The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition (16 page)

Gerard smiled faintly and put an arm around
Thessalyn, who snuggled against him. The wind had grown cold.

“Have some faun pie,” continued Silveo. “It’s
not Gwain, but we can pretend.”

“Thank you,” said Gerard. “I’m not
hungry.”

Silveo looked at him narrowly. “Sick already?
These waves will get worse.”

Gerard glanced at the bank of black clouds
approaching from the south. “Is the Priestess up here?”

“No… Why do you ask?”

“Because I saw her a little while ago below
deck. She spoke to me.”

“Ah,” Silveo looked at him even more closely,
and Gerard couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “She does that sometimes.
It’s always startling. We didn’t see her up here.”

“She’s done it before?” asked Gerard. “To
you?”

Silveo pursed his lips. “She’s turned up
unexpectedly, yes. I’ve always assumed she came on a wyvern. The
gods are swift and secretive.”

“What did she say to you, Gerard?” asked
Thessalyn, real concern in her voice. “You don’t sound very happy
about it.”

Gerard sighed.
She can read me even
without eyes.
“She just asked about what happened on Sern.”

It began to rain at that moment. Silveo
looked at Thessalyn. “Lady, I think you’d better go below deck.
Gerard, I want to talk to you in my office.”

A short time later, Gerard was back in
Silveo’s outer office. Everything had gotten a lot neater since his
last visit. Silveo had a single map on the desk, along with a
compass and several other instruments. “Am I in trouble, sir?”
asked Gerard.

Silveo looked up. “I don’t know. Are
you?”

Gerard said nothing. He felt sick again.

Silveo sighed. “I’m going to give you some
more of that useful advice you never listen to: be careful of our
mistress. I’ve survived by doing several things. One of them is
staying well away from the Police. Another is making sure that I am
liked, but not loved, by Morchella. I’m her pet—a vicious little
pet that bites every hand but hers, and she likes that. You don’t
want to be more than a pet, Gerard.”

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Why are
you—?”

“She was extremely fond of Arundel,”
continued Silveo, “
but she devours things she
loves. She can’t help it; it’s her nature, like the wyverns.
She ate him up inside. He should have been put out of his misery
after that, but instead she gave him to me. He always had a cruel
streak, but now…” Silveo shrugged. “There’s practical-mean—that’s
me. And then there’s sadistic—that’s Arundel. I’m not saying I’ve
never been there, but I don’t live there, and he does.”

Gerard stared at the floor. “Why are you
telling me this? I thought you wanted me killed, Silveo.”

“Killed, sure, but I don’t want to deal with
you in that condition. You’d be worse than Arundel. Now stop acting
like a wounded animal. Whatever she did to you, it can’t have been
worse than what was done to me when I was no bigger than that
foxling you rescued. Go get some sleep. I’m sure we’ll need you to
haul on a rope soon enough.”

Chapter 20. A Knife and a
Rope

Foxlings are born with a loose scruff, much
like that of a fox kit, by which they may be carried. Many retain a
remnant of this scruff into adulthood. However, no foxling beyond
the age of two would appreciate being lifted in this way.

—Gwain,
The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain

They did need him. By midnight, the waves
were as high as Gerard had ever seen them in the crescent.
Thessalyn kept an admirable calm, in spite of the fact that they
were being more or less flung about their cabin. She and Gerard had
both been raised to the sea, and although Thessalyn threw up her
supper, she did not stay sick for long. Gerard had not been seasick
since he was a small child. He was not surprised when a beating on
their door turned out to be a sailor, saying that the boatswain was
asking for help.

Gerard put on sealskin breeches and coat. He
did not wear his boots, preferring to have his claws free to grip
the deck. He saw that Silveo had wisely put up the smallest
possible scrap of sail, and they were running before the wind.
Gerard could not see any islands in the driving rain, nor could he
hear breakers. That was a good sign. Their worst danger would be
running aground on one of the innumerable reefs, rocks, and
sandbars that surrounded the smaller islands.

Gerard helped babysit the
sail. He was bigger and heavier than most of the other sailors, and
he’d had plenty of experience in storms, as Holovarus was near the
mouth of the crescent. He glanced at Silveo and Farell up on the
quarterdeck and shook his head.
Sailing
without griffins in these conditions is just foolish,
Silveo.

Morning brought a measure of relief. In spite
of the driving rain, they could see an island off to their left and
were able to ascertain with fair certainty that it was Mirmouth—one
of Lecklock’s distant holdings. The gray seas were as high as ever
and the wind fierce. Gerard took turns with everyone else on deck,
tied with a long rope to the mainmast. Thessalyn insisted on coming
out briefly, and Gerard made her tie a lifeline around her waist as
well. He was surprised at how the sailors welcomed her and how
respectfully they spoke to her. Although the Sea Watch enjoyed the
company of women as much as any sailor did, they believed that a
woman aboard ship was bad luck.

In spite of this, Gerard knew that Silveo had
managed to keep a number of girls at various times over the past
nine years—the last being a gazumelle, who had apparently sailed
with them for about half a year and then run off one day on Haplag.
The rumor was that several of the sailors had encouraged her
departure with rocks while the admiral was away. This story,
combined with Silveo’s enmity, was the reason Gerard had never even
tried to bring Thessalyn aboard during his days as a watch
master.

Now, however, he sensed an undercurrent of
awe in the way the sailors spoke to her. After asking some
questions, he discovered that the lower deck thought Thessalyn
nearly as lucky as a cured selkie tail hanging from the mizzen. The
idea had blossomed the day she charmed the admiral out of his black
humor, and when word circulated that she had predicted the storm
without a cloud in the sky, they had all become convinced that she
was a seer. Her blindness and white minstrel’s clothes only added
to her mystery and appeal.

Gerard told her all this as they lay lashed
in a hammock during one of his breaks. She giggled against his
chest. “Sailors are silly, aren’t they? Like children.”

“They’re only honest,” said Gerard with
gravity, and she punched him in the shoulder. “If you’re not good
luck,” he continued, “then nothing is.”

“I was talking to Silveo while you were
away,” she continued.

“I saw that,” said Gerard. “Has he told you
all his troubles yet?” Sympathetic minstrels made good counselors
for many reasons. Because they traveled widely, they were viewed as
impartial and experienced. Any passing minstrel might be asked for
confidential advice about marriage, investment, or children.
Thessalyn was special, though. Shelts who would not normally trust
their own mothers would find themselves telling her their life
stories after only a brief meeting. Gerard doubted that even Silveo
was immune.

Thessalyn shook her head. “Nothing like that.
I told him you were really sorry about what Alsair did on Sern. I
told him you’d been fretting about it for days.”

Gerard squirmed. “Thess, that wasn’t—”

Thessalyn laid a finger on his lips. “He said
he knew. He said to forget about it. I asked him whether he would
let Alsair back on the ship if Alsair apologized.”

Gerard opened his eyes in the darkness. “What
did he say to that?”

Thessalyn frowned. “He changed the subject,
made a lot of jokes. A few minutes later, he said, ‘I don’t like
griffins. I just don’t. No Holovar is going to change that.’ I
asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. I think he might
eventually, but I’m not sure it will help.”

Gerard ran his fingers through her hair.
“Thess, you are amazing.”

“Not really,” she said sadly. “I didn’t get
permission for Alsair to come back.”

“
I
haven’t given permission for
Alsair to come back,” growled Gerard. “He has a lot of explaining
to do.”

They tried to make the port in Pyrnon that
day, but the wind and waves were too wild. They could not get into
the lee of the island, and the opportunity was lost. Night fell
again, and they proceeded on their frightening journey through the
darkness. Gerard knew that Silveo had been able to take fairly
accurate readings of their location, so in theory they should be
headed in a safe direction. However, the wind veered several times
that night. The waves actually grew higher and rougher, crashing
over the bow each time the ship plummeted into a trough. By the
time the gray dawn broke, Gerard was sure that no one had the
slightest idea where they were. The day was very dark. Everyone
strained for sight of an island—anything to identify their
location.

The sailors' shifts grew longer as crews
worked to pump out the water accumulating in the hold. The ceiling
of Gerard and Thessalyn’s cabin also began to leak. Gerard
mentioned it to Silveo—not as a complaint, but as a statement about
the condition of the ship. Silveo immediately moved them into his
own cabin and moved himself in with Farell—not that Silveo slept
much. Gerard didn’t think he left the deck all day.

By the third night, everyone was exhausted,
and still they had no idea where they were. Gerard heard some of
the sailors whispering that they weren’t in the crescent at all,
that they’d been driven into the open sea to be lost forever in its
vastness. Gerard knew that wasn’t true. In fact, they had to be
getting close to the center of the crescent, into the region of the
Small Kingdoms. These were his home waters. He knew them well, and
this did not ease his mind. The thick sprinkling of islands near
the center of Wefrivain were laced with deadly reefs.

The morning of the fourth
day dawned darker still. Just as the gray light began to illuminate
the mountains of water around them, lightning struck a spar and
sent it crashing down on deck, hanging half over the side of the
ship. Everyone ran to cut the trailing pieces. The ship had just
started up a wave, and the deck was sloping steeply. Several
sailors slipped in their hurry, but they were clipped into the
lifeline, so they weren’t in much danger. Silveo, who had been
below decks only moments before, had not yet tied his rope, and he
went bounding up the deck without one. Gerard came up beside him
just as the fallen spar slipped completely into the sea and caught
the pull of the wave. The ship jerked almost broadside to the
swell. Suddenly they were nearly sideways on an almost vertical
slope. The wave crested over the side of the ship and crashed
waist-deep across the deck.
We’re going to
broach,
thought Gerard.
We’re going to die.

He slipped, but his claws splayed and caught
him, gouging deep furrows in the wood. He looked to his right and
saw the flash of Silveo’s hair beneath the water. Without even
thinking, Gerard reached out, caught Silveo by the scruff, and
dragged him to his feet just as they started down the far side of
the wave.

Gerard yelped as something
sliced into his forearm. He dropped Silveo and they stared at each
other, the deck now free of water and sloping crazily in the
opposite direction. A knife flashed briefly as it toppled away
across the deck and over the side.
You cut
me!
thought Gerard, too amazed to be
angry.
You actually cut me!

Silveo bounced up again and launched himself
across the deck towards the trailing spar. Gerard followed him.
There was no time to think about what had just happened. The ship
would not survive another wave in its present state. Three other
sailors had already reached the spar and were hacking desperately
at it with axes. Gerard took an ax and with three blows he managed
to sever the main mass of the spar. Still it clung to the ship by
its ropes, attached to the upper rigging. Looking up, Gerard saw
that Silveo had climbed up and out onto the perilously splintered
section. He was probably the only person other than a ship’s boy
light enough to do what had to be done, but it was still a near
suicidal act without a lifeline. They were hurtling sideways
towards the trough of the wave now, and Gerard didn’t know if the
ship would have time to turn, even if the spar could be freed.

Then Silveo sliced through the last of the
ropes, the spar fell away, and Farell was leaning on the rudder,
and they were turning…turning… Then they crashed into the trough of
the wave—not completely broadside, but near enough. Gerard was
thrown through the splintered railing and over the side of the
ship. He yelped as the lifeline bit into his ribs, and then he was
under water in darkness and terror, clawing for air. The rope
wrenched him out of the water again, and his ribs were on fire, but
he was clawing his way over the side of the ship.

Gerard saw with relief that they were
straightening out, preparing to take the next wave head on. He
looked up to see Silveo standing over him. Gerard thought he might
have been pulling on the rope, but couldn’t be sure. Silveo was
shouting orders to trim the sail, but he paused to crouch down and
bellow in Gerard’s ear. “Ship’s healer! Now!” Gerard looked down
and saw the blood streaming over his arm from the knife wound. In
his excitement, he’d hardly felt it, but the cut was deep.

“Now!” repeated Silveo. He
walked with Gerard to the head of the stairs and took his lifeline
when he removed it. Gerard watched him tie the rope.
All you had to do was cut it,
he thought,
and you would have been
rid of me.