The biscuit suddenly stuck in Malta’s throat. In his cold smile, she saw the truth of what he said. Her past had been torn away from her. This was her life now. She rose slowly, and walked across the room. She looked down at the man who would rule her, crouched incongruously at her feet. He gestured disdainfully at the buckets. She looked at them, wondering what she would do. It suddenly seemed all so distant. She was so weary and so hopeless. She didn’t want to be a servant, nor did she want to be used and discarded by a boatload of filthy Chalcedean sailors. She wanted to live. She would do what she must to survive.
She picked up the steaming bucket. She stepped up to the Satrap’s tub and poured a slow stream of water over him till he sighed in pleasure at the running warmth. A sudden waft of the steam made Malta smile. The idiots had heated river water for his bath. She should have guessed. A ship this size would not carry a vast supply of fresh water. They would conserve what they had. The Chalcedeans evidently knew they could not drink river water, but did not realize they should not bathe in it, for they probably did not bathe at all. They would not know what it would do to him. Tomorrow, blisters would cover him.
She smiled sweetly as she asked, ‘Shall I pour the second bucket over you as well?’
ALTHEA GLANCED ABOUT the deck; all was running smoothly. The wind was steady, and Haff was on the wheel. The sky overhead was a clear deep blue. Amidships, six sailors were methodically moving through a rote series of attacks and parries with sticks. Although they weren’t putting much spirit into it, Brashen seemed satisfied with the form and accuracy they achieved. Lavoy moved among them, chastising and correcting loudly. She shook her head to herself. She did not claim to know anything of fighting, but this set routine baffled her. No battle could be as orderly as the give and take of blows the sailors practised, nor as calm and unhurried as the archery practice that had preceded it. How could it be useful? Nevertheless, she kept her mouth shut, and when it was her turn, she drilled with the rest of them, and tried to put her heart into it. She was becoming a fair shot with the light bow allotted to her. Still, it was hard to believe that any of it would be useful in a real fight.
She hadn’t taken her doubts to Brashen. Lately her feelings for him had been running warmer. She would not tempt herself with private conferences with him. If he could control himself, then so could she. It was merely a matter of respect. She listened to the rhythmic clacking of the mock swords as Clef paced them with a chantey. If nothing else, she told herself, it kept the crew out of mischief. The Paragon carried more than a working crew, for Brashen had hired enough men to fight as well as run the ship, and extras to allow for losses. The stow-away slaves had swelled their population even more. The cramped quarters bred idle quarrelling when the men were not kept busy.
Satisfied that nothing required her immediate attention, she sprang to the mast. She pushed herself for speed going up it; sometimes her muscles ached due to the confines of the ship. A brisk trip to the lookout’s platform eased some of the kinks in her legs.
Amber heard her coming. She always seemed preternaturally aware of folk around her. Althea saw the carpenter’s resigned smile of welcome as she hauled herself over the lip of the platform and sat down beside her, legs dangling. ‘How do you feel?’ she greeted Amber.
Amber smiled ruefully. ‘Fine. Will you stop worrying? I’m over it. I’ve told you, this ailment comes and it goes. It’s not serious.’
‘Mm.’ Althea was not sure she believed her. She still wondered what had happened that night when she had found Amber unconscious on the deck. The carpenter claimed that she simply passed out, and that the bruises on her face came from striking the deck. Althea could think of no reason that she would lie. Surely if Lavoy had struck her down, either Amber or Paragon would have complained of it by now.
She studied Amber’s face. Lately the carpenter had begged for lookout duty, and Althea had reluctantly given it to her. If she passed out up here and fell to the deck, it would do more than bruise her face. Yet, the lofty, lonely duty seemed to agree with her, for though the wind had burned her face until it peeled, the skin beneath was tanned and glowing with health, which made her eyes seem darker and her hair more tawny. Althea had never seen her looking more vital.
‘There’s nothing to see,’ Amber muttered uncomfortably, and Althea realized she was staring. Deliberately she pretended to misunderstand. She scanned the full horizon as if checking for sails.
‘Amongst all these islands, you never know. That’s one reason the pirates love these waters. A ship can lie low and wait for her prey to come into sight. With all the little coves and inlets, a pirate might be lurking anywhere.’
‘Over there, for instance.’ Amber lifted an arm and pointed. Althea followed the gesture. She stared for a time critically, then asked, ‘You saw something?’
‘I thought I did, for an instant. The tip of a mast moving behind the trees on that point.’
Althea stared, squinting. ‘There’s nothing there,’ she decided, and relaxed her posture. ‘Maybe you saw a bird moving from tree to tree. The eye is drawn to motion, you know.’
The waterscape before them was a dazzling vista of greens and blues. Rocky steep-sided islands broke from the water, but above their sheer cliffs, they were lush with vegetation. Streams and waterfalls spilled down their steep sides. The bright flowing water glittered in the sunlight as it fell to shatter into the moving waves. So much anyone could see from the deck. Here, atop the mast, one could see the true contours of both land and water. The colour of the water varied not only by depth, but also with how much sweet water was floating atop the salt. The varying blues told Althea that the channel ahead was deep enough for Paragon, but rather narrow. Amber was supposed to watch these shades and give cry back to Haff on the wheel if shallows impeded their passage. Shifting sandbars were the second most legendary danger of the Pirate Isles. To the west, a multitude of jutting islets could be seen as islands, or as easily visualized as the mountaintops of a submerged coast. Fresh water flowed endlessly from that direction, carrying with it sand and debris that formed new sandbars and shallows. The storms that regularly battered the area swept through and rearranged these obstacles to shipping. Charting the Pirate Isles was a fruitless task. Waterways silted in and became impassable, only to be swept clean in the next storm. The hazards of navigation that slowed heavily-laden merchant vessels were the pirates’ ally. Often pirate craft were shallow draught, powered by sweeps as well as sail, and manned by men who knew the waters as well as they could be known. In all Althea’s days of sailing the Cursed Shores, she had never ventured this deeply into the Pirate Isles. Her father had always avoided them, as he avoided any kind of trouble. ‘The profit from danger only pays you interest in trouble,’ he’d said more than once. Althea smiled to herself.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Amber asked her quietly.
‘My father.’
Amber nodded. ‘It’s good that you can think of him and smile now.’
Althea murmured an assent, but said no more. For a time, they rode the mast in silence. The high platform amplified the gentle rolling of the ship below them. Althea could not remember a time when she had not found the movement intoxicating. But peace did not last. The question itched at her. Without looking at Amber, she asked yet again, ‘Are you sure Lavoy did nothing to you?’
Amber