Wings of Omen - Thieves World 06 (35 page)

As Monkel followed the Old Man into the tavern, he noted several of his clansmen scattered through the room, all sitting with other Beysib, but there unchallenged nonetheless. There was one table, however, none of them sat at... in fact, no Sanctuary fishermen sat at without an invitation. That was the table that exploded with noise upon their entrance.

"It's about time. Old Man!"

"We already drank your share. You'll have to order more."

"Hey, Monkel. Can't you get the Old Man to walk any faster? The streets are dangerous to those who dawdle."

Sitting at their table were the elite of Sanctuary's fishing community, the senior captains of which the Old Man was the unofficial leader. It was no different from the other tables, but because they sat there, the service was quicker and their drinks arrived in portions noticeably larger than those served at other tables.

Of all the Beysib, Monkel was the only one accepted as an equal at the captains'

table, partially because of his status as head of the Setmur clan, but mostly because the Old Man said he was welcome.

Prior to their relocation to Sanctuary, a Beysib scout ship had picked up the Old Man and his son Hort and fetched them back to the Beysa's court for interrogation. Once it became apparent that the Old Man would not willingly yield any useful information about their planned destination, the majority of the court had turned their attention to Hort, who was both more talkative and more knowledgeable about the politics and citizenry of Sanctuary. Only Monkel had continued dealing with the Old Man, plying him with specific questions only a fisherman would ask: questions about tides and reefs, the feeding patterns and nature of the native fish. The Old Man recognized them as the questions of a working man as opposed to those asked by the military or the politicians, and began to trade information for information. Their mutual respect had grown into a cautious friendship, and Monkel had made a point of protecting the Old Man from the curiosity and jibes of his own countrymen. Now they were in Sanctuary, and the Old Man was returning the favor by helping Monkel and his clan settle into their new home.

The next round of drinks arrived, and Monkel started to reach for his purse. The Old Man caught his eye with a glare of stem disapproval, but the Beysib merely smiled and withdrew a small coin barely large enough to pay for his own refreshment. Though poor by comparison with the royal Burek clan, the Setmurs were still substantially wealthier than their Sanctuary-raised counterparts. Soon after his arrival in town, the Old Man had warned Monkel against needless displays of money... such as buying a round of drinks for the captains' table. Rather than a gesture of endearing generosity, he had been told, such a move would be interpreted as an attempt to flaunt his financial superiority, hindering rather than advancing his acceptance by the local fisherfolk. Normally a bit tight-fisted by nature, Monkel had no difficulty following this advice, though the Old Man still tended to fret at him about it from time to time. The cheap wine favored by the other captains was distasteful to Monkel, who was used to the more delicate, subtle texture of Beysib beverages, but he drank it anyway to avoid appearing overly critical of the tastes of his new-found friends. In a compromise with his own palate, he merely sipped cautiously at one glass while listening to the fishermen gossip.

The Sanctuary fishermen were a close-knit community, caring little for the affairs of the "city folk," and it showed in their conversations. From discussions with his clansmen who had more contact with clan Burek, Monkel had obtained a wealth of rumors speculating on whether or not the Rankan Emperor was dead and the effect it would have on Prince Kadakithis, currently the object of their own Beysa's affection. None of this was even mentioned at the captains'

table... their conversation, instead, centered on the movements of various schools of fish, and occasionally touched on the unpredictable winds and storms which seemed to spring from nowhere to threaten the fishing fleet even at anchor. There was also still talk about the solar eclipse, though Monkel's assurances that such phenomena were not unheard of in the chronicles of the Beysib Empire had kept the fishing community from joining the town's panic at the time.

Monkel entered into the "fish" discussions wholeheartedly enough, particularly those concerning the deep-water species he was familiar with, but remained silent during the "storm" speculations. He had his own opinions, of course, but was more than reluctant to voice them, even here. There was a stink of sorcery over the harbor these days, but Monkel had been raised a fisherman by fisherfolk. He knew better than to stir their superstitious nature unnecessarily; He was lost in these thoughts when he suddenly noticed the conversation had stopped... in fact, all talk in the tavern had stopped as the assembled fishermen stared at the front door. Since he was sitting with his back to that door, Monkel had to turn in his seat to see what it was they were looking at.

It was Uralai of clan Burek, resplendent in her guards' uniform as she nervously surveyed the Wine Barrel's interior. She caught sight of Monkel as he turned, and strode through the silent tables to where he sat.

"Monkel Setmur," she said formally, "the Beysa wishes to see you in the morning for a report on the progress of the new boat."

Monkel started to reply, but the Old Man cut him off.

"Tell the Beysa we'll see her tomorrow afternoon." Uralai's eyes glazed for a moment, which Monkel saw at once as a sign of anger, a signal the Sanctuary fisherman would not recognize. He hastened to intervene before things got out of hand.

"We will be taking our boats out before first light tomorrow. Assuming the Beysa is not planning an early audience, we'll have to see her in the afternoon after the boats are back at the docks."

"... Unless she wishes to reimburse us for a day's catch," the Old Man added with a smile.

Uralai bit her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded once in a sharp, abrupt movement.

"Very well, I will so inform the Beysa."

With that, she spun on her heel and headed for the door.

"Wait a moment!"

Monkel rose and started after her, overtaking her just inside the entry way.

"What is it. Lord Setmur?"

"You can't... you shouldn't be walking these streets alone at night. It's dangerous."

"I was told to find you, and this is where you are. It left me little choice if I was to carry out my assignment."

"Perhaps... if I walked you back to the palace." Uralai arched one graceful eyebrow, and Monkel flushed at her unspoken barb. She carried her two swords crisscrossed over her back and was trained in their use, while Monkel had only his knife.

"Please don't misunderstand me," he stammered. "I was not meaning to imply a supremacy at fighting. It's just that we of Setmur have found that many confrontations can be avoided when we travel in twos after dark."

"And after you see me to the palace? Then you must return through those same streets alone. No, Monkel Setmur. While I appreciate your concern, of the two of us I think I am better suited to survive an unaccompanied journey." With that, she headed out into the night, leaving him to return to his drink.

"You shouldn't let yourself be bullied that way," the Old Man chided as Monkel resumed his seat. "You were ready to give up a day's fishing just so we could see the Beysa, weren't you?"

"I think the original summons was for me alone," Monkel growled, his mind still on Uralai.

"Of course it was. That's why I thought I'd better deal myself in. You're a good man, Monkel, but too honest for your own good. There are a few items in our expenses that will require a fast wit and a glib tongue to justify."

"Have you been cheating the Beysa?" Monkel said, attentive once more. "That's a fine way to treat a visitor to your shores. Would you do the same thing to your own Prince-Governor?"

"In a minute," the Old Man smiled, and the others at the table joined in the laughter. In Sanctuary, even honest folk had an eye open for anyone with more money than business sense.

Of all the assembled captains, only Haron held herself apart from the laughter. She peered thoughtfully at the young Beysib for several moments, then laid a hand softly on his knee and leaned forward.

"You care for that one, don't you?" she said softly. Monkel was surprised at her perception. Haron was only a few years younger than the Old Man, and her age-softened features combined with her mannish attitudes had made her almost indistinguishable from the male captains at the table. She watched for and saw different things than the others though.. .like Monkel's reactions to Uralai. He hesitated then gave a small nod of agreement.

"Hear that, boys?!" Haron crowed, slapping her palm loudly on the tabletop. "Our Monkel's in love! That should settle the question of whether or not he's as normal as the rest of you!"

The head of the clan Setmur was shocked and embarrassed by the outburst, but it was too late to do anything to prevent it. In a moment he was the center of attention, being alternately congratulated and teased by the captains.

"Is she any good in bed?" Terci said with a wink... a gesture Monkel had never been sure how to interpret.

"You'll have to bring her down here some night. We'd all like to meet her."

"Fool," Haron scoffed, dealing the speaker a good-natured cuff. "Can't you see anything? She was just here. That little guard with the big tits. It was as clear as seabirds circling over a school of feeding fish." Writhing under the cross-examination, Monkel deliberately avoided looking at the other Setmur clansmen in the room. He knew they would be staring at him in amazement and/or disgust. Sex was a private subject among the Beysib, seldom discussed and never bantered about publicly.

The Old Man eyed Monkel in quiet speculation.

"A guard from the royal clan Burek?" he said. Monkel nodded silently.

"What does that mean?" Omat interrupted, half rising and leaning across the table to join their exchange.

"It means Monkel has about as much chance of winning her as you would have of sparking Prince Kittycat's courtesans," the Old Man informed him.

"How do you figure that?" Haron demanded. "They're both Beysib, aren't they?

Monkel here's as good a man as any I've met. No one at this table knows the sea as he does. Why shouldn't he have her if he wants her?" Though warmed by the compliment, Monkel had to shake his head.

"You don't understand. Things are different for us. If she had not been on my boat for the pilgrimage, we would never have met. I couldn't..."

"It's not that different at all," the Old Man grunted. "She's richer and used to hobnobbing with royalty. Marrying a fisherman would be a real come-down." Monkel surpressed a start as Haron hawked noisily and spat on the floor. Of all the local customs, this was the hardest for him to accept. Among the Beysib, a woman's saliva was more often than not poisonous.

"That's a lot of bird dung. Old Man," she announced. "Just goes to show how little you know about what a woman looks for in a man. Ignore these wharf-rats, Monkel. Tell me, what does she think?"

Monkel gulped half of his drink, then kept staring into the glass, avoiding her gaze.

"I... I don't know. I've never told her how I feel."

"Well, tell her, then. Or, better yet, show her. Give her a present... flowers or something."

"Rowers," Omat sneered, waving his one hand. "The woman's a guard. What would she want with flowers? What would you do if a man gave you flowers, Haron?"

"Well, what do you suggest for a gift? A sword? Maybe a brace of throwing daggers?"

"I don't know. But it should be something she couldn't or wouldn't get herself." The argument raged on for hours, until Monkel lost it in the memory-deceiving depths of his fourth or fifth glass of wine. Only two points remained in his mind: he should not discount the possibility of marrying Uralai until he knew her thoughts on the matter, and that he should announce his interest with a gift... an impressive gift.

"Are you ill. Lord Setmur? Or didn't the fleet go out today?" Startled, Monkel spun about in his crouch to find Hakiem standing less than an arm's length behind him. He recognized the Beysa's local adviser from his visits to court, but had never realized the oldster could move so quietly. Of course, Hakiem was a product of Sanctuary's alleys.

"I didn't mean to unsettle you," Hakiem said, noting the Beysib's alarm. "You really shouldn't sit with your back to the mouth of an alley. It can draw the attention of those more bloodthirsty or greedy than curious."

"I... I stayed ashore today."

"I can see the truth in that. You are here and the boats are gone." Hakiem's weathered face split in a sudden smile.

"Forgive me. I'm prying into matters which are none of my business. I was a tale-smith before your Beysa invited me to join her court, and old habits die hard. My storyteller's instincts say that when the head of the Setmur fishing clan remains ashore while his boats work the fishing ground, there is a tale lurking somewhere nearby."

Monkel regarded his visitor with skeptical eyes.

"Has word of my absence been reported to the palace? Did the Beysa send you to inquire after my health, or did you really come all this way in search of a story?"

The ex-talespinner nodded approvingly.

"Information for information. A fair trade. I see you are rapidly learning the ways of our town. No, I didn't come looking for a story, though in the past I've walked further on that quest. I am here on my own in attempt to insure with my presence that the Beysa is not overcharged too outrageously for the boat you're building."

He quickly held up a hand, stopping Monkel's protests before they could begin.