There were, at the time of which we have the honor to write, four methods of arranging transport by water along the coast. The first method was the simplest: one might find a ship that had a full load of cargo and was going in the desired direction, and either pay or work for passage. Second, one might, if one were sufficiently wealthy, hire such a vessel. Third, one might convince a fisherman that such a journey was worth the risk, as pirates habitually ignored fishermen, or sometimes even purchased from them, unless the pirate had had such hard luck as to be prepared to prey on anything afloat. Last, of course, if one had certain skills as a sailor, one might steal a boat.
This last method, we must say, Livosha rejected out of hand, as, having had a certain experience with being the victim of boat theft, she was naturally unwilling to inflict such suffering on another. While it can sometimes be the case that the victim of a particular crime, in anger and despair, will justify perpetrating the same crime on others, we insist that it is also the case that, in many, that peculiar quality called empathy, in which we, by a sort of inner transference, feel what another is feeling, or at least what we imagine another is feeling, will provide a sort of moral constraint or compulsion that will make such an act abhorrent. That Livosha was such a one is proved by the fact that the idea of stealing a boat never so much as occurred to her. Of the other methods, those that required a supply of money were, of course, impossible; the wages they received from Traanzo being sufficient, as the saying is, “to keep the sky off one’s head,” but hardly enough to pay for passage in these times when passage money must necessarily include a portion of the cost—either in ransom or in risk of loss—that might be incurred by encountering pirates.
This left them with the need to work for their passage, which, thanks to the experience of the last six hundred years, was not as abhorrent a concept as it so often is to those who, though once high-born, find themselves unexpectedly cast low. Those like the Teckla who are born to toil, and those who like the Dragon, the Lyorn, and the Athyra in our own happy age need never give such matters consideration, can never understand the difficulty of those whom circumstance brings to such an unexpected pass. Indeed, it is exactly here—in this lack of understanding and the remedy thereof—that the true value of the art of history and the science of history join together in common cause: for is it not the case that the highest goal of both is in the transformation, in exactly such a manner as to permit one to enter into the life of another? While a clearer understanding of the motions of history is of course, desirable, and while a pleasurable experience on the part of the reader is a necessary precondition for the reader to continue “turning the pages” as is said by the lettered, yet when they come together, it is possible for the reader, to partake of the experience of another. There are, to be sure, many other benefits: it has been suggested by some that merely accidental coincidence of cosmetic similarity between a particular reader and a certain historical character will provide a valuable point of identification that can be inspiriting to that reader. That this happens cannot be denied, any more than can the pleasure it gives the reader, and, should he hear about it, the author, when it happens to occur. And yet, underneath (or, perhaps above) such matters, we find that, regardless of secondary questions of appearance, what provides the most value is for a reader to enter fully into the thought processes of those figures from history who view matters in a way, and have had experiences that, are so far removed from those of the reader, that, without the intervention of the author, the artist, the historian, the scholar, no comprehension between them would be possible. Thus, the creation of empathy, the sharing of experience, moving beyond secondary issues of geography, of House, or even of Time, can provide us a deep, fundamental connection that could exist in no other way. When combined, then, with what this author believes is the other task of the historian, that being to expose truth that, though part of our experience, and even vital to it, nevertheless normally lies hidden within the complexities of life, we have laid out before us the highest goal of those who dare to lay the fruits of their artistic labor before the eye of the public.
We must now observe to the reader that, among these virtues of the greatest works of art and history, virtues for which we must all strive in our own way and with the abilities we have learned and the talent we have been granted by the beneficent gods, certain things never appear. Among these are the humiliating scramble after critical acclaim, the craving for high position within the academy, the disgraceful groveling after public applause, and the pusillanimous sacrificing of truth upon the altar of common prejudice. Should an otherwise honest and beneficent institution fall into the error of advancing to distinguished position one who openly strives for those very goals that ought never to be listed among the desired ambitions, we can only hope that, in time, such an institution will come to a better awareness of its duties and obligations, and more, we must as well as possible help it, in our small way, by appeals to the finer sensibilities of its guides, to come to such an understanding.
Livosha, then, as we have said, was perfectly willing to work for her passage, as was her brother. This willingness, while opening the possibilities, did not actually go so far as to secure the needed transport. The two of them, therefore, addressed this problem in the most direct way: they went down the long white stairway leading to the harbor, and began asking after any ships that were soon to depart for the west and might need additional hands. They discovered the problem with this plan nearly at once: they met a ship captain, a weathered-looking woman of the House of the Orca with a long scar above her eye, who listened to them, and then said simply, “Show me your hands.” When they had done so, she said, “No.”
They walked off and Kefaan said, “Perhaps we will meet a captain who won’t think to look at our hands.”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
“It is possible,” said Kefaan.
“How possible?”
“Not very,” admitted her brother.
“Then we are agreed, for that is my opinion as well.”
“Well, what then? Between us we have five imperials; once that would have bought us a berth, but, alas, no more.”
“Then we must discover a different plan.”
“Very well, I agree. But, what plan can we discover?”
“Let us reflect.”
“I agree with reflecting.”
“I will reflect as well.”
“Upon what will you reflect, Livosha?”
“Upon how to find a ship or a boat that will take us west. And you?”
“I am reflecting on purchasing horses.”
“It is a long way on horseback.”
“But we will get there.”
“There are bandits.”
“But no pirates.”
“Also, it may be harder to get out of the city.”
“Harder, but possible.”
“Also—”
“Well?”
“That stairway.”
“That is true,” said Kefaan. “Climbing those stairs again, well, the idea is daunting.”
“I am fatigued merely considering it.”
“And yet, we must escape the city. Traanzo will be looking for us.”
“Well, then I must make my last throw.”
“My sister, I do not like the sound of that.”
“There is nothing else to do.”
She returned to the scarred captain with whom she had just spoken, and, removing the pendant from her neck, held it out. “Will this pay for our journey to Northport?”
The captain took it, studied the rubies, ran gnarled fingers over the inlay work, and said, “It will, and a cabin of your own and good meals besides.”
“Then we are agreed.”
“We sail in two hours.”
“With your permission, my brother and I will board now.”
“So you are not seen by whoever is looking for you?”
Livosha started to speak, but the captain waved her hand. “Never mind, I’ll not require you to lie to me, it is of no importance.” Then she waved again, this time getting the attention of a man who seemed to be a male version of herself and was taking his ease on a pile of damaged fishing nets. Once the other nodded, the captain held up two fingers, pointed to Livosha and Kefaan, and then to the ship. The two Iorich then (for Kefaan had changed his garb, and no longer seemed to be a Jhereg) took their satchels and followed him onto the ship, and so below decks where they would not be seen. An hour later, they were settled into a cabin, nervously hoping they’d be under way before Traanzo started looking, or at least before he had the ships inspected. It was, to be sure, a long hour that followed, but at the end were the squeaks of wood and shouting of orders and tramping of feet and clanking of chains, and they felt the ship gather way and begin the long journey down the Funnel (as it was known in those days) and out into the open sea.
With Livosha and Kefaan, if not safe, at least having escaped the more immediate danger, permit us to say two words about the ship that was, they hoped, conveying them to safety. The Hartre’s Kiss as she was called was of the type known officially—that is to say, by the shipyard—as the White Harbor Sweeper, but unofficially as the Bucking Crate, that is to say, a two-masted, square-rigged ship, one sail on the foremast, two on the mainmast, designed to carry as much freight as possible and as few hands as possible, resulting in an unweatherly, cranky ship with a wide beam and a deep hold and, as her crews often said, “A nose like a bloodhound for a lee shore.” Or, as they also said, “What she lacks in speed she makes up in bulkiness.”
Still, the size of the hold did permit a great deal to be carried at once, and, moreover, she was comfortable far out from land, both of which were advantageous to her owners, the former because, if she got through without encountering pirates, they stood to make a small fortune with each trip, and, second, because the further from land, the less chance there was of encountering the water-borne marauders. With this, and the winds they encountered once clear of the Funnel, they had, after thirty-four days, gone south of Elde and west of Greenaere, and were heading northward toward the mainland.
It was at this point that, in the cabin where they were spending most of their time so as to avoid getting in the way of the crew, that they suddenly heard the stamping of feet, and the ship heeled alarmingly, which would have caused Kefaan to spill his wine had not Livosha saved it with a quick grasp. Livosha handed it back and said, “This could be trouble.”
“The weather seems fair.”
“I agree. It is not the weather.”
“The crew appear competent and the captain skilled.”
“So it is not an error by the crew or the captain.”
“Therefore?”
“Pirates?”
“So I would guess, sister. And also hope.”
“Hope?”
“Better pirates than Prince Traanzo having gone to such lengths to find us.”
“That is true.”
“Shall we, then, go on deck and offer our assistance?”
“Let us first arm ourselves.”
“I agree with this plan.”
They found their swords still where they had stowed them, strapped them on, and climbed onto deck, where the situation was instantly clear from the sailors, though attending to business, all looking off the starboard beam (we should explain that starboard is a nautical term that means the right-hand side of a ship when facing forward. Its opposite, larboard, refers, obviously, to the right-hand side of a ship when facing backward). Following this gaze, then, they could clearly see a ship, close enough to tell that it had two masts, and was fore-and-aft rigged; this was, in the opinion of Livosha, too close.
They found the first mate, the same fellow who had first conducted them on board, who was busy directing the sails be adjusted to attempt to get a little more speed. In between orders, Livosha said, “Where would you like us?”
“Below,” he said, without turning around.
“We can fight.”
“In fact,” said Kefaan, “it would be more precise to say she can fight. Nevertheless, I do have a weapon.”
The mate spared them a glance, grunted, and said, “They’ll be boarding us on the larboard side aft. Find a place between there and the mainmast, that’s where they’ll press us.”
“The larboard side? And yet, they are coming up on the starboard side.”
“Well,” said the mate, who evidently was not inclined to explain.
“Do they kill everyone?” said Kefaan. “I ask, you perceive, only out of a certain unimportant curiosity.”
“Some do, some don’t. Some only do if you annoy them.” He looked out at the approaching ship, now, it seemed to Livosha, noticeably closer than it had been. “I intend to annoy them,” said the mate.
“And yet,” said Kefaan, “I was told they accept ransom.”
“They do, most of them.”
“Well, and?”
He shrugged. “Our owner doesn’t choose to pay ransom. He considers it beneath him.”
“Ah, well. And where is he?”
“Adrilankha.”
“That is but natural,” said Kefaan. “But isn’t it a poor business decision?”
“Perhaps. And yet, we have made nine journeys to Northport and nine back without incident.”
“Nothing lasts forever.”
“That is true,” said the mate. “If the Orb does not, what can?”
Gradually, the pirate ship came closer, until Livosha was able to see the flag, gray with upturned dagger. “What is that in front of it?” she asked.
“A ram,” said the mate, who was now methodically, and with no sign of distress, directing the crew to defensive positions, save for those who remained aloft or ready to haul on a rope.
“A ram? But, correct me if I’m wrong, if they strike us with the ram, will we not sink?”
“It is almost a certainty.”
“Well, but, if we sink, will they not be unable to retrieve the cargo?”
“Oh, no. A ram that size will not tear such a large hole. They will almost certainly have an hour or two to transfer the cargo.”
“Ah, I see. And will the captain prevent them from ramming us?”
“She means to. If the Kiss were a little more nimble, I’d put odds on her, she knows some tricks. But as it is, well, we shall see.”
As the ships came closer, Livosha felt herself grow at once more tense and less tense, an odd feeling that she could not recall having experienced before. It was, she thought, a result of impending danger, which she had also not experienced before; the danger she had encountered in the past occurring suddenly. How odd it would be, she thought, to discover myself skilled in facing a surprise attack, yet unable to face an attack I knew was coming. And yet, though observing herself as if she were a stranger, she did not believe she would have this problem; her hands felt light, her feet seemed attached to the deck, her mind was clear, and her eyes sharp.
Quite suddenly, there was crisp word of command from the captain, and the crew, that is to say, those who were not standing ready to defend against the boarders, sprang into action. Even Livosha, with all of her experience on the western coast, could not follow the rapidly unfolding events as the ship heeled, seemed about to turn in one direction, then, in a way that no ship ought to be able to do, especially one as unwieldy as the Hartre’s Kiss, she came about the other way, and she was suddenly next to the pirate ship, then they touched, the pirate’s ram making a sound like a wounded darr as it scored the side of the Kiss, but failed to penetrate.
The pirates, wearing all the colors of all the Houses, and (as the saying is) “a few for the future,” leapt aboard, their weapons as numerous as their colors, shouting and yelling and making all manner of sounds that had nothing in common except volume and the quality of fear they inspired.
Livosha was busy, then. She had fought before, but never been in anything that could be called a battle, in which she was pushed and jostled a thousand times in a thousand directions, in which by the time she had determined if the person before her was friend or foe that person’s face was gone, another face or back or axe or foot in its place. She was never after able to recall most of it, nor guess how long it went on, but suddenly she found herself and few others in the center of a ring of enemies, bodies moaning on the deck, a few of them not moving. She looked for Kefaan, and found him not far from her, on one knee, holding his arm with blood leaking through his fingers. He caught her eye and winked at her.
One of the pirates, who seemed to be in charge, said, “Lay down your weapons and we will spare your lives.”
There were the sounds of swords and axes falling to the deck. A moment later the pirate looked at Livosha and said, “Well?”
“Bah,” she said. “I am uncertain if I wish my life spared.”
“That is up to you,” he said. He was a squat, bandy-legged man holding an odd, long blade with a backward curve of a type Livosha had never seen before. “But, you perceive, I do mean it about sparing your life.”
“Well, that is good, and yet, spare it for what?”
“Why, whatever you wish. We will relieve you of your cargo and send you on your way, and even supply a letter saying that you had received us as your guests, which will prevent any further trouble from our friends.”
“And yet—”
“Well?”
“I like this sword, having had it for so long. I should hate to give it up.”
“You perceive, if you attack us with it, you will die, and then someone will take your sword just the same.”
“You make a good argument.”
“And then?”
Livosha sighed. “Very well, then.” She dropped her sword and shrugged, then went over to see to her brother who, at that moment, fell over onto his face. With a cry, she turned him over, and saw that not only had he the wound in his arm, but also a gash low on his abdomen, and he was very pale.
She looked around to see if anyone might assist her, but there were too many wounded. She did what she could, however, tearing clothing off dead men and attempting to slow the bleeding. Sometime later, perhaps an hour, perhaps two, she felt someone standing over her. She turned, and it was the pirate captain, looking concerned. “Who is it?” he asked.
“My brother.”
“He needs attention.”
“Indeed he does.”
“I have a physicker on my ship, and, moreover, we are only a day’s sail from our harbor, whereas this ship, wherever she may go, will be days.”
“And then?”
“If you wish, I will arrange transport for you and your brother to our port, and do what we can to help him.”
“And, in exchange for this?”
“You fought well to-day. You wounded at least four of my men, and one of them may not recover.”
“Well?”
“Would you like your sword back?”
Livosha felt her eyes narrow, and waited. At length the other said, “Have you ever considered piracy? I would like you to join my crew. I can promise good accommodation, wealth, and above all, freedom. Moreover, of course, we will do all we can for your brother.”
Livosha looked at her brother, pale and still bleeding. She was aware of her hand trembling. He opened his eyes at that moment, and silently mouthed the word, “No.”
“But my brother—”
He coughed and managed to whisper, “You know you cannot. If you do, who are you? And who am I?” Then he shuddered. The rise and fall of his chest continued, but seemed slower and more labored.
Livosha rose and looked at the pirate. “Your name, sir?”
“I am called Nosaj. And you, madam?”
“I am Livosha, and I fear I must decline your offer. I am an Iorich, and, as my brother has done the honor to remind me, I must remain one. You perceive, to rob and steal and kill for money those who have done me no harm, well, I confess I am more likely to seek you out than to join you.”
Nosaj sighed. “Well, I understand. It is a shame, however. You’d have made a good pirate. Apropos, if you choose to come looking for me, well, I am easily found. My port is Far Harbor, and I will do my best to entertain you, although you will understand if, for the moment, I do not return you your sword.”
“I’ll find another.”
“I do not doubt that you will.”
There was then the sound of a new voice, cutting into the conversation. “I think, my dear Nosaj, that you are incorrect. On the contrary, as these are the very two for whom I have paid you, I believe that, by our agreement, you will return her sword, and, moreover, bring her brother to your base, all without extracting a promise of any kind.”
These words were said in a low tone that could be best described as conversational, yet had, at the same time, an air of authority that could not be denied. Livosha looked up in curiosity, and saw a figure dressed in the colors of the Jhereg. She next observed that she, herself, was the object of the Jhereg’s scrutiny. She studied his countenance, then, and, without being aware of making any decision to move, she found herself on her feet, staring.
“Eremit!” she cried.
“Well,” said the Jhereg.