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There was a king, a lovely king
Who loved a lady fair
He didn't hold her to himself
But let her spread her wares.

And in the town they said of him
The rot had caught his brain
The lady fair, that spread her wares,
Should not be seen again.

“A little off-key, I think,” the man said, and ambled over to where Idisio sat openmouthed. “At least, by your face.”
“I can't believe you're singing that,” Idisio said.
“What, 'The Lay of Dusty Rose'? You've never heard it before?”
“I've heard of it,” Idisio said carefully. “But it's banned, with an execution order on anyone who sings it.”
“Oh, if I only sang allowed songs,” the man said, “I'd have nothing fun to sing about.” He turned away and went back to his work, lifting his voice in another verse, one Idisio hadn't heard before:

“Gods,” Idisio said under his breath. He understood now why the singers he'd heard had never made it past the second verse before being firmly evicted from the area.

The next four verses became increasingly explicit as they told the story of the sorrowing king's decision to take his lady's name for his own, and his death, shortly after that, from the “rot” that had killed the original Dusty Rose.

Upon finishing, the sailor turned and bowed in all directions. The others roundly ignored him, although one or two grinned.
“Ah, talent is never appreciated,” he said, coming to stand beside Idisio. “Red.”
“Sorry?” Idisio said, startled.
“Red,” the man repeated. “My nickname. Red. Kinda hard to forget.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“Oh,” Idisio said. “I'm. . . .” Not for the first time, he wished he had a nickname like that. The only tag he'd carried on the streets had been “Lifty”: not a name to introduce oneself to honest people by. “Idisio,” he finished.
“It's true, y'know,” the man said unexpectedly.
“Sorry?”
“The song. Dressed up a bit, but true at the core. That's why it's banned.”
Idisio had grown up hearing the gossip and back-door history of Bright Bay, but
that
notion had never crossed his ears before. “Really?”
“Really,” Red said with a straight, earnest face, then laughed again. “Don't take it all so serious, Idisio. You worry yourself into an early grave that way.”
He clapped the boy on the shoulder and sauntered away, whistling. Within a few steps, he'd broken into another song:

There is a lake, a ghosty lake
Far to the north it lies
And they say should a woman draw near
She gets a big surprise. . . .

The words faded, drowned out by the creaks and pops of a ship under full sail.
“He's mad,” a voice said from behind Idisio.
Turning, Idisio saw another sailor looking at him from a few feet away.
“Don't pay him no mind. The more attention he gets, the worse he is. You're just a new audience for his nonsense.”
“I figured,” Idisio said, feeling vaguely disappointed for some reason. “But. . . .”
“What?”
“Well . . . is it true? That song?”
The sailor sighed. “That's the bitch of it. He's at his craziest when he's telling truth.

Red turned out to be the best part of what became too long a voyage. Scratha stayed moody. Riss continued to ignore him. The other sailors, talkative as chatterbirds with each other, gave Idisio only the briefest of noncommittal nods as they went by. Only Red displayed openly friendly behavior. Idisio couldn't decide whether to take the man seriously or not, but he was always entertaining. When the sailor worked on deck, Idisio usually tried to find a spot nearby.
Red only repeated the song about the “ghosty lake” once. It told of a lake to the north of the Great Forest, populated by strange creatures that seduced innocent women and stole any children that came from the union:

And the king he heard of this
By his pious advisor's word
“Evil” they named the lake
But truer to so name the priest's heart. . . .

It wasn't a funny song; it didn't have a regular rhythm or rhyme, and it cut closer to the bone than the one about Dusty Rose. The song painted the king as overshadowed by his Northern Church advisors, and a helpless plaything of their malice; Idisio, suspecting the song referred to either Ninnic or Mezarak, had his doubts on that view.

Red didn't bow for applause afterwards, and Idisio decided against asking for the truth of that song; he didn't want the answer. He stopped following Red around, afraid of hearing more songs like that. He chose instead to spend his time on deck standing at one of the rails, staring out at the passing view.

To the east, the Kingsea seemed to stretch in an endless sheet of frothed blue and green; to the west rose the Horn. Red sometimes paused beside Idisio, dropping a casual remark or two before moving on again.

“That bump up there,” he said once, pointing over the starboard rail, “that's a fair-size way-stop. I been through there. Strange people; they've been digging the dirt out from around their houses so long, most of 'em look like they're up on little pillars.”

“Why would they do that?” Idisio asked, mystified.
“To build more houses,” Red told him, and wandered away again. Idisio squinted up at the distant ridge Red had pointed to, thought about it, and decided the man had been pulling his leg. Nobody could be that foolish.

But in a rare moment of conversation with Scratha, his master confirmed the sailor's story.
“Brickroot grows thickest up there,” Scratha explained. “It's a profitable business and the main Horn industry. Most buildings in the outer desert areas are made of some form of brickroot blocks. I know the waystop he mentioned; they've carved their existing soil down to the underlying rock in places. Stupid, really; there's no replacing the dirt they're selling. They'll have to look for another means of income soon.” Something about that thought prompted Scratha into another brooding fit, and Idisio slunk away without his absence being noticed. Another time, Idisio stood watching a ship passing to port, some distance away, when Red stopped beside him. The sailor squinted and said, “Merchanter. Look, Idisio: see that flag? Pay attention to those colors. That's out of Stass; one of merchant Deiq's ships, carrying sweets and fruit. Man makes a living on it. You ever try
suka
?”
“Once or twice,” Idisio said. His mouth watered at the recollection. “What did you have? A stick or a chew?”
“A stick,” Idisio said. The soft candies had been more expensive, and so harder to steal; he'd never tried, more concerned with survival than sweets.
Red rummaged in a worn belt pouch and handed Idisio a small, soft candy wrapped in brightly colored paper. “Here. Try one of these.” It tasted even better than Idisio remembered. The soft taffy clung to his teeth, giving him a moment's worry that he'd be scraping it off with a splinter, and then abruptly dissolved into nothing more than a lingering sweetness and a marvelous memory. He rolled his eyes and sighed blissfully. Red grinned and nodded.
“Thank you,” Idisio said fervently when the last scrap of taffy had melted away. “That was wonderful.”
“Wish I had more for you,” Red said, “but I got to save a few for my boy.”
“You have a son?” Idisio said, and tried to think of the usual thing to say next. “Um, how old is he?”
“I'm not sure,” Red said. He turned to stare south with an expression not unlike Scratha's brooding look. “I just found out about him. Maybe ten, maybe fifteen by now. I don't know. I lost track of the years, somewhere along the way.”
“Um,” Idisio said, at a loss again.
“Don't even know for sure he's mine,” Red said, still staring into the distance. “But he's got red hair, and that's not so common in the southlands. Well.” He shook himself, gave Idisio a distracted smile, and moved away.
They passed by the port of Stass that night. Idisio was disappointed when Scratha told him, the next morning, that he had slept through it; he'd been hoping to stretch his legs on land. Scratha had insisted that they all stay below during the stop in Bright Bay, to avoid being seen–a sensible precaution, and Idisio hadn't argued. But he'd been looking forward to seeing Stass Port, and said as much aloud.
“You didn't need to wake up,” Scratha said. “I paid the captain extra to provision heavily in Bright Bay so we wouldn't lose time stopping there. We're headed for Agyaer.”
Idisio still didn't understand his master's driving urgency, unless it was to get off this wobbling monstrosity called a ship. But Scratha still wasn't talking; every hour they traveled further south, the more he drew into his proud, isolated lordly shell. Idisio, seeing the flickering of madness in the man's eyes almost constantly now, prudently withdrew and avoided him as much as possible.
Riss took to staying in her cabin, coming up less and less frequently for air. Even Red became curt on occasion, although he always apologized immediately and profusely, and went out of his way to make Idisio laugh again. The other sailors went on ignoring everything, doing their work, gathering in clusters to rest, and dispersing to work again.
Idisio busied himself with reading, writing, and practicing aqeyva meditations. The meditation provided the most relief; he found it possible, even easy, to slip into a trance for hours. Any long stretch of time when he wasn't aware of the ceaseless swaying around him was perfect as far as he was concerned, and soon he spent more time in trance than out of it.
Even so, the voyage stretched out too long and too lonely. Idisio let out a long breath of deep relief at the cry of “Agyaer!”
The port city sprawled along the coast for miles before the docks came into view. An imposing slope of rock dwarfed the city, which spread mostly across the broken and erratic skirts of that wall. Caravans, mules and people could be seen trudging up a wide stair cut into the cliff. Looking at that steep path, Idisio had a bad feeling that they'd be climbing it themselves soon.
Closer to the ship, tiny coast-hopper boats rowed busily back and forth along the shoreline, laden with everything from huge baskets of fruit to bolts of fine cloth. The sounds of singing and laughter drifted across the water, punctuated with drum beats, rhythmic and arrhythmic all at once. Idisio stood at the starboard rail, entranced.
“Welcome to Agyaer,” Red said, leaning on the rail beside him. His eyes were bright, his expression expectant as a child about to open a gift. “See that, over there? That blue roof? That's where Yhaine lives. I'd almost forgotten about her. Years ago and more than one bottle, as the saying goes. I'll be seeing her soon enough, and my son.” He shook his head, eyes fixed on the distant, barely visible roof until it was lost to sight.

“How did you find out?” Idisio ventured, not sure what to say. “About your son, I mean?”
“Ran into an old friend of mine, one I hadn't seen in years,” Red said, craning as if in one last attempt to see the roof. “I've been working Stone Island and Kismo ships out in the Goldensea; more profit to be had, more exciting. But excitement gets old, and so have I. This side of the Horn has nice, easy work, long as you stay on coast runners like this one. I wouldn't go on one that tacks out over the open water of the Kingsea, not me. What was your question?” He looked back to Idisio, his bright blue eyes puzzled. “I'm sorry. I've been losing track of things lately. Can't seem to stop thinking about Yhaine.”
“You answered it,” Idisio said, trying to smile.
“Oh, good.” Red smiled vaguely, then his expression sharpened. “Idisio—would you . . . d'you think you could go with me?”
“Ah. . . .” Idisio blinked, taken aback. “Go where?”
“To see Yhaine,” Red said as if it should have been obvious. “I don't know, I just . . . I haven't seen her in so long.” He turned and looked back at the passing town, brooding again. “You don't have to come to the door with me, just . . . just walk me there. I'm afraid I won't make it all the way to her door if I go alone.”
“What do you think will happen to you on the way?” Idisio said, utterly confused. What good could a scrawny boy do against something that could overpower a large man like Red?
“I'm afraid I'll bolt,” Red said starkly, his hands tight on the rail and his gaze straight ahead. “I'm scared, Idisio. You'll remind me of what I'm going for. Just you being there will remind me.”
Idisio opened his mouth, shut it again, and swallowed. He wasn't sure if he'd just been handed a compliment or called a child.
“I don't know if I can,” he said. “My master's in a hurry for some reason.”
“I'll have a word with him,” Red said with sudden determination, and turned on his heel, almost sprinting away before Idisio could say a word to hold him back.
“Oh,
no
,” Idisio said, and ran after him.

The desert lord's stare seemed to bore into the sailor; Red endured the examination with stubborn determination.
“You're telling the truth,” Scratha said finally. It wasn't a question.
“Yes, my lord,” Red said, voice shaky. “I wouldn't dare lie to a desert lord, my lord.”
“Don't let him get hurt,” Scratha said.
“No, my lord. I won't, my lord.”
Scratha glanced to Idisio. “Do you want to go with him?”
Idisio opened his mouth, not sure how to reply, and was astonished by the strong “Yes, my lord!” that emerged.
Scratha stared at Idisio for a long, narrow-eyed moment, then nodded. “I have arrangements to make anyway. It'll take time, and we'll have to lodge here tonight. I'll be taking two rooms at the Silver Sands Inn; come back there when you're done.”
He even gave Idisio a half-round of gold to spend as he liked.
“Wages,” Scratha said in response to Idisio's incredulous stare, “and rather overdue.”
Idisio barely had time to stammer thanks before Red grabbed him by the arm and hustled him off the boat.
“Good man, your master,” Red said. He seemed hardly aware of what he was saying. “Lord, I mean. Desert lord. Sorry about that.”
He switched abruptly into an explanation of how the houses they passed had been built, then rattled on feverishly for several blocks, seizing topics apparently at random. At last, he fell silent, released Idisio's arm and slowed to a more casual walk. His eyes looked a bit wild and his breath came in unsteady gulps; after a few more steps he stopped.
“I can't do it, Idisio. I can't. It's been too long. He's got to be at least ten by now. Older. Maybe even fifteen. I've never been good with time. Gods, I can't do this. They won't thank me for interfering now. I'm mad to be thinking of doing this.”
He turned on his heel as if to retreat; Idisio grabbed him by the arm and said, without thinking, “Red, I'd love my father to come find me!”
Red froze, staring down at Idisio. “You never knew your father?”
“No,” Idisio said. “I grew up on the streets of Bright Bay as an orphan.” He looked away from Red's horrified gaze, feeling intensely embarrassed at the admission. He hadn't intended to say it; hadn't even known he felt that way. He'd meant to say something encouraging to bolster the man's resolve, not expose an old hurt he'd thought long ago healed over.
“Oh, gods, Idisio, I'm sorry,” Red said. “I had no idea. I wouldn't have asked . . . you must think me completely heartless.”
“No,” Idisio said, trying to smile. “I think you're great. Just don't run away. That's why you brought me, right? To keep you from running away?”
Red stared at him for another moment, then nodded sharply and turned back around. “Let's go,” he said, and strode forward.