The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales (6 page)

             
"What's that?" said Vakar. "Who are you, really?" His initial burst of rage had subsided enough for his ever-lively curiosity to come into play, and he realized that he was making himself look foolish.

             
"I'm Mateng of Po, owner of three ships, as you'd know if you weren't an ignorant—"

             
"Wait," said Vakar. "Are any of your ships leaving shortly for the mainland?"

             
"Yes. The
Dyra
sails for Gadaira tomorrow if the wind holds."

             
"Isn't Gadaira the nearest mainland port to Torrutseish?
"

             
"
It is."

             
"How much—" Vakar started to say, then checked himself. He stuck his head back into the dormitory and called: "Fual! Wake up; come out and haggle for me!"

-

             
Next morning Vakar was collecting his crew to ride to the docks when he found that Sret was missing. Back in the inn he found the interpreter chatting with Nyeron.

             
"Come along!" said Vakar.

             
"Yes sir," said Sret, and as he started out called back over his shoulder in Hesperian: "Farewell; I shall see you again sooner than you think!"

             
Then he came. They rattled down to the harbor where Vakar stopped at the temple of Lyr to sacrifice a lamb to the sea-god. While he did not take his gods too seriously (as they never visited him) he thought it just as well to be on the safe side. Then by questioning all and sundry he located the
Dyra.
Mateng was ordering the stowing of a cargo of copper ingots, bison-hides, and mammoth-ivory.

             
"Waste no time in getting home!"
Vakar told the charioteers, who clattered off leading the horse he had ridden. Vakar sauntered up to the edge of the quay and stepped aboard the ship, trying not to show his excitement. Fual and Sret staggered after under their loads of gear and food for the trip.

             
Mateng called: "Ruaz! Here's your passenger! He's all paid up, so take good care of him."

             
"A prince, eh?" said Captain Ruaz, laughing through his beard. "Well, keep out of the way, your sublime highness, if you don't want an ingot dropped on your toe."

             
He bus
tl
ed about directing his men un
ti
l, after a long wait, they got the last goods stowed and the hatches closed and cast off. The crew manned four sweeps which they worked standing up, maneuvering the ship out from its qual. They plodded around the annular harbor to the main canal, Vakar craning his neck this way and that to see all he could of
Amferé
from the water.

             
As they entered the canal they picked up speed, for a slight current added its impetus to the force of the oars. Soon they passed through the outer city wall, where a great bronze gate stood ready to swing shut across the channel to keep out hostile ships.
Then down the canal half a mile to the sea.

             
At the f
ir
st roll of the
Dyra
in the oceanic swell, Sret curled up in the scuppers with a groan. "What ails him?" said Vakar.

             
"Seasickness, sir," said Fual. "If you don't suffer a touch also you'll be lucky."

             
"Like what happened to
Zormé
in the poem?

"With eyeballs aching
             
and hurting head,

Sunk in the scuppers
             
             
the hero huddled

Loathing life
             
             
             
and desiring death?

             
"I'm not so badly off as that yet."

             
Fual turned away with a knowing look. After a few minutes of tossing, Vaka
r
did experience a slight headache and queasiness of stomach, but not wishing to lose face he stood proudly at the ra
il
as if nothing was wrong. The four sailors hauled in
the
oars, lowered the steering-paddles until they dipped into the water, and hoisted the single square scarlet-and-white striped sail. The west wind sent the
Dyra
plunging toward the Hesperides. Vakar now saw the reason for the high stern, as wave after wave loomed up behind and seemed about to swamp them, only to boast them forward and up and slide harmlessly underneath.

             
He staggered to the poop where Ruaz held the lever that operated the yoke that connected the two steering-paddles, and asked: "What happens when you wish to sail back from the mainland to
Amferé
and the wind is against you? Do you row?"

             
"You wait and pray to your favorite sea-god. In this sea the wind blows from the west four days out of five, so you must wait for the fifth day. I've sat in port at Sederado a month awaiting a fair wind."

             
"That sounds tedious.
What if some other sea-captain is praying for the wind to blow in the opposite direction?"

             
Ruaz's shoulders and eyebrows went up in a great shrug. Vakar looked past the poop towards
Amferé
, now fast dropping out of sight behind the bulge of the ocean. He felt a lump rise in his throat and wiped away a tear. Then for a long time he stared at the water. Though normally nervous and impatient, quickly bored by inactivity, he found that he could watch the soothing sight of the endless series of crests riding by.

             
But something nagged him, filling him with a vague feeling of incongruity and unease. In the late afternoon they skirted a mountainous coast.

             
"Meropia," said Captain Ruaz.

             
By nightfall Sret had recovered enough to eat. Afterwards Vakar, though monstrously sleepy, got
little
sleep because of the moonlight, the motion, and the ship-noises.
Next day they left Meropia behind in the afternoon and sailed eastward over the empty sea.
Ruaz explained:

             
"We don't see other ships because we're the first out of
Amferé
after the winter layup. We're taking a chance on a late storm to get higher prices in Gadaira before the competition arrives."

             
Vakar wondered at his continuing unease until the sight of Sret chatting with Ruaz gave him a clue. He remembered Sret's saying to Nyeron he'd be back sooner than expected. Why? Did he think that Vakar would lose heart and turn back, or get killed in a brawl?
Or
...

             
Vakar felt like kicking himself for not having seen it sooner. Kuros, acting in concordance with the Gorgons, could have sent Sret along to murder him and then go home with a story of how his master had been eaten by a monster. Sret had spoken to Nyeron in Hesperian in ignorance of the fact that Vakar knew that tongue. Vakar fingered his hilt and glanced narrowly to where Sret huddled under his cloak, the hood pulled up over his head, swapping jokes with the captain. He thought of walking up to the fellow and striking off his head. Still, he might be wrong in his suspicions, and at best the killing would be embarrassing to explain.

             
Vakar wondered whether to take Fual into his confidence. He asked:

             
"Fual, who
is
Sret?
I never knew him before this journey."

             
Fual shrugged. "I think he's part Lotri, but I never knew him either."

             
If true, that made it unlikely that both Sret and Fual were in on the plot. After the evening meal Vakar told Fual that they should keep watch-and-watch through the night in case of foul play. Fual looked startled and produced a handsome silver-inlaid dagger.

             
"Ha!" said Vakar. "Where did you get that? You stole it at Nyeron's! I ought to beat you
...
But perhaps 'tis a lucky theft for once. Go to sleep while I take the first watch."

             
Shortly before midnight Vakar was aroused by Fual's shaking him. The valet whispered:

             
"You were right, sir. They're gathered aft, whispering."

             
Vakar rolled over and peered aft from the bow where he and Fual lay. Before the lower edge of the sail he could see the whispering knot of men in the light of the just-risen gibbous moon.

             
He slowly drew his sword and whispered to Fual: "Get your knife ready. Keep close to me and cover my back."

             
His shield was still in the duffelbag, but for fighting on an unsteady deck one needed a free hand to grab things.

             
"You—you're going to attack six men?" quavered Fual.

             
"Lyr's barnacles!
Should I wait for them to cut my throat?"

             
"But six—"

             
"Our only hope is to rush them. If it makes you any happier I'm frightened too, but I prefer a small chance to none."

             
Fual's teeth chattered. Vakar inched caterpillarlike along the deck aft hoping to get close enough to overhear
before the crew noticed him. As he neared the mast he found that he could
make out the separate figures. Sret was talking in low tones to Ruaz, who turned a leaf-shaped broadsword this way and that so that the moon glimmered dully upon it. Sret was saying:

             
"... not an experienced fighter, though he's been in brushes with hill-robbers. But he's young and no giant; one quick rush while he sleeps
...
"

             
"Come on," breathed Vakar, rolling to his feet.

-

             
Vakar ducked under the lower yard and ran towards the group. With a shout the sailors leaped apart, drawing knives. Vakar bore down upon the nearest, feinted once, and ran the man through. The man's scream pierced the rising clamor. As Vakar stepped back to pull out his blade he glanced over his shoulder. Fual had hardly finished ducking under the sail.

             
Damn the coward!
thought
Vakar, setting his teeth. As his victim fell he faced Ruaz, Sret, and two sailors, plus one other on the poop steering. Sret and Ruaz were shouting: "Forward! Kill him! Get in close! Rush him!" Vakar leaped over the body on deck, slashing right and left. His sword clanged against Ruaz's blade and bit flesh and bone, and then he was through them. As he whirled to face them again, his back to the poop, he saw that they were all still on their feet. As Fual finally came closer, a sailor turned and closed with him rather than face the sword. Now the
twain were
staggering about in a deadly waltz, each gripping the other's wrist.

             
The three facing Vakar closed, Ruaz in the middle. Vakar cut and thrust at the captain, who parried while Sret and the other sailor closed in from the sides. Vakar, wishing he had a light rapier against these agile unarmored foes, had to leap back until he backed into the high step up to the poop and almost fell.