“And miss thrashing his little backside?”
“He will not run away.”
Urson released him.
Four hands came down and began massaging one another’s wrists. The dark eyes watched her as she repeated: “How good a thief are you?”
Suddenly he reached into his clout and drew out what seemed another thong similar to the one around his neck. He held up the fist, the fingers opened slowly to a cage.
“What is it?” Urson peered over Snake’s shoulder.
The woman leaned forward, then suddenly straightened. “You…” she began.
Snake’s fist closed like a sea polyp.
“You are a fine thief indeed.”
“What is it?” Urson asked. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Show them,” she said.
Snake opened his hand. On the dirty palm, in coiled leather, held by a clumsy wire cage was a milky sphere the size of a man’s eye.
“A very fine thief,” repeated the woman in a voice dulled strangely from its previous brittle clarity. She had pulled her veil aside now. Geo saw, where her hand had again risen to her throat, the tips of her slim fingers held an identical jewel; only this one, in a platinum claw, hung from a wrought gold chain.
Her eyes, unveiled, rose to meet Geo’s. A slight smile lifted her lips. “No,” she said. “Not quite so clever as I thought. At first I believed he had taken mine. But clever enough. You, schooled in the antiquity of Leptar’s rituals, can you tell me what these baubles mean?”
Geo shook his head.
A breath suspired her pale mouth, and though her eyes still fixed his, she seemed to draw away, blown into some past shadow by the sigh. “No,” she said. “It has all been lost or destroyed by the old priests and priestesses, the old poets.
She spoke the lines reverently. “Do you recognize any of this? Can you tell me where they are from?”
“Only one stanza of it,” said Geo. “And that in a slightly different form.” He recited:
“Well.” She looked surprised. “You have done better than all the priests and priestesses of Leptar. What about this fragment? Where is it from?”
“It is a stanza of the discarded rituals of the Goddess Argo, the ones banned and destroyed five hundred years ago. The rest of the poem is completely lost,” explained Geo. “Your priests and priestesses would not be aware of it, very likely. I discovered that stanza when I peeled away the binding paper of an ancient tome that I found in the Antiquity Collection in the Temple Library at Acedia. Apparently a page from an even older book had been used in the binding of this one. That is the only way it survived. I assume these are fragments of the rituals before Leptar purged her litanies. I know at least my variant stanza belongs to that period. Perhaps you have received a misquoted rendition; I will vouch for the authenticity of mine.”
“No,” she said regretfully. “Mine is the authentic version. So you too are not that clever.” She turned back to the boy. “But I have need of a good thief. Will you come with me? And you, Poet. I have need of one who thinks so meticulously and who delves into places where even my priests and priestesses cannot go. Will you come with me also?”
“Where are we going?”
“Aboard that ship.” She smiled evasively toward the vessel.
“That’s a good boat,” said Urson. “I’d be proud to sail on her, Geo.”
“The Captain is in my service,” she told Geo. “He will take you on. Perhaps you will get a chance to see the world and become the man you wish to be.”
Geo saw Urson looking uneasy. “My friend goes on whatever ship I do. This we’ve promised each other. Besides, he is a good sailor, while I have no knowledge of the sea.”
“On our last journey,” the woman explained, “we lost men. I do not think your friend will have trouble getting a berth.”
“Then we’ll be honored to come,” said Geo. “Under whose service shall we be, then, for we still don’t know who you are?”
The veil fell across her face again. “I am a high priestess of the Goddess Argo. Now, who are you?”
“My name is Geo,” Geo told her.
“I welcome you aboard our ship.”
Just then, from down the street, came the Captain and Jordde. They walked slowly and heavily from the shadow that angled over the cobbles. The Captain squinted past the ships toward the horizon. Copper light filled the wrinkles and burnished the planes around his gray eyes. The Priestess turned to them. “Captain, I have three men as a token replacement for the ones my folly helped to lose.”
Urson, Geo, and Snake frowned at one another and then looked at the Captain.
Jordde shrugged. “You did almost as well as we did, ma’am.”
“And the ones we did get…” The Captain shook his head. “Not the caliber of sailor I’d want for this sort of journey. Not at all.”
“I’m a good sailor for any man’s journey,” Urson said, “though it be to the earth’s end and back.”
“You seem strong, a sea-bred man. But this one”—the Captain looked at Snake — “one of the Strange Ones…”
“They’re bad luck on a ship,” said the Mate. “Most ships won’t take them at all, ma’am. This one’s just a boy and, for all his spindles there, couldn’t haul rope or reef sails. He’d be no good to us at all. And we’ve had too much bad luck already.”
“He’s not for rope pulling,” explained the Priestess. “The little Snake is my guest. The others you can put to ship’s work. I know you are short of men. But I have my own plans for this one.”
“As you say, ma’am,” said the Captain.
“But, Priestess — ” began Jordde.
“As you say,” repeated the Captain, and the Mate stepped back, quieted. The Captain turned to Geo now. “And who are you?”
“I’m Geo, before and still a poet. But I’ll do what work you set me, sir.”
“Today, young man, that’s all I can ask of any sailor. You will find berths below. There are many vacant.”
“And you?” Jordde asked Urson.
“I’m a good sea-son of the waves, can stand triple watch without flagging, and I believe I’m already hired.” He looked to the Captain.
“What do they call you?” Jordde asked. “You have a familiar look, like one I’ve had under me before.”
“They call me the handsome sailor, the fastest rope reeler, the quickest line hauler, the speediest reefer — ”
“Your name, man, your name!”
“Some call me Urson.”
“That’s the name I knew you by before! But you had no beard then. Do you think I’d sail with you again when I myself wrote out your banning in black and white and sent it to every captain and mate in the dock? What sort of a crazy hawk would I be to pour poison like you into my forecastle? For three months now you’ve had no berth, and if you had none for three hundred years it would be too soon.” Jordde turned to the Captain now. “He’s a troublemaker, sir; he fights. Though he’s wild as waves and with the strength of a mizzen spar; spirit in a man is one thing, and a tussle or two the same; but good sailor though he is, I’ve sworn not to have him on ship with me, sir. He’s nearly murdered half a dozen men and probably murdered half a dozen more. No mate who knows the men of this harbor will take him on.”