The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition Page 10

  He kept coming back, though, and finally he stopped leaving and just leaned on the rail to listen. Thessalyn played one song after another—no words, just music. When Gerard looked at Silveo again, the admiral had sat down against the side of the ship, leaned his head back, and shut his eyes. A moment later, he slumped onto his side and curled up, his tail wrapped around his body. Farell came over, saw him, and practically tiptoed away. Gerard heard him mutter, “Thank the gods. Finally!”

  Chapter 18. Maps and a Library

  Wefrivain is a crescent of thousands of islands, many of them tiny. There are six Great Islands—Maijha Minor on the eastern edge, followed by Maijha Major, Mance, Haplag, Lecklock, and Sern. Each of these island kingdoms have hundreds of smaller holdings. In addition, there are several dozen small, independent kingdoms, most of them near the center of the crescent, well away from the Great Islands. The sea is rougher outside the crescent, and outer islands are more likely to be uninhabited.

  —Gwain, A Guide to Wefrivain

  Half a watch later, Farell had gone around the ship reducing sail, slowing their pace, and redefining the lengths of the sailors’ shifts so they could rest. He stopped to talk to Gerard about some points of navigation—the first acknowledgement that Gerard was more than a passenger. While they were talking, Silveo twitched and sat up. Farell looked instantly on edge. The admiral struggled to his feet and came over to Thessalyn. She looked up from re-tuning her harp.

  “Silveo?” Gerard still didn’t understand how she sometimes knew who was approaching her. She claimed to recognize footfalls, but if so, she could hear many sounds beyond his ears.

  Silveo smiled dozily. “Thessalyn.” He yawned. “I think I owe you more chocolate.”

  “There’s more?” she asked in delight.

  “Yes. Good night.”

  He went slowly off to his cabin, and Gerard heard Farell breathe a sigh of relief.

  * * * *

  The next morning someone knocked on Gerard’s door very early. Reluctantly, he left his warm nest, composed of three parts blankets and one part Thessalyn, and answered the door. It was one of the cabin boys. “The admiral wants to see you, sir. He says to bring the map. He said you would know what that means.”

  Gerard was momentarily lost. Then he remembered the map on the wall of the teahouse. One of the first things he’d done when he got back to his cabin was draw the outline of the island as he remembered it. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he said and closed the door to dress.

  Thessalyn stirred in the bed. “What’s happening, Gerard?”

  Gerard hopped around for a moment in one pant leg. “Apparently, Silveo’s speaking to me again. I think you fixed him.”

  Thessalyn giggled into a pillow. “Oh, good. The price is chocolate.”

  Gerard smiled. He had a hard time thoroughly hating anyone who was kind to his wife. He wondered if Silveo knew that. Probably. Nearly everything Silveo did seemed to involve several layers of intent.

  Gerard had never been in Silveo’s cabin, only the outer office, where he’d been berated several times as a watch master. He knew from others’ accounts that the inner office was also a library, but he was unprepared when he entered to find floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Like all ship libraries, they had cabinet doors that could be closed during rough weather. Several chests stood along the walls, overflowing with scrolls and loose-leaf documents. Several books were open on the floor. Through the far door, Gerard could see that the same clutter continued into the bedchamber beyond.

  A large map table took up one side of the inner office. It had obviously been intended for a shelt of Gerard’s height. Silveo was sitting on it, his back against the wall, one knee drawn up, and a snowstorm of maps strewn around him. He was wearing a sailcloth tunic and britches so ordinary that Gerard might not have recognized him at a distance.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Silveo didn’t look up from the chart he was studying. “Did you draw that map from the wall of the teahouse?”

  For answer, Gerard came over and laid it down. Silveo rocked forward and crouched over the paper. Then he slapped another down beside it. “There’s mine. Looks about the same.”

  Gerard nodded. Silveo had actually caught more of the details of the coastline. “I was talking to Farell last night,” Gerard said carefully. “We’re not heading for Lecklock.”

  “No.” Silveo looked up and grinned. “We’re headed for Mance. I think I found the island.”

  He had, more accurately, found three islands—all in the vicinity of Mance—that bore a remarkable resemblance to the one on the wall of the teahouse. With reference to Gerard’s drawing, they were able to eliminate two of the islands with fair certainty, leaving a single candidate. It was Mance-94, a small numerary on the outer side of Wefrivain’s crescent.

  “It’s basically just a volcano and a cove,” said Silveo. “The cove might have become a grishnard harbor, in spite of the island’s small size, except that it’s an outer island, and the cove faces directly into the open sea. It’s too isolated to make a convenient port and too exposed. It would make a good harbor for hiding ships at the right times of year, though.”

  Gerard frowned. “It could be a trap.”

  Silveo gave him a look, making it clear he’d said something very stupid. “Of course it’s a trap! The Resistance aren’t such fools as to leave maps lying around, not even obscure ones. But it’s still a bold move for them, a risky move. Any trap they construct must be in a place where they have resources. They are exposing themselves, and their trap can backfire. I intend to see that it does.”

  “I don’t want to bring Thess into a fight,” said Gerard. “Can we stop somewhere and put her off?”

  Silveo sat back. “I’m stopping on Mance to send a message for Arundel to join us with the Sea Feather. The Dark Wind is too slow, but the Sea Feather can catch us up. Thessalyn should have friends on Mance. She went to school there, didn’t she?”

  Gerard nodded. “She’ll probably be excited about it.”

  Silveo looked pleased. “We’ll pick her up on the way back. I’m also putting all your Police ashore. No one knows yet where we’re going, and I don’t want the spy in your organization to spread it far and wide.”

  Gerard frowned. “My Police—”

  “Are infected,” cut in Silveo. “If I were you, Holovar, I’d have everyone of them executed. Make up a charge. Incompetence—you wouldn’t even have to make that up! At the very least, I’d execute all those who’ve been in the Police for more than two years. Then you’d have the weed out by the root.”

  He flicked his tail at Gerard’s grimace. “Of course, this is you we’re talking about, so you won’t do the smart thing because it’s too sticky. I suppose you could retire them all with full pension. Then your traitor will be running loose to do more mischief, but at least he’s not hiding in your closet.”

  Gerard thought about that. While he was thinking, Silveo went back to sorting maps and replacing them on shelves or in chests. He had an enormous collection, even for an admiral of the Sea Watch, and he seemed to have looked through every single one. He had his back to Gerard when he said, “I hope you killed that little foxling.”

  Gerard’s head snapped up. “I certainly did not!”

  Silveo clicked his tongue. “What did I tell you about acts of mercy, Gerard?”

  Gerard was momentarily stunned. He has never called me that. “Well, they seem to have earned me a first name.”

  Silveo glanced around at him with an expression of irritation. “There are two Holovars on this ship. Speaking of which—” He clambered up one of the bookshelves, pulled out a volume and tossed it to Gerard. “Does she have that one?”

  Gerard stared at the book. It was a beautifully copied and illustrated collection of old legends and ballads. Such a book might have easily cost a quarter of his year’s wages for a watch master. The stories were exactly the sort of thing Thessalyn loved to use as raw material for songs.
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  Silveo seemed to misunderstand Gerard’s expression. “I do realize that someone has to read it to her, and maybe she already has one like it.”

  Gerard found his voice. “No, no, my father made her leave her little collection on Holovarus. He said that because he paid for her schooling—” Gerard could feel the old anger welling up in his chest and didn’t finish the sentence.

  Silveo hopped down from the bookcase. “There’s a tin of chocolate on the desk in my outer office.”

  Gerard crouched down to look at Silveo squarely. “Thank you.” Thank you for not holding Alsair against me. Thank you for being kind to my wife.

  Silveo’s lip curled. “It’s for her, not you.”

  But it’s the same thing, thought Gerard. When she’s happy, I’m happy. “Nevertheless, thank you.”

  Silveo turned away again. “If you can think of anything else she’d rather have…”

  Well, she’s fairly fond of me in one piece. “She will be delighted with this,” said Gerard. “She will probably come over here herself and thank you.” He stood. “Where did you get all these books?”

  He half expected Silveo to reply with an insult, but instead Silveo said, “About half of them from Resistance hideouts. Gwain or Flag or whatever his name is likes to read. Every trail I’ve ever followed of his has led to books. Of the rest, I inherited about a quarter. The other quarter—” he shrugged. “You’ve got to do something with your wages.”

  Gerard was walking around looking at titles. No wonder you knew about the name Flag. You probably read it in the same book Gwain did. The titles covered every conceivable topic. Quite a few were in the phonetic, several even in hunti. “Do you read hunti?” asked Gerard.

  “No, but apparently Gwain does. I’ve taught myself a little.”

  “You’ve taught yourself a lot. When you learned to read, you made up for lost time.”

  “No more than you when you learned to think,” snapped Silveo.

  Gerard turned to look at him. “I didn’t mean that as an insu—”

  “You never do. Go on; take that to Thessalyn.”

  Chapter 19. What Happened in a Closet

  Most sailors in Wefrivain do not use advanced instruments of navigation. They are aware of such tools, but they believe them to be cumbersome and unnecessary. Sailors in the crescent are rarely out of sight of land, and their navigational skills consist of an intimate knowledge of the coastlines of thousands of islands and their accompanying sandbars, tides, and reefs. In addition, grishnard sailors rely heavily on griffins to fly up and look around.

  —Gwain, A Guide to Wefrivain

  Thessalyn did want to thank Silveo in person. She had been given many fine objects over the years, but she’d left most of them on Holovarus. Since that time, she’d made a point of asking for payment either in room and board, traveling expenses, or cowries to buy those things. She ran her hands over the pages of the book, sniffed its leather, and listened with shining eyes as Gerard read her the titles of the stories. She loves stories, thought Gerard. She always tells them to everyone else, and no one tells them to her.

  Nothing would do, but that they should go to the admiral’s cabin at once. When he answered the door, Gerard thought she might have hugged him if he hadn’t taken a swift step back and offered a hand instead of a shoulder to her questing fingers.

  “You are very welcome, Lady,” he said in response to her thanks. “You more than deserve it. Last night I was…”

  Half mad? thought Gerard.

  “Tired,” continued Silveo. “I don’t always sleep so well.”

  “Neither does Gerard,” said Thessalyn, busily feeling her way around the outer office and into the library. Gerard frowned, not appreciating the comparison. Silveo noticed and was instantly amused. Gerard could tell he was about to say something embarrassing when Thessalyn spoke again, her fingers flickering over the books. “Gerard said a lot of these are Gwain’s.”

  “Were, yes,” said Silveo. “I’d like to bring him to join them as…I don’t know—a lampshade, perhaps. I think he’d make a fine lampshade.”

  “That’s not very nice, Admiral,” chided Thessalyn, sniffing delicately at one of the parchments. For a grishnard, she had an extremely good nose.

  “As Gerard may have mentioned,” said Silveo, “I’m not a very nice person.”

  “You’re nice to me,” said Thessalyn.

  “I make a very great exception for you. Don’t be surprised if I occasionally slip. Nice is not a part of my skill-set.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” Thessalyn was examining a shelf of navigational instruments. Silveo had an unusually large collection, as he liked to navigate without the aid of griffins or pegasus—something almost unheard of in Wefrivain. “By the way, there’s a storm coming,” said Thessalyn, “a big one. I’d like to sit on deck a bit before it gets here. I haven’t been in the sun much these last few days.”

  “A storm?” repeated Silveo. “How do you know?”

  “She always knows,” said Gerard. “It’s part of being a prophetess.”

  “I am not a prophetess,” said Thessalyn with a flick of her tail. “It’s not a feeling. I’m not guessing; I know there’s a storm coming—the same way you two know what’s on the far side of the room without walking over and touching it.”

  Silveo looked at Gerard quizzically.

  Gerard shrugged. “If she says there’s a big storm coming, then there’s a big storm coming.”

  Silveo considered this. “In that case, I have things to do. Out of my office, little lambs.”

  So they went and sat on the quarterdeck in the sun. The day was clear and bright without a trace of clouds. Thessalyn had put on a sailcloth shirt and breeches to go about deck. She went bare-pawed, her heavy gold hair whipping in the breeze, her cheeks turning pink in the sun. Gerard thought she looked adorable. She stretched out on the warm boards and laid her head in his lap, her hair pooling around them, and he read to her.

  Meanwhile, the bewildered sailors began the process of preparing the ship for a storm—securing or removing everything on deck, furling sails, and preparing a sea anchor. Below deck, Gerard knew they were just as busy. He wondered how long it would take the ship’s boys to go around Silveo’s library, putting every book in place so that the doors of the cabinets could all be shut. The oars would be stowed and all portholes shut tight. Preparing for a major storm involved quite a bit of work, and Gerard was surprised Silveo had decided to act on Thessalyn’s statement. He won’t be sorry, though.

  About noon, Gerard went below decks to get them something to eat. As he navigated the dim labyrinth of corridors, a shape stepped out of the gloom and tugged him gently into a closet. “Hello, Gerard.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing—the Priestess, dressed in what looked like dark silk, her deep blue eyes glinting in the half-light. “M-mistress,” he stammered. “How did you—? I mean—” He became aware that he was staring rudely and dropped his gaze. Of course, she flew here on a griffin or pegasus or even a wyvern. She probably just arrived.

  She tilted his chin up, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry to have startled you, Captain.”

  No, you’re not. You’re enjoying it. Gerard became aware of how very close they were standing in the small space. He started to back out of the closet, but she put her hands on his elbows and stopped him. She was only a little shorter than he and much stronger than he would have expected.

  “I won’t keep you long,” purred Morchella. “I only wanted to warn you that a severe storm is coming.”

  “We know,” said Gerard. “Thess told us.”

  Morchella raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

  “Yes, she always knows when a storm is coming—ever since she was a little girl.”

  “Interesting. I suppose being blind makes other senses keener. Still, it makes me wonder whether she’s distant kin of mine.”

  Gerard didn’t know what that me
ant or whether he should ask. “How are you getting along with Silveo?” continued Morchella.

  “Better.” Gerard thought for a moment. “He’s still threatening to kill me, but I’m not sure he really would. He likes Thess, but Alsair did something nasty on Sern that upset him.” He told her about the foxling.

  Morchella laughed. “That would do it—especially on Sern. Probably gave him nightmares. He can be annoyingly sensitive about a few things.”

  Gerard frowned. “Sensitive” was the last word he would have applied to Silveo. “He thinks I want his job,” said Gerard.

  Morchella ran a finger down the front of Gerard’s jacket. Her voice was playful. “Do you?”

  “No.” Gerard tried again to step out of the closet. This time she leaned up, put one hand around the back of his head and the other around his waist, and kissed him full on the mouth. Gerard was surprised, almost frightened, and he didn’t know what to do. Morchella pushed up the back of his shirt and ran a hand along his bare spine. The shock made him gasp, and her tongue flicked inside his mouth.

  She stepped away from him suddenly, and Gerard stumbled back against the doorframe. He could feel his face burning. He wanted to run. Morchella pushed past him out of the closet and stopped to whisper in his ear, “You’re doing fine, Gerard. I heard that you talked to Gwain. That’s very good. But next time try killing him. I’ll be watching.”

  Gerard raised his head a moment later and looked around. The corridor was empty. He drew a shuddering breath. He felt sick and guilty and profoundly confused. He couldn’t remember where he’d been going or what he’d meant to do. He visited the head. He thought he might vomit, but he didn’t. When he came on deck again, clouds were rolling in from the South, but the sun was still shining. Silveo was talking to Thessalyn. He was wearing brilliant blue wool, hoop earrings, and a fur cape made of what looked like wolf fur—an extinct species in Wefrivain, though their pelts could still be bought on occasion. Silveo had had food brought up, but no table or chairs, due to the increased motion of the ship. “Well, Gerard, it appears that your wife has many talents. In addition to making you almost tolerable, she can also predict the weather. Perhaps I shall make her my pilot. The one I’ve got isn’t entirely satisfactory.”