Dreamlands (15 page)

“It
is a place of sacrifice,” I said, trying not to remember the warmth of Lark’s thin
ankle in my grip.

“Where
is the boy?” she asked, the little colour in her face seeping away.  She said
it a second time, not as a question, but the beginning of a terrible
realization.  She had looked as sturdy and implacable as the stump of a twisted
old tree, but in an instant grief reformed her into a pile of rags.

“I’m
sorry about Lark,” I said, my anger fading to ashes as quickly as it had flared. 
I touched her arm as if to break a spell.  “Was he your grandson?”

“No,
he was an orphaned boy.  But he was my only kin, and I his.”

“He
was killed,” I said, “by a giant ghastly horror living in a tunnel beneath the
pool.  We were helpless against it.”

In
the pause that followed, I tried to think of a way to offer her money without
an accompanying insult, and also how dear such treasure would be in our pursuit
of Isobel’s abductors.

“Did
you bring his body?” she asked.

“Buried
at sea,” Erik replied, a masterful bit of tact for a sailor.

“But
you saw what you wished in the pool.”

“Yes,”
I said.  “I saw Isobel, kidnaped by the turbaned merchants, and the sign of
their ship.  I also saw her oars sweeping.  The vessel isn’t in port any
longer.”

“She
is aboard one of the black galleys?”  The seer shook her head slowly.  “You
have chosen a formidable enemy.”

“I
won’t count the risk,” I said.  “I will have her back, or have the head of the
man who took her.”

“Bold
words,” she replied, “but you will find them dangerous foes, as devious and
resilient as any you have known, and as reluctant to part with their heads.”

I doubted
none of what she said.

“I
am coming with you,” she announced, drawing her shawl closer and lifting her
chin.

Though
he said nothing, Erik’s expression eloquently conveyed his opinion on the
matter.

“I
am not dead weight,” she protested.  “A candle’s flame will not cut the
darkness into which you sail.  You will need an adept, and I can provide some
coin as well for my keep.”

“I
will not take your money,” I said.  “I haven’t paid for what you’ve done already. 
But if you wish to assist us, you will be welcome, Grandmother.”  It wasn’t pity
that motivated me to take her on.  If her apprentice could perform the wonder I
had seen in the moonlit pool, she could be a formidable ally.

“Then
call me Huspeth,” she said, a single tear creasing her face.  “That name will
suffice.”

“Where’s
Orvuhlt?” Erik was asking as I arrived at the Peregrine.  Orvuhlt’s seamanship
was rivaled only by his uncanny ability to avoid work.

“Spilling
his seed in his hand, like as not,” Jome replied.  He and another crewman were
wrestling the water casks aboard, one of the final jobs before making sail.

While
investigating Isobel’s disappearance I had been approached by a clerk from one of
the ship’s chandlers in Zij.  Solomon, possibly with some premonition of his
end, had registered me as heir to his one valuable asset, a majority share of
the trading cog Peregrine.  With an oak keel fitted in Ooth-Nargai, she was
painted workaday blue and outfitted for cargo.  She was easy to maneuver, but
not particularly fast, especially when loaded.  The vessel was fortuitously in
port and, as owner of the controlling share, I had acted on my privilege to
appoint myself captain.

Ajer,
who I had made quartermaster, had over the past several days secured our cargo
and provisions.  Erik would be my navigator and recruiter.  He also had experience
managing a crew.  As captain I should have been overseeing them, but instead had
been scouring the city from wall to harbour to gutter, questioning the locals about
the yellow-eyed merchants.

“You
look ill prepared for the work ahead,” said Jome.

“My
mouth tastes of sick, and it won't wash away with water or rum.”

“Still
thinking about that boy,” he grunted.

“Yes,
that and other mistakes I've made.  I fear he won’t be the last to die on this
errand.”

“It’s
a shame the boy got himself killed, but we are men.  Men choose their own deaths.” 
Jome’s fatalism was typical of my adopted world, and of seafarers especially, but
brought me no comfort.

Once
Orvuhlt had been located and put to useful work, I conferred with my officers.

“We’re
ready to sail,” I said to them, “but have no heading.  Isobel’s abductors could
be headed anywhere in the Southern Sea.”

“We’ll
comb the docks for word,” Erik said.

“I’ve
combed the entire town.  No one knows a thing.”  The biggest surprise had been
the cheerless alehouses and their much reduced crowds.  Men sat alone, grasping
their mugs as if without that anchor they would founder.  I could guess
what had for many of them taken the place of beer and rum.

“You
say you’re sure of the markings on the vessel that took her,” Erik said.  “We’ll
raise it with the harbourmaster.”  Ajer agreed.

Harbourmaster
Voxhaus knew the details of every ship coming and going from the harbour, which
by some measures made him the most powerful man in Zij.  I had little hope he
would help us, but as a new captain I would in any case have to deal with him
before our departure.  I was glad to have my friends along.  I sensed I would
need their calm.

The
first business with Voxhaus was the submission of the sheaf of documents which finalized
my position as captain of the Peregrine.  It was a laborious affair of stamping,
signing, and witnessing.  If he recalled my presence from the night of his
quarrel with Solomon, his face did not show it.

“Thank
you, Harbourmaster,” I said, counting out the coins of my fee.  “There is one
other matter.  I would like to review the arrivals and departures of any ships hailing
from Dylath-Leen.”

Voxhaus
did not respond.

“A
friend of mine, a woman of Zij, was abducted on one of the black galleys a week
past.  Your assistance will be vital to our pursuit.”

“Kidnaped,
was she?” he asked, absently making the final stamp on my paperwork.  “Familiar
story.  You saw what Solomon’s fantasies got him.  Are you certain you wish to
walk that same path?”

I
grit my teeth, but modeled my reaction after Ajer, who showed as much emotion
as a statue.

“I
assume you know the name of this vessel?” Voxhaus continued.  “Half a dozen of
these ships come and go every week.  How do you intend to track her?”

“We
have no desire to trouble you, Harbourmaster,” Erik said soothingly.  “If
you’ll let us look over the harbour log, we can sort it out ourselves.”

“I
will not,” he said, staring directly at me.  A painful looking sore was spreading
beneath his beard where he compulsively worried the inside of his cheek with a
finger.  “The magisters should have brought you to task for what happened on
that farm outside town.  If you hadn’t have disappeared, that is.  I
suppose what I heard about your death was just rumour, or perhaps there is
another explanation.”

He
smiled to show our interview was concluded.

* * *

Later
on, Ajer, Erik, Jome, and I watched the sun set from the deck of the Peregrine. 
Though we worked the problem over tirelessly, our options remained few and
poor.

“There’s
another issue,” Erik was saying.  “We’re shorthanded.”

“But
the Peregrine has a full crew,” I protested.

“Had
one.  You’re a new captain, and on ships which turn no profit, men see little
reward.  News of your vendetta has spread as well.  Not everyone is eager to go
up against the yellow-eyed merchants.”

“You’re
telling me they have friends in Zij?”

“They
must, considering the hold they have on the port.  Sailors are a contrary lot
though.  We have that going for us.”

“And
our cargo?”  Since I didn’t own the Peregrine outright, I was accountable to
the other shareholders, and must trade along whatever route we chose.  I would
have to regardless, as there was no other means of funding the voyage.  Ajer
handed me the manifest:  dates, corn, silk, cotton, and a variety of dry goods. 
Not knowing our course, he had chosen goods which may not yield a high profit,
but wouldn’t be difficult to unload.

“What
use is it when we have no heading?” I groused.

“Nothing
from Voxhaus, then?” Jome asked.

“The
harbourmaster is in cahoots with our enemies.”

“Voxhaus,
collaborate with those pirates?” Jome cried.  “He wouldn’t reveal the time of high
tide to those wretches.”

“They
have their talons in him,” I said, “as well as everyone else in Zij.  Before,
any mention of the villains was answered with spitting and invective.  Now they
keep their heads bent like so many whipped schoolboys.”

My
bitterness silenced my friends for a long minute, until Erik said, “We’ll ship
for the next port and hope for–”

“But
in what direction?  If their lead grows any longer she’ll be lost for certain.” 
Even as I said it, I knew it was pointless to rail at my friends.  “Of course
you’re right.  We must move.  The galleys will at some point return to their
home port.  If no better option presents itself by morning, we’ll head north to
Dylath-Leen.”

* * *

I
spent my last night ashore stalking the piers where the black galleys moored,
and brooded on their masters.  I had never seen one of the yellow-eyed
merchants run or rush, or raise his voice.  I sunk into a gory reverie, wondering
would they cower helplessly if cornered, or turn ferocious.  When a whore
slouched into my path I allowed the vision of yellowly staring corpses to slip
away.

“There
is nothing tonight that interests me less than your trade,” I said.

“The
black galleys interest you,” she replied, coming alongside as I retraced my
steps down the dock.  “I don’t want your coin.  In fact, I wish to do something
for you.”

I increased
my pace.

“It’s
more of a favour to Isobel, really,” she said.  This stopped me.

“What
do you know of Isobel?”  The whore was young and scantily dressed, and would be
pretty again if the slash on her cheek healed cleanly.  “I never knew her to keep
company with prostitutes.”

“The
whole town knows about her.  You’ve done nothing this past week but trumpet
your grief to anyone who’ll listen.  “

Since
my return to Zij, I had acquired the habit of always resting one hand on the
pommel of my cutlass.  My grip tightened.

“Your
girl is hard to miss,” she went on.  “She has the raven black hair, rare for
the ports of the Southern Sea.  I saw her on this very pier.”

“Go
on.”

“It
was past midnight when I came on her brawling with one of the turbaned galley
masters.  They don’t none of them look like much, soft and reedy, but for all she
fought she couldn’t shift him a tick.  There was another man too, one of their bug-eyed
lackeys.

“She
appealed to him, the staring one, but he wouldn’t help her.”  She hugged
herself, chilled by the memory.  “And him from Zij too.  Guess that don’t mean
much in front of your chief.  I figured she was out here working, like me, and
I stepped up to the captain myself, told him to let loose of her.  Earned me
this.”  She pointed to her face.  “Likes his rings I guess.”

“You
didn’t report this incident to the harbourmaster?” I asked.

“I
did,” she said frankly, "and if I hadn't stepped quickly I would've gotten
it from him as well."

I
chewed this over before saying, “I already know she was taken on one of the
galleys.”

I
figured that was the end of it but, producing a shiv from her boot, the whore
got down on one knee and began notching a message into the surface of the pier. 
She returned the blade to its home, stood up, and tucked her short hair behind an
ear.

“This
is the name of the vessel.  It was still dark when it sailed, and your girl was
still aboard.”

“It
is the same,” I agreed.  The series of characters matched those I had seen in the
moonlit pool, a memory that magic had made indelible.  “You know their
language?”

“No,
no one does, but I committed it to memory before going to the harbourmaster. 
I’ve always been good with signs.”

“And
their heading?”

“South-by-southwest,
along the coast.”

“You’re
not afraid of them,” I remarked.  “Everyone else is.”

“Sure,
I’m afraid,” she said, rubbing her face where it was torn.

I
pressed a silver coin into her hand.

“Then
you are wise as well as beautiful,” I said.  "I cannot offer you safety for
we sail at first light.  Stay off the docks if you can."

* * *

The
crew took to their tasks with a will on our departure from Zij, but Huspeth’s
presence swiftly proved a hindrance.  Since I could hardly ask her to bunk with
sailors, I gave over the captain’s cabin and slept with the men myself.  It was
counted a bad omen to keep a woman aboard, and to put a woman who purported to
have mystical powers in the captain’s place
was trebly bad.  In little
enough time every jammed pulley and sprung plank was laid to her account.  In
fact, Orvuhlt was muttering to himself about tangled rope and witches on our
first day out of port.  When he saw I had heard, he returned to his trimming
with renewed vigour.

Four
days sail took us to Nagoordi, a town of tall, many-windowed houses
precariously arranged along seaside cliffs.  There was a mine in the hills
backing the port, so copper could be cheaply had, and timber and spices, though
only the last would be easy to sell.

Erik
took Jome, who had once lived in Nagoordi, with him to seek out new recruits
for the Peregrine, while I accompanied Ajer Akiti to handle the buying and
selling. 

After
sorting out the day’s trading, Ajer and I spent the afternoon haunting the
alehouses, seeking word of galley-pirates and missing girls.  It was an
especially tedious business for men with no interest in drink.  We had just left
behind another group of happy people with free ales, when I heard someone remark,

“Raw
wool would be a valuable cargo for anyone heading south this time of year.”

I looked
left and right for the source of the comment, eventually settling on an
improbably large white cat, sunning itself on the wall bordering the road.

“Master
Cat,” I said, “was that your advice I just heard?”  Ajer maintained his poker
face.  If my suspicion was wrong it would be a grave test of his discretion.

“Captain
Sloan,” the cat replied in a mellow voice, “it was my advice, and you would be
wise to heed it.”

“I’ll
consider your suggestion, but decisions related to fleece I leave to my
quartermaster, Ajer Akiti.”  The cat blinked languorously in his direction.  “I
have heard of the talking cats of Ulthar, but thought them no more than a
sailor’s tall tale.”

“Travel,”
the animal said, stretching to his feet, “is a wonderful panacea for ignorance.”

“Indeed. 
How did you come to know my name?”

“News
travels swiftly in the world of cats,” he said, surveying the square, “even more
so than among men.  By the way, I suppose these little details don’t matter where
you come from, but it is rather reckless to use your true name.”

“All
my undertakings have been reckless of late.  But you have me at a disadvantage,
Master Cat.  What shall I call you?”