Wolf Captured (10 page)

Derian grinned, admiring the man’s way of setting him at ease. He’d guess that Barnet was older than him, maybe in his mid-thirties, but he had the weathered skin common to seagoing peoples, and that made it hard to judge. He might be five years younger.

“I’d like to know more about you,” Derian persisted, “to put us on more even footing.”

Barnet gave a slightly theatrical sigh.

“Very well. I was born a Lobster, cadet branch, no prospects for inheritance. Does that tell you anything?”

It did, and Derian had to hide his own reaction. Lobster was one of the Great Houses of Bright Bay, not the highest ranking, but until recently very prestigious. Queen Gustin IV—now Queen Valora of the Isles—was married to Harwill Lobster. Almost to a one, the Lobsters had followed their queen and her husband into exile.

Derian was determined not to say too much.

“So did you move to the islands after King Allister’s War?” he asked.

“I did,” Barnet said. “I had nothing against Allister Seagleam, but my entire family was going and I had to choose which I would never see again—my parents and siblings, or my birth land. In any case, I spend much of my time at sea. That’s my real home.”

“You’re a sailor then?” Derian asked. “Harjeedian named you a minstrel.”

“Minstrel is a valid post in the Bright Bay Navy. Minstrels haul line with the rest of the crew, but during the long voyages it is our duty to keep up morale. Think of us as doctors, except we treat the spirit rather than the body.”

“I think I understand,” Derian said, remembering how much good having Wendee Jay and her wealth of stories had done for their group during the long treks from the Norwood Grant to Dragon’s Breath.

“Probably the only hard part of being a minstrel,” Barnet went on, “is keeping your hands supple. It’s hard to play a stringed instrument, but then again, it’s hard to keep one in tune, so at sea most minstrels play flutes or pipes. I get so I’ll hardly touch one on land.”

“Oh.”

“And being a minstrel cuts you out of command, most of the time,” Barnet went on. “The navy, and most ship owners, don’t think the crew will obey someone they think of as a singer or piper—someone they’ve seen doing tumbling or acting out bits from a play.”

A trace of bitterness there
, Derian thought. Or
does he only want me to think that?

“Are the rules the same in the Isles?” Derian asked.

“The rules in the Isles are still pretty much in flux,” Barnet admitted. “Until less than two years ago, the Isles’ navy was Bright Bay’s navy. Now neither is as large as it once was, and merchant ships owned by people like Waln Endbrook are finding themselves required to take care of themselves.”

“How about the pirates?” Derian asked.

“You’ve met some of them,” Barnet countered. “What do you think?”

“I think they’d be looking out for themselves and trying to see what their own best interests would be,” Derian said. “On the one hand, cooperating with Queen Valora gives a certain degree of validity to ventures that otherwise might be wholly illegal. On the other hand, that same cooperation might mean giving up some freedom.”

“And profit,” Barnet added. “Don’t forget profit. And cooperating with forces who until a short time ago existed in large part to curtail your actions. No, nothing’s settled yet.”

Derian nodded.

“We’re seeing a lot of changes in Hawk Haven, too,” he said, hoping to ease Barnet into telling more. “There are those who made their living from the conflict between Bright Bay and Hawk Haven—and I don’t just mean the soldiers. Smugglers. Guild liaisons. Tariff collectors. They’re all finding new places for themselves, and not all of them are doing as well as before.”

“Same for minstrels,” Barnet said, “especially minstrels within a smaller navy. That’s why I jumped at the chance to go on the
Explorer
. Exploring to the south might give me new stories—and some respect at court.”

Derian turned to look at Barnet and found the other man’s grey-blue eyes studying him. Barnet grinned, unashamed at being caught in his scrutiny.

“Tell me about yourself,” Barnet suggested.

Derian deliberately framed his own reply to match Barnet’s initial “revelations.”

“I was born to a merchant family. We own Prancing Steed Stables in the city of Eagle’s Nest. I’m the eldest, and that makes me the heir, but my folks are ambitious. When Earl Kestrel came looking to rent mounts for an expedition he planned west, they insisted I go along—to look after their property, they said.”

“But also in the hope you’d catch the earl’s attention,” Barnet said, his tone suggesting he’d been the subject of similar maneuvering.

“That’s about it,” Derian agreed, “except that I didn’t catch the earl’s eye as a horse handler—at least not so anyone would have noticed. I caught it after Firekeeper came to us.”

“And you ended up her handler,” Barnet said.

“That’s right,” Derian said. “She seemed willing to trust me. Somehow, one way or another, I’m still working more as her handler than as anything else.”

He tried to put a trace of bitterness into his tone, but found it difficult. There had been a time he resented his role, feared that he might find himself nothing more than a glorified valet. Now, he was proud of the trust Firekeeper put in him. Still, if Barnet really did resent the light in which minstrels were held in the navy, he might respond to what he perceived as Derian’s dissatisfaction.

“She relies on you,” Barnet said. “I was watching earlier. Whenever Harjeedian got too high-flown, she’d glance at you and settle into waiting, like she knew you’d make it clear later.”

“That’s been my job for two years now,” Derian said, “making things clear for her. I don’t think anyone can do it better.”

He wasn’t precisely boasting, but he also suspected that he had been kept alive to this point because of the perception that he somehow controlled Firekeeper. He wasn’t about to discount his own importance.

“How’d you become a minstrel?” he asked. “Was that your role on the ship that got wrecked, the
Explorer
, I think you called her?”

Barnet considered.

“I became a minstrel almost in spite of myself,” he said. “I wanted to be a naval officer. Thing was, I kept finding it easier to persuade people than to order them around. Then, honestly, I might not have been the best battle commander. Even when other people were giving the orders I kept thinking about the people on the other ship—wondering if they were frightened or angry or just doing their job. I’d imagine their stories: the sweethearts they’d left behind, children or elderly parents who depended on them. Got so I realized I might have trouble giving the orders to attack.”

Barnet gave a twisted grin.

“Never had any trouble when my own life or the life of one of my mates was on the line. Just with the abstract. Does that make any sense?”

“It does,” Derian admitted. “I wonder if Tavis Seagleam—Prince Tavis, now—would have ended up a minstrel if things had been different.”

“Hard to tell,” Barnet said. “I heard he is artistic, but it takes more than artistic talent to be a minstrel. You have to like people, and people have to like you.”

Derian nodded.

“It’s like that with handling horses,” he said. “You can teach someone to ride and to judge a good beast, but to do what my father does—what I do—you need to really like them, almost be able to get into their heads. Not everyone can do it. I remember how surprised I was the first time I realized that.”

“And handling wolf-women?” Barnet asked. “Does that take liking them?”

“Respecting first,” Derian replied honestly. “Wolves are really hierarchical. They make us look like chickens running after feed. Firekeeper doesn’t care if you like her, but you’d better respect her—or give her reason to respect you. Otherwise, she’ll pay you no mind at all.”

Barnet looked over to where Firekeeper slept sprawled against Blind Seer. She looked almost fragile, wrung out from sickness and defeat, not at all like the fierce, indeed dangerous, creature Derian knew she was.

“Respect …” Barnet mused aloud. “There’s different sorts of respect. There’s respect born from admiration and respect born from fear.”

“And Firekeeper recognizes both,” Derian said.

He was about to say “And I pity those who try to make her fear them,” but held his tongue. That came to close to showing one of Firekeeper’s vulnerabilities. He couldn’t quite figure out her reaction to fear. She clearly valued the warning it gave, but resented it as well.

Barnet continued his thoughtful inspection.

“She was dancing when Shelby lured her away. I’ve heard she likes music.”

“Music and dancing,” Derian said. “She told me once that music was her first indication that humans had something to offer that wolves did not.”

Barnet nodded.

“Well, I need to convince her to work with me. Waln Endbrook may like to believe otherwise, but all of us who were wrecked a year ago are living at the sufferance of Harjeedian’s people. I’m useful, but I’m going to be a whole lot less so if I don’t manage to teach you two at least some Liglimosh. If music is the way to Lady Blysse’s respect, then I’ll use music.”

Derian cleared his throat awkwardly.

“What do they want with us?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Barnet said. He must have seen the doubt in Derian’s eyes. “Honestly, I don’t. We were ashore for moonspans after the wreck, but kept close to our quarters—really semi-imprisoned to be honest. I’ve learned a little about the culture from talking to the sailors here on
Fayonejunjal
, but I’m still sorting reality from tall tales. One thing I’m sure of is that Waln’s wrong when he thinks they want Firekeeper and Blind Seer as some sort of curiosity. There’s something else they want, but Harjeedian won’t drop even a hint.”

Derian drew in a deep breath.

“If you don’t know, you don’t know,” he said. “But I’d appreciate your passing it on if you find out.”

“I will indeed,” Barnet said, his smile warm and engaging. “I need your help, too, after all.”

Derian wished he believed him.

HAVING THE FREEDOM TO ROAM the ship didn’t do Firekeeper much good for several days. Even with the rather noxious-tasting brews Harjeedian provided for her, the deck still seemed to move unpredictably under her feet, and if she rose from a seated position too rapidly, her stomach rebelled.

Eventually, Firekeeper either developed some tolerance for the motion or Harjeedian’s potions took effect. Either way, as long as she took care not to do anything that drew her attention to the ship’s progress through the waters, she did better.

Her early explorations were restricted to the area at the rear of the ship, where they had been told to sleep. That was when she learned that Harjeedian kept snakes in his cabin.

Blind Seer was the first to notice.

“Do you smell that?”
he asked.

Firekeeper sighed. Her usually poor sense of smell—at least by wolf standards—had not been improved either by her illness or by the plethora of new scents aboard the ship. In reply, she simply glared at Blind Seer. He panted laughter at her.

“I smell something reptilian from Harjeedian’s sleeping place. I can’t be quite certain what. It isn’t a scent I’ve smelled before, but my nose says ‘snake.’”

Firekeeper tilted her head in inquiry.

“You’re not teasing me, are you? Most humans I’ve met are afraid of snakes—a good thing, as I see it. It’s too hard to tell by sight alone the poisonous ones from those who lack venom, at least until you’re right next to them.”

“Snake,”
Blind Seer insisted. He snuffled.
“I don’t think poisonous, but I can’t be certain.”

Firekeeper wasn’t inclined to question further, but with the return of stability to her head, her curiosity was also returning.

“Let’s look,”
she suggested.
“Harjeedian is on the upper part in the front, talking to Barnet.”

Blind Seer wagged his tail in a slow arc, indicating that he thought this was a good idea. Harjeedian’s cabin door was closed, but not locked. Firekeeper lifted the latch, and they went inside. It was dark within, but her eyes readily adjusted to the available light.

The cabin was much like the one she was supposed to share with Derian and Blind Seer. It was small and cramped. A narrow sleeping shelf was built into one wall. Boxes for storage were built into the opposite wall. In between was a narrow place for standing.

What caught Firekeeper’s attention immediately was the glow from the squat, covered brazier anchored on top of the storage box. The brazier was rounded, tapering at the top and bottom rather like an acorn. Slits to admit air had been cut in the top and a thin trickle of smoke worked its way out.

The brazier had been very carefully set on an iron plate, and the iron plate nailed to the cabinet. All these arrangements, Firekeeper supposed, were so the brazier wouldn’t slide with the motion of the ship. From the amount of heat the brazier gave off, Firekeeper guessed there couldn’t be more than one or two coals inside. However, this was enough for the snakes nestled in its vicinity.

The snakes didn’t touch the hot metal, but coiled around stones placed nearby. Their scales were intricately patterned, the shine of the green, yellow, and black that dominated proof that they were well fed. They were torpid, hardly moving, even when she came close to look at them. Clearly, even with the artificial heat, a spring voyage was not to their liking.

Firekeeper wondered why Harjeedian had brought the snakes with him. She counted three, and a fourth stone suggested the existence of another. They were large snakes, larger than most she had encountered, even in the wild lands west of the Iron Mountains. Their brilliant colors suggested the need to camouflage in environments other than the brown, green, blacks of the woodlands she knew.

She was puzzling over this when Blind Seer gave a warning huff of breath.

“Harjeedian comes. From how he moves, I think he sees his door is open.”