The Priestess of Argo laughed. “Captain, take him.” She looked at Geo. “The words for calming the angry bear have been recited before him. Now, Geo, we will see how good a poet you are, and if the spell works.” At last she turned to Urson. “Have you ever killed a man?”
Urson was silent a moment. “I have.”
“Had you told me that,” said the Priestess, “I would have chosen you first. I have need of you also. Captain, you must take him. If he is a good sailor, then we cannot spare him. I will channel what special talents he may have. Geo, since you said the spell and are his friend, I charge you with his control. Also, I wish to talk with you, Poet, student of rituals. Come. You all stay on shipboard tonight.”
She signaled them to follow, and they mounted the plank onto the deck. At the request to speak with Geo, Urson, Snake, and Jordde had exchanged glances; but now, as they crossed to the hatch, all were silent.
Chapter Two
An oil lamp leaked yellow light on the wooden walls. A mustiness of stale bedding lay around them as the three entered. Geo wrinkled his nose, then shrugged.
“Well,” said Urson, “this is a pleasant enough hole.” He climbed one of the tiers of bunked beds and pounded the ticking with the flat of his hand. “Here, I’ll take this one. Wriggly-arms, you look like you have a strong stomach; you take the middle. And Geo, sling yourself down in the bottom there.” He clumped to the floor. “The lower down you are,” he explained, “the better you sleep, because of the rocking. Well, what do you think of your first forecastle?”
The poet was silent. Double pins of light struck yellow dots in his dark eyes, then went out as he turned from the lamp.
“I put you in the bottom because a little rough weather can unseat your belly pretty fast if you’re up near the ceiling and not used to it,” Urson expounded, dropping his hand heavily on Geo’s shoulder. “I told you I’d look out for you, didn’t I, friend?”
But Geo turned away and seemed to examine something else.
Urson looked at Snake, who was watching him from against the wall. Urson’s glance was questioning. But Snake stayed silent.
“Hey,” Urson called to Geo once more. “Let’s you and me take a run around this ship and see what’s tied down where. A good sailor does that first thing — unless he’s too drunk. That lets the Captain and the Mate know he’s got an alert eye out, and sometimes he can learn something that will ease some back-bending later on. What do you say?”
“Not now, Urson,” interrupted Geo. “You go.”
“Would you please tell me why my company suddenly isn’t good enough for you? This silence is a bilgy way to treat somebody who’s sworn himself to see that you make the best first voyage that a man could have. Why, I think — ”
“When did you kill a man?”
Silence rumbled in the cabin, more palpable than the slosh of water outside. Urson stood still; his hands twisted to knots of bone and muscle. Then they opened. “Maybe it was a year ago,” he said softly. “And maybe it was a year, two months, and five days, on a Thursday morning at eight o’clock in the brig of a heaving ship. Which would make it one year, two months, five days and ten hours, now.”
“You killed a man? How could you go all this time and not tell me about it, then admit it to a stranger just like that. You were my friend; we’ve slept under the same blanket, drunk from the same wineskin. What sort of a person are you?”
“And what sort of a person are you?” asked the giant. “A nosy bastard that I’d break in seven pieces if…” He sucked in a breath. “If I hadn’t promised I’d make no trouble. I’ve never broken a promise to anyone, alive or dead.” The fists formed, relaxed again.
“Urson, I didn’t mean to judge you. Know that. But tell me about it. We’ve been like brothers; you can’t keep a thing like that from….”
The heavy breathing continued. “You’re so quick to tell me what I can or cannot do.” Suddenly he raised one hand, flung it away, and spat on the floor. He turned toward the steps.
Then the noise hit. No, it was higher than sound. And it nearly broke their heads. Geo caught his ears and whirled toward Snake. The boy’s black eyes darted twin spots of light to Urson, to Geo, and back.
The noise came again, quieter this time, and recognizable as the word help. Only it was no sound; rather, the fading hum of a tuning fork rung inside their skulls, immediate yet fuzzy.
You…help…me…together…came the words once more, indistinct and blurring into one another.
“Hey,” Urson said, “is that you?”
Do…not…angry…came the words.
“We’re not angry,” Geo said. “What are you doing?”
I…thinking…The words seemed to generate from the boy.
“What sort of a way to think is that if everyone can hear it?” demanded Urson.
Snake tried to explain: Not…everyone…just…you…you…think…I…hear…came the soundless words. I…think…you…hear…
“I know we hear,” Urson said. “It’s just like you were talking.”
“That’s not what he means,” Geo said. “He means he hears what we think just like we hear him. Is that right, Snake?”
When…you…think…loud…I…hear…
“I may just have been doing some pretty loud thinking,” Urson said. “And if I thought something I wasn’t supposed to — well, I apologize.”
Snake didn’t seem interested in the apology, but asked again: You…help…me…together…
“What sort of help do you want?” Geo asked.
“And what sort of trouble are you in that you need help out of it?” added Urson.
You…don’t…have…good…minds…Snake said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Urson asked. “Our minds are as good as any in Leptar. You heard the way the Priestess talked to my friend the poet, here.”
“I think he means we don’t hear very well,” said Geo.
Snake nodded.
“Oh,” Urson said. “Well then, you’ll just have to go slow and be patient with us.”
Snake shook his head: Mind…hoarse…when…shout…so…loud…Suddenly he went over to the bunks. You…hear…better…see…too…if…sleep…
“Sleep is sort of far from me,” Urson said, rubbing his beard with the back of his wrist.
“Me too,” Geo admitted. “Can’t you tell us something more?”
Sleep…Snake said.
“What about talking like an ordinary human being?” suggested Urson, still somewhat perplexed.
Once…speak…Snake told them.
“You say you could speak once?” asked Geo. “What happened?”
Here the boy opened his mouth and pointed.
Geo stepped forward, held the boy’s chin in his hand, examined the face, and peered into the mouth. “By the Goddess!”
“What is it?” Urson asked.
Geo came away now, his face in a sickly frown. “His tongue has been hacked out,” he told the giant. “And not too neatly.”
“Who on the seven seas and six continents did a thing like that to you, boy?” Urson demanded.
Snake shook his head.
“Now come on, Snake,” he urged. “You can’t keep secrets like that from friends and expect them to rescue you from I don’t know what. Now who was it hacked your voice away!”
What…man…you…kill…came the sound.
Urson stopped, and then he laughed. “All right,” he said. “I see.” His voice rose once more. “But if you can hear thoughts, you know the man already. And you know the reason. And this is what we’d find out from you, if only for help and friendship’s sake.”