“I think I’m Karoumang, Captain and Owner of this vessel and it makes all kinds of trouble for me when a passenger falls overboard because she’s too lamebrained to know what the hell she’s doing.”
“Oh.” She passed her hand from her brow to her nape, feeling the straggles and bunches dragged into her hair. A mess. She must look terrible.
“Here. Let me have that thing.” He took the veil from her, hung it over a lamp hook. “You can retrieve it later. You still want to go on deck?”
Hands pressing her hair down, she nodded. It seemed safest not to say anything.
He followed her up the ladder, grabbed a handful of her jacket as the wind caught her again. “Been on a riverboat before?”
She hesitated, then shook her head.
“First thing to remember, when we’re moving there’s wind, no wind, we stop.”
She snorted, tried to pull away. “I’m not a child.”
He ignored that, kept his hold on the back of her jacket and moved her along, threading through the bales and barrels piled about the deck, roped in place or confined by heavy nets. “Second thing, wind takes us upriver. Down, the river takes us and we fight the wind. One way or another there’s always wind.” He piloted her past the mainmast, the noise of the sails and the singing of what seemed hundreds of ropes was all around her; it was like air, always there, so much so that in minutes she scarcely heard it, underscoring what he’d just said to her. “Third thing, this is a cargo boat. We take passengers, but not many of them. The cargo comes first. Passengers, even cabin passengers, should stay put when we’re moving. If they think they need air, they should get air when we’re tied up at one of our calls. Or they should join the deckers in the cage and stay there.”
He stopped her by a heavy ladder with a hand rail; it led to a raised platform in the bow. “Up,” he said.
She glared at him, considered telling him what she thought of him; she wasn’t quite sure what she did think of him, so she kept silent, caught hold of the rail as he took his hand away. She went up those steps quickly; in spite of her irritation she was enjoying the brisk scour of the wind, the sounds and sights around her, everything new, everything strange and exciting. Even Karoumang, or perhaps especially Karoumang. Her body responded to him even as her mind said be careful, woman. As she stepped onto the narrow flat, she kept hold of the railing, made her way along it until she was looking down into the yellow water foaming about the bow. A small boy who was an exact miniature of Karoumang looked up from his perch in a bag net suspended from a stubby bowsprit; he waved a small grimy hand and went back to his watch, green eyes like Karoumang’s intent on the water ahead. A tarnished silver horn hung on a thong about his neck, swaying with the movement of the boat.
Karoumang leaned over the rail. “Lijh’t aja, i’klak?”
“Tijh, ahpa.”
Korimenei looked from the boy to the man. “Your son?”
“One of them. I was asking about snags and he was saying there aren’t any So far.” His eyes laughed at her as he turned to face her. He set his left arm on the rail, leaned on it. “Enigma,” he said.
“The river?”
“You.”
“Certainly not. Nothing difficult about me, I’m simply going home.”
“Not up this river.” why?”
“Nobody like you north of here. Croaldhu, I wouldn’t be surprised, Yuntipek I am. Married?”
“None of your business.”
He inspected her, paying no attention to her words. “I don’t think so. No man worth the name would let you run around alone. Virgin?”
“Definitely none of your business.” She thought about leaving; this conversation was getting out of hand. She didn’t want to leave. She glanced at him, looked quickly away.
“Hmm. I’ll let that one hang. Twenty one, two… no, I’d say twenty-nine.”
“Twenty-four.” She snapped it out before she thought, glared at him when she realized what she’d done.
He stopped smiling, narrowed his eyes at her. “Over age, alone, no guards, no chaperone. Not someone’s daughter coming from a visit or going to a wedding. Not wed, not courtesan, not player, not trader. Priestess or acolyte? No, the attitude’s all wrong. You’re no holy she. Holy terror, maybe. Student?”
She thought that over for a moment, then she nodded. “Was.”
“Croaldhu? No. You have the look, but your accent’s wrong. And there’s that attitude. You’re a little shy, but there’s fire under it. You’re edgy, but you’re not afraid of me or anyone else. Not womanfear. You think… no, you’re sure you can back me off. I outweigh you and outreach you. If I took a notion, I could pull you limb from limb in about thirty seconds. Or tear those idiot clothes off you, throw you down and do the usual. I don’t see anything you could do to stop me. You’re looking at me now like I’m the idiot.”
“Your word, not mine.”
“I see your shyness is starting to wear thin. Silili?” She thought that over, shrugged. “Why not. Yes.”
“Which school?”
“Does it matter?”
“Curiosity. I’d like to know.”
“The Waymeri Manawha, Head Shahntien Shere.”
“Sponsor?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I have a son with Talent.”
“Ah. He’s in school?”
“Will be, come spring. The Mage Barim Saraja has agreed to sponsor him. For a fee big enough to buy an emperor, though as-a favor don’t repeat that. Yours?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Why not?”
“Why not. The Sorceror Settsimaksimin.”
“One of the Four Primes, eh? I am impressed.”
“So I see.”
“I am.” He moved away from the rail, bowed at the waist, his hands pressed palm to palm before his nose. He straightened, chuckled. “No lie.”
“Curiosity satisfied?”
“Whetted.” He arched a brow at her. “With questions I’m not going to ask. Where you came from and what your story is.” He waited a moment to see if she was going to respond; when she didn’t, he rested both arms on the rail and gazed ahead at the river which was a broad empty stretch of ocher fluid; there was no other traffic in view, only this boat riding the wind upstream. “How you came to the notice of a Prime, what there was about you that interested him.” He looked along his shoulder at her, letting his appreciation show. Odd. She liked it. It was essentially the same as the looks she’d got from men in Jade Halimm and those made her sick. The looks that saw her as prey for the taking. In those long narrow eyes, green as the stones in his ear dangle, it had a different flavor somehow. Definitely she liked it.
“What your rank is now,” he murmured, “and what it’s apt to be when you come to full strength. What you are.” He counted types, tapping his fingers on the rail. “Charm spinner, diviner, dowser, shaman, necromancer, witch, thaumaturge, wizard, magus, sorceror. Do I have them all? Probably not.” His brow shot up again. He seemed to be enjoying this, playing his little wordy game with her, then his pleasure faded. “Where you’re going and why, what you’re doing here, now.” He looked away, the exaggerated Panday curves of his wide mouth straightening to a grim line. “A favor, Satiri. Keep it off my boat.”
“There’s nothing to keep,” she said. “On or off. I’m just traveling. That’s the truth, Karoumang Captain. I’m going somewhere, but where’s a long long way from here and nothing to do with you.” She put her hands on the rail beside his; they looked anemic, sickly almost, next to his rich coppery brown; her arms were thinner than his, much thinner, despite the bulk of the quilted sleeves, and pale like her hands with pale pale pinkish brown freckles scattered through the fine colorless hairs, blitchy blotchy like a red and white cow. She was glad they were hidden. She felt anemic all over, spirit as well as body; her irritation at his prowling round her, sniffing at her, which had armored her so feebly against him, had gone away altogether and left her stranded. She wanted to touch his arm, to see if it was as hard and sleek as it looked. She tried not to think of her initiation, of the golden, glorious chthone who’d made her every nerve a river of fire, but her body was remembering. When she sneaked a look at Karoumang from the corners of her eyes, it seemed to her he was outlined in shimmering gold light, that he was as beautiful as the god had been. She wanted to see him naked like the god; she pictured him naked, lying beside her, his hands on her, his strong hands moving on her. The breath caught in her throat; she tightened her fingers on the rail.