Wolf Captured (56 page)

So it was settled. The four might have left that night, but Firekeeper and Blind Seer had just completed a long run, and this one promised to be longer. Therefore, they all settled to hunt and rest.

“Everything will still be there,” Dark Death assured her, sensing Firekeeper’s impatience. “It has been there a long, long time.”

Firekeeper knew he was right, but nonetheless impatience spurred her on.

“Rest,” Blind Seer said. “What good the flesh of a fat buck to one without fangs?”

Firekeeper grinned and punched him.

“You make those up.”

“Never.”

The blue-eyed wolf knocked her over and pinned her.

“Now sleep.”

Firekeeper obeyed, but though her body rested, her mind was afire with dreams of what could be.

THE RELEASE OF THE SIX SHIPWRECK survivors from what had been at least a quasi-imprisonment had a result that Wain Endbrook did not anticipate.

There are several things that sailors ashore do almost automatically. First what Wain defined as basic urges needed to be satisfied. Wain’s delicacy regarding the matter was unnecessary, for a people does not live as closely to animals as did the Liglimom without accepting sexual impulses as natural. However, as a whoreson bastard, Wain had always believed that what he thought of as “better people” didn’t talk about such things—or at least not as openly as Honey Endbrook had done.

The sailors, including Wain, made their visits and paid their money. Then there was the city to explore, often with language students as guides. This was an ideal arrangement for all involved. The sailors saw their fill of the elaborately enameled architecture, visited markets, tailors, and taverns, while their students had an opportunity to exercise their language skills in a practical setting. Questions that never would have been asked in the mannered seclusion of the classroom were addressed, and everyone was aware of the improvement.

However, after these things had been done, one pleasure remained to be satisfied—the pleasure of visiting with friends. As Wain had explained to Shivadtmon, the venture of the
Explorer
had been nearly unique in post-Plague history in that it was a voyage into the unknown. The busy shipping trade in the Isles was from port to port, within the Isles themselves and—before the exile of Queen Valora—to numerous ports in Bright Bay. Merchant sailors might be away for long periods of time, but for all but the greenest, every port was, in a sense, a home port containing friends and family.

Some sailors took this last to extremes, having more than one spouse and set of children. However, as long as the arrangement suited all the parties involved, the law did not get involved. Only sailors who abandoned their families could expect reprimand, and this whether they had one family or three.

The convivial aspect of shore leave, then, was what the shipwreck survivors found themselves missing as soon as several days of relative freedom had blunted their initial excitement. Thus when Lucky Elwyn came wandering into the common area of the building where they still maintained their quarters and stated, “Let’s go visit Barnet Lobster. I bet he’s lonely!,” he found a willing audience.

Teaching sessions were finished for the day, and so all seven spruced up their attire, braided their hair, and tramped up the hill to Heeranenahalm. They had all visited the temple city repeatedly by now. The disdum who made up the majority of their students delighted in showing off their particular temple complexes. Wain had, of course, been into Heeranenahalm numerous times when working on convincing u-Liall of the wisdom of the voyage north to “acquire” Lady Blysse, but even then he had always had an escort.

This was the first time any of them had gone through the elaborate gates unescorted, and most of them fell a little quieter than was usual.

Elwyn, however, maintained a blithe and relaxed spirit. He’d packed a basket with some of Wiatt’s northern-style cooking and swung it from his right hand. His walk was heavy. His feet tended to slap the ground, but there was such joyful animation in his bearing that the local citizenry—now repeatedly assured that the fair-haired, fair-skinned northerners were not demons—tended to smile in response.

Waln thought about telling Elwyn to calm down, that they were going into an important place, but reassured by the Liglimom’s reaction, he held his tongue. It was very important that he be in control—and very important that the others not suspect how great that control was.

They arrived at the Temple of the Cold Bloods unchallenged and unimpeded. Elwyn banged the bronze knocker—shaped, predictably, like a coiled snake—while the others stepped back and waited.

The porter opened his hatch immediately.

“Yes?”

“We’re here to see Barnet Lobster,” Elwyn said in careful Liglimosh. “We’re from the north, just like him.”

Wain thought the last completely unnecessary, but nothing was to be served by reprimanding Elwyn here.

“I shall send a runner to see if Barnet is in his suite,” the porter said. “While you wait, please step inside.”

At least they weren’t being kept hanging about like petitioners, Wain thought with satisfaction. Indeed, they were treated rather like the guests the Liglimom had always claimed they were. Cool drinks were brought and they were offered seats on a bench in a pleasantly shaded area. True, the porter didn’t make conversation, but he was probably a servant and careful to keep his place.

The runner returned just as they were finishing their drinks.

“Barnet Lobster would be happy to see you,” he said. “Please, follow me.”

They did so, Elwyn marveling aloud at the sheer number of reptiles—snakes, lizards, alligators, and like creatures sunning themselves on just about any flat surface. Where the living creatures were not, they were depicted in art: twining up pillars, hanging from gateways, clinging to walls.

Once Rarby reached to touch what he thought was a lovely jeweled figure only to have it hiss at him. Although their guide assured him the reptile wasn’t poisonous, after that everyone kept their hands close to their sides—and watched where they stepped.

The infestation was worse than in any of the other temples Wain had visited, but then he supposed that one could not have bears or wildcats roaming around in the same fashion. Shivadtmon’s temple had numerous pools for his damp charges and even places where the walls opened to the sea, but mostly it had to make do with artistic depictions rather than the real thing.

At last they arrived at Barnet’s suite. The outer gate was open, but Waln’s cynical eye saw how easily this comfortable set of living quarters could be converted to a prison. This made him feel better about his own prolonged captivity. Barnet might have been living in Heeranenahalm, but he hadn’t been given free run.

They heard the music before they turned the corner, flute and some stringed instrument playing in counterpoint to each other. The melody was not one with which Wain was familiar. Indeed, it had a similarity to pieces played by the entertainers who had been brought in to play for them at their “guest quarters.”

As soon as their guide came to the door, the music stopped.

“Visitors for Barnet Lobster,” the man intoned, then stepped back to let them walk in.

Barnet’s quarters included a small courtyard, complete with fish pond, slender trees planted in pots, and other elegant flourishes. Two doors at one end indicated the presence of other rooms. One of these stood ajar. The other was tightly closed.

As Wain walked in, he saw Barnet setting aside a guitar of some sort and rising to greet them. He also saw who had been the minstrel’s accompanist.

She was a lovely woman with shining black hair like wet ink. Although slender, she had lovely curves, and Wain felt a momentary stab of disappointment that the loose blouses and trousers so practical in this hot, damp climate didn’t show them off to better advantage. A gown such as had been popular at court in the Isles would have done her far more justice.

Waln realized he had seen the woman before, though not frequently. However, he had long learned that knowing people’s names and something about them could be used to his advantage. In a moment he remembered, and when he crossed the courtyard in a few long steps meant to emphasize his height and build, he had it ready.

“Barnet!” he said, putting out his hand in greeting. “We thought we’d come calling, now that our duties permit us some freedom. I believe I remember your companion. Rahniseeta, isn’t it, sister of Harjeedian?”

The young woman had also risen and stood, still holding her flute. She dipped her head in the local equivalent of a polite bow, but did not offer her hand. Wain might have been disappointed by this, but then he realized that what he had taken for a bracelet about one firm and shapely upper arm was in fact a living snake. It raised its head and looked at him curiously.

“Waln Endbrook,” Rahniseeta said. “My brother has spoken of you and your companions frequently. I know names. Let me see if I can match them to the right person.”

Wain, always sensitive to nuances in the game of oneupmanship, allowed Rahniseeta a point. She had taken his remembering her and matched it with the information that she not only remembered him but knew of his companions as well. That she had also made clear that she was her brother’s confidante—and perhaps informant as well—protected her from any indecent behavior. Very clever … .

But Wain doubted that the other men were admiring Rahniseeta’s intelligence as she moved with supple grace to where she could see them more clearly.

“Two brothers,” she said. “Rarby and Shelby. That would be you two gentlemen … .”

She put two fingers to her jaw in a pretty gesture of concentration.

“I think you,” she said, indicating Rarby with an inclination of her head, “are Rarby, and this one is Shelby.”

The men beamed and nodded. Like most siblings who bore a close resemblance to each other, they both liked and hated being taken for each other. Rahniseeta’s correct identification had pleased them mightily.

“You must be Wiatt,” Rahniseeta said to the cook, “and you Tedgewinn. The chef and the carpenter. Harjeedian has spoken many good things about both of your skills.”

“Thank you, good lady,” Wiatt said. “I’d be more than happy to cook you a northern-style fish stew if you’re interested. Thought Barnet might like a taste of home, too.”

Barnet grinned. “That would be wonderful. I like the local dishes just fine, but you have a way of getting the most out of a fish.”

Tedgewinn, who was staring at the snake coiled on Rahniseeta’s arm, blinked as if coming out of a dream. Wain was willing to bet that his next carving would be of a woman similarly adorned.

Better take care that Wiatt and Tedgewinn don’t get flattered into thinking they might do better staying here,
Waln
thought. I need every able sailor I can get if I’m to get to Misheemnekuru—and home again with what I find there.

Rahniseeta didn’t press Tedgewinn into speech, but turned to Nolan and Elwyn.

These two will be easy,
Waln thought sardonically.
How many of us have suffered a prolonged illness, and Elwyn … well, he’s easy enough to identify

Waln found himself wondering if Rahniseeta had actually handled her identifications by some process of elimination. Two who look like brothers, one sick, one awkward; two remaining then to identify. Telling a cook from a carpenter wasn’t hard. And, of course, Rahniseeta would know who Waln was. Harjeedian had to have spoken of him—probably frequently.

Introductions completed, Rahniseeta stepped out and ordered drinks and refreshments. Sufficient chairs were found so that everyone could have a seat. This permitted Wain to learn that there were two other rooms to the setup, both bedrooms, one of which would have been used for Derian Carter had he not gone to u-Bishinti.

“Lady Blysse, of course, preferred to sleep out-of-doors,” Barnet said with a laugh.

“Probably both of them wanted to get as far as possible from your snoring,” Rarby said.

This brought on a general bout of laughter at the minstrel’s expense. Then everyone was talking at once, sharing tales of what they’d been doing in the days since
Fayonejunjal
had come into port.

“Hard to believe we’ve only ended one moon and begun the next,” Wiatt said. “Maybe it’s all the teaching, but I feel like I’ve been here most of my life.”

“I think it’s the heat,” Tedgewinn said. “Makes it feel like summer is farther along than it is. What is it, after all, Bear Moon? I feel like it’s at least Fox Moon.”

“How do your people name the moons, Rahniseeta?” asked Nolan. “One of my students tried to tell me, but we couldn’t find enough words between us.”

“They are named for various important events in the history of the deities,” Rahniseeta said, “at least formally. Informally, they are often simply numbered.”

“You mean First Moon, Second Moon, like that?” asked Elwyn.

“In the cities, yes,” Rahniseeta said. “Farming people call them after what they must do then: Planting Moon, Thinning Moon, Weeding Moon. Things like that.”

Nolan looked relieved. “No wonder I couldn’t understand what Kidisdu Paliama was saying. I feel much better. I’d thought it was my fever making me think oddly, but if he was trying to tell me legend lore … .”

Barnet looked interested.

“Your months are formally named for stories?” he asked. “I’d like to learn those stories.”

“I can teach you them,” Rahniseeta said. “Or maybe you should ask some of your advanced students.”

“I can do both,” Barnet said. “Variations are always interesting.”

“What were you playing, Barnet?” Elwyn asked. “It sounded like a variation.”

Barnet looked both surprised and pleased.

“It was, Elwyn,” he said, “but I didn’t think anyone would notice. I’m working on adapting ‘The Tail of the Silver Whale,’ to the scales more commonly used in Liglimosh music. Rahinseeta has been helping me.”

“‘Bang! Down came the whale’s tail, shattering the deck,’” Elwyn sang, his voice so off key that everyone winced. “‘Bang! Down it came again. Now the ship was a wreck.’”