“I think you’ll enjoy this masquerade,” Hlanan said by way of greeting when he reappeared. He shook the raindrops off his face and hair, adding, “At least the storm has abated somewhat, though the streets are ankle-deep in muck. Hurry and change. The ship will depart just before dawn on the outgoing tide.”
He pitched wads of cloth at each of us. I sat up cautiously, glad to find that my headache had diminished. Kee yawned, poking curiously at her share.
“Use the last of our water to get the soot off your face, Kee,” Hlanan said with a smile. “Lhind, you’re probably better off as you are. Luckily there are a lot of other soot-smeared servants down at the docks clamoring for passage for their master or mistress who wants to get out of the harbor today. So the soot will contribute to your disguise.”
“We’re going to be disguised?” Kee held up a splendid gown.
“You are now a noble scion—Lady Kieran of North Chur in Keprima—and her faithful lackey. That’s you, Lhind. Faithful lackeys don’t have names, at least on ship’s rolls. And tutor, at your service,” Hlanan said, bowing. “If we can get across the docks, we’ve berths awaiting us. But we’ve only got a short time. Dress up.”
“Me? A servant?” I asked, delighted. “This will be fun! As long as I don’t have to do any work.” I shot Kee a warning glare.
Kee snorted, shaking out her dress. We changed hastily, me—with a groan of disgust—stuffing my poor tail into the shapeless mud-colored trousers Hlanan had procured. The tunic was a better fit, large and roomy. It had a hood, and Hlanan had also bought a plain cap. My hair fit under all that. The only thing I ignored were the shoes.
Or tried to ignore.
“Put those on,” Hlanan said, pointing to the shoes.
“Flames of Rue,” I exclaimed. “I can’t bear shoes. They are hot, they pinch unmercifully, they slip and slide at the worst times—”
“You won’t be climbing any roofs or fences. Put them on.”
“But they hurt the sides of my feet, and did you hear when I said they are hot? Make my toes itch.”
“And bare feet on a supposed servant will flag Lendan’s scouts for certain. They know you’re a Hrethan, and Lendan will have told them that the Hrethan almost never wear shoes.”
“Oh.” This discovery of a Hrethan habit that matched mine made me feel peculiar. Wincing and grumbling, I eased my feet into the soft cloth shoes that Hlanan had brought. At least they were not stiff, but I still loathed the sensation.
Kee watched me take a few gingerly steps, then grinned. “You’ll catch notice for certain if you walk like someone put slugs in ’em.”
I stomped in a circle. “Is that more convincing?”
“Let’s go, you two,” Hlanan murmured, obviously trying not to laugh.
Kee whirled around, fluffing out her gown. It was a high-waisted affair sporting lots of lace at the neck and sleeves, and with her long pale hair unbraided and hanging down in fine, somewhat stringy locks, she looked like a different person.
When she saw me looking, she said in an undervoice, “Until today I was proud of the fact that I have never told a lie. Now I am about to be living one. I do not know what to think.”
There was this urge to say, Now you know what it feels like, except I’d hated it when Faryana acted so morally superior to me from the inside of the necklace.
I fell in step behind her, carrying the pack like a good servant. Hlanan had found himself some nondescript clothes, and the gray open robe of a low-level scribe, but he didn’t look all that different from usual.
Catching my eye, he said: “I’ll go to the ship by a different route. Tir knows where it is. Stay with the aidlar.”
“I can get us there,” I began.
“Not over roofs. Not in this dress,” Kee warned.
“And they’ll be looking on the rooftops,” Hlanan added. “We’ve got darkness on our side, and the aidlar. Let’s move quickly.” He paused to inspect us. “And in case we don’t see each other until we’re on the ship, Lhind, when you reach the docks you stay a pace or two behind Kee at all times. Don’t speak unless spoken to. You’re sleeping in her cabin, so don’t take the gear to the hold where the lackeys go. Kee, walk like a lady, not like a ranger.”
“But I am a ranger,” Kee protested.
“You’re a lady right now,” Hlanan said, his lips twitching. “Little steps, minding your gown.”
“I’ve never worn a gown.”
“They wear them in Keprima, where you are now from, and noblemen wear robes. Little steps, and hide those hands. Nobles usually don’t have bow calluses.”
Kee tucked her skirts up so they wouldn’t drag through the mire of the streets and we left.
The walk was not far, and Lendan’s hired prowlers were apparently watching the roads out of the harbor. Twice we encountered foursomes of those warriors in gray. They studied Kee with intensity, but when they saw her hanks of yellow hair, already tangling, they dismissed her. They paid scarce heed to her burdened, shuffling servitor who fumbled along as if his shoes were too tight.
More than one ship was preparing to sail on the tide, and the docks were busy. Just as Hlanan had said, a lot of people wanted to get away.
Following the soaring, wheeling aidlar, we made our way past ships of every description until we came to a big, high-built caravel that had been given a pier, so we did not have to hire a boat to take us out into the bay. The aidlar flapped down and sat on the rail of the caravel.
Kee’s shoulders relaxed as we walked up the ramp. I was so delighted I wanted to dance a little, but I remembered that I was a servant, so I dropped back and adopted what I hoped was a suitable demeanor. Kee stuck her nose in the air and announced to the waiting steward that she was Lady Kieran of North Chur Castle in Keprima.
“Any luggage?” the steward asked, bored.
Kee sent me a wild look. I was already carrying our bags, but clearly noble ladies had much more.
“Coming,” I said, with downcast eyes.
“My lackey is in charge of that,” Kee said grandly.
“All the way forward, starboard cabin,” the steward said.
Kee nodded, her eyes bulging slightly as she looked at me. She obviously had no idea what they meant. I said quickly, “Shall I inspect, your ladyship?”
“Do that,” Kee said, her voice strained; it was clear that she was rapidly reaching the end of her invention skills.
I took over, confident I knew the way. This ship was as different from Rajanas’s sleek yacht as one could imagine, but I figured the basic directions on any ship are the same. I’d heard about fore, aft, starboard, and lee while eavesdropping on Rajanas’s sailors.
I led the way down to the first deck below, where the passenger cabins lined the sides of the ship, the best one of course aft all along the stern. We walked forward (Kee whispering “Forward. Starboard,” to herself) and reached the last cabin on the right before the forepeak.
The little cabin was empty, the bulkheads curving inward over the single bunk. As soon as the door was closed Kee collapsed onto the bunk with a sigh of relief. “I didn’t expect questions,” she muttered. “I really hate lying.”
“Think of it as playacting.”
She gave me a considering look. “Is that what you’ve spent your life doing?”
I grabbed my cap and pulled it off, allowing my hair to lift. “Going about like this was a disaster,” I said. “But playacting is fun. It doesn’t hurt anyone, and it keeps me safe.”
She rubbed her forehead tiredly. The door opened then, and Hlanan came in, wearing a long robe with fancy folded sleeves. It made him look taller. “Ah, good. Any problems?”
“No. We’re all here and we’re safe,” I said, clapping my hands.
“I won’t feel safe until we sail,” Hlanan said. He sounded even more tired than Kee.
“Where are you located?” Kee asked.
“Down below, crammed in with a lot of other poor sorts like myself, forward of the crew berth.” He grimaced. “Stuffy and close down there, no privacy, but the other fellows seem to be good enough sorts.”
Of course he would say that. He seemed to like everybody unless they actively proved themselves unlikable, just as he seemed to find everyone interesting. Thus his endless questions, as friendly as they were nosy.
There was a trunk against the bulkhead between us and the next cabin aft. Hlanan sat on this trunk so he would not have to stand with head bent. I put our bundles on the floor next to his feet and sat next to Kee on the bunk. We looked at one another wearily. Outside the single window the sun grayed the ragged clouds, and at last the ship began rolling majestically out of Fara Bay. Within a short time after that, Hlanan went below. I gave Kee the bunk and curled up on the floor. We were soon asleep.
By nightfall I’d figured out my jobs. It was expected that I’d take meals to the supposed Lady Kieran, and bring the dirty crockery back to the galley. I was also supposed to keep the cabin neat, but Kee kept her few belongings squared away, and I didn’t have any besides my stash, which I wore.
This time I adjusted to the movement within a day. Kee did as well, but she found the masquerade onerous. Other toffs aboard seemed to expect her to converse with them, make music with them, and other aristocratic pursuits.
The musicians were more enthusiastic than expert, making it easy for me to keep a wary, respectful distance. Music was so elusive, so beguiling, but I hated the way it stirred up the wrong memories and emotions.
Kee tried to avoid these friendly meetings after the first one when they asked her to take a turn. She mumbled something about tiredness, and retreated to the cabin. She decided to fake being sick, though she hated being kept inside the cabin, which got quite hot during the afternoon, if the wind wasn’t on the starboard beam and blowing in the window.
It was left to Hlanan to invent suitable stories about our background, because of course none of the toffs thought to ask a lackey, and I seldom saw any of the other servants. He matched their accents with an ease that impressed Kee and made me wonder even more about his real story. At least after she’d heard him spin tales about Castle North Chur, Kee stopped worrying about the ethics of playacting: she might still be ambivalent about me, but she had great respect for Hlanan.
So did I, but at the same time I was aware that he was a very deft liar.
Hlanan decided at the end of our third boring day at sea that he should really act the tutor. Maybe this was invented for Kee’s entertainment; at any rate, he declared it was time for me to learn to read and write, and to count in numbers higher than sixes. He chose Allendi for reading so that Kee could participate in the lessons.
“Also,” he said, overriding my excuses and protests, “it’s close enough to Elras, the tongue and script of Charas al Kherval. You’ll get that next.”
“But it’s boring,” I moaned.
“Think of it as more playacting,” Kee said with a challenging grin.
“Or a secret code,” Hlanan added.
“You two are laughing at me,” I snarled.
“Never,” Hlanan said loftily, holding up his palm. “As I recall another person saying once not too long ago, I wouldn’t want a cranky sorcerer to turn me into a footstool.”
Uncomfortable with this ‘sorcerer’ talk, I gave in with a bad grace.
And at first the lessons were just as boring as I’d feared. Matching the little scrawls to various sounds seemed tedious beyond bearing, but after a day or two of practice I began to recognize some of them—and I will admit to a secret thrill when I first wrote out my name.
We spent the days on tutoring, while Kee read the books Hlanan had found on board for anyone to peruse, and at night, Hlanan entertained us with stories out of history. He knew a lot of history. When Kee commented on that, he seemed pleased, saying, “Well, when you are a scribe student, you copy out a lot of history while trying to perfect your handwriting and speed. So I thought I might as well read the books I was copying out of.”
We continued like this for a few more days. The trip was pleasant and even the weather behaved.
One evening Hlanan appeared in our cabin a little later than usual, Tir riding on his shoulder. The scribe carried one of the crystal goblets that they only used to serve the toffs. He had filled it with water.
“What’s that for?” Kee asked. “They think I’m thirsty?”
“I said you were thirsty.” Hlanan gave her a faint smile as Tir sent me a silent greeting and flapped up to perch on an empty candle-sconce. Hlanan went on, “My modest gear—such as it was—having been left behind in Imbradi when I was abducted, I’m forced to try something innovative. I’ve never been very good at this kind of communication. Not many magicians are. But sometimes where one fails, three can succeed.”
Kee and I watched as he set up the goblet between two candles on the little table. “What’s it you’re trying to do?”
“I’m going to try to scry Thianra the minstrel. Want to help?”
Kee shuddered. “I tried that once, with Nill. Because we’d been told not to. And all it did was make me so dizzy my stomach took a violent dislike.”
Hlanan did not look at me, but I knew he was waiting. In fact, I sensed that he hadn’t really expected anything from Kee at all.
I shrugged, trying not to stare into the water in the crystal. The way the light played on the faceted edges of the stone, winking . . .
I blinked. Looked at Hlanan, whose expression altered from intensity to question.
“So what do you do?” I asked.
His brows twitched in surprise, then smoothed out into blandness. “You look in, and think of her. Call to her in your mind.”
“That seems easy enough,” I said. “Do, uh, Hrethans do it a lot or something?”
“I believe they do, though of course I’ve never seen them at it.”
Something was missing, I could feel it. “All right.” I shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.”
“I should warn you first,” he said, putting a hand over the crystal. “If you hear anyone else—anyone at all—then stop scrying fast. The problem with this kind of method, when it works, is that any magician who’s practiced and who happens to be scrying might hear. It’s a little like eavesdropping,” he added for Kee, who looked confused.
“Those rings,” I said. “The ones that got taken when we were ambushed on the road out of Letarj. Do those work for only people who have the other in a matched pair or something?”
Hlanan nodded. “That’s right. The magic on them wards anyone who does not have one of the rings.”
“Can’t you do your screening magic on this thing before we start?” I asked.
“I don’t know how,” Hlanan said. “The rings were given to us by magicians much more powerful than I.”
You sure don’t know much magic for a magician, I thought. But then he’d never claimed to be a mage, just a scribe who’d learned some magic.
I was going to ask, but the tension in his shoulders, the tight line of his lips, made me uneasy. He was too intent on this scrying for questions, that much I was sure of.
I shrugged again, and remembered Faryana, who had not answered me when I’d tried to call her. Her diamonds lay among my thief tools. I remembered the whistle, which was tucked safely into my sash inside my shapeless servant tunic. They won’t hear us as long as I don’t touch them.
So I turned my attention to the candlelight flickering in the crystal-held water. The light swirled, became a scattering of stars in the night sky . . .
“You’re drifting,” Hlanan murmured. “Take our hands, and think of Thianra.”
I gripped Kee’s small, callused hand, but hesitated before taking hold of Hlanan’s fingers. He offered them in silence, and I closed my own around his, which were slender for a male, warm, a strong, steady grip.
Concentrate. Obediently I called up an image of Thianra, and there she was in the crystal. She looked tired, her eyes startled. Who? Her lips shaped the word, though I heard no sound. Instead I felt it inside me, and then Kee gasped and I switched my attention to her.
“It works,” Kee exclaimed, pointing. “I saw her.”
“And we lost her,” Hlanan said dryly.
“I’m sorry. I won’t talk again.” Kee flushed with embarrassment.
“Try once more, Lhind,” Hlanan whispered.
I closed my eyes, fighting the curl of dizziness around the periphery of my vision. Again I concentrated on the memory-image of Thianra, and this time when she appeared in the crystal she looked calm and ready, her eyes focused slightly inward.
Oh, you’re looking into a crystal, too? I thought.
Thianra smiled. Is it you, Lhind?
All three of us are here, Hlanan’s thought joined, his fingers tightening on mine. Kuraf’s Kee—
Kuraf is here with us, Thianra interrupted. I’ll be glad to report to her that Kee is safe.
Where are you? Hlanan asked.
Idaron Pass, came the answer. We’ve been holding it against the mercenaries.
Ilyan is free then?
Oh, yes. He escaped before I did. Lendan’s hirelings retreated into the city and captured a portion, making surrender-or-else noises. Kept us busy for several days, until Rajanas got the idea we were being diverted. So he sent Kuraf and the rest of us up here to hold the Pass while he chases the rest of the Wolf Grays out of Imbradi. So far it’s mostly been maneuvering, and we still hold the Pass.
A pang shot through my temples. I almost lost my concentration, but I forced myself to listen.
This sending is remarkably clear, Thianra went on. Where are you?
Heading north and west into the Azure Sea, Hlanan answered. We’re going the northern route.
Kuraf will be pleased, Thianra said. I hope you escaped the vicious blizzard that hit us just days ago. Came from the south. You’d know better than I, but it seemed to have been magic-driven, if not magic-caused—
A warning flashed from Hlanan to Thianra. No words, but it was distinct. Puzzled, I felt around in my mind for anything that might be wrong — and I sensed a familiar tendril of awareness, drifting near . . .
“Dhes-Andis,” I breathed, shutting my eyes.
Dizziness smacked me from the inside: I could not tell what was up or down, and I fell back onto the bunk.
“Dhes-Andis? The Emperor of Sveran Djur? How do you know that?” Hlanan demanded.
I opened my eyes and tried to study his revolving face. “Ugh,” I said, closing my eyes again. “Hey, it was you who sent that silent ‘shut up’ to Thianra—”
“That silent ‘shut up,’” Hlanan retorted, “was because I didn’t want it to get about that you’d been the cause of the havoc wrought on the region.”
“Me?” I croaked, trying to rid myself of the dizziness.
“Did you really think that magnitude of fire-spell would not have a reaction?” he said with pent-up frustration. “Or have you been playing us for fools all along?” He took hold of my chin, forcing my head up. “Where is Dhes-Andis? How did you know he was scrying?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I think—” I gabbled, trying desperately to think of some believable explanation.
“For once, Lhind,” Hlanan as close to anger as I’d ever seen him, “no lies.”
Just then a wild clamor of unmusical bells claimed our attention, followed by a distant cry of “All hands! All hands!” Running feet shivered the wooden decking, and Tir let out a squawk of fright.
Hlanan let go of me, and Kee sprang to the door. “Is that an alarm?” she asked, her face pale in the flickering candlelight.
“Yes.” Hlanan straightened up, then sent me a troubled look, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “We’d better see what it is, then we will return to this conversation. Stay here,” he added to both of us, and he went out.
Neither of us heeded his command. Kee beat me out the door by a nose, only because I paused to jam my hair under my cap, then we ran forward in silence. Torchlight flickered down the caravel’s length, revealing the captain shouting hoarse commands to grim-faced sailors running about purposefully.
Beyond our ship, ghostly in the light of the new moon, a long, lethal shape glided through the water directly across our bow. And beyond that one, another similar shape. Warships. Fast ones—ones I recognized, causing a bone-deep shiver of fear.
Hlanan stood at the rail, his face drawn as he stared at the sinister vessels converging on us.
“What are those ships?” Kee whispered, pointing.
Hlanan didn’t even seem to notice us. “Maker protect us,” he muttered. “The Skull Fleet.”