The Lost Steersman (Steerswoman Series) (21 page)

“Then who is the message from?” Gwen asked casually, but it was easy to tell it was a fake casual.

Maybe it was because Rowan was all in one place again, but she noticed it; Steffie could tell right away. She looked at Gwen with a this-is-odd look on her face. “From Corvus, the wizard in Wulfshaven,” she said, and it seemed like she was watching to see how Gwen would act next.

Gwen was putting butter on her bread and pretending she was only paying attention to that. “Then he’s one of the ones under ban. And you can’t talk to him, and he can’t talk to you. I guess that means messages, too.” She bit the bread.

“No,” Rowan began, talking slow and careful, “it means that I can’t answer any question he might ask. It’s perfectly possible to have a conversation with someone under ban, if both parties are willing. The person under ban would simply not ask questions, and the steerswoman would simply not reply to any question asked.”

“Never heard of that,” Gwen said; and Steffie had to admit it sounded strange. It’d make for a pretty odd conversation—

And it was a funny thing, because right then he heard in his own head a conversation exactly like that, and he tried to remember where and when he’d heard it, because it must have been a while ago; then he sort of looked around to see where it was going on, and he saw that it had been right in the middle of Brewer’s Tavern—

Rowan was saying something to Gwen, but Steffie spoke right up anyway, because the sentence was in his head, and if he didn’t say it, there wouldn’t be room for anything else. “Is Janus under ban?”

Rowan stopped talking to look at him, and Gwen sat there with her jaw dropped. “As a matter of fact,” the steerswoman said, “he is.”

Gwen got hold of herself again. “Never!”

“Its true.”

“Janus was up here all the time when Mira was alive, and they talked back and forth, with questions and everything, and if he was under ban she couldn’t do that, could she?”

“You’re assuming that she knew he was under ban— ”

Sort of all by themselves, Steffie’s legs took him over to the mantelpiece, and his hand reached up, and his legs brought him back again; and he said, even though both the women were still talking, “Are there men steerswomen?”

And they both stopped again. Gwen got over it first. “That again? Steffie, don’t be foolish— ”

But Rowan made her go quiet, and did it by just raising one finger at her, not even looking at her. It was Steffie who had all of Rowan’s attention. “Yes,” she said, and watched him, like there was something else he might say and she was waiting for it.

“Can you be a man steerswoman and be under ban at the same time?”

“We call them ‘steersmen.’ And, no, you can’t.”

Steffie set down what he’d brought from the mantel. “I guess you only looked in there and never took them out.” It was Mira’s old trinket box, sitting on the table among the broken bits of the wizard’s magical box. “But they’re not Mira’s. The ring’s too big.”

Rowan lifted up the lid of the trinket box— and a shabby old thing it looked, lying next to the beautiful carved top of the wizard’s box— and looked inside.

Gwen found something to complain about again. “Of course they’re not. Mira wouldn’t do a thing like that, put aside her own ring and chain, and we buried her with them— ” And she stopped in the middle, probably because she got what Steffie was about to say next— so he didn’t bother saying it.

Rowan had poured the gold and silver into her palm and was sitting there just looking at them.

She kept quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, what she said was, “He
did
tell her.”

12

T
he boat moved awkwardly.

It was not the best-sized vessel for single-handed sailing, and it required a lot of activity from its sailor. Today, the wind was light but steady from the east, not perfect for entry into Alemeth harbor but simple enough for a lively seaman. Nevertheless, the boat was making too much leeway, and tacks were too long, executed sloppily and clumsily.

As the steerswoman watched the approach, she considered that a tow by rowers might be needed. But a clever and risky last-minute jibe placed the boat in a more favorable position; and at the last it gently slid up to its dock, sails luffing.

Rowan walked down the shabby wharf as the boat was being secured. She stopped two thirds of the way, where the stable boards ran out and splintery gaps appeared, and waited.

Janus noticed her as he finished tying off the stern line, glancing up twice, the second time with a tired smile of recognition. “I hadn’t hoped to have someone actually on hand to welcome me.” When he used a boat hook to snag the piling, she saw that his soft gray gloves had been replaced by a bulkier canvas pair. Walking sideways along the starboard side, he pulled the bow closer in. “You know, I could use some help with this.” She neither replied nor moved. His next two glances were curious, then speculative. He finished his work, then stood in the bow, watching her, unable to ask a question.

The steerswoman held out one fist before her, then opened it. The silver ring fell, to hang dangling from the end of the gold chain wound around her fingers.

He blinked but showed no great surprise. “I see you found them.”

“Mira had them.” He did not reply, but began making his way back to the stern. “Did you give them to her?” Rowan asked.

“Yes. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You told me she didn’t know that you used to be a steersman.”

“I told you that I’d never told her so. Whatever she reasoned out by herself, she never discussed with me. Excuse me.” He reached the companionway hatch, and clambered down into the hold.

Rowan waited. Presently he returned, clumsily hauling up a canvas duffel bag, its strap looped around one elbow. Once on deck, he shifted the bag, managing to maneuver the strap over one shoulder without using his hands.

Rowan had not moved. Janus studied her. “That’s not a proper knot at the end of the chain. If you wiggle it too hard, the ring will slip right off.” She gathered them up with her other hand; he made the jump to the wharf. “Oof.”

“Janus, are you telling me that you actually handed Mira a steerswoman’s ring and chain and she never asked you how you had come by them?”

“I didn’t hand her a ring and a chain.” He was a moment regaining his balance. “I handed her a silk handkerchief with something tied up inside. I asked her to keep it safe for me.”

“She didn’t open it?”

“Not that I saw.”

“And she never asked what was inside or why you gave it to her?”

“No.” He thought, taking rather a long time about it. “Mira did get a sly look on her face. I’d thought that she planned to open it later, and I kept expecting questions. But they never came.” He shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder uncomfortably. “Eventually I assumed that she’d set it aside somewhere in that junk pile of a house, and forgotten about it.” He weaved a bit in place. “Rowan, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before, and I hope you don’t think I was hiding anything from you. I know the facts don’t sound very likely, but that’s just the way Mira was— and I was not about to volunteer information she didn’t ask for. Now I need to get my bag back to my room”— and it slid from his shoulder, to thump on the wharf— “and frankly, I could use a little help.”

The steerswoman considered; then she put the ring and chain into her pocket, then picked up the bag. She found it not particularly heavy. “Where is your room?”

“Dan’s been letting me use an old storeroom above his shop. Cold in winter, hot in summer, breezy when the wind blows, and stuffy when it doesn’t. All the comforts of home, assuming you were raised in a shipping crate.”

She made a noise, a half-laugh in the back of her throat, and saw the bright smile flash in his dark face. “That’s better.”

They made their way up the wharf and to Harbor Road. Janus paused when they reached it. “I ought to pay Jilly a visit.” Rowan was a moment recalling that this was the healer. “And out of courtesy to her, if not to you, I really ought to bathe first.”

“Perhaps if you used your hands less hard, they’d have a chance to get better.”

“Well. Try making a living at unskilled labor without using your hands; it can’t be done.” He raised one hand to forestall a possible comment by her. “I know; sitting in the Annex and working with pen and paper would solve the whole problem. And I can’t ask you if you’ve received a reply to your proposal, but I assume you’d have told me right away if you had.” He sighed. “Rowan, if I could impose on you further, it would help a lot if you’d be so kind as to haul that bag up to my room— just leave it on the landing outside. I’m afraid that if I have to climb all those stairs just now, I’ll just fall flat on the floor when I reach the top and sleep for the rest of the day. And never make it to the bathhouse.”

“Of course. You go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He had gone a few steps away before he stopped and turned, to stand regarding her with a trace of puzzlement.

It must be, she thought, the very stillness of her demeanor that he was noticing. She never was able to feign emotions, and was very bad at keeping them concealed. Blankness was the best she could manage.

“Rowan, I’m sorry you thought I’d been dishonest— although why I ever would be to you, I can’t imagine.”

She managed a smile. “Never mind. Consider the subject closed. I won’t mention it again. In fact, let me feed you lunch. Or better, buy you dinner, if you need to sleep until then. At the Mizzen. Sunset.”

He grinned again, standing wearily slack-limbed in the middle of Harbor Road. “The Mizzen? Rowan, everyone will think that I’m your fancy boy! All right, the Mizzen. I’ll see you then.” And he trudged off, whistling a bit to himself as he went.

Rowan watched him go, then turned away, lest he glance back and catch her scrutiny.

The stairs were daunting indeed, the mere skeleton of a staircase, three storeys up to the little landing under the overhang of the roof.

She set the duffel bag down outside the padlocked door, then turned.

Janus had, at the least, a very nice view.

The cooper’s shop was one of the highest buildings on the street, and the view swept cleanly east and west over the rooftops of the harborside shops and businesses, blocked only once by the equal height of the building that housed the rope-walk. Fast scudding clouds cast quick shadows onto the tiles and shingles and gables. The low hill that carried Old and New High streets north toward the mulberry groves rose gently up behind the backyard, houses peeking out from between the sycamores.

Crab and clam boats stood in the shallows east and west of the deepest part of the harbor; Rowan could just discern the small, distant figures hauling and raking. Other than these, no persons were in sight.

The steerswoman sat down on the top step, elbows on knees, gazing at the scene, alternately cooled and warmed by cloud and sun.

She had first found Mira’s trinket box sitting on the nightstand beside the bed: dusty, as was everything else but in no way lost in the junk pile of a house. When Steffie had brought it out again, the conclusion seemed obvious.

But Rowan had failed to take into account Mira’s peculiarities. The entire matter was easily explained.

Then, what was this feeling she could not shake?

Mira was a wild card; Mira could be used to cover any deception. How extremely convenient.

Nonsense. This was Janus.

Rowan shut her eyes against a passing moment of particularly bright sunlight. Sounds rose from the courtyard below: a woman’s voice speaking softly, the slap of harness, the thud of hooves on earth as a pair of horses were led out into the street. A few moments later, the warm animal scent reached Janus’s high landing briefly and was gone.

Inertia, Rowan thought, habit.

She had spent the better part of the week weighted by shock, anger, and a deep sense of personal betrayal. She had, in fact, been able to think of little else.

A strong, entrenched emotion would sometimes resist change in the face of new information. Rowan’s training had warned her of this. When emotion and fact were at odds, follow fact. Eventually, with some effort, emotion would alter.

Still, she was rather surprised to see the phenomenon so strongly expressed in herself; she had rarely suffered from it in the past.

But how very peculiar that Mira had not asked such a simple question of Janus . . .

The steerswoman hissed annoyance at herself, rose, and made her way down the rickety staircase, blinking against the sunlight.

She was making too large a matter of this. She had merely reached an incorrect conclusion, misinterpreted evidence. Easy enough to do.

As, for example, Gwen had done.

It was, in a way, interesting to watch the progress of Gwen’s little rumor, like an object passed secretly, hand to hand, possession of which caused random persons to eye Rowan askance, to pause infinitesimally before speaking to her, to pause longer before politely refusing payment for supplies or goods she requested.

Rowan had no intention of going about town vocally defending her own authenticity. The very idea was demeaning. Let the people reason it out for themselves.