Chapter 27. The Meerkat
Maijha Minor is a strange place for all kinds of reasons. The keepers of the island claim to make the hunt fair by limiting the quality and type of weapons hunters can carry. Of course, this is mainly to limit the kinds of weapons the fauns get hold of. Their best weapon, however, is the island itself. A more dangerous place for the unwary does not exist in Wefrivain.
—Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain
As Gerard had suspected, none of Thessalyn’s other possessions remained to be claimed. He managed to corner the butler, who confirmed that her clothes had been sold. Gerard also questioned him about the shavier faun who’d been there two days ago. The butler had noted that his feathers below the hem of his pants were “sort of a grayish color.” He’d also worn lenses while reading. He had a winged wolf. “Well trained,” the butler added. “It heeled perfectly and never said a word.”
The faun claimed to be a merchant’s bookkeeper whose ship had been damaged in the storm. His master—a wealthy grishnard—was in Malabar procuring a new vessel. In the meantime, he’d sent his bookkeeper to have a look at the local libraries. The merchant was thinking of bringing in a shipload of books, and he wanted to know what titles were held and valued in the region. The guest had met briefly with the king and prince, exchanged news items, and then been given the run of the library for half a day.
Gerard asked whether it was possible he was still on the island, but the butler shook his head. “I heard he stayed one night in town and left yesterday for Malabar on a pegasus.”
“And if that’s what he told them,” said Silveo, “you can bet it’s not where he went.”
“Why would he come here?” muttered Gerard as they were walking back to the ship.
Silveo shrugged. “He could have left Sern about the same time we did, headed in the same direction. He got blown by the same storm to the same place. That could have been the wreck of his ship you saw on the reef.”
“Even if that’s true, it’s unlikely he was the only survivor. If he survived, then there should have been others. If he came straight here from the wreck, he should not have been dressed in decent clothes with cowries to spend in town. He had to have landed somewhere else after the storm and then chosen to come here. Why?”
“I have an idea,” said Silveo.
“Which is?”
Silveo shook his head. “I’ll tell you tomorrow if I’m right.”
They returned to the ship with Farell and company, who were in high spirits. Any prestige Silveo had lost on Sern had been completely restored by his victory over Lord Holovar. Many of the sailors came from humble backgrounds, and they’d suffered at the hands of such shelts in the past. They liked nothing better than to see one brought low. The whole ship was babbling with the story for half the night, and Silveo let them talk. He’d also let Farell’s party bring back every scrap of food from the dinner table. They’d plundered the kitchens as well, and the entire ship made merry.
Alsair made Gerard repeat the story twice, and then he went around asking the sailors more questions. He was perfectly giddy with the news that Silveo had slapped Mishael Holovar, and seemed almost willing to forgive all past offenses.
Gerard wasn’t so pleased about it. “Although,” he said to Thessalyn in their cabin, “I’m sure it was Silveo’s idea of saying thank you.”
The next morning, everyone got down to the serious business of repairing the ship. Silveo visited the harbormaster in person and explained what they needed. “Do we have enough cowries on hand to pay for it all?” asked Gerard when he returned.
“Pay for it?” echoed Silveo. “My dear Captain of Police, we do not pay for things intended for the service of our Mistress. Any shelt who does not make an offering of anything you need to perform your function is asking for trouble with the gods.”
Gerard shook his head. “You may have to introduce my father to this concept.”
“I suspect he was called to the temple last night and frightened out of his wits,” said Silveo. “The Harbormaster more-or-less said so. In any case, they will give us whatever we want so long as we leave as quickly as possible.”
Below them in the water, a team of trained cowry catchers was already scraping the hull and beginning repairs to the leak. Gerard could see their fat manatee tails flip above the surface periodically. Their overseer stood a little way off in his flat barge with tools and supplies. Another boat was putting off from the wharf, heavy with sailcloth, rope, and planking.
Silveo watched it. “Did you leave anything here, Gerard?”
My childhood? My identity? Gerard shook his head. “The only thing I wanted off this island was Thess.”
Alsair gave an indignant little sputter behind them. “The Meerkat,” he said with a cough.
Silveo looked at Gerard. “What’s the Meerkat?”
Gerard glared around at Alsair. “A little boat,” he said. “Nothing I need to go looking for.”
“Oh, Gerard!” exclaimed Alsair. “You loved that little boat! We went all over the Small Kingdoms in it.” He turned to Silveo. “He built it when he was thirteen.”
“And fourteen and fifteen,” said Gerard.
“And then we practically lived in it for another three years,” said Alsair happily.
“Well,” said Silveo, “one of our small boats was damaged in the storm, so obviously we are in need of another.”
“It’s a little big for a jolly boat,” said Gerard doubtfully.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Where is it?”
It was in dry dock in the royal boathouse. Gerard saw with relief that Jaleel hadn’t done anything nasty to it. When it came to hobbies, Jaleel had always preferred hunting to sailing. He liked being a prince and had never wanted the responsibilities of kingship. He and Gerard had fought occasionally as children, but mostly they were just different and rarely together after the age of eight. Gerard doubted anyone had touched the Meerkat since he left it, except to put her in storage.
Silveo walked around the vessel. It was over twice the length of Alsair, with a mainsail and a jib. Gerard had designed her himself and put her together as carefully as Thessalyn constructed her ballads. Silveo whistled. “I bet this boat can sail as close to the wind for its size as anything in Wefrivain.”
Gerard smiled. “She is very maneuverable.”
“She’s beautiful,” said Silveo. “And as we’ve established, I like pretty things. We’re definitely taking her.”
An eighth watch later, they were slipping through the doors of the dock house into the breeze and sunshine. Gerard could have sailed the Meerkat in his sleep, and Silveo didn’t try to do anything—just climbed up on the gunnel with his face in the wind and wrapped his tail around him. He was wearing sailcloth today and only a trace of kohl. He hadn’t even bothered with boots. About halfway to the Fang, he stood up and walked back to where Gerard sat with his hand on the boom. “Do you want to sail her?” asked Gerard. He was proud of the way the Meerkat handled. She was a responsive little skiff.
Silveo shook his head. “I’m not that good with small boats—never needed to learn about them. I was going to tell you: when I went to see the harbormaster, I asked some questions in town. Gwain was there for one night. He stayed in an inn, but he seems to have been busy about town. He asked a lot of questions about you.”
“Me?” Gerard was surprised.
Silveo nodded. “It’s what I suspected. He found himself in this vicinity and thought he might do some research on the new Captain of Police—maybe figures you’ll be harder to kill than the last dozen (although I can’t think why). Maybe you made him curious in that teahouse.”
“I tried to recruit him,” said Gerard.
Silveo laughed out loud. “For the Police?”
“Well, yes. He was obviously bright. He speaks a little of every language in common use if he told the truth, including Maijhan. I need someone who speaks Maijhan. I want to investigate Maijha Minor.”
“I speak Maijhan,” said Silveo mildly.
“Well, you weren’t exactly volunteering.”
“I’m still not. Every Captain of Police wants to investigate Maijha Minor, and I think it’s a dumb idea.”
“Why?”
“Let’s think about this,” said Silveo with mock patience. “What is the Resistance anyway? Fauns killing panauns. We don’t like it, and we make it illegal. Now, what is Maijha Minor? Fauns legally killing panauns. They are at a disadvantage, but if they manage to kill hunters, it’s perfectly alright. The way I see it, the Maijhan king has made the Resistance legal on Maijha Minor, and until that changes, you’re never going to be able to do anything about the island. Sure, Pirates use it. They’d be stupid not to, although the controls in place make it difficult.”
“But if they’re basing themselves there—” began Gerard.
Silveo shook his head. “Gerard, the Resistance is not organized. We talk about them as one entity, but that is misleading. They are a group of factions, often in disagreement, and that’s part of what keeps them from being successful.”
He sat down on a bench. “Panauns have the advantage because they are mostly one species. There are a few odd ones like me tossed in, but mostly, grishnards are in charge. They’re just one type of creature who wants more or less the same sorts of things. The Resistance is heterogeneous—many kinds of fauns, some nauns like selkies, various talking beasts, and some sympathetic grishnards. They disagree on their goals and how to achieve them. This is why they will never be more than a nuisance to grishnards.”
“They’ve been more than a nuisance to the Police,” said Gerard.
Silveo nodded. “As I said before, I think you have a spy. He’s probably working for one particular Resistance cell. They can be highly organized on a small basis. I think Gwain is their leader.”