Voyage of the Fox Rider (53 page)

Tink ducked his head in acknowledgement, then swiftly gathered up the tea service and cups and fled. When he had gone, Aravan turned to Alamar and said, “When first we met I told thee that clever ideas oft come from the least expected quarters. Tink’s contribution tonight is an example of such.”

Alamar glared at Aravan. “Do you think I am so ignorant that I did not already know that?”

Before Aravan could reply, Jatu said, “I am not so certain that it was an unexpected quarter, Captain. Tink, well he is a bright lad. I think he’ll go far.”

Aravan smiled. “Aye, Jatu, he reminds me of thee at the same age.”

“Oh no, Captain,” rumbled Jatu, “I was much taller.”

Again the salon rang with laughter.

The
Eroean
sailed out on the morning tide, a waning half Moon overhead, a following wind quartered off her aft starboard. Jinnarin watched as the land slid over the horizon abaft. She looked at the fox beside her and sighed. “Oh, Rux, it seems as if we’ve been on this ship forever.”

Boder at the wheel peered down at the Pysk. “Well,
Lady Jinnarin, you came on board back in mid September and here it be nigh mid March. Now if my ciphering be right, that’d make it some six months gone—a half a year, or just days short of.”

Jinnarin’s eyes widened.
Two full seasons on the
Eroean,
and still no sign of Farrix!
Again she sighed. “Oh, Boder, six months? And according to Jatu, we are perhaps two Moons or so away from our destination. It seems I
will
sail the seas forever.”

Boder sucked in his breath. “
Ooo
, Lady Jinnarin, don’t go saying things like that. You’ll curse the ship with those kind of words. Why, then we’d be like the
Grey Lady
herself, we would, and that’s a fact.”

“The
Grey Lady?
”

“Aye. A cursed ship sailing the night, her masts and rigging glowing with green witchfire, her ghostly crew forever trapped aboard.”

“Oh, Boder, how ghastly. How came this to be?”

“Well, you see, they say that the ship wasn’t always called the
Grey Lady
. But no one knows what her original name was, it was so long ago. Regardless, she set sail to round the Silver Cape, and on board there was but a single passenger, the son, it seems, of a sorceress—”

“A sorceress?”

“Yes.”

“No, Boder, what I meant to ask is, what is a sorceress?”

“Oh. A sorceress, well, she’s a Lady Mage, she is.”

“Ah. Like Aylis.”

Boder’s eyes flew wide. “Oh no, Lady Jinnarin. I mean, Lady Aylis, she’s a real Lady, whereas sorceresses, they’re not Ladies at all. Instead, they be what you might call wicked.”

“Oh. More like a Black Mage, then?”

“Yes. I suppose that’d describe them right enough.”

Jinnarin turned up a palm. “I interrupted, Boder. Please go on with your story.”

Boder made a small adjustment to the wheel. “Well, it was like I was saying, with a single passenger aboard, the ship set sail to round the Silver Cape.

“Now that passage is difficult in any season, and sudden storms are like to blow even in the calmest. But the
ship was sailing in the autumntime, when unexpected storms are most likely down there. The cap’n, he warned the passenger of this and told him that should it come to a blow, to get to his cabin and stay there and not come on deck, else he’d likely be washed over.

“They sailed from their home port of Alkabar in Hyree, heading south and west, till one day they came to the waters of the Silver Cape. And lo! all was calm for an entire week, the ship beating her course into the polar wind, circling ‘round the bottom of the world as it does.

“But just as they got to the clinch of the straits, came a monstrous blow—great greybeards rolling over the ship, slamming her and rolling her and pitching her this way and that, and driving her sideways and forwards and backwards and every which way.

“The passenger, he was screaming and shrieking for help and calling for someone to save him. But when he saw a bit of the brine sloshing under his door and jerked it open to see waves washing back and forth in the passageway outside his cabin, well he thought they were sinking, the fool. And ignoring the cap’n’s orders, he bolted for the deck where the gigs were kept—ha! as if a tiny gig could weather such.

“No sooner did he run topside than a great greybeard rolled over the ship and when it was gone, well then, so was he.

“The cap’n, he couldn’t do anything for it, and when the storm died down two days later, all he could do was sail back to Alkabar.

“Now the sorceress was shrieking mad when she heard her only son was lost, and she cursed that ship and all her crew to find her son or to sail the seas forever. And so, you see, Lady Jinnarin, that’s why the
Grey Lady
is a ghost ship, sailing endlessly through the nights, her masts and rigging burning with witchfire.

“But now here is the worst of all. They say the
Grey Lady
sails about, trying to find the lost passenger, the ghost cap’n calling the lost one’s name out over the waters. They also say if you hear what that name be, then you will suddenly find yourself trapped aboard the
Grey Lady
herself, sailing the seas to the end of time.”

Boder fell silent and turned the wheel a bit.

“Do you believe this tale, Boder?” asked Jinnarin. “Has anyone ever seen this
Grey Lady?
”

Boder glanced down at the Pysk. “Those who told me, Lady Jinnarin, they swear it is true, though they themselves were told long ago.”

“You mean it’s been passed down from sailor to sailor?”

Boder nodded.

“And none you know has ever seen her?”

“No. Though none I know doubts the facts either, Lady Jinnarin.”

“Hm,” murmured Jinnarin, then whispered to Rux, “sounds like a sea story to me, Rux. What do you think?”

Rux swung his head toward his mistress and gave her a little lick, but he kept whatever opinion he might have had concerning the tale entirely to himself.

Southeasterly sailed the
Eroean
, the wind starboard aft, until she came to the Doldrums of the Crab some seven days later. The wind fell and shifted about till it ran off the port beam, but at no time did it die entirely and so the Elvenship fared steadily across the belt of the calms, and a day later she was sailing briskly again.

Steadily, too, the climate had warmed, for they had sailed south away from winter’s grasp and toward spring, the vernal equinox drawing nigh.

Springday found them in tropical waters south of the doldrums, and that night, as a warm wind blew, Jatu and Jinnarin watched as Aravan and Aylis paced the slow Elven rite celebrating the coming of spring.

Still south and east sailed the
Eroean
, and early in the morning of the twenty-ninth day of March they came to the edge of the Midline Irons, the wind dying completely, the silks of the Elvenship falling lank. Gigs were unshipped and manned, the crews rowing, towing the
Eroean
, the Men canting their chanteys in the hot, still air. All that day they pulled southward, the fierce Sun a burning furnace shining down on a molten copper sea. Crews were changed often in the torrid heat, Dwarves taking turns and stroking to War chants. The Sun set and sultry night fell, yet the rowing continued without
letup, sweat pouring down, and steadily the ship was drawn southward across the hot, glassy sea.

The following day, late in the sweltering afternoon a darkness gathered low on the eastern horizon, roiling clouds mounting up and up. Slowly the dark grew, moving toward them, and high on the masts the starscraper sails belled slightly as a faint breeze drifted ‘cross the deeps, the air beginning to move at last. “Ship the crews and gigs,” ordered Aravan, and all boats were recalled and taken up. Moonrakers, gallants, topsails, stays, jibs, and mains, all silks clutched at the frail zephyrs now stirring as the storm crept toward them. Lightning could be seen stroking in the core of the darkness, and grey rain fell down into the sea, sweeping across the waters as would a giant broom. Now the wind sprang into fullness, blowing toward the storm, the air rushing inward and up. “Trim her, Reydeau,” called Aravan, “run south.” The bo’s’n piped the sails about, the crew haling on the halyards and sheets, the wheelman setting the rudder. Now the wind shifted full ‘round as the storm rushed over them, plunging the ship into darkness, and rain sheeted down, cold and drenching. Lines were haled and belayed, the silks catching the blow, the
Eroean
running due south, wind on the larboard beam, lightning shattering the skies, thunderclaps hammering the air.

Alamar, wet and dripping, came muttering across the deck, heading toward his cabin. “Isn’t it wonderful,” cried Jinnarin, her face to the chill rain.

“What a damnfool notion!” snapped Alamar, a glare of lightning illumining the deck. Suddenly, his finger shot out as he pointed at Rux, the fox dashing past, running for the rear quarters door. “Of the two of you, Pysk, only he seems to have any sense.” Alamar stomped onward, Jinnarin’s trilling laugh following, though she herself stayed put.

And southward drove the
Eroean
, escaping the Midline Irons, flying through a darkness rived by thundering glare, rain hammering down, Fortune favoring the Elvenship running on the wings of the storm.

As bolt after bolt stroked down through the night, of a sudden Alamar jolted upright in his bunk, exclaiming, “Aha! So
that’s
what it is!”

Again a flash of lightning shattered the blackness, the glare flaring through the porthole, momentarily etching all with dazzling light, brilliant afterimages dancing in the eyes when darkness returned.

As another flare lit the cabin, Alamar stumbled out from his bed. Crossing the rolling floor, he leaned over and pounded on the boards nailed across the lower side of the other bunk. “Pysk! Pysk! Wake up!”

He then made his way to the lantern in its wall sconce and fumbled about with its striker, lighting the lamp at last, its yellow glow filling the quarters. “Pysk! I said wake up!” he called, crossing back to the bunk. He kicked at the tiny door—“Ow!”—stubbing his toes, and hobbled to a chair and plopped down. As he clutched his foot and massaged it, the wee door opened and Jinnarin stepped out from her under-bunk quarters, rubbing her eyes, Rux following after.

“What is it, Alamar?” Jinnarin yawned.

Another glare of lightning flared outside.

“There, see!” called Alamar, pointing at the porthole.

Again Jinnarin yawned. “See what? The window? You called me to look at a window?”

Thunder hammered above the wind and wave and pelting rain.

“No, no!” barked Alamar. “Outside!”

“Oh, rain.” Slowly, she smacked her lips, tasting her tongue, still trying to shake the dregs of sleep from her.

“What’s in that head of yours, Pysk? Solid rock?”

Jinnarin glared at him, now awake. “If you’re going to insult me, I’m heading back to bed.” Jinnarin turned to leave, Rux ahead of her disappearing under the bunk.

Once again a bolt flashed down, this one nearby. “The lightning,” called Alamar as a thunderclap boomed.

Jinnarin turned back, her head cocked to one side. “The lightning? Are you afraid of the lightning, Alamar?”