Sasharia En Garde (20 page)

How could I find a meeting of the minds with a pirate—or
privateer—without talking myself into that life, at least for a time?

I faced Owl. “Whether bad or good I cannot say, but I do
know a lawless life on the sea is not my future. And I’m not the kind who can
have a fling then leave without a second thought.”

He looked up at the sails then back at me, his narrow jaw
working. His ruby-set golden earring, won in pirate battle, glinted against his
jawline, emphasizing some tension, perhaps some unspoken thought. “Fair
enough.”

The armorer was singing a bawdy song in a sweet, soulful
tenor when I retreated to my cabin. I lay on my bunk, hands crossed behind my
head, watching the light-stippled reflections of water on the ceiling of the
cabin as bare feet danced on the deck overhead far into the night.

o0o

On the day of our landing, I woke to the sound of bawling
commands and busy hammers and saws coming through the open scuttle. Not our
ship. In the mellow blue-gold light of dawn, a big brigantine slid by, its deck
and masts alive with an enormous crew all busy.

I got up. Elva was already gone, her bunk made. I hauled all
my bedding down to the cleaning frame, put it through, and lugged it up again
to make my bunk neat. When I stepped out, once again the ship wore a disguise,
this time as a slightly down-at-heels merchant. Our masts were stumpy, a single
sail on each. The barrels (most of them empty) neatly lined the rail. The crew
all wore dull variations on homespun shirts and brown-dyed deck trousers.

Everyone was quiet, self-absorbed. I found Elva sitting on a
barrel and joined her, turning my attention to the busy harbor as we threaded
slowly through ships of every size and type, each a little world filled with
people busy doing things.

“This is Ellir?” I asked.

She pointed at the martial outline of a fortress topping the
ridge of hills behind the port. “That’s the garrison and also the academy.
Supposedly—”

“I know, belongs to Prince Jehan. Whenever you start with
‘supposedly’ I know Canary’s son is fumbling around somewhere behind.”

She grinned. “Well, truth is, he does seem to preside,
though I understand it all is really run by Captain Randart, the war
commander’s brother.”

“Yuk. More Randarts? Ugh.”

“I didn’t even mention War Commander Randart’s nephew
Damedran, who’s supposedly the best of the academy cadets. Devli says the mages
all think Randart wants Damedran as heir instead of the Fool. Except that
Randart defends the Fool. Which is another thing against him.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Canardan
is
the king, right?”

Elva said soberly, “Yes, but whatever Randart wants, he
gets. There was supposed to be no killing, that was promised. Yet Randart was
angry when they didn’t catch your father, and so he made sure Magister Glathan
died. He broke his word to do it. Had the magister shot in the back. Bolt from
a crossbow. Right after making a truce.”

Magister Glathan—dead?

My father had to be either dead or imprisoned by his
last-resort spell. A spell he could not free himself from.

That meant I was the only one who could free him.

If he lived.

I grimaced. Magister Glathan was a vague memory, but he’d
been kind and patient with me, and I remembered how much my father and he had
talked, how much my father had admired the mage. “That’s horrible.”

“Anyway, no one knows what Randart wants, except Randart.
We’ll find out when he gets it.” Elva rubbed her arms just above the elbows. “I
wonder what can be taking Devli? It’s like he married those messmates of his.
Never was away from them once, yesterday.”

“Where is the brewery?”

“See that big stone building up at the very far end of
Market Street? Market Street starts at the base of the main pier, which is just
past where that yacht is docked.”

I peered under my hand, and whistled. “That’s gorgeous. I’ve
never seen such a beautiful yacht.”

“It belongs to the Fool,” Elva admitted.

“I thought someone said he gets seasick.”

“The king gave it to him. He’s seldom on it, and only long
enough to entertain some of his artists.” Elva waved a dismissive hand. “But he
has a crew complete with a Colendi cook just sitting around waiting all the
same. Anyway, you can see how Market Street runs along the foot of the ridge.
See the academy on top of the ridge? The brewery is right below the far end of
the academy. Sometimes when the wind comes off the land, you can smell the malt
being made from the barley.”

“Does Prince Supposedly run that brewery, too?”

She looked surprised. “You didn’t know? It’s entirely run by
old sailors. If you get wounded young and can’t sail, you have a place there if
you want it.”

“Beer made by drunken sailors?”

“Oh no! No one is more serious about brewing than an old
sailor. Drink a drop on duty and you’re out. Which is why Gold is the very
best. Ships come here from all over the continent for the year-ale, the
darkest. Best barley from the hills, best hops, everything the best.”

“So the Gold Inn is good?”

“The food is great. You should have their corn muffins, all
slathered with honey-butter . . .” She sighed. “Why, you going
there?”

“Zathdar said he’d meet me there, if he hears any news
concerning me, and I could go on my way. I thought that pretty nice of him.”

She pursed her lips. “I think it pretty crazy. He’s probably
the most wanted person in the kingdom, and War Commander Randart, they say,
would pay almost anything in reward money to lay him by the heels. I thought
he’d stay hidden below while we’re here.”

“Well, the offer is all the more admirable,” I said, lightly
enough.

She frowned at me. “But you can’t be going like
that
.”

“Like what?” I fingered my braids. “Oh. Right. I never
thought of that.”

“I’m sure someone here will at least give you a bandana for
the hair.” She paused, frowning again, and stared up at the castle all along
the ridge, the stone lit with mellow color by the rising sun behind us. “No,
I’m sick of everyone yatching at me about my guesses,” she muttered. “Never
mind, I’ll just check on my own. Here’s the important thing right now, you do
need a disguise.”

The bosun tweeted, causing a stampede of running feet. The
masts creaked, sails loosened, whacketted, and slumped. A crew got the anchor
atrip, then on command let it go. Underneath us the chain roared until the ship
jerked. The anchor was down. We stopped moving, except on the gentle swell.

While the sails were bunted, the anchor crew began booming
the longboat over the side. I went below for the last time. The sail mistress
had told me that I could have anything but they usually traded, and so I left
my Earth clothes. I didn’t want the extra weight, I couldn’t wear them, and
they didn’t mean anything to me. Let some pirate puzzle over a T-shirt with
Got books?
on it.

I picked out a sturdy forest green tunic that came down to
my knees, below which I wore the deck trousers I’d been given, and found some
castoff mocs that fit. I donated my sandals. Maybe someone would think the
Earthwear an exotic fashion touch. I chose an old floppy sailor’s hat that
someone had abandoned. It not only hid my hair but half of my face.

By then the boat was lowered, and the ship boy on duty came
shyly to offer me a ride in the first trip.

I reached the rail and looked back at the deck. Some of the
crew waved, and one or two saluted. Zathdar was not in sight.

I waved, tucked my gear back under my arm, and clambered
down the side to drop into the boat. I thumped clumsily onto the sternsheets
and sat with my gear bag in my lap as the crew took up oars and rowed for the
passenger dock.

Go and find her with
your good will—and your worst spies.

Atanial did not say that out loud. She was not certain how
much real freedom she had or what Canary might do if she broke the appearance
of a truce.

She did know that if she left, it would either be under
guard, or else he’d have people following her.

So she smiled sweetly at King Canardan. She smiled sweetly
at the two big guards who escorted her back to her chambers when Canary
regretfully excused himself to his day’s work.

Back in her room she flung the brass jewelry holder against
the fireplace stone, counting under her breath until a maid came running in,
and she smiled sweetly at her.

Five seconds. The listening ears were close.

Atanial knew better than to confront the servants. They were
doing what they were told, whether by will or coercion right now did not
matter. “Oops.” She picked the brass plate up. “I dropped it.”

She set it carefully on the carved wooden bureau, next to
the pretty ceramic vase that she would have loved to smash. But she couldn’t
bring herself to indulge her temper that far. At home, where things were
manufactured, maybe. Here, human hands had shaped this vase, and another pair
of hands had painted the intertwined ivy leaves all around it. If she did any dropkicking,
it would be the seat of Canary’s fine linen trousers. Or better yet—

“Is Commander Randart anywhere about?” she asked.

The maid’s eyes widened, and Atanial realized that not only
was she being watched, but every question had to be reported.

“I wanted to ask him if I could witness a military review.”
Once again Atanial summoned up her sweetest smile, though by now her face
ached. “I used to adore watching those handsome young things march about.”

“I can ask, your highness.” The maid curtseyed, her eyes
frightened at the mental echo of Randart’s name.

And by noon the word came that Canary was going to escort
her himself to review the midday change of the palace guard.

So they stood there side by side on the rampart above the
great parade court and looked down at all those earnest-faced young men and
women sweltering in their faultless battle tunics, and Atanial thought,
Yes, I’m getting the message about who holds
the reins here.

But again she smiled sweetly as they marched, did an
impressive sword form, and presented their spears. And that sweet smile was
ready and at her command when the king escorted her down the stairs to walk
along the row on close inspection. She forced Canary to stop every so often,
while she asked harmless questions:
How
long have you been in the guard? Where do you hail from?
She took care to
listen to every answer as if her life depended on it, and she looked into every
pair of eyes, willing the person behind them to see her. She thanked each
speaker as if they’d given her wings.

And maybe they would, despite the fact that she did not see
Tam among them. Someone would have to help her. She needed to figure out who
and how, without endangering anyone, because two things were immediately clear:
one, she had to get away; and two, she was about ten years past vaulting over
ten-meter walls and castle rooftops in order to do it.

So the next best thing was to get to know as many people as
possible—and inspect the castle to see what escape hole might exist.

She ate alone. Neither king nor queen came near. Someone had
placed some books in her sitting room—every single one at least a century out
of date.

But old as they were, those books still reminded her of the
third option, the one she tended to forget because she didn’t understand it.

Magic.

She read until the midnight bells rang, then withdrew into
that splendid marble bath, locked the door, and glanced at the scented,
slightly steaming water.

First things first. She dug the transfer token out of her
bra and examined it closely. There were no more Gate transfers left on it.
Whether one person or two came through, the transfer energy was spent. That
much she knew, for Math had told her as much before their parting.

The question was, did the transfer use up
all
the magic, or could the thing still
sense wards? She’d been told not to risk using the token if it sensed other
magical presences around it. She held it up, remembering how Math and (at first
reluctantly) Glathan had tried to convince her that magic was not the
equivalent of electricity. Magic existed somewhere in the interstices between
light and molecular movement, but she thought of it in terms of battery storage
and voltage and switches. It was the only way her mind could comprehend what it
could do, if not what it was.

She walked around the bath with the token, and noticed a
tiny flicker of light around its edges, in response to the water cleaning
spell. Ahah. So it did work. And what’s more, she had wards around her, of some
sort.

More than that she could not tell. It hurt unexpectedly,
remembering Math’s childlike glee when she showed a modicum of ability with
some little magical trick, now forgotten. His Albert Einstein hair seemed to
bristle and crackle with his delight. But tempering that had been Glathan’s
obvious distrust during those early days, when they first came through the
Gate. Later that altered to grudging acceptance, and finally to a truce, and
even a measure of trust.

And now he was dead.

She set the token carefully down and took a leisurely bath.
Dressed in the soft cotton nightgown they’d left for her, she took the candle
and the token and walked through the rooms she’d been given, watching how the
token flared briefly with green color here, reddish there, and once a sharp
blue snap.

A network of protective wards, just as Ananda had told her.
Maybe only wards to let someone know when she crossed the threshold, but
possibly stronger ones, meant to prevent her from doing magic, or to prevent
magic from reaching her.

Now she knew where they were, at least. She tucked the token
under her pillow and snuffed the candle so she could sleep.