The Steerswoman's Road (9 page)

Presently a barge separated itself from the general harbor
traffic and poled along toward the Morgan’s
Chance.
The sun had cleared
the horizon by the time it came alongside.

The passengers took their time negotiating the rope ladders.
Morgan approached when a purser’s mate clambered aboard; Rowan moved nearer
and joined them.

“A whole bloody swarm of them dragons, they say,” the purser’s
mate was complaining. “About fifty, tall as your waist, and smaller. Spitting
and hissing, sending fire all over. Never heard of anything like it.”

“The passengers,” Morgan prompted.

“Oh. Yes, sir. None lost, sir, just all of them upset,
especially the ones who’d been staying at the inn.”

The witnesses were easy to identify; they were quiet, and
the purser and purser’s mates had trouble getting their attention. They tended
to gaze around them as if a sailing ship were the strangest wonder in existence,
and death by dragonfire were the usual human fate, escaped from only by luck.
They were filled with what they had seen. Rowan decided to wait to ask them for
the details she wanted—perhaps several days, until they were past their shock.

She stopped the chief purser as he hurried by. “You’d do
best to tend to the people from Saranna’s Inn first. Get them into their cabins
and comfortable, and most of all, away from each other. They’re standing in a
clot together here, do you see? They’re just feeding each other’s distress.
People can become hysterical in situations like this.”

He paused, annoyed. Morgan forestalled his protest. “She’s a
steers-woman, and she’s making sense. Do as she says.” The purser hurried off.

Rowan eyed the mate who had been ashore. The man threw up
his hands. “Not me, lady, I’m fine. Of course, I didn’t watch anyone die,
either.”

Morgan dismissed the man, who went back to the
still-boarding passengers. The captain and the steerswoman watched the activity
for a while. Then Morgan regarded her a moment, looked off to shore, out to
sea, and gazed up at the rigging. He said reluctantly, “If you have any more
suggestions, lady, I’ll be glad to hear them.”

Rowan had many questions, but only one suggestion. “I suggest,”
she said, “that we leave.”

It was some time after noon that Bel shambled on deck. The ship
was well under way, finally past the shallows of Donner and into blue water.
Bel lurched a bit on the shifting deck, from unfamiliarity or her obvious
weariness. Blinking in the bright light, she found Rowan and dropped herself
down to sit on the deck. She leaned back against the rail and closed her eyes,
giving herself to the sunlight. She had shed the boots and was still wearing
the loose yellow blouse she had purchased in Donner. Barefoot, in shirt and
trousers, she could have been any sailor, but for the silver-and-blue belt. She
was small and wiry and tan. She looked able, nimble, and not at all dangerous.

Rowan had spent the morning arranging her matters as best
she could. She had taken the large chart papers Tyson had given her, folded
them to smaller size, and cut the folds with a knife. After a visit to the sail
locker, and the loan of a needle, a sail-maker’s palm, and some cord, she had a
pamphlet-sized coverless book of thirty-two pages. Some canvas scraps were
transformed into a small shoulder-slung pouch to contain the new book and pens.

While testing her hastily hung hammock in the women’s crew
quarters, she had noticed that the gum soles of her steerswoman’s boots had
worn down to the leather. The gum was the same type used by sailors everywhere,
to aid in gripping the deck when not working barefoot. She had found the
quartermaster, laid down a new surface on the soles, and brought the boots on
deck to dry.

Then she had stopped to talk to a pair of crew members new
to the trade, to show them the best way to coil a rope so that it stowed in the
least amount of space but payed out easily. She hoped to find several such odd
jobs to ease the duties of the officers and make herself useful. Done with her
lesson, Rowan sent the two men off and sat next to Bel.

“How are you taking to your work?”

The Outskirter opened her eyes, squinting against the
sunlight. “Well enough. The food is strange, but interesting. The cook knows
his job, but he lacks any sense of adventure. He won’t let me experiment.”

“His loss. You seem to have an instinct for such things.”

Bel made a sound of disinterest and closed her eyes again. “Do
dragons carry disease?”

“No. Why do you ask?” Rowan was briefly concerned, then
quickly realized Bel’s problem. “Here. Stand up.”

“No, please ...”

Rowan pulled her up, against little resistance. “Trust me,
it’s better this way. Here.” Rowan positioned her by the railing and demonstrated.
“Stand with your side to the rail and hold with one hand, so.” The ship was
crossing the swell of the waves obliquely. “No, open your eyes; you need to
balance.”

“I can balance with my eyes closed,” Bel said through her
teeth, “when the ground doesn’t move beneath me.”

“Well, it’s moving now.” Rowan stood facing Bel, with her
back to the bow. “Look past me, to the horizon. Unlock your knees ... there.
Bend them a little. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“How will a horse help me on a ship?”

“It might be a little easier to explain ... never mind. You
have to get rid of the idea that the ship’s deck is the ground; you mustn’t try
to align yourself to it. You need to find your own center of balance. Don’t
make the mistake of just trying to keep your head level—”

“I have to keep my head level!”

“Yes, but don’t bend your neck to do it. Don’t put your head
at odds with your body. Use your legs. Bend your knees to compensate for the
change in the deck’s position ...” She demonstrated as the approaching swells
altered the deck’s angle, exaggeratedly bending her left knee as the ship rose
on the wave, then straightening and shifting the flex to her right as they rode
over the crest.

Bel imitated Rowan’s movements stiffly. “That’s better,” Rowan
told her. “Keep your body relaxed; keep your head centered over your torso.
Look past me at the waves as they approach.”

Bel kept her eyes grimly on Rowan’s face. “Must I really?”

“That’s how you can tell what changes to expect.” Bel
shifted her gaze, her tan complexion graying. But as Rowan continued her coaching,
the Outskirter eventually began to look more comfortable; whether from gained
skill or from the distraction of learning the technique, Rowan could not
determine. “Weren’t you seasick when you were belowdecks?”

“I was too busy with the cook. I had too much on my mind to
notice.”

Rowan stopped exaggerating her leg movements and shifted
back to her own more natural sea stance. “Then here’s something to occupy your
mind: At Saranna’s Inn, what section did the dragon nestlings attack first?”

Bel attempted to make her own physical adjustments match the
subtlety of Rowan’s. “Do you mean, north or south? I lost all my direction,
inside the building.”

“Think about it.”

“Well ...” Bel loosened her death-grip on the railing and
tested her ability to balance without support. “As we entered the guest-room
section, the corner they attacked was across from us, diagonally. On the
opposite side of the open area.”

A trio of crew members jogged past aft to where a mate
stood, exhorting them to some minor adjustment in the sheets. Rowan prompted
Bel, “And?”

“And up. Toward the roof. The corner where our room was.”
Rowan said nothing.

Bel considered for a long time. “Did we do something to
attract them? What sort of thing attracts dragons?”

“I have no idea. Very little is known about dragons. I don’t
know what they like; I don’t even know what they eat.” She looked off to the
side, thinking. “But I know that in Donner, the dragons are kept in check by
Jannik’s powers.”

“But sometimes they get loose.”

“Sometimes. They chose an interesting moment to do so.” Around
the two women, the ship’s activity rapidly increased. Without thinking, Rowan
noted that the wind had shifted, and a major readjustment of the sails was imminent.
More passengers had come on deck, either to enjoy the brilliant sunlight, or to
observe the crew’s movements. Rowan stepped closer to Bel and, with a hand on
her arm, directed her closer to the rail, away from the action. “And here’s
something else to think about: The first night out of Five Corners, we were
attacked by a soldier who turned out to be in the service of a wizard.”

“So you said. But he wasn’t wearing a surplice or a sigil.
How could you be sure he belonged to a wizard?”

“I saw him at the inn at Five Corners, remember, and he wore
a Red surcoat then.”

“Perhaps he just resembled one of the Red soldiers at the
inn.”

“I don’t forget a face.” Rowan saw Bel’s dubious expression.
“I don’t,” she stressed. “It’s part of my training. I could sketch his portrait,
right now.”

Morgan himself had come on deck and was sending out a steady
stream of shouted directions, relayed by mates to all quarters of the ship and
up the rigging. Bel had to raise her voice to be heard. “Can you really think
that a wizard is responsible?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“But why would a wizard care about us?”

“I’ve never attracted one’s attention before. And there’s
been only one change in my activities, one new thing that I’m doing.”

Bel looked at her. “You mean that jewel. Of course, it’s magic—”

“We don’t know that—”

“But I’ve had my jewels for years, and no one’s cared. And
that innkeeper at Five Corners, he’s never been bothered.”

“There’s a difference.” Oblivious to the noise around her, Rowan
reviewed her speculations in her mind. “Several people have the jewels,” she
said, “but I’m the first person trying to find out about them.”

Bel took a few pacing steps and found she had to grab the
railing when the ship hit a sudden uneven swell. She moved cautiously away from
the rail and leaned her weight against a vent cowling farther amidships. “Are
you certain about this? Is this something ... something your training tells
you?”

Rowan came out of her reverie. “No, my training tells me not
to be certain, not yet.” She smiled. “The steerswomen have a saying: ‘It takes
three to know.’”

“Three of what?”

“In this case, three instances. In the first instance, it’s
possible that the soldier was performing a little independent banditry, for his
own profit. In the second instance, the dragon’s attack may have been pure
coincidence. But if anything else of the sort occurs ...”

“Then you’ll be sure.”

“Exactly.”

Bel made a derisive sound. “Much good it’ll do, if the third
instance kills you.”

“Being unconvinced is not the same as being foolhardy. The
possibility alone is strong enough to make me cautious.”

Bel’s gaze narrowed as she considered the situation. “I don’t
like this. It feels like we’re running away from our enemies. If we stayed in
Donner, we could have found out more about that dragon attack. It would have
been much simpler.”

Rowan found herself agreeing. “But I want to get to the Archives,
and this is the only ship to Wulfshaven at the moment.”

“So we sail.”

“Yes.”

There was a small burst of activity, a thumping of
leather-soled shoes—no sailor hurrying, but Reeder’s boy, dashing to the starboard
railing, followed more sedately by a crewwoman. “There!” he cried excitedly. “It
was out there!” He pointed. “But I don’t see it anymore.”

Rowan moved aft, Bel following carefully, unsure of her new
sea legs. The crew member, a strong, brown, middle-aged woman, peered out to sea.
“Don’t see it.”

“It was dark-colored, and small. It went up and down, on top
of the water.”

“Hm. Piece of driftwood, maybe.”

“I think it was a mermaid.”

The woman suddenly dropped to the boy’s height, grabbed his
shoulder with her left hand, and covered his mouth with her right, roughly. “Don’t
say that! That’s bad luck on a ship! They’re evil creatures, murderous. Do you
want to call one?”

“The boy spoke in ignorance,” Rowan said gently.

The sailor looked up at her. “Aye. But you know the saying,
lady: ‘What you don’t know, can kill you.’” She released the boy but shook her
finger in his face, once, admonishing.

Rowan looked out to sea, seeing nothing. “Perhaps it was a
dolphin.” The sailor brightened. “Aye, perhaps.” She scanned the waves again.

“Dolphins aren’t real,” the boy said. “They’re ... they’re
just heraldic beasts. Like lions.”

“Dolphins certainly are real,” Rowan told him.

“Lots of sailor’s tales of dolphins,” the crewwoman added.

“And the steerswomen have verified it, as well.” Rowan saw
that Bel had come closer, listening to the conversation with interest.

Rowan continued. “More than two centuries ago, a steerswoman
went swimming off the bow of a becalmed ship. Dolphins came up to her, pushing
her like children at play. They danced on top of the sea, standing on their
tails.”

“It sounds like a wondrous sight,” Bel said. She had found a
seat on the roof of the pilothouse. “Lady, what’s a dolphin?”

Rowan gathered her information. “A fish, large, nearly as
long as a man is tall. They leap in the air as they swim along, and have a hole
in the top of their heads. They sing through that hole, as you would through
your mouth, but their song is like all the different birds of the air. Their
tails are flat, opposite to other fish—” She demonstrated the configuration
with her hands. “—and they are so strong that they can balance on top of the
sea’s surface by moving only that tail in the water. They possess great
curiosity, and have never been known to injure a human.”

“Are they good to eat?”

The sailor threw her hands in the air. “More bad luck!” she
cried.