a healer, I am pledged to save life. Not end it.”
“Do you have something?” she hissed fiercely, clutching at the sleeves of its robe.
“Yes, but—I cannot.”
“But Master—” She let out an exasperated breath, and just then the guard tugged at her sleeve, indicating by gestures that it was time to go. She stepped back, holding Khith’s eyes with her own. The Hthras shook its head, its huge eyes sad. Talis scowled and turned back to face the guard.
Moments later, when the guard had escorted her out, she continued down the narrow corridor toward the better passenger cabins. She did not go into her own cabin, though. Instead she headed for the cabin Jezzil, Eregard, and Khith had shared.
When she reached it, she discovered it was locked, but the simple lock proved no match for her hairpins—the two un-sharpened ones. She’d learned to pick locks years ago, under the tutelage of one of Castio’s supporters who had been a transportee from a Pelanese prison.
When the catch clicked, Talis glanced over her shoulder, then carefully entered. The small cabin boasted a porthole, so she could see Eregard’s and Jezzil’s possessions, stowed beneath each of the bunks.
Just let everything be here,
she thought, kneeling to find Jezzil’s duffel.
She knew that he carried some vials of powder, and once, he had told her that the Chonao were masters with poison, and also with sleeping powders.
Talis dug through the duffel, finding several false seams, a false bottom, and a number of hidden pockets. She was careful not to touch any of the edges of the weapons she uncovered. Finally, in one of the false seams, she located two narrow vials of powder. One powder was an ashy, pale gray.
The other was darker, with a brownish tinge. The tiny stoppers were marked with a single letter—in Chonao script.
Talis sat back on her heels, cursing under her breath.
This
is a fine bushel of beets!
For a wild moment she thought about trying to capture a couple of the big rats she’d heard scurrying around the ship’s hold at night so she could test each powder, but she had nothing with which to make a trap.
Casting her mind back, she recalled what Jezzil had talked about when they relaxed in the stable after weapons and unarmed combat lessons. They’d been grooming their horses …
“Poisons and soporifics, both can be very useful if used at the right time,” Jezzil had said. “But you have to be careful.
Use the wrong substance, or mix two substances, and you can have a totally different effect.” He’d glanced at her over Falar’s mane. “Some sedatives will actually cancel each other out. Some poisons, when mixed, become harmless.”
“Damn …” she muttered now. For a moment she’d considered mixing the powders and coating the end of the hairpin, but what if that rendered one or both of them ineffective? She didn’t want to give Kerezau a good night’s sleep, she wanted that miserable, lying tyrant
dead
.
Cautiously, she managed to pry out the stoppers of first one vial, then the other. Cautiously, she sniffed the ash-colored powder. It was astringent; she wrinkled her nose, but felt no illness, no sleepiness. Even more cautiously, she sniffed the other vial. This one was bitter, acrid, and left a foul taste at the back of her throat.
Tapping the stoppers back into the vials, she sat for a long time regarding them.
Which one?
Finally she fell back on a childhood rhyme. Tapping each with her finger in turn, she intoned, “Two choices here/which one to fear?/I pick the one/that looks like fun.”
Her questing finger had landed on the ashy colored vial.
“Damn,” Talis whispered, then quickly secreted the ash-colored vial back into the false seam and tucked the other one into the inside pocket of her shirt. After stowing away the duffel bag, she rose, left the cabin, and relocked it.
Now all we do is wait for the Redai,
she thought grimly. It was a shock to realize that she might have only another day to live.
At least I’ll die in battle,
she thought.
Poor Jezzil
won’t even get to do that.
After Talis left, Khith went back to trying to get out of their tiny cabin. It wasn’t proving easy. The keyhole for their door was blocked from the outside … and, of course, there was always a sentry. But Khith had developed a plan. It had discovered a burl in the wood of the cabin door, just the right size and height. If that rounded burl could be removed, the Hthras knew it would leave a nice little hole.
Using its longish, talonlike nails, Khith had begun digging into the wood around the potential knothole. Patiently, hour after hour, it scratched softly, wearing nail after nail down to the quick in its efforts. When Eregard or Thia asked if they could help, the Hthras gazed pointedly at their small, rounded, and quite dull fingernails and silently shook its head.