In Search of Spice (31 page)

“I’ll say he was unarmed. He’s stark bollock naked. I don’t know if he’s alone.”

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?” Suzanne was getting angry now, dragging the facts out slowly.

“At the last sighting, he was still being pursued by three of the girls.”

Suzanne closed her eyes for a moment. At least he wasn’t with Sara. “Well, of all the crew, I expect Pat is the most likely to survive alone on this island. Where’s Mot?”

“Pigging herself in the village. Some of the girls took her off and they’ve been feeding her some sort of boiled root which she loves. They’ve washed her and are busy braiding her hair.”

“Well, if she isn’t worried, neither am I. If Pat isn’t back later, Mot will track him down. How many men are back to active?”

“All the young ones, most of the middle aged.”

“How long to get the Captain back?”

Mactravis sighed. “To be honest, Suzanne, there is no real change in either him, Walters or even Brian. You’re stuck with the job for the foreseeable future.”

Suzanne walked up the path to the village, considering her feelings. Mixed, she decided. On the one hand, it was fun being the Captain, in charge of all! And she was damn good at it, she told herself smugly. Maybe not so hot on navigation, but we’re in port now. But, oh, God, some of the decisions! And then the fight with Sara, who was being quite out of order. She really needs to get used to it and accept the situation.

She saw Sara sitting in the shade of a frangipani tree in front of a house, its strange blunt branches, long glossy leaves and copious flowers casting a dappled shadow. Unlike Suzanne, she had scorned make up and her face was clear, unmarked by the earlier emotion, with her hair tied back. Like Suzanne, her face was a mask. Poema sat opposite her, carefully dissecting one of the many fruits from the island. This one was massive, with orange flesh and lots of black seeds in the hollow centre.

“Hello darling,” she said icily to Sara in Harrhein, “how are you getting on?” She switched to Belada and addressed Poema, “Greetings High Priestess. I trust the day sees you in health and happiness.”

Sara nodded expressionlessly, imaging a scene back at court where she had regained Divine Right and Suzanne was being impaled on a jagged, splintered stake, right through her offending organ, while Poema beamed, oblivious, and offered her some fruit. “Please, try this papaya. It has a bland flavour, but it is cooling in the high heat of the day.”

“Thank you, just what I need. Where is Perryn? I thought he was working with you?”

“Ah, he is a clever one, that boy. He is so talented, I cannot follow him. He wants to understand our magic, but it is a gift of the Gods, given to only a few.”

She paused, and Suzanne smiled. Silence worked on women just as well as men. So did her charm.

“I sent him off with Moea. She has a talent that complements his and I hope she can show him what we do, for I cannot. I hope when he understands, he will be able to cure your people, and our girls. They suffer as well.”

Suzanne looked at her levelly. “And how are they studying?”

“I think you have guessed. It helps them to get their minds together if their bodies are also together. Power comes from the Goddess and she gives it to us when we are together as a man and a woman. It is the most basic way to worship.”

“You realise Perryn follows a different religion?”

Poema smiled. “The Goddess does not care.”

Suzanne changed tack. “Are they making any progress?”

“I think so. They are sweet together. Maybe the Goddess will call him and he will stay with us. In time, all things come.”

“The Pahippians do not measure time as we do, Suzanne.” Sara’s voice was emotionless, flat, and Poema gave her a startled glance. “They do not understand why we should be in a hurry. The island gives them all they need with little effort, which is why they spend so much time being happy. It is a good life, here. Probably helps there are no men.”

Poema smiled, Suzanne said nothing. Sara sighed and carried on. “Which is what causes me a problem. There is nothing here to trade. If we want anything, we would have to bring in workers. And I bet the Pahippians would turn them from being workers in no time at all.”

“Oh, I think I can think of something.” Suzanne smiled. “Import a few of these girls to Praesidium and I would see my business in a sorry state in no time. Oh, I don’t mean myself, but I own a couple of elite houses and another in Riklaws Port.”

“I’m sure at least a hundred of your regulars would stay loyal,” said Sara sweetly, to which Suzanne bridled.

“Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ve always specialised in a few, rich, aristocratic, even royal friends. But I don’t mean to take the girls from the island. Bring the customers here!”

“But it’s such a long way, I don’t think you would get many coming.”

“Sure, it is now. But before long, I expect they will do it in less than a month each way. It would become a special tour for the rich playboys, a trip round Pahipi and Hind, with a month sampling the girls and boys here. They would pay, and pay enough to make it worthwhile. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll set it up. I bet you I can make more than you need.” She smiled brilliantly and tucked into her papaya, content she had reminded Sara of her expertise, replaced quantity with quality, reminded Sara of her relationship with her father, not told her Pat was missing and especially that Pat wasn’t with her.

Sara didn’t react, but replayed the impaling sequence more slowly, noisily and graphically.

Anticipating the cool of the evening, a big bonfire was built in the middle of the village. Several of the sailors were dragooned into helping. Little felt a sharp crack on his behind, and turned to find a large Pahippian woman brandishing a stick at him, telling him off loudly and pointing to the woods. She jabbed Husk as well, and the two of them went off to get more firewood, Little muttering she wasn’t just big enough, but also acted like Husk’s mother.

Suzanne turned to Sara. “Looks like the rest of the Pahippians are getting used to us now.” The girls had declared an unspoken truce, both relieved the other was not with Pat.

“I think so. Haven’t seen any men yet, and there don’t seem to be many old people.”

“Have you noticed how new the village is?” Lieutenant Mactravis came over and overheard them speak. “These people have not been here long. I have been talking to old Manuarii, he led them here five years ago. Their whole history is one of flight. These are survivors, gentle people.”

“Did you learn much about the other islands?”

“Not really. They are very scared of the next island in the chain, but it is a long way away. They came round the south of it and sailed a long time to get here. Most of the old people died on the trip. There aren’t many men, either. Perhaps three.”

“Where did they come from?”

“A chain of islands to the north, but these Umayyad people preyed on them, nearly devastated the entire race. Lost their history and most of their men. They were fleeing from them, these are all that made it.”

“What did you find out about the Umayyads?”

“Not a lot, really. They have ships, much smaller than ours, with a single sail. Lots of men on them, come ashore, burn the villages, kill the old people, the sick and the young, then take the rest off in chains.”

“Slavers,” spat Sara, “I hate slavers. Probably in league with the Spakka.”

“I expect so. We will have to be careful as we go to the north.”

“We’ll need Pat. Any sign of him?” It was the first time she had mentioned him and she spoke carefully.

“No. I told Strachan to get Mot and track him down. Shall we see how they are getting on?”

They walked over to a hut on the edge of the village that was basking in the late sunshine. A hugely bloated Mot was lying on her back while several soldiers stood around her. Grey Fox looked up.

“She is not interested in Pat’s clothing.”

Corporal Strachan was looking worried. “These damn islanders have filled her up with this poi muck. She won’t move.”

“Poi?”

“It’s a root they boil. It’s their main food, what they grow in the fields. Damn dog loves it. First time we need her and she’s pigged herself.”

Mot looked at Sara, thumped her tail and wriggled slightly to make it easier for Sara to scratch her stomach.

“How can she eat so much? Look at the size of her stomach!”

“She looks like she should have given birth a month ago. Oh! She’s moving! Maybe she finally registered Pat’s clothes!”

“Nah,” said Strachan with fine scorn. “It’s that bloody girl with more poi for her.” Indeed, they saw a girl returning with another banana leaf full of what looked like porridge, most indignant at being chased away from the god dog.

“What is the matter, Suzanne?” Poema asked, coming up to a concerned huddle of officers.

“One of our men is missing. We are discussing organising a search party to look for him.”

“The one who ran down the beach? Oh, do not worry, Hinatea went after him with her girls. They are wild, those ones. They like to go all over the island. They know how to live in the wilds, how to make a shelter for the night. They will come back when they are ready. There are some beautiful spots on our island, and I expect she is showing them to him.”

“Hurr, hurr,” said Little from beside the bonfire, “I reckon she’s showing him a pretty valley all right!” There were several other laughs from the soldiers.

“Couple o’ hills, to see the view, like.” “I reckon she took ‘im caving.” “Or round the back.”

Sara flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Damn, she thought, as if Suzanne isn’t bad enough He’d better not have touched those damn girls, especially not Hinatea! Surely the spell will have kept him for me? It makes people fall in love. She saw Suzanne looking gravely at her and turned away, hiding the tear in her eye, for the first time appreciating the magic had tied Suzanne to Pat as well.

“Well, if you are sure,” said Suzanne, ignoring the soldiers, “we won’t go looking. Do you think he will come back in the morning?”

Poema shrugged. It clearly wasn’t important. “Unless they want to climb the mountain and talk to the Gods, they will probably come back tomorrow.”

“Talk to the Gods?” Perryn interjected, getting up from where he sat by the fire and coming over. “How do they do that?”

“The Gods live in the mountain. You can see the smoke from their fires. We climb the mountain to hear their voices and find out their wishes.”

“Could I do that?” Asked Perryn eagerly.

“Ask Moea. She is young enough to go. I only go on special occasions, and I am not due to speak to the Gods till the rains come.”

“How do you speak to the Gods?”

“We go to the mouth of the mountain, and we cast presents into the fire. Then we sing and meditate. If the Gods wish to talk to us, they speak into our minds. We don’t talk to them, they know what we are doing and what we want.”

“What sort of presents?” Perryn asked with deep suspicion, dark thoughts of human sacrifice filling his mind.

“Fruit and food, and of course sex. Every time we make love it is a present to the Gods.”

Suzanne and Sara spent the night on the ship, as did most of the girls in the crew, who made certain their boyfriends were with them. The unattached men slept ashore, except for the Spakka who weren’t happy ashore. They were still deeply suspicious of the island girls whom they banned from their wardroom. Sara didn’t trust them to not take their axes to the Pahippians, but she worried about them, they were introspective and even Janis was short with her when she tried to spend time with them. Even Willem Stiphleek, their noisy tone-deaf bard, was silent, no painful tunes emanating from the cabin.

After breakfast the girls took the jolly boat and went ashore, coming up to where the men were relaxing beside a fire, being given breakfast by the locals. Lieutenant Mactravis stood, unusually dishevelled and slightly embarrassed.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said to them both. “Trust you slept well and all is shipshape aboard.”

“Did you get any sleep?” Suzanne asked with a twisted smile. It had not been an easy night for her or for Sara with the magic still coursing through their veins. He went red, but was saved from answering by a chorus of shouts from the men, who were standing up and waving. Looking in the same direction, they saw Pat coming up the path from the fields.

He was wearing a grass skirt and looking acutely embarrassed. Behind him, three girls were walking, clearly in considerable discomfort. Legs apart, one leaning on another, expressions going from satisfaction to wincing. The men’s shouts died away, and they could hear Pat trying to tell the girls to stop it. They kept coming, and now everyone could hear them moaning with pain as they limped along.

“Bloody hell, Pat,” said Little, “did you do that to them? All of them?”

“No! Of course not! Well, yes, but I haven’t hurt them, they are just fooling,” he replied.

Hinatea looked at the men, her eyes wide, and indicated Pat with her hand. “Verra strong! No stop! All night!” Her broken Belada was sufficiently understandable.

Pat cursed. The men stared at the girls, who staggered on into the village. Hinatea had what appeared to be copious amounts of dried blood over her thighs. In fact she had been dribbling fruit juice over them shortly beforehand without Pat noticing. The girls went into one of the huts, from which the distinct sound of giggling came over the hum of insects and birds, the only sounds in the village.