Fool's Errand (48 page)

“'Cleaning the silkworm feeding tray is not for the weak-stomached,'“ intoned the young Marinese girl reverently.

The other girls who were cleaning trays chuckled at this. Persephone smiled weakly, then slowly made her way back to the long work table.

In the nearly eight weeks since Azriel had been gone, she'd spent every morning helping Ekatarina tend to the silkworms, every afternoon learning how to spear fish and every evening toiling over a loom. In that time, she'd learned that she was no better at weaving than she was at sewing, that she had a natural gift for spear fishing and that everything about silkworms utterly revolted her. From the grating
snip, snip, snip
sound of them eating their precious mulberry leaves to the staggering amounts of excrement they produced to the way the fattest of them would wriggle between her fingers when she transferred them to fresh feeding trays.

Indeed, between the silkworms, the foul weather and the unnaturally high seaweed-and-mystery-tuber content of the Marinese diet, it was no wonder that she felt wretched half the time!

In her heart, of course, Persephone knew there was another reason she felt so wretched, and it was that she'd not seen or heard from Azriel since the night of their fight behind the backhouses. Though he and the other men were camped less than half a day's hike north, it was commonly understood that they were far too busy to return to the village for even a short visit. And when, about three weeks after the men had left, Persephone had recklessly suggested to Ekatarina that the two of them hike up to the whaling camp to see them, the young Marinese girl had looked at her like she'd just suggested opening a brothel.

“Roark and the other Elders would
never
permit such a thing,” Ekatarina had whispered, flicking her downcast eyes in the direction of one of the Elders, all of whom had remained in the village—presumably because they had more important things to do than harpooning sea monsters. “Besides,” Ekatarina had continued cheerfully, once the Elder was out of earshot, “we're not needed at the whaling camp, and we
are
needed here. Why on earth would we even want to go see the men?”

In response, Persephone had shivered slightly at the memory of Azriel's lips brushing against her right earlobe, but she'd said nothing.

As the weeks had dragged on, Persephone had tried not to worry, but it had been difficult because there'd been so much to worry
about.
She could not stop thinking about the fact that they'd left Rachel alone in a town teeming with lust-filled soldiers and sailors—and that they'd left her with nothing but a handful of coins and a promise that they'd return in two days, three at the most. And though she'd left the Regent's jar of beans with Rachel, Persephone could count well enough to know that if the storm season did not end soon, all hope of finding the healing pool and saving Finn would be lost. On top of all this, the other “silkworm mothers”—the nickname the Marinese women had given the girls who tended the vile little creatures—insisted upon incessantly sharing with Persephone the many, many terrible dangers of the whale hunt.

“Hardly a season goes by without at least one death,” said the youngest of the silkworm mothers now, repeating the sobering words Persephone had heard at
least
a thousand times over the preceding weeks. “Though drownings are rare—for we have ever been a sea-loving people—they are certainly not unheard of.”

“Not at all,” agreed a second silkworm mother with a frown as she held a particularly juicy silkworm up for closer examination. “Usually, though, men are crushed to death when the monster's tail smashes their ship to kindling.”

“Or they're eaten by sharks drawn by the scent of death in the water,” offered a third with a shiver.

Persephone could feel her stomach jumping again and was just about to ask Ekatarina and the others if they could
please
talk about something else when the door of the domicile burst open to reveal a breathless woman in a rain-soaked kjole.

“Daughter of Fey,” she panted, clutching her side. “Roark … sent me. It is … it is your husband …”

Persephone went cold.

“Your husband.,” panted the woman, perching both hands on her hips as she struggled to catch her breath. “Your husband.”

“What about him?” demanded Persephone, whose clenched fists had begun to shake.
“What about him?”

Holding up her index finger, the woman took two huge breaths. Then she said, “He's just arrived at the western edge of the village with news of a ship.”

Persephone was out the door of the silkworm domicile before Ekatarina could take her rain cloak from the peg on the wall. As fast as she could, she pelted to the western edge of the village. There, she saw Azriel standing near the very path the two of them had followed into the village all those weeks ago.

Without a care for what Roark, the Elders or anyone else might think, she threw herself into Azriel's arms and buried her face against his neck.

“You smell like fish,” she whispered, hugging him fiercely.

“You smell like worms,” he whispered, hugging her back.

Choking back a burble of half-hysterical laughter, Persephone clutched him more tightly still and murmured,“I'm sorry. ”

“I'm sorry, too,” said Azriel softly. Then, setting her down long before she was ready for him to do so, he said, “Just before dawn this day, one of the men spotted a ship in the channel not far off the northern coast—”

“But the storm season has not yet passed,” said Roark with a furtive glance at Azriel's hand, which was holding Persephone tight against his side.

“I know,” said Azriel as he let his hand slip from Persephone's waist and stepped away from her. “I cannot explain it—perhaps the captain is a daring man on a mission of greatest urgency, perhaps he is a madman—”

“Or perhaps he is a New Man come seeking slaves and booty,” offered one of the other Elders quietly. “Perhaps he braves the dangers of a channel crossing in the hope of catching us unawares.”

“I cannot say that he is not a New Man,” admitted Azriel. “However, if he is, perhaps the rescue beacon I lit on the beach at the other end of this path will serve as a warning to him that he has been spotted and that you are
not
unaware.”

“You lit a beacon
there?”
said Persephone in surprise. “Why there? And how did you get from the whaling camp to the beach so quickly?”

“I lit a rescue beacon there instead of at the whaling camp because in the event that the captain paid heed to it, I thought he might not appreciate coming ashore on a mission of mercy only to find himself facing hundreds of harpoon-wielding Marinese. As for how I got to the beach so quickly, at the risk of breaking my neck, I ran—
quickly,”
replied Azriel with his old familiar pirate grin. “Which is what we must do now, wife. When I left the beach it looked as though the ship was anchoring beyond the reef—but it also looked as though the wind was picking up again. If whoever is aboard that ship is inclined to come ashore to rescue us, they're going to have to do it soon—and we're going to have to be waiting for them on the beach when they do.”

Almost before he'd finished speaking, Persephone was running for the domicile she'd shared with Ekatarina and the other silkworm mothers for the past two months. Dashing inside, she shrugged off her kjole, used a length of silk cloth to bind her breasts and hastily pulled on her washed and mended breeches and shirt. She then slipped her treasures—the bit of lace, the rat tail, the auburn curl and the key—into one pocket and slung across her chest a silk pouch containing the tiny carved box in which lay the ever-dewy sprig from the banyan tree. Pleased by the thought that lying next to her heart was proof that the healing pool existed—and that she and Azriel were at last (hopefully!) resuming their quest to find it—she hurried back to him.

Smiling at the sight of her in her boyish clothing, Azriel wordlessly handed her a brimmed cap he'd found for her. As soon as she'd finished tucking her thick braid up under it, Ekatarina handed her a hastily gathered sack of provisions and the spear Persephone had fished with every afternoon. “It has been. an experience knowing you, Daughter of Fey,” murmured the girl. Casting a darting glance at Roark, she abruptly lifted her head, flashed a smile and added, “A
good
experience—one that I shall treasure always!”

“As shall I,” laughed Persephone, giving the younger girl a warm hug.

After hugging each of the other silkworm mothers in turn, Persephone bid goodbye to all the others she'd come to know during her time in the village.

“We need to go
now
, wife,” warned Azriel as Persephone leaned over to pat a small girl on her little blond head.

“I know, I know,” said Persephone. Hesitantly, she turned to Roark. Though she'd never particularly cared for the Marinese Elder—and though she suspected that he'd never particularly cared for her—she felt she owed him a great deal more than a simple thank you.

To her surprise, before she could frame suitable parting words, Roark raised his eyes to hers and said, “Though you are far from being the kind of woman I am comfortable with or accustomed to being around, I have come to think of you as a true daughter of this tribe—and to believe that your mother would have been proud of you. Best of luck, Daughter of Fey. Know that you will ever have a place among us.”

Persephone's surprise at these unexpected words was followed by a rush of gratitude. Resisting the urge to reach out and give Roark's hand a squeeze (a gesture that would almost certainly have horrified him), she said, “Thank you.”

It felt like enough.

By the time Persephone and Azriel made it to the beach, there was a flat-bottomed boat struggling through the choppy waves of the lagoon. One of its two occupants had his back to them. He was short, squat, bald and hauling away on the oars for all he was worth. The occupant facing them was filthy, slouching, scowling, had long hair tied back with a colourful head kerchief, a gold hoop earring, an evil-looking eye patch and a bloodstained facial bandage.

Persephone eyed this villain with some trepidation until she noticed his ears.

Or rather,
her
ears.

“I don't believe it,” she gasped. “It's
Rachel!”

After studying the occupants of the approaching boat carefully for a very long moment, Azriel exclaimed, “You're right! And look how well she's rowing!”

Persephone indignantly began to inform her handsome husband that she was not referring to the short, squat, bald man. She broke off abruptly, however, when Azriel's smile told her that he was teasing. Shaking her head at his silliness, she smiled, too, and called him a beast in the bargain. And when Rachel's boat was close enough to hail, she followed him from the shelter of the rocks down to the water's edge. Over the howling of the wind, the lashing of the rain and the crashing of the waves, she gruffly called out greetings.

“Arrgh, greetings to you, as well!” replied Rachel in an even gruffer voice.

Perhaps feeling that this response did not sound entirely genuine, the sailor holding the oars eyed Rachel askance. As if to reassure him that she
and
her response were entirely genuine, Rachel snorted deeply and spat noisily over the side of the boat.

Resisting the urge to smile, Persephone jerked her thumb toward Azriel and called, “My, uh, companion and I were shipwrecked before the storms and are looking for quick passage back to the mainland.”

“Yar in luck!” boomed Rachel. “For as it happens, yonder ship is bound for Syon. We shall be underway within the hour!”

The sailor looked surprised to hear this. “When you chartered the ship, I thought you told the cap'n that you wanted to search the islands for the dastardly rogue who slashed your face in a duel over a beautiful girl,” he said as he irritably picked something out of his soaking beard and flicked it into the water.

“'Tis a man's prerogative to change his mind—” began Rachel.

“Nay, that's a
woman's
prerogative,” interrupted the sailor, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Whatever! Arrgh!” said Rachel, who turned to Persephone and Azriel before adding, “Climb aboard, me bonny fellows. Let us return to the ship and set sail at once.”