Chapter Sixteen

The day after the incident with the apples and just before dusk, Leesil was up on deck at the side rail with Wayfarer when the girl fainted from hunger. He carried her down to the cabin he shared with Magiere and Chap and laid her on a bunk. Both Chap and Magiere sat close in concern, and the anguish on Magiere’s face was the last straw for Leesil.

Wayfarer’s long brown hair spread out around her now-pale face and closed eyes. She murmured twice as if caught in a dream, and Magiere was about to charge off for freshwater and a rag when Leesil assumed that task himself. It took some arguing with one of the crew to get the extra ration of water, but on his way back below, he took a moment to sneak all the way to the passage’s end.

Down a set of stairs to the next level was a door where a passage cut left toward the ship’s kitchen. By the door’s position, Leesil reasoned that it must lead into the cargo hold. He pulled out a steel probe and another tiny pick earlier hidden in his boot, and he set to opening the door’s crude iron lock. When he finished and twisted the lever handle, the door still wouldn’t budge.

Something blocked it. It couldn’t be cargo; that made no sense. Obviously the door was barred from the hold’s side, though that didn’t figure, either—not at first. Leesil realized that blocking the door from the inside meant none of the crew could get in or out to take anything, even if one them managed to steal a key. With a slight grimace, he stepped back. For what he had in mind now, he’d have to go up on deck to get into the hold . . . and all before Magiere caught on.

With no immediate way to raid the cargo, Leesil hurried back to the cabin.

He sat on the floor as Magiere dabbed Wayfarer’s head, and, when night finally settled, the room grew dim around him. Since the day before, Magiere had been watching him like a hawk, but now she was preoccupied.

It was time to do as he’d planned, and he stood up.

“You and Chap stay with Wayfarer. I’ll let Brot’an know . . . see if he has any ideas to help.”

That was a foolish comment. If Brot’an could have done anything to help, he would have done it by now. Luckily Magiere was distracted with worry, and only nodded. Chap appeared equally focused on the girl’s condition, and Leesil slipped out.

However, as he made his way up the passage, he didn’t stop at Brot’an’s cabin door. Instead he went straight for the steep steps and paused at the top, at the door out leading to the deck. In a way it was sadly fortunate that Wayfarer had fainted and thereby kept Magiere and Chap occupied.

Cracking the door slightly, Leesil peeked out. Dim, dirty lamps hung upon the ship’s masts, but he saw no one across the deck. Two low, muffled voices carried from somewhere above him on the aftcastle, so likely the night watch was up there. He looked to the rope mesh covering the hold’s central opening out in the middle of the deck.

At its nearer end was a small hatch he’d seen opened a couple of times for access to a ladder down into the hold. Each time, the captain had stood close by, watching and checking crew members coming back up to make certain they hadn’t pocketed anything while below.

Leesil carefully widened the door enough to slip out. With his back against the aftcastle’s wall, he sidestepped toward the ship’s rail and then crept out a short way to peek back and above. Whoever was up on the aftcastle was too far to its rear to be seen—or to see him. Likewise, he saw no one toward the bow. He crouched and crept to the nearest mast, then ducked in front of it before glancing around its far side and up.

He just made out the heads of two men at the aftcastle’s rear. They were engrossed in talking to each other, and so he crawled to the small hatch near the hold’s opening.

Leesil froze, for the padlock that typically held the hatch’s bar in place lay to one side and was still opened from being unlocked. He’d expected to have to pick the lock, for that oily sewer rat of a captain would never leave the hold open while he wasn’t watching.

Whoever had forgotten to set the lock again was going to suffer by morning.

Carefully sliding the lock bar out of its brackets, Leesil grasped the hatch’s handle. As he lifted slightly, the hinges creaked and he froze, this time listening for a sudden silence.

The two on the aftcastle were still chattering away. They hadn’t heard anything.

He opened the hatch quickly, with a creak from its hinges, and dropped onto the ladder’s rungs. Then he listened again for silence or any footfalls. All he heard were the muffled voices of the watch.

Leesil stepped a few rungs down the ladder and let the hatch close softly above him. It was a dark climb down the ladder, but once he reached the hold’s floor, the full moon’s pale light filtered though the rope mesh above. To his relief, he could see well enough to move about. The hold was crammed with crates and barrels and smaller boxes. The first thing he searched for and found was an iron hook to wrench open containers. Nothing was clearly labeled—or at least not in a language he could read—and he had to work by trial and error.

Gripping the hook, and about to pry open the closest crate, he felt rather than heard something behind him. Whirling with the hook poised to strike, he saw an unusually tall, familiar form standing near the ladder.

“Brot’an . . . what are you doing?” he hissed. “Did you follow me?”

“I am assisting you,” Brot’an whispered back, soft-stepping closer, and in his off hand was a large, empty burlap sack. “I saw your face yesterday and knew you were planning something. I assume you did not tell Magiere?”

Leesil kept his voice low, barely enough to be heard. “Magiere is no thief, not even in the worst situations. She might have swindled people in the past, but she doesn’t accept charity, and I’ve never seen her steal anything. It’s not in her.”

Brot’an studied his face. “But it is in you?”

Leesil had had enough of this conversation and turned away. Clearly it was in Brot’an as well, or he wouldn’t be down here.

After that they moved deeper into the hold, almost to the edge of where moonlight could reach. Quickly and quietly, they both searched the crates and boxes. Leesil was astounded by the variety of food down here, considering nearly everyone on board was starving. Between himself and Brot’an, they loaded the burlap sack with crocks of olives, small wheels of wax-sealed cheese, apples, dried onions, and jars of what looked like some kind of orange fruit.

Leesil set to opening another crate, and even before he finished, he could smell jerked beef. The crate was packed with it. Beyond hungry and unable to stop himself, he shoved some in his mouth. So fresh and tender, it nearly came apart on his tongue.

His anger at the captain grew as he loaded a good amount into the sack.

When he finally looked up and about, Brot’an was stuffing various food items inside his own shirt. Leesil ignored him and kept to his task. As he finished filling the sack, Brot’an approached, looking at it curiously.

“What will we do with all of that?” he whispered. “We cannot risk bringing it into your cabin.”

“Not to mine . . . To yours.” Leesil paused. “Yesterday, when you were up on deck taking some air, Wayfarer was with Magiere in our cabin, and I went into yours. I pulled up three floorboards and found a space beneath. I put the boards back but removed the nails. We’ll hide the food under there.”

Brot’an was quiet for a moment. “Like your mother, you are ever resourceful.”

Leesil stiffened. Brot’an was the last person he’d ever want to talk to about his mother. Putting down the hook, he turned and made his way toward the ladder with the now-heavy sack in hand.

“Let’s just get this hidden before we’re caught.”

“Not that way . . . at least not for you,” Brot’an said. “Look where we are standing. These food stores have been placed near a lower access point into the hold, so that supplies can be moved more easily to a kitchen or elsewhere below . . . through a door.”

Leesil turned around. “I tried coming in that way. The door was barred.”

He thought he heard the old assassin sigh, just barely.

“Yes,” Brot’an whispered, “but at least one crew member has come or gone from the hold by using a key on the door. How and why else would one have come up into the passage at the noise made by the girl and the majay-hì? Or did you not remember this while picking the door’s lock from the outside . . . and too noisily?” Brot’an turned, heading even deeper in the hold’s rear. “Enough talk. Come.”

Leesil wanted nothing more than to get this food to Magiere, Chap, and Wayfarer. With a glance up at the hold’s opening, he crept after the master assassin. It still made no sense that any food would be placed near a hold’s lower door.

“This captain doesn’t care about supplying the crew,” Leesil whispered.

Again he barely heard Brot’an sigh. “A ship is constructed like any structure for efficiency of use, not a single captain’s deviance. A glutton and miser still wants discreet access to his hoard, preferably in a way that does not display it before all whom he considers potential thieves.”

The crewman who’d appeared in the passage might have been secretly trying to move more food to the captain’s quarters—and maybe sneak out some for himself. Unfortunately Chap and Wayfarer had gotten in the way. That also meant someone else would have had to block the door from the inside—after it was locked—and then climb up the ladder to the deck.

There must be a few crewmen Amjad either trusted or had terrified enough to allow them inside his precious hold without worrying about theft.

“Here,” Brot’an whispered.

“What? Where?” Leesil asked.

Inside this far, it was too dark to see much. But as he closed behind Brot’an, he heard the scrape of wood on something hard, perhaps metal.

Leesil realized that Brot’an was removing whatever barred the door from the inside. At the soft click that followed, a little light showed the stairs beyond the open door.

“Go,” Brot’an said. “I will bar the door and return the way we came in.”

Leesil stepped out, glancing down the side passage along the outside of the hold’s wall. Down the way, light spilled from the entrance into the kitchen. Perhaps the cook was still up, but he rarely seemed to leave his stench-ridden cabin.

So far Leesil had been successful. There was nothing left to do but sneak up the stairs and hide the bulk of the food in Brot’an and Wayfarer’s cabin. And then he had to hope the theft was not discovered anytime soon, and, when it was, that no one connected it to the ship’s passengers.

He stalled briefly as he heard the wooden brace slide home beyond the hold’s door, and then he slipped up the stairs to the passage lined with cabin doors.

• • •

Brot’ân’duivé swiftly scaled the ladder. He understood the greater necessity for the actions that he and Léshil had undertaken, but he had no desire to be caught. When he reached the ladder’s top, he balanced on a rung and cracked the hatch open with his head to keep both hands ready to strike. Upon seeing no one on deck, he climbed out to crouch behind a mast.

Almost instantly two forms stepped out from around the mast’s far side. Two sets of eyes glinted by the light of dim lanterns hanging above, and they saw him. The first looked down at the bulging front of his shirt as the other drew a cutlass.

Brot’ân’duivé did not move.

“I thought I heard something,” the first said in Numanese.

The night watch could not have heard his own descent. Had they heard the hatch creak earlier when Léshil had come down into the hold?

The first man, now with his own cutlass drawn, pointed the blade’s tip at the bulging shirt.

“I know what you have,” he said, his eyes wide with longing. “Hand it over, and we won’t tell the captain.”

Brot’ân’duivé knew both sailors assumed he had stolen food.

He never pondered what to do, for there could be no witnesses. Locking eyes with the first sailor, in order to distract the man, Brot’ân’duivé’s left fingers curled upward. He pulled the tie string at the inside of his left wrist. A stiletto sheathed beneath his left sleeve began to slide down, and he closed his hand on its hilt.

The cutlass’s tip rushed in toward his abdomen. Brot’ân’duivé turned so slightly. As the cutlass slid sharply away along his side, he spun the stiletto in his off hand and thrust. The thin, silvery blade pieced the sailor’s heart and slid out again, dark and wet, before the man’s eyes could widen. He turned on the second sailor before the first began to drop.

Brot’ân’duivé did not need to see the second cutlass swinging for his head. As he ducked left, he rammed his shoulder into his first crumpling target and pinned the body against the mast to keep it from hitting the deck with too much noise. He dropped the stiletto from his left hand and caught it with his right.

The second man tried to reverse his sword, and his mouth opened to call out.

Brot’ân’duivé thrust upward, piercing flesh at the top of the sailor’s throat below his jaw and sinking the stiletto deeply. The worst of it was that the man instantly dropped his cutlass, and it clattered on the deck.

Brot’ân’duivé released his hold on the embedded stiletto and grabbed the second dead sailor. He quietly lowered both bodies to the deck and crouched there for an instant.

All was finished in less than a moderate breath, as it should be.

He pulled a handful of jerked beef and a clay crock of olives from his shirt and scattered the first around the bodies and dropped the second on the thighs of one sailor. When he drew his stiletto out of the second man’s jaw and skull, he took a moment to disguise each man’s suspicious wound with a thrust of the other’s cutlass.

On a ship like this, those wasting away in hunger would draw no suspicion for killing each other over stolen food. Brot’ân’duivé silently stepped on toward the aftcastle door to below. By the time he reached the passage to the cabins, he no longer thought of bodies left upon the deck. He thought only of surviving the remainder of the voyage and keeping all those under his guardianship alive as well.

• • •

Even when Wayfarer finally awakened, Magiere continued to sponge the girl’s head and give her sips of water. Magiere felt helpless for the most part—and she hated feeling helpless.

Something had to be done. Perhaps she could speak to Saeed in the morning about buying any possible food hidden among the sailors. That was a slim chance at best, as food was more precious than coin on this slop bucket of a ship. But she had to try anything.

—Leesil . . . has been gone . . . too long—

“What?”

Magiere glanced over as she realized Chap was right. How long could it take to locate Brot’an?

“Where is Léshil?” Wayfarer asked weakly from the bunk.

“He went to find Brot’an, but he’ll be right back.”

Just the same, Magiere began to worry. She’d vowed to keep a close watch on Leesil, and she had no idea where he was. Right then the door opened, and, as if he’d been called, Leesil slipped inside.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “Where’s Brot’an?”

He didn’t answer, and his amber eyes fixed on Wayfarer. “You’re awake,” he said in relief.

Before Magiere could press him for answers, he hurried over, dropped to his knees, and pulled a rolled cloth from inside his shirt. He unrolled it on the bunk’s edge next to the girl.

Magiere’s voice caught as she gasped, “Leesil?”

Inside the cloth were loose olives, small bits of broken-up cheese, jerked beef, and what looked to be some kind of orange fruit. Leesil picked up one olive and held it to Wayfarer’s mouth.

“Eat . . . but mind the pit.”

As Wayfarer took the olive, Leesil tossed a large piece of jerky to Chap, who rose up on his hindquarters to catch it with a clack of his jaws. Leesil then handed another strip to Magiere.

She was starving, but none of this made sense. “Where did you get this?”

He glanced at her. “Brot’an and I stole it from the hold.”

Tearing the cheese into even smaller bits, Leesil encouraged Wayfarer to sit up so that she could eat it herself. Then he tossed Chap another strip of beef, as the first one was gone, and he looked up at Magiere.

“Eat,” he ordered, taking a bit of cheese himself. “We should finish this as quick as we can.”

Magiere started picking out olives. If he’d stolen food from the ship’s hold, the captain might find out, so the evidence had better disappear quickly. Watching Wayfarer gobble down cheese, Magiere took a bite of jerky. It was good, tender and easy to chew. Then she eyed Wayfarer.

“Don’t eat too fast,” she warned the girl. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

To her surprise, she wasn’t angry with Leesil for taking such a risk—and for stealing. She was too relieved at watching Wayfarer eat, and then she looked at Leesil.

“You didn’t take much. Maybe it won’t be noticed.”

Leesil glanced away. “The rest is well hidden,” he mumbled. “Enough to keep us until we reach port.”

Magiere stopped chewing.

“I told you to trust me,” he added, frowning and still not looking at her. “Now eat.”

For once Magiere didn’t feel like arguing. They shared the olives, fruit, and cheese until it was gone. She wasn’t certain what to say or how to feel.

Leesil had placed himself—and probably the rest of them, should they be found out—in danger, but she hadn’t come up with anything better. The thought of Wayfarer having decent food until they reached land again almost made her want to weep.

Then . . . a loud noise outside of the door made everyone turn.

• • •

Leesil twisted around on one knee as the door began to open—without anyone calling out an invitation. Of course he’d expected to be questioned sooner or later. Once the theft was discovered, everyone would most likely be questioned. But that it happened so quickly alarmed him.

He rose in the same instant as Magiere. Her falchion was within reach, leaned up against the bunk’s end. She didn’t grab for it, but he saw her glance to mark its place as the door opened.

Captain Amjad stood there with his jaw clenched. His two hulkish bodyguards peered over his shoulders from out in the passage.

Leesil remained purposely passive but wondered why the captain had focused so quickly on the ship’s passengers.

Amjad took one step into the cabin, and Chap began to growl. The captain stopped, blocking the door before his bodyguards could slip in.

“Have any of you been in the hold?” Amjad demanded.

Well, he was to-the-point if nothing else.

“You mean . . . ship cargo hold?” Leesil asked, feigning confusion.

“We’ve all been in here since dusk,” Magiere returned sharply. “The girl is ill.”

Amjad’s anger wavered with one quick glance at Wayfarer on the bunk. Maybe he had a sudden doubt as he looked around the small cabin and perhaps searched for something he did not see—like the remnants of food, which he did not find. He shook his head slowly as his anger returned.

“Someone was in the hold tonight, breaking crates open and stealing food. None of my men would dare. Any who do so without permission are thrown overboard. And I sometimes toss one over on the voyage up . . . just so they know I mean it.”

Now, that Leesil had not known.

“There are two dead watchmen up on deck,” Amjad spat out. “Do you know anything about that?”

Leesil tensed—Brot’an must have run into trouble after leaving the hold.

“None of this has to do with us,” Magiere said.

Leesil glanced sidelong at her. Anger was her only real way to sound convincing, since she was a terrible liar. But he was instantly on guard when she grabbed her falchion, though she left it sheathed.

“Care to try throwing one of us overboard?” she asked, as if inviting it.

Chap snarled loudly. Whether that was for Magiere or Amjad, Leesil wasn’t certain. He was too fixed on listening to the sound of the bodyguards in the passage—the sound of hands clenching on leather-wrapped blade hilts. Then he spotted an awkward shift in the captain’s expression.

Something mixed with the greed and spite in Amjad’s eyes, as if he was suddenly reluctant or had overplayed what all this was really about. For just a breath Leesil wondered if all of this was just for show and the captain wouldn’t throw them overboard no matter what they did . . . as if he wanted them alive for some reason.

Amjad half turned in the doorway. “Where’s the other one? The big Lhoin’na?”

“He went to rest in his cabin,” Magiere lied. “He’s been in here all evening, too.”

“Search the other cabin!” Amjad barked at one of his bodyguards.

Leesil’s tension increased. What if Brot’an hadn’t returned to his cabin yet?

From where he stood, he could only listen as one of Amjad’s men stomped up the passage outside. To Leesil’s relief, he heard a muttered word or two briefly exchanged, so the old assassin was in his cabin. A few moments later, the guard reappeared outside the doorway beyond Amjad and shook his head.

That the guard hadn’t forced his way in to search Brot’an’s cabin made Leesil even more suspicious.

Amjad turned to glare at Leesil.

“Maybe,” Leesil said, struggling with his Numanese, “your men too hungry . . . take chance. You feed them, problem is solved.”

With one last black look, Amjad spun out of the cabin and slammed the door shut.

Leesil listened as three sets of footfalls headed up the passage to the stairs without pause. At least Magiere, Chap, and Wayfarer had enough food for the rest of this voyage. That was all that mattered . . . for the moment.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 663