“I must know! I can’t denounce you, there is no one on board to judge.”
“But there will be at Dri.”
“Then you won’t let me reach Dri. You know you won’t.”
Now the silence was unbearable, as sailor and swordsman stared at each other, Tomiyano dark with anger, Nnanji grim and pale. Again Brota looked to the old man, but he was being inscrutable.
“As you wish,” Tomiyano said, baring his teeth. “Thana? Tell your nosy friend what you did at Yok.”
Thana was pressing herself back against the starboard dinghy, shocked. “Mother!”
Brota shrugged. This was some sort of showdown, and she did not understand. It was too late to stop it, though. “Tell him.”
“But, Mother—”
“Tell him!”
“I was still only a First,” Thana whispered. “I went ashore with my sword on. Landlubbers don’t like girls wearing swords.”
Nnanji had turned to face her, grim and intent. Tomiyano’s hand sneaked back to his dagger, and again Brota took hold of his wrist . . .
wait
!
“There were four of them,” Thana said, speaking faster. “A Fourth, two Thirds, and a First. The adept challenged me . . . ”
“And you made obeisance,” said Nnanji, “of course.”
She nodded. “Then he told me to strip. We were behind some bales on the dock.”
Nnanji’s lip curled. “And the others?”
“They were laughing . . . and making jokes. I dodged by them and ran back to the ship. They followed.”
His face murderous, Nnanji swung back to the captain. “Did you drain them all?”
A long pause . . . long enough to die in.
“Eventually. But that didn’t bring my brother back. Or Linkaro. And Brokaro died a week later.”
Nnanji raised a hand, and Tomiyano tensed, but he was merely wiping his forehead with his wrist.
“Well, adept?” Brota spoke into silence. “Now you have it. We are swordsman killers. Assassins. There was no posse that time “
He frowned. “You could not have used a posse, mistress. A swordsman must not interfere in an affair of honor, and if the Fourth had properly challenged and Thana had made obeisance, then it was an affair of honor.”
Tomiyano sneered. “Some honor!”
“Legally. Having made obeisance, Thana had lost a duel. She had to do whatever he demanded, until he sheathed his sword.”
Oligarro and Maloli clambered to their feet at the side of the deck and moved closer to fire buckets. Holiyi copied them, reluctantly. Nnanji stood alone in the center, like a stag in a wolf pack, facing the captain’s scorn.
“Even that, swordsman?”
Nnanji nodded. “A winner can demand anything, because the loser can still refuse, to preserve his honor.”
“But then he may be killed?”
“Then he must be killed. Of course it was shameful! A Fourth should not challenge a First. Nor make villainous demands. Had I been there I would have warned him that I would challenge, afterward. But he was within his rights. No, legally you are assassins.”
“And so you will denounce us when we get to Dri?”
Nnanji swallowed hard and shook his head.
The captain snorted in disbelief. “Why not?”
“Because you never went back to Yok. The Goddess could have moved you there. She could have prevented you from leaving.”
There was a puzzled silence, a dawn of hope. Then the old man broke in, with his slurred, toothless voice. “Normally, of course, that is not a defense, mistress. As I explained to Adept Nnanji earlier, when we were discussing a parallel, but hypothetical, case, the gods can strike any sinner dead, so absence of divine intervention may not be construed as innocence.”
If anyone still had doubts that he was a priest, then that speech would have drowned them.
“But in this case,” Nnanji said, “She did move you. She brought you to Aus, to that quarry. You dragged your anchor; you were taken a very long way—an unusual display of Her Hand. The Goddess has judged the case Herself. Your penance is to help Lord Shonsu. No swordsman, or priest, may interfere when Her will has been made known. A similar thing happened to us at Hann. She has pronounced sentence Herself, and no human judge can overrule Her.”
“You believe that, old man?” Brota demanded. He must have been behind all this. No swordsman could think that way, certainly not Nnanji.
He had guessed what she was thinking. “I agree with the adept’s arguments, yes.” He grinned toothlessly.
“I don’t believe them!” Tomiyano jerked his hand free from Brota’s grip again and jumped to his feet. “And I surely don’t trust them!”
Nnanji flushed. “I will swear an oath for you, sailor. But I shall need to draw my sword.”
Tomiyano hesitated. He was well within range. “Let’s hear it.”
Deliberately, making no sudden move, Nnanji drew the glittering Chioxin sword and raised it to the oath position. It flamed blood in the rays of the setting sun. “I, Nnanji, swordsman of the fourth rank, oath brother to Shonsu of the seventh rank, do solemnly swear that all members of the crew of
Sapphire
have been cleared of wrongdoing in the deaths of four swordsmen in Yok; and this I swear upon my honor and in the name of the Goddess.”
The seventh sword hissed back into its scabbard.
Astonished pause.
“And your boss?” the captain said. “If he recovers . . . ”
Nnanji smiled wanly, looking more nervous than he had up until now. “He and I swore the swordsmen’s fourth oath, Captain. My oaths are his, so I have committed Lord Shonsu, also. And no Seventh will ever overrule another. A priest might, but there would be no one to carry out his sentence. You are out of danger.”
“You’re a Fourth! You think you can bind all the Sevenths in the World?”
Nnanji’s nervous smile grew wider, rather like his brother’s juvenile, impudent smirk. “It is a grave responsibility! I warned Shonsu when he told me about that oath . . . Yes! All Sevenths. So all the swordsmen in the World, I suppose. Forever. Absolutely. Even if I am mistaken, we can only leave you to the Goddess.”
“Old man?” Brota snapped.
He nodded his hairless head. “That is correct, mistress.”
She was taking the word of a beggar?
Then Thana rushed forward and threw her arms around Nnanji. This time he laughed and embraced her, also, returning the kiss.
Tomiyano said, “Well, I’ll be . . . ” He looked at Brota as she rose. Everyone looked to Brota.
Too choked to speak, she nodded, smiling.
The long terror was over. Cheering rang over the deck. People were scrambling to their feet, wives embracing husbands, children screaming with excitement. Katanji was flat on his back with his arms around Diwa and Mei, as they both tried to kiss him at the same time. Thana was still clutched in Nnanji’s arms, getting back much more kiss than she had planned to give . . .
“Nnanji! Nnanji!” Jja pushed her way through the throng.
A flushed Nnanji broke free of Thana so roughly that she almost fell.
“Nnanji!” Jja grabbed his arm. There were tears in her eyes. “He’s awake . . . he says he feels hungry.”
†††††††
Shonsu was going to live, the trading was good, every day brought new lands to see.
Sapphire
sailed on in a glow of summery contentment. Swordsmen were not so bad, after all. Jonahs brought profits.
Sapphire
came to Dri.
Dri was a city of haze and sunlight flickering over water, a city of misty glitter and iridescence, where gondolas and galleys plied busy canals. High-arched bridges linked wide piazzas; eggshell domes and alabaster towers faded back into the sky. The air was pungent with the scent of exotic spices and blossoms, vibrant with color and old sad songs being sung by undernourished gondoliers. Ornate ships made stately progress between edifices encrusted in marble trelliswork, beneath the steady gaze of severe ancestral statuary.
The officials were the worst Brota had ever met. They reached out in boats to meet
Sapphire
, as if impatient for their prey. They took her gold and directed her to a berth at one of the lesser trading islands.
Shonsu was still very weak. Even Tomiyano made no more than halfhearted suggestions that he be put ashore, and Nnanji had no intention of leaving the seventh sword unguarded, or of risking it on his own back near other swordsman. So the swordsmen stayed on board, and the sailors prepared to trade.
Brota sold the furniture easily, and the price was fair, even after a predatory customs had sucked its due.
“Rugs,” Tomiyano said, and pointed to the nearest warehouse once again. Brota marched across at his side, and together they inspected and peered and fingered rugs, and haggled and pondered. The trader was difficult and insisted that he could only sell to a trader . . . meaning a fee for one of his relatives to act as agent. There would be another tax. Brota was more cautious than she had been with the brass. Trading should be based on experience and knowledge; at Ki or Hool she had known what to buy, what would sell, what things were worth. This strange Goddess-driven commerce was a gamble, a leap of faith that made her nervous, but at last she decided, and hands were shaken. Slaves began to carry the carpets and pile them by the ship, for yet another officer must inspect them before they were loaded.
She came out into the noisy, busy street with her son, and they stood in the sunlit throng and grumbled to each other, wondering if they had done right. A group of street musicians twanged and chirped on one side of them, a hawker was shouting the merits of his flowers on the other. Carts and pedestrians shoved and jostled and bustled.
Somehow, Brota thought, she was missing something. The rugs just did not feel right, although now she had shaken hands and could not renege.
“We shall still have space to spare,” Tomiyano suggested, equally unsatisfied.
“Mistress?” said a voice at her elbow. She turned around to frown at the interruption, raising the frown to a glare when she discovered a slave, who should know better. He was very young, browner than most, skinny enough to show every rib. He wore only a scrap of black rag. He had dark curly hair and large, bright eyes.
She recoiled. “Katanji!” She gasped. “By all the gods, boy! You’re out of your mind!”
He had drawn a black slave line down the center of his face. It concealed his single swordmark, and the tiny crossbar could be seen only by a close inspection—and who ever inspected slaves closely?
Tomiyano grabbed his arm. “That’s an abomination, my lad,” he whispered. “If anyone notices, you’ll be a slave forever and they’ll put that mark on with a hot iron. Back to the ship, quickly!”
Katanji squirmed loose. “But wait! It was all right—I was round in the back, and it was dark in there.”
Brota looked at Tomiyano, and Tomiyano at Brota; and men they both looked at Katanji.
“Doing what?” she demanded.
“Inspecting rugs.” He pointed to his fathermark. “I know rugs! I saw you go in, so I did a little scouting for you. The slaves know all about the business and they don’t care about their owners’ profits, so they tell the truth—to another slave.”
There could be truth in that. “And what did you learn?” Brota’s curiosity was aroused.
“The silk ones are the best, aren’t they? They’re great!”
“Some of them. But you must buy ten wool for each silk. It’s a city law. The other traders said the same.”
The boy grinned. “That’s only for traders! The locals buy them. A swordswoman could buy them!” He was becoming so excited that he seemed to be bouncing on the cobbles. “Did you see the one with the golden mermaids? Magnificent! And the only one they have from that shop, because city folk usually buy them all. I know where to go, and how much the locals pay.”
Brota looked at Tomiyano, and Tomiyano looked at Brota. Smuggling?
“The wools are bulky,” Brota said. “But even a gondola could bold quite a few silks.”
Tomiyano nodded thoughtfully. “You’d have to buy the gondolier. He could lose his boat. Or his head.”
“The regulars wouldn’t dare—their ships could be impounded.”
But no one will impound a ship with Shonsu on it
.
“Let’s do it!” Brota said. “Tom’o, you see to the loading. And you, novice? How do we get you back on the ship?”
He grinned again. “I’ll see you on board, mistress.” He stepped back and vanished like a soap bubble.
Tomiyano scowled and went running, dodging wagons and people. When Brota reached the gangplank, he was already in conversation with an official, but he paused to shake his head at her. “I thought he might have left a port open. But he didn’t.”
When the ship was docked, unlocked portholes were almost a capital offense—they could admit rats, four-legged or two-legged. She glanced around, but there was no sign of Katanji—which was hardly surprising on a dock so littered with piles of trade goods, with wagons and people. The official was being officious, clicking his abacus expensively . . . another bribe needed.
Her cabin, when she got there, was hot and airless. The seven-times-damned port official had cleaned out her supply of cash. She bolted the door, eased down to her knees, and slid open a panel. Of the many hidden compartments on the ship, this was the one she used most often. She eyed the hoard inside. How many rugs, even silk, could fit in a gondola? Not many, but perhaps almost as many as she had bought already, with
Sapphire
’s hold filling up with the wools. The boy had been quite right, it was the silks that would bring the profit. If you weren’t sure of your market, stay with quality. The wools were not in that class. That lad was a born trader.
She selected a small leather bag. It held one hundred golds, and she was sure that a gondola would not take that much, maybe not half that much. Then she put on her sword and combed her hair and went back on deck.
As she approached the deckhouse, she heard a steady thudding. The ship was motionless, of course, and someone was taking the opportunity to practice knife throwing. She was stunned to discover that it was Nnanji, sitting on one of the chests because of the low head room, working his way through a collection of a dozen or so blades. From the look of the target board, he was doing very well.