Corsair (8 page)

“As long as you’re listing my stupidities,” he said, “add in that I’ve just figured out that you’re not a maid or a servant’s daughter here.”

“No,” she agreed. “This house is mine, or rather held in a trust from my mother until I reach adulthood. Would you care to come in for a glass of mulled wine? I assume, you being a sailor now, you’re still not a slave to that vile habit of drinking water.”

“Actually … yes. I still am.”

“I thought you would have learned its evil by now,” Cosyra said, as she touched the gate here, there, another place, none of them specially marked, and the gate swung open. “Fish piss in it.

“But come on. I think there’s some water about. It rained night before last, and I don’t suppose all of it’s run off yet.”

• • •

Gareth told Cosyra of his voyages and asked what she’d been doing.

“Not much,” she said. “Being noble, going to horsy events, masked balls and such. Which takes up all your time, even if it uses none of your mind.

“I’ve not,” she said with a sigh, “been pranking or doing anything useful since that night.”

Gareth stirred his tea with a cinnamon stick, chanced asking of their friends.

Cosyra made a face.

“Of that great hulk Labala, I know nothing, although I’ve searched the waterfront for him. As for Fox, he was taken by the watch for theft and had his hand cut off, that being the third time he’d been found out.

“The wound didn’t heal quickly, and he decided his life as a thief was over, which meant life itself was done. I found out the inn he was staying at two days after he died. At least I could pay for proper burial ceremonies, although I’m not one of those who believes the gods give a broken nail about their creations.”

“Damn,” Gareth said sadly, then caught himself for uttering a rare profanity. “I beg your pardon.”

“Why?” Cosyra said. “There was worse said when the watch was chasing us. What should have changed now that you see my proper circumstances, which you must know I had nothing in arranging. I am still Cosyra, gods damn it!”

Gareth looked about the huge dining hall once again, at the portraits of stern men in armor holding swords, of women, some young and pretty, some older and imperious, the paintings of land and sea between them, swords, spears, daggers here and there. On the far wall was a great, constantly turning Wheel of Life. Those who could afford it, and the incantations that made it spin, swore it brought the best of luck.

They were the only two in the room. A servant had listened to Cosyra’s commands, nodded without speaking, and, in a few minutes, returned with a goblet of wine and Gareth’s tea.

“Five years ago,” Gareth said, still recovering from the surprise of Cosyra’s station, “I would have never thought I’d ever see a manse such as this, although I’d dreamed of it.”

Cosyra sipped her wine without lifting her gaze.

“It must be nice to have dreams,” she said softly. “Instead of knowing your life is quite planned.”

Gareth waited.

“That was why I went out on the streets,” she said. “It was — is — very clear to me that my fate is graven in stone. I’m to be a perfect maiden, stay a virgin, and one of the noble bees that swarm about me — or rather, swarm about what my dowry is expected to be — will take me to wife.

“I’ll then have how ever many children he wants, stay close at home, save when we go out for important occasions, while he’s allowed to do as he pleases, with mistresses, battles, travel to strange lands … whatever.

“Marriage … marriage …
phaf
!”

Gareth decided to change the subject.

“You said you and your mother live here.”

“Lived. My mother passed on three years ago.”

“So there’s just you in this monstrous heap of stones?”

“Except for eighty-seven servants of various callings. I have an executor of the estate, a certain elderly lord, who keeps me from harm, especially self-intended. Some of the servants are, of course, his agents, so I can get away with little mischief.

“But friends of mine call, and we go out. They all, of course, are noble, but some have a bit of spirit, and we’re able to get into trouble.

“Not any as exciting as you led me into,” she added.

“You’ve made no mention of your father.”

Cosyra reddened a little, and her lips tightened.

“I’m sorry,” Gareth said hastily.

“No, no,” Cosyra said. “You had no way of knowing. My mother was even more a free spirit than I am. She chose not to marry.”

“Oh.”

“She had lovers. Ten, maybe twenty. She kept no diary that I’ve been able to find. One of those lovers, I know not whether he was noble like she was, was my father. I know nothing of him, and my lord the estate manager swears he knows nothing either.

“All of these noble beards and growing ladies,” she said, motioning to the pictures, “are of her relatives. Her line went far back in the history of Saros, supposedly to the first man with a piece of jagged flint who held it at his fellow’s throat and announced he was better, and the other had best acknowledge it if he didn’t want two smiles.

“The story has it we built on this hill even before the king of Saros did. So of course it’s expected of me to marry and carry on the tradition. Perhaps one day I’ll get my portrait hung on one of these walls, looking properly pissed.”

“Well … do you
have
to do just what’s expected?” Gareth asked. “I mean, you slipped out with us. Couldn’t you, if you wanted, go out of Ticao, into the country?”

“And not have anyone follow me? Not have anyone name me as Lady Cosyra of the Mount, whereupon I’d have to deal with all the tintibullations as my executor huffed and puffed and dragged me back to my proper station?”

“You could try.”

Cosyra looked at him thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could at least attempt something like that, instead of sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”

“I didn’t mean to be critical.”

“Why not?” Cosyra said. “Everybody else seems like they know how to live my life better than I do.”

Gareth, uncomfortable, stood, reaching for his cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Cosyra said. “That was an unwarrantedly bitchy thing to say.

“Gareth, I’m very glad that you’re doing so well with your uncle, and glad that your voyages have been successful. Believe me, I’ve kept track.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m just tired,” Cosyra said. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cosyra shrugged.

“It was a long, deadly dull night to begin with. Too much of it spent with someone who, by the way, is not your friend.”

Gareth waited.

“Anthon, Lord Quindolphin’s youngest son, fancies himself a great one for courting.” Cosyra hid a yawn. “I’ve not told him, of course, that the highest I think of him and his family is what we did to his sister’s wedding. Which, naturally, I’ve made no mention of.”

Gareth slowly shook his head. This damned Quindolphin family seemed hells-bent to weasel into his life from every direction.

Cosyra seemed to read his thoughts.

“I’d rather marry that sister — or, for that matter, one of those pigs — than him.”

“I’m truly glad of that,” Gareth said, and put his cloak on. “I really must go. But may I see you again?”

“Any time you wish,” Cosyra said, leading him to the door and opening it. The night wind … no, early morning now … whipped around her. Gareth went past her to the steps.

“Gareth.”

He turned, thought for an instant her green eyes were glowing in the night.

“It is
very
nice to see you again.”

He started to smile, and she leaned toward him. On a step higher, she was just at eye-level.

“Very nice, indeed,” she said softly, and her lips brushed across his.

Then the door closed, and the gate stood open. He went through it, and as he did, the lamps guttered down into darkness.

Gareth Radnor went down the cobbled streets, not feeling the wind, or the chill.

He knew there could be nothing, of course, between a merchant’s nephew — a seagoing clerk — and someone like Cosyra. And of course, as young as he was, he hardly wanted complications and ties.

But he slept well that night, and woke with a smile on his lips.

• • •

“Have you considered your next undertaking?” Pol Radnor asked politely over breakfast.

“No, Uncle,” Gareth said, buttering a roll over a yawn. He’d been late again at Cosyra’s — talking, no more. She’d kissed him that first night, but not again in the three times they’d seen each other.

Occasionally he caught her looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression, which vanished when he turned to her.

He took a bite of the roll, added relish to the slice of ham, cut a fragment.

“I suppose I’ll go to sea again in the next few weeks, after I’ve finished eating your larder bare.”

“You’ll never manage that,” his aunt said.

“Any ideas on what ships, or what ports you’d prefer?”

“Something warm, I think,” Gareth said. “That one trip buying furs still freezes my blood. But nothing more specific’s occurred to me.”

He didn’t say that he was thinking of Knoll and Thom, wondering if they’d be interested in going out, wondering how he’d manage to find a berth for them on the same ship, since he still wasn’t exactly a hero of the seas, someone a captain would make any concession to sign aboard his ship.

“I find this discussion interesting,” Pol said, his face as bland as if he were negotiating for a cargo. “Perhaps we should continue in my study.”

• • •

“Let me suggest an alternative to returning to the sea,” Pol said, without preamble.

“Your aunt is concerned that we’ve been unsuccessful thus far in having children, in making sure the Radnor name goes down through the ages.”

Gareth was a little embarrassed at this frankness.

“Be that as it may, I pointed out to her that you’ve advanced rather remarkably since you came to live with us. Of course, you’ve still got more than a bit of wildness, but then, who of us doesn’t when we’re young? That will pass with time.

“Let me make a suggestion, which will have nothing to do with whether or not Priscian and I have children, for there’s more than enough business in this world to richen an entire clan.

“Rather than go back to sea, I would be willing to pay your way for a full course at one of the best seminaries: Tuil, Frenk, even Winhope, although that’s most pricey.”

“Me, a priest?”

“There are many, many sects, as you should know, many of them not requiring vows of silence, withdrawal, celibacy or diet,” Pol said, a bit impatiently. “That should not be a factor in your decision.

“As a licentiate, you would be not only knowledgeable in culture — which never hurts a businessman, as I’ve never tired of saying — but familiar with the ways of business and managing people, almost as thoroughly as if I purchased you an officer’s warrant in the military.

“Better still is the people you’d meet at such a seminary, lifelong friends who’ll help you in your rise, just as you’ll assist them.

“With such training, you’d be more than competent, after some years of seasoning, of assuming responsibility for all that I’ve been able to build, now and in the future.”

Gareth gaped, thinking about being his uncle’s heir. Then he thought on, thought of years — how many he didn’t want to think — of listening to dry, dull voices rasp through dead facts and theories. And then, out of the classroom, associating with those whose every decision would be based on how it could benefit them. He repressed a shudder.

“Uncle,” he said, seeking the right way to put things, aware of what an enormous gift he was refusing, “I’m afraid the sea has ruined me.

“I don’t think I could sit making notes from a book, or checking a ledger when the wind comes sharp off the ocean, and I could hear the gulls’ scream and the distant sound of water.”

Pol took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, nor even surprised,” he said, but his voice was heavy with disappointment. “That was the real reason I fought to keep you ashore: to keep you from hearing the call of the sea, for all too many friends of mine have heard that gull song, water dance, and the land’s promise vanishes for them, and they’ve no need for safety, comfort, or wealth.

“Most likely I was not being honest with myself from the first day you arrived, for growing up in that village might have already … no, I will not say ruined … worked its way with you.

“Very well, very well,” Pol said. “So that’s that, at least for the moment, and you’ll be seeking a ship. Since you’ve evidently not decided whose articles you might sign, perhaps you might go to North Basin. There’s a new ship, just finishing fitting out, named the
Steadfast.
A little too sleek for a real carrack, but with room enough for a good cargo.”

“Where’s it bound?”

“The captain’s named Luynes,” Pol said. “You might be interested in talking to him.”

Gareth, eager to be away from this uncomfortable scene, stood quickly.

“One thing, though, Gareth,” his uncle said. “Do us a boon, and don’t tell Luynes that you’re there at my request.”

“Why not?”

“Just call it a favor of the moment. Depending on what you think of the man and his ship, I promise I’ll give you a full explanation.”

Gareth realized his uncle wore an unfamiliar expression: stealthy cunning.

• • •

The
Steadfast
was round-hulled, about one hundred feet long, a quarter of that wide. It was a three-master, fore- and main mast square-rigged, the mizzen mast at the stern, with a lateen sail. Gareth noted a spritsail could be rigged under the bowsprit. He thought, in a cross sea, with its bluff bow and evidently rounded bottom, it would roll like a drunken bitch. But it probably could come close ashore in shallow waters, which was a virtue for a trader.

Gareth saw with some surprise there were four guns on the main deck, each a demi-cannon, eleven feet long, and with a bore almost seven inches in diameter. Those long guns would be hard to load in a seaway, but were longer-ranged than the usual drakes merchantmen carried, more suited for a warship. Gareth concluded the
Steadfast
was intended to go into troubled waters.