The Return of Kavin (22 page)

Kavin stood at the rail, looking aft; now he turned, and leaned there, his silver-gray hair blowing. He seemed to be deep in thought; his eyes were distant.

Hugon, dropping to a comfortable squat on a coil of rope, had taken up his lute again; he held it on his lap and watched Kavin, thoughtfully.

The prince seemed to be listening to something. Odd, Hugon thought.
To what?
Hugon cocked his head, trying to hear if some sound came. A whisper, a voice that was hidden under the sea’s sounds… Hugon was not quite sure.

He plucked a string, tightened it a trifle, still watching Kavin. There was something disquieting about the silence, and the faint moan of the wind did not help. And Hugon felt something. A presence, as though there
were
another here, on this ship. A faint prickle ran along his back, and his hair seemed to lift a little.

I may be growing unhealthy, with too much seagoing, Hugon thought. A disturbance of the natural elements, perhaps; the salt water about me calls to the aqueous humors of the blood, thinning it, and thereby causing a vapor to arise toward the brain.
Thus, a feeling of melancholic discomfort, an illusion of hearing faint voices in the air, and the commencement of superstitious fears.
And the remedy, Hugon thought; solid ground under foot, a decent horse between the legs, and such other simple cures as might occur. A masterly diagnosis, he told himself.

He tried a chord or two, and sang a line, half remembered.

“Come to the window, sweet maid, come and see,

Where I wait…”

A very old song, Hugon knew, though he could not guess how old. He dimly remembered various versions of it, sung by one or another, back in the dales where he was born. Some versions were sweetly romantic, others bawdy. But all of them had a common theme, and were intended to be sung back and forth, by a girl and her lover.

He sang another line, softly, feeling his way through the fragmented memory of the words. Then he heard the other voice. It was faint, distant, and without direction, but clear… a woman’s voice.

“Go from the window, fair rider, go far,

For I shall not fly down, neither shall I come see…”

Automatically, Hugon’s fingers took the chord line; but his eyes were wide and staring, and he felt an icy chill. The voice sang the answering lines, and Hugon replied; and again, in chorus with his own voice, the invisible singer joined him. Fraak still circled high over the mast; and that voice could never be the
dragonet’s
, in any case.

For a moment, Zamor had listened, his broad face smiling; he liked Hugon’s ballads. But then it suddenly dawned upon him that a second voice had entered. He snapped to an erect stand and his fist gripped the axe, lifting it, as he stared around the deck.

“Hold!” Zamor roared; and the song ceased, cut off in mid line. The big man glared at Hugon. “Have you two voices in your throat, brother?”

“No,” Hugon said, in a shaken voice.

“There’s an invisible demon here, then,” Zamor said. “I thought I heard… have you a woman hidden aboard, you lecher?”

“Now where would I hide one, tell me?” Hugon countered. “I heard her too, Zamor. But she hadn’t the sound of any demon.” He turned his head. “Are you there, girl?”

There was no answer.

“Frightened her off with your roaring, Zamor,” Hugon said reproachfully. “A sea ghost, it might be…”

“No sea ghost,” Kavin said, from where he leaned on the rail.

Hugon stared at the prince. “Oho, cousin,” he said, at last. “I begin to remember a part of that tale about you, now.”

Kavin nodded. “The tale was true enough,” he said. “I have known that I have… a companion, who cannot be seen. But she is neither a ghost nor a demon, and you will take no harm from her, my word on it. As to what she is… you know as much as you’ll ever know, at this moment, and that’s not much less than I do.”

Zamor stared at both of them. “The pair of you
are
mad, I think,” he said, glumly.
“Spirits, ha!
Since I came south, among you pale folk, I’ve never seen so much superstition. I’m growing infected with it myself.” He stared around the deck, darkly. “If I find there’s been one of those cheapjack tricks you like so well, Hugon, I’ll…” He looked grim.

Fraak came circling in, to land on a bulwark; he carried a large flat fish in one claw, delicately, though it still kicked.

“I brought a fish,” Fraak announced, unnecessarily. He held it up, balancing himself, toward Hugon.
“For you.”

Hugon chuckled. “Thank you, Fraak,” he said, and took the creature. “It’ll make a fine dinner. You are a great hunter, little friend.” At which Fraak preened, his snaky tail curving up and around him. Suddenly he opened his golden eyes wide, and stared around, as if remembering something.

“Where is the pretty lady?” he asked.

There was a silence. Finally, Hugon asked, as calmly as he could, “The pretty lady? Ah, yes. Did you… ah, see her clearly, Fraak? What did she look like?”

“She had long, long hair,” Fraak said, confidently. “She waved at me. I like her.” He chuckled, and settled his wings around him. “She had no clothes on,” he added. Then he hopped down, to the deck, ambling toward a dry spot below to sleep.

“Long hair,” Hugon said. “And of course she wore no clothing.
Certainly.
What else might one expect?
Obviously!”
He rose, and picked up the fish, taking out his broad dagger. “Now, friends, I intend to clean this fish,” he said, staring at Kavin and Zamor.
“This perfectly ordinary, visible, fish.
I’d rather hear as little as possible about less material matters, myself. This fish, now… properly fried, these can be delicious. Let’s speak of fish, and bread, and wine, and good beef…” He stopped, and grinned at the others. “Shall we do that, then?”

“There was a woman,” Zamor said, in a puzzled voice. He glanced at the two others, and his expression was puzzled, and a little distrustful. He grunted, and moved away toward the deck shelter where there was a cooking-hearth of brick. Hugon and Kavin saw him kneeling, cracking small sticks to start a fire. His broad back was turned toward them, and his attitude made his annoyance plain.

“It would seem that dragons have very good eyesight,” Hugon commented, looking at Kavin. His knife slid expertly through the fish, and scales flew.

“Yes,” Kavin said from where he still leaned on the rail. “Do you know, I never knew that Fraak could see…
”
He stopped.
“Listen, cousin.
I did not know she was on this ship until the moment at which she whispered to me. Nor do I know how she can go from place to place as she does, nor… what she is, woman, ghost, demon, or illusion of my own mind.” He shrugged. “Nor have I ever wished to know,” he added, with a level look at Hugon. “Cousin, she speaks to very few, and I have reason to know that she wishes not to be spoken of. It would seem that you are truly of my own blood, or she would not have sung.”

Hugon laid the cleaned fish out carefully on a piece of board, and wiped his knife; he nodded, but said nothing.

“There’s no doubt that this young man is your descendant,” Thuramon said; he came, out of the shelter deck, past the squatting form of Zamor, toward the other two. He was carefully wrapping a bundle in oiled canvas as he walked, tying it tightly. “It will probably rain before dawn,” the warlock said, glancing at the sky. “Even
my
tools sometimes rust.”

Zamor had laid charcoal on the hearth, and it now burned quietly with a blue vapor; he came back to hear Thuramon’s words, and grinned.

“Why not use your arts, Master, to give us one more dry day and a fairer wind?” Zamor asked.

Thuramon stared at him under thick white eyebrows. “And where thought you this wind we now have came from?” he asked. “Such steady wind as this, bearing so toward the coasts, is not common at this time of the year.”

“Now that’s true,” Zamor said, frowning slightly. “Yonder man, steering, told me as much an hour ago, while we were still in sight of the battle. He was certain that the gods favored the rebels greatly, because of that.” Then he laughed. “But I’ve heard such things said before, too often. If a man’s lucky today, then the gods favor him, or a sorcerer’s helping him; and tomorrow, he’s cold meat, the gods having changed their minds. No, I believe what I see. We have been lucky; that should be enough.” He looked at Thuramon. “Perhaps you offered a prayer for a good wind, Master, and received one. But surely you don’t say you
made
this wind, as a man might belch one out, so to speak?”

Thuramon said nothing. He turned, and pointed toward the southeast, his fingers twisted in an odd gesture. He pursed his lips, and a faint whistle, a queer little three-noted tune, came out.

Behind Hugon, there was a deep rattle and clap, and he turned to see the sail drooping, loosely, swinging against the mast. The deck slowly came to a level position, as the Virgin slowed. And the sea was assuming an odd, oiled look, he saw.

The crewman at the steering oar called out to the other, across the deck, a rattling Grothan curse; he leaned back and made a gesture, spreading his hands out and letting the oar hang free. The ship was almost stationary now; there was no reason to steer any longer.

“It would not be wise to wait here too long,” Thuramon said, looking at Zamor. “Not even for a demonstration to enlighten the mind of an unbelieving one.” He chuckled, and turned to make that pointing gesture again, and utter the whistled notes in another order.

There was a crack, as the sail filled abruptly, and a whine of wind in the rigging. The steersman snapped hurriedly up out of his relaxed posture; whitecaps appeared on the sea around them as the Virgin seemed to spring forward.

“Hold, hold, Master Thuramon!”
Zamor said, staring at the taut sails. “I never said I didn’t believe you, did I? But in the Snake’s name, don’t overdo it and whip up a gale!”

“It will lessen in a moment,” Thuramon said. Hugon gathered up his fish and went forward along the rolling deck; he knelt, wrapping portions of fish in the broad leaves of a sea-plant that drifted in these waters, which he had brought aboard earlier. There were thagga roots in the food-bags, a round, brown-skinned plant grown in the coast Kingdoms, and Hugon placed these in the wrappings as well, with other spices. One by one he laid the wet packets on the charcoal, where they began to steam busily; he stood up, and held to a stanchion against the rolling, admiring his work.

Thuramon’s words were true; by the time the fish had baked a little while, the wind was less, though still strong and steady. The other two crewmen came on deck for their night watch; the sun was almost down, now. They took their share of the food, with the glum silence that all four crewmen seemed to have as a common law; and a jar of the bitter yellow wine that Grothans liked was opened for all.

“Eh, now,” one of the crewmen said, suddenly. He picked the last bit of fish from the leaf, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at Hugon. His expression was much less sour than usual. “Now, that’s a tasty bit, young fellow. I thought you
was
some sort of lord, when we was hired out for the trip. You a master cook, might be?”

“Thanks, friend, but I’m neither lord nor cook,” Hugon told him with a grin.

The other crewman, who seemed as nameless as any of them, was looking their way, also wiping his mouth with a satisfied look. He came closer, and spoke to Hugon.

“Ye’re cook
enough,
and more though you’ve a landsman’s look about you,” he said. “Listen, you may have thought we’re a bit… uh, unfriendly, might say. Keep to ourselves, as it were, we north coast men. Y’understand, it’s our way.” He reached down and got the wine jar; when he finished, it was much lighter. He belched, and squatted down.

“Man came to us, said he’d pay well to run four travelers across to the shore,” the crewman said.
“Right.
The gold pieces in
hand,
and no questions. Ask us none, we’ll ask you none.” He took another pull at the jar. “We’re not asking where that damned wind came from, either,” he said, pointedly. “Nor what you’d be doing in the Empire. We’ve had a sight of queer cargoes aboard the Virgin in our time, haven’t we, Yonn?” He grinned at the other man, who grunted in reply, and took the jar.

“Me… my name’s Yorgan, by the way… me and the others, we’ve had the Virgin since she was built, just the four of us, doing such business as came our way,” Yorgan said. “Small, she is, but fast. And us coasters, we know more of the sea than most folk. We can go anywhere, and damn few can find us if we don’t want to be found, you understand. As there might be, well… things to be took here, there, and about, something light but worth a good deal, and somebody might need a fast boat with good, silent, men…”

“They damn bastards, Mazain folk, made themselves a great list of things to be taxed,” Yonn said, with a broad grin. “More of ‘em every year, stuff folk would like to buy, but with the taxes and all, too dear. So, we used to bring ‘em what they required, and our prices hadn’t a tax on ‘em. Of course, business isn’t too good now, what with the fighting and all… that’s why we were lying in port when we
was
asked to do this trip.”

“There’s always work for us, one place or another,” Yorgan said, with a philosophical shrug. “Them other two, Ullof… he’s the one with the flat nose, steering there… and Bungt, the fat one, and us, we manage pretty well. We’ve a bit of gold put away to buy something a bit bigger than the Virgin, if we’ve a mind to. Or maybe for other uses… we haven’t decided.
Been talking about it, now and then.”
He stopped and looked at Hugon, then at Zamor and at Kavin, one by one, thoughtfully; and at Thuramon, last.

“Whatever you’ve got to do ashore there I’m not asking,” Yorgan said. “This village we’ll be coming to, now…
there’s friends
of ours there. If you’re there a month or two from now, we might have the Virgin there to take you off, or there might be somebody else in our line of business dropping by. You’ll understand
,
we keep no regular schedules in our line of work, eh?” He grinned.