‘All the better, master. There will be no struggle.’ Seeing Borric hesitate, he added, ‘Quickly, master, before someone chances upon us. The city stirs and this alley will be travelled shortly. Someone is bound to find him soon. If he is not dead …’ He let the consequences of that go unspoken.
Steeling himself, Borric withdrew the knife he had taken from Salaya and held it. But then he was confounded by a completely unexpected concern: how to do it? Should he drive the knife into the man’s stomach, cut his throat, or just what?
Suli said, ‘If you wish not to kill a dog, master, let your servant do it for you, but it must be done now! Please, master.’
The thought of letting the boy kill was even more repugnant to Borric, so he pulled his arm back and drove the knife into the slaver’s throat. There was not the slightest movement from Salaya. Borric stared in astonishment, then with a bitter laugh, he said, ‘He was already dead! The second blow must have broken his neck.’ Borric shook his head in astonishment. ‘The punch to the chest and throat was one of the dirty fighting tricks taught me by James – not the sort of thing noble sons usually learned – but one which I am glad to have been taught. I didn’t know the blow to the neck would be lethal.’
Not caring for explanations, Suli said, ‘Let us go now, master! Please!’ He tugged on Borric’s tunic, and the Prince let the boy pull him out of the alley.
When he was clear of the sight of the dead slaver, Borric turned his thoughts away from revenge and back toward escape. Putting his hand upon Suli’s shoulder, he said, ‘Which way to the harbour?’
Suli didn’t hesitate. He pointed down a long street and said, ‘That way.’
‘Then lead on,’ was Borric’s answer. And the beggar boy led the Prince through a city ready to kill them both at a moment’s notice.
‘That one,’ said Borric, indicating a small sailboat tied to a relatively lonely dock. It was a pinnace, the sort used as a tender, to run to and from larger ships in the harbour, carrying passengers, messages, and very small cargo. It was smaller than most, having only four oarlocks instead of the usual eight, and one mast rather than two. It was a flat bottom, with a drop centreboard; Borric judged it designed to work in shallows. But if handled right, it would do well upon the open sea, as long as the weather remained fair. As the entire Fleet of Durbin pirates had put out the day before to intercept the murdering slave, there was almost no activity in the harbour. But that condition wouldn’t last long, Borric was certain, as there were common citizens who had no concerns with the hunt for the murderer of the Governor’s wife. Soon the docks would be busy and the theft of the boat would be observed.
Borric looked about and pointed to a coil of old, filthy rope that lay nearby. Suli picked it up, and slung the wet, foul-smelling coil over his shoulder. Borric then picked up a discarded wooden crate, pushing the open slats closed. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
No one paid any attention to two sailors walking purposefully toward the small boat at the end of the docks. Borric put the crate down and jumped into the boat, quickly untying the bow line. He turned to find Suli standing in the rear of the boat, an open look of perplexity upon his face. ‘Master, what do I do?’
Borric groaned. ‘You’ve never sailed?’
‘I have never been on a boat before in my life, master.’
Borric said, ‘Bend down and look like you’re doing something. I don’t want anyone to notice a confused sailor boy on board. When we’re underway, just do what I tell you.’
Borric quickly had the boat pushed free of the dock, and after a fitful start, the sail was up and the boat moving steadily toward the harbour mouth. Borric gave Suli a quick list of terms and some duties. When he was done, he said, ‘Come take the tiller.’ The boy moved to sit where the Prince had, and Borric gave him the tiller and the boom hawser. ‘Keep it pointed that way,’ the Prince instructed, pointing at the harbour mouth, ‘while I see what we have here.’
Borric went to the front of the boat and pulled a small boat’s locker out from under the foredeck. The box was unlocked and inside he found little of value: a single additional sail – he couldn’t tell until he unfolded it if it was a spare mainsail or a spinnaker – a rusty scaling knife left over from when the boat had belonged to an honest fisherman, and some frayed line. He doubted any fish caught on that line would be big enough for more than bait. There was also a small wooden bucket bound in iron, used as a bailer or to pull up water to keep a catch wet, back when this boat was used for fishing. A rusty lantern without oil was his only other discovery. Turning to face the boy who studied the sail and held the tiller with fierce concentration on his face, Borric said, ‘I don’t suppose you have any more bread or cheese left?’
With a look of sincere apology, the boy said, ‘No, master.’
One thing about this change in his circumstances, Borric commented to himself; hunger was becoming a way of life.
The wind was a brisk nor’easter, and the pinnace was fastest in a broad beam reach, so Borric turned her north by northwest as he left the harbour mouth. The boy looked both terrified and exhilarated. He had been babbling most of the way through the harbour, obviously his means of dealing with his fear, but as they had exited the harbour mouth, with no more than a casual glance by the deck crew of a large lateen-rigged caravel, the boy’s fear had vanished. Borric had sailed intentionally close to the ship, as if unconcerned by its presence, but rather irritated by the need to sail around it.
Now with the harbour mouth behind them, Borric said, ‘Can you climb?’
The boy nodded, and Borric said, ‘From the front – and mind the sail – climb the mast to that ring up there and hang on. Look in all directions and tell me what you see.’
The boy shinnied up the mast like one born to it and gripped the observation ring at the top of the small mast. It swayed dramatically with the additional weight at the top, but the boy didn’t seem to mind. Yelling down, he said, ‘Master! There are small white things along that way!’ He pointed eastward, then swept with his hand toward the north.
‘Sails?’
‘I think so, master. They mark the horizon as far as I can see.’
‘What about to the north?’
‘I think I see some sails there, too, master!’
Borric swore. ‘What of to the west?’
The boy squirmed and shouted, ‘Yes, there are some there, too.’
Borric considered his choices. He had thought to escape to Ranom, a small trading port to the west, or if needs be, LiMeth, a modest city high up on the southern peninsula below the Straits of Darkness. But if they had some pickets established just against that choice, he would have to put out farther north, perhaps reaching the Free Cities eventually – if he didn’t starve first – or brave the straits. This time of the year the straits were only moderately dangerous, unlike the winter when they were impassable, save for an exceptionally brave, or stupid, sailor.
Borric signalled for Suli to climb down and when the boy was near, the Prince said, ‘I think we’ll have to run to the northwest and get around the pickets. He glanced at the sun and said, ‘If we steer away from those western pickets, they’re sure to come running, but if we hold a steady course as if we’re simply going about our business, we may fool them.’ He looked down. ‘See how the water changes colour from here,’ he pointed, ‘to there?’
The boy nodded. ‘That’s because this is a deep channel, and that is a coral reef. This boat has a very shallow draft, so we can slip above those reefs, but that big ship we saw at the harbour would bottom out here and crash. We must also be cautious; some of these reefs are too near the surface for even our small boat, but if we are alert, we can avoid them.’
The boy looked at