Brendant took that at face value and said, ‘I expect we’ll learn what this is about when we get home.’
Jolen, usually the quietest of the four, said, ‘If they care to let us know.’
‘That’s the way it is,’ replied Brendant.
The captain came down the ladder and approached their table. ‘I don’t know what you lot are about and I don’t care to know,’ he began, his tone not inviting commentary or answer. ‘I was just told to set sail the moment you came aboard and make for home.’ He paused for a moment and looked from face to face, evaluating them. ‘You two,’ he said, pointing to Donte and Hatu, ‘get up on deck with the day crew.’ To the others, he said, ‘You are night watch. Sleep on the deck.’ He motioned to the floor below the table. ‘The hammocks are for my boys. Watch, after the evening meal.’ Then he turned his back on them and climbed the ladder in the companionway to the deck above.
‘Well, we’ve been told,’ said Donte with a rueful smile. He gently hit Hatu in the shoulder with the back of his hand and inclined his head towards the ladder. ‘Let’s go.’ He rose and Hatu followed, as Jolen and Brendant started looking for a place to bed down out of the way of those who would soon be coming below.
Once on deck, Donte said, ‘Something’s going on. The captain wasn’t pleased with us.’
Hatu nodded. ‘Something.’
The ship’s mate motioned them over and said, ‘You lads, up above. Need extra eyes.’
‘Trouble?’ asked Donte.
A smack to the back of Donte’s head clearly indicated that the mate didn’t wish to be questioned and the two young men quickly climbed the rigging, Donte on the mainmast, Hatu climbing the aft-set mizzen. The small coast-hugger had nothing like the crow’s nests found on larger ships, just a simple circular platform on each mast large enough for a man to sit or stand on. Lookouts tended to alternate sitting and standing as neither was comfortable and muscles became stiff and achy if a man lingered in either position too long.
Both Hatu and Donte chose to stand at first, as sitting on the wooden perch with their legs wrapped around the mast tended to be hard on legs and arse even after a short time. Donte spoke loud enough for Hatu to hear, but not loud enough to be overheard by those below. ‘A lot of people seem angry we’re here.’
‘If the captain, first mate, and Brendant equal a lot of people, I guess you’re right.’
‘Well, you’re angry because of your boots; that makes four.’
Hatu couldn’t help but laugh.
‘And I’m also angry, because I was going to spend this night with Florinda.’
Hatu laughed again. Florinda was the most recent tavern girl Donte had been trying to charm since he’d reached the city. Hatu had lost track of how many had come before her. Donte had vanished for several nights over the last two weeks, so Hatu had assumed his charm had worked.
Both young men fell silent, as they knew further conversation could divert their attention from their first duty: to sweep the horizon for any sign of approaching trouble. The hours passed slowly.
Near sunset, Donte said, ‘Hatu, to the northeast!’
Hatu looked in the direction Donte pointed and after a moment three dark specks resolved against the approaching gloom of evening. ‘Sails!’ he shouted.
‘Where away?’ came the instant response from the captain on the deck below.
‘Northeast, by two points north, coming up fast!’ In the seconds of their exchange, the spots had become clear enough that Hatu knew the three ships were coming straight at them.
‘Break out the banner!’ shouted the captain.
Hatu looked at Donte, who returned his expression of ignorance. Within a minute, a black banner had been hauled aloft and was fluttering in the evening. It displayed a yellow circle with a red stripe running through it, from top to bottom: the symbol of a ship of Coaltachin.
Hatu’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend and again Donte’s expression mirrored his own confusion. That banner was flown rarely, as the ships of Coaltachin were seldom revealed, but when they did it was to warn potential attackers away; this close to the home island the promise of unrelenting revenge caused most corsairs to veer off.
The three ships kept their course.
‘They’re still coming, Captain!’ Hatu shouted down to the deck.
Hatu could not hear what the captain said to his first mate, but he could imagine. Few who sailed this part of the world would invite confrontation with Coaltachin, but those who did were among the deadliest adversaries the island nation had.
From the deck came a shout: ‘Trim to lee, turn about!’
Without hesitation, Hatu and the other sailors aloft readied the large booms to swing, as the captain had decided to flee. Every man aboard was a trained fighter, some, like Brendant, among the most deadly imaginable, but the strength of Coaltachin was not overt conflict when it could be avoided. It was stealth, surprise, and trickery. Hatu knew the captain would confront one ship without thought, two perhaps, but three was more than enough cause to seek an escape.
Donte was moving as quickly as Hatu, reading the wrenching gybe that would almost certainly mean hanging on to the yard sheets for dear life. The rudder was pulled hard, and the ship heeled over, and then righted itself so abruptly that any man not holding tight risked being thrown over the side or to the deck below. He couldn’t spare a glance to see if Donte was hanging on but knew his friend was as experienced at sailing as he was.
Securing the ropes once they came around, Hatu did spare a glance at the three approaching ships. It would be a race. They were smaller than the Nelani but perhaps had enough sail to draught and were fast enough to overtake her. He had only a rough idea where they were, but guessed at least half a dozen islands were scattered close together on the heading the captain had chosen. They sat south of an open expanse of water called the Clearing, a region without islands, on either side of which the islands were known as the North or South Islands. They were heading deeper into the South Islands, which were mostly uninhabited and considered a dangerous region.
If the captain could tack around one of the islands and shield his ship from observation for as little as ten minutes, he had a chance to lose their pursuit in the archipelago, then make his way north again, across the Clearing and into far more friendly territory.
It was late afternoon and the sun would be setting in less than two hours. Hatu shimmied down a sheet to the deck. He calculated that they faced an hour of stern chase before they were overtaken, but should the captain find an island to shelter behind, they could lay up in the darkness and steal away later.
‘Islands!’ shouted Donte from above, pointing ahead.
Hatu looked to the stern and saw the captain instructing the man on the tiller to come to a new heading. Someone said, ‘Weapons,’ and without bothering to see who had given the order, Hatu hurried to the forecastle with the other deckhands. Large hinged doors were pulled open to reveal a weapons cache to rival a garrison. Swords, pikes, shields, bows, and quivers full of arrows lay inside. Hatu hesitated, letting the other crew-members arm themselves first. A number of men chose mêlée weapons, and only one a bow. Glancing up to where Donte still sat as lookout, Hatu grabbed two hip quivers, putting both over his shoulder, then two bows.
He climbed quickly up the ratlines and, reaching the top, handed a bow and quiver to his friend. ‘Thanks,’ said Donte. ‘I see we don’t have many archers.’
‘Three, apparently,’ said Hatu, tossing his head towards the other bowman on the foremast. Hatu kept his eyes on the approaching ships and forced himself to calm. Hitting a moving target when you were stationary was difficult enough; hitting one when your perch was pitching with ocean swells was doubly difficult. He knew he’d be lucky to hit anyone below, but he could trouble the enemy enough to prevent them casting grapples.
Hatu settled in to wait. Glancing down at the decks, he appreciated the discipline shown by the Coaltachin crew. It would be some time before the o
ther ships overtook the Nelani, if they did at all, and now was the time to conserve energy when possible, not waste it in anticipation of a fight that might never come. In less than an hour the sun would set and then within minutes either they would be in a fight almost certain to end in the death of every man aboard, or they would elude their pursuers. Either outcome was likely, so Hatu waited and tried to stay calm.
The minutes passed slowly, and with a bow slung across his back and a quiver at his hip, Hatu adjusted the sheets as ordered and kept his eyes on the horizon. Fighting other boys was one thing, and even gang fights were nothing he feared, but he’d never fought aboard a ship, and these were likely to be experienced pirates who knew every trick of ocean-going combat.
As the sun lowered and the pursuing ships neared, Hatu felt the dampness in the air increase and he looked towards the bow. They were heading into mist. Not a proper fog, but a twilight thickening of the air as the temperature cooled, common to these islands. A night haze was forming that would burn off the next morning as temperatures rose again. Anything that helped obscure the vision of those who followed was welcome.
The captain corrected their course loudly enough to be understood, but he didn’t shout. The pursuing ships were close enough that even the faint chance of being heard was to be avoided.
The Nelani heeled over to starboard and Hatu saw the captain was planning a circular course around a nearing island. He saw another dark shape behind it, another small landmass. Hatu trusted that the captain knew these waters and returned his attention to those who followed their ship.
Suddenly they heeled over as the wind snapped in from another quarter, a slight shift, but enough to have the crew aloft scrambling to trim the sails.
Hatu looked aft and saw they were now out of sight of those in pursuit. The order to alter course yet again, and reef the sails, came from below: the captain was cutting their speed and knew where he wanted to be when those ships overtook the Nelani.
For a xebec, reefing meant adjusting the boom position and gathering in sail rather than gathering a true reef found in a square rig, so Hatu rode the boom as it slowly descended, pulling in yards of fabric and tucking it away to be lashed down when the boom stopped. The ship slowed and he saw that the captain was bringing her in close to the rocks. They were going to hide.
They were in a narrow channel and Hatu fervently hoped the captain knew his way about these rocks. When the boom had been lowered to a few feet above the deck, it stopped moving, and Hatu and other sailors secured it. Orders were now being given by hand signs and anything that made a lot of noise was stowed, lashed down, or muffled with rags. To lower the sails completely would cause the ship to drift; the loose sheets, tackle, and shrouds to rattle; and the timbers to creak and groan. This way enough tension was maintained to keep relatively quiet and hope the sounds of the surf would mask the little noise that must be made.
The seconds dragged and the men could hear their hearts pounding.
Hatu had sailed enough to know he was no true sailor; he could act the part and perform the duties, but the currents and winds, knowing a ship by its sound and the feel of wood beneath his feet, were all beyond him. He had to trust that the masters had put no fool in charge of this ship. All he could do now was wait and be ready to fight.
A movement; then a darker shadow against the distant gloom: the hint of a sail passing before the narrow line of sight between the two islands, barely more than a flicker; then came another, and then a third. Hatu suppressed a shiver, for he had felt the ships pass rather than seen them, and that troubled him in a way he could not express.
More painful minutes passed, then the captain spoke in a whisper and a sailor turned to relay the order. ‘We shelter here. Cap says he won’t risk turning around in the dark. We’ve given them the slip and so we’ll head out at dawn. Now, reef in the sails fully and we’ll drop the sea anchor. Then stay at your post, but take some rest.’
Hatu realised that he’d been holding his breath and let it out silently. He felt a slight jerk on the yard, so he reefed in the sail fully then quietly lashed down the yard. The anchor was let out as silently as possible, with agonizing slowness.
At last all was still.
• CHAPTER SIX •
Unequal Talents
Hava sat, trying to appear calm, but she shifted her weight slightly, from side to side, as if the mat were uncomfortable. It wasn’t, but she was annoyed and bored by the lesson and that made her unusually restless.
The sexual part of her training had been a little difficult, and she was trying to resolve being told how to behave with how she felt about these acts. A constant frustration had lingered with her throughout the month she had spent with the Powdered Women and she was starting to wonder if this was how Hatushaly felt. He certainly seemed vexed much of the time.
She was also annoyed at how her thoughts had turned to him again. Thinking of him, and, to a lesser extent, Donte, was pointless, as she knew it was possible she might never see either of her friends again. Even though Coaltachin did not have the huge population of the greater kingdoms, or even some of the more powerful baronies, they were scattered over half the world. The thought caused her more distress than she could explain, but she had known all her life that this might be her future; Donte was destined to become a master if he didn’t sabotage himself, and while she couldn’t explain how she knew, Hava felt that Hatu’s fate would take him far from their school in Master Facaria’s small village. Still, the inevitability of something didn’t make it any easier to deal with when it arrived, she decided.
The current lesson focused on how to be a noconochi: a beautiful woman who could flatter without appearing obvious or obsequious. All of it was lost on Hava. Some students seemed to have a knack for flirting and praising in just the right fashion, but she did not. She wondered how she was supposed to laugh at a poor witticism or bad joke if she wasn’t even able to recognise it as at least a feeble attempt at humour. She also found it hard to be quick to respond, most of the time having to pause in order to think of an answer. She had no facility for being glib; it was not part of her nature. She was good at straight talk, as Hatu and Donte would tell anyone, but banter was lost on her. She didn’t mind silence, but when it came time to make conversation she wanted to talk about something, anything, as long as it was interesting.
Early on, she had thought the actual sex might be the most demanding part of the training, but aside from the pain of losing her virginity it had largely become banal. She knew of sex before arriving here, and by the time she lay beneath a man the actual experience of it was the only thing she found alien. Since that first time there had been moments when she had been delighted to discover things about her own body and how it responded. And she took pleasure in learning any new thing: she appreciated how her more experienced teachers listened to what she told them and helped her become proficient at every sex act required. Apparently, being a good sex partner required a level of self-knowledge that most men and women seemed to lack in Coaltachin, or perhaps all of Garn, from what the instructors said.
Hava found sex with the female instructors and other girl students most difficult to endure; she appreciated female beauty and some acts were pleasant enough, but for the most part she preferred the hard, angled bodies of men. Well, some men anyway. A few of her partners had been as difficult for her as the women had been.
Trying to return her attention to the lesson, she was wryly amused that once again Nessa had placed herself directly in front of the instructor, an older but still attractive woman named Mistress Mulray, who was head of the school. Nessa seemed determined at all costs to be the best student, even though it was not a competition. And it appeared that over the last month the instructors had been perfectly aware of Nessa’s bids for attention.
Hava couldn’t gauge Mistress Mulray’s age but assumed her to be just old enough to be her mother, perhaps thirty-five, maybe even forty years old. She was still fit and trim when most women of C
oaltachin had been worn down by hard work and the birth of multiple children, and she carried herself with a bearing that spoke of authority.
In Corbara, Hava had occasionally caught sight of women like Mulray, borne in litters or walking with a retinue: wives or mistresses of wealthy foreign merchants and travellers. As a child, Hava had thought these women almost not human, but creatures of mythic beauty and grace. It hadn’t been until she was older that Hava had learned about cosmetics, hair colouring, and clothing designed to flatter. Still, to be taught by a woman like this had intrigued Hava for a while. And there was an air of command about Mistress Mulray that she had not seen in the foreign women visiting Corbara, an authority rooted in her ability more than her station. Her dark hair framed an olive face; she had dark eyes and full lips. It was her eyes that hinted at a strength that was unusual in most of the women Hava had met. That strength, beneath all the art of seduction and manipulating men and women, was echoed to a lesser degree by the other women instructors; all were adept, but none matched Mistress Mulray. She made every lesson look effortless, until the students tried to duplicate what she taught. Her combination of beauty and power had greatly intrigued Hava for the first few weeks, Now the novelty had worn off, and Hava wondered if all of these well-clothed, painted women had been like Nessa when they were her age.
Nessa showed rapt attention to the lecture, and again Hava wondered why she seemed determined to be the best at everything. Hava was delighted to let her be, as it kept Nessa from pestering her. Nessa wasn’t someone Hava cared to spend time with, but for some reason Nessa seemed determined to curry favour with a handful of girls, some of whom had taken to following her as if she led her own crew.
One night, they had been learning how to drink without becoming drunk quickly, which involved knowing the types of food to be eaten, or the oils that coated the throat and stomach to slow intoxication. Despite instruction, the entire class had for the most part become drunk. It had led to something close to an impromptu orgy, which, while expressly forbidden, Hava was convinced had been part of the exercise. No one was punished for it the next day, nor was it even mentioned. Hava took it as an example of losing control while thinking one was still in control. The many hangovers and tortured stomachs the next day were object lessons in self-delusion.