His cabin was tiny, and he sat at a built-in desk shelf that lowered from the hull wall on two braided silk cords. He did not hide his surprise at the sight of her.
“Pardon,” she said quickly. “May I enter?”
“Of course. Is something wrong?”
She stepped in and closed the door. He was a slender man with dusky skin and dark eyes.
“Nothing,” she said, and then purposefully faltered, displaying all the hesitancy of someone pressed to a hard choice. Depending on what he told her in the next few moments, she might have to kill him.
“I have not told you, but we are trying to”—she struggled for the correct term—“catch up with another ship. We hoped to do so in Chathburh ... but missed it.”
He shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“We have family aboard a ship called Cloud Queen. We were ... to board that ship but missed it at the isle.”
He relaxed at that and stood up. “You should have told me sooner.” Walking to a map on the wall, he asked, “What kind of ship is the Cloud Queen?”
“Very large ... for large cargo.”
“Do you know by how long we missed it?”
“A day ... maybe more.”
Samara turned back to his desk and spread out one roll of canvas to reveal another map. He tapped one point on it. “We are here, just south of Chathburh. The next port for a vessel of that make and size would be Drist.” Looking to her, he pursed his lips. “Normally I advise passengers to not disembark there, for it is an unlawful place. But a large cargo vessel has to sail farther out from shore, in deeper water. I keep the Bashair closer to shore, and she is swifter. We should pass this other vessel by tomorrow at the latest. We will make Drist well before she does.”
Samara paused again, and this time, taking a deep breath, he folded his arms. “But I won’t keep my ship there long. If you want to wait for your family, you will have to find lodgings ... and I do not advise that in a place like Drist.”
Dänvârfij nodded, suppressed any visible relief, and even tried to smile.
“We will manage. And thank you.”
But her thoughts were turning as she left. If the Bashair overtook the Cloud Queen and reached Drist first, there was no reason to seize this ship yet. And if Drist was the lawless place Samara described, so much the more in favor of her purpose.
On deck near the aftcastle, Én’nish grew restless. The plan was to kill and toss overboard anyone in the open and then silently work their way down through all entrances, until the remaining crew below were cornered and locked in. They could then decide how many to keep alive to man the vessel.
Too many days of inaction—other than caring for Fréthfâre—had left her half-mad to do something. She had bitten back a hiss when Eywodan had signaled everyone to wait as Dänvârfij walked off below, alone.
Én’nish looked to Rhysís, standing at the opposite rail near the forward mast. He glanced more than once toward the aft, where Dänvârfij had vanished, and then shook his head slightly. He kept clenching the hand of his recovering arm.
Én’nish was thankful when Dänvârfij reemerged, and set herself, ready to pull her blades. She picked out the closest sailor checking rigging near the rearward mast, and she looked for the next signal.
Dänvârfij stopped, barely beyond the rearward entrance to below. She leveled her left hand at her side, palm down, and slowly swept it outward away from her thigh.
Én’nish clenched all over.
Why had Dänvârfij called off the attack and ordered them to go below?
Tavithê straightened where he leaned against the forward mast, sauntered idly toward Dänvârfij, and headed below. But, like Én’nish, Rhysís stood his place and stared at Dänvârfij. Only then did Eywodan walk away from the prow.
Rhysís did not move, and neither did Én’nish.
Eywodan traversed the far rail and came up behind Rhysís to settle, leaning on the rail with his elbows as he looked out to sea. A slow turn of his head brought his gaze around to fix on Rhysís’s back, as if he might pierce his comrade with only his eyes. As Eywodan shifted, his eyes turned on Én’nish with equal warning.
Rhysís lowered his head and only half looked back, as he was well aware that Eywodan stood behind him. With a slow breath, he headed after Tavithê and never once looked at Dänvârfij.
Still Eywodan watched Én’nish—and did not move until she did. Unlike Rhysís, Én’nish never flinched from looking Dänvârfij in the eyes as she passed.
Dänvârfij ignored Én’nish’s glare and did not even follow the young one’s path below. Instead, she stood waiting as Eywodan drew near. They had no one except for him to manage this vessel. With Samara’s assurance of overtaking the Cloud Queen, seizing the ship was not the expedient strategy.
Likely Fréthfâre would hear a jaded and inaccurate account before Dänvârfij even reached the cabin. That was acceptable—this time. In correcting the facts, Dänvârfij would put Én’nish in her place and thereby warn Rhysís against further insubordination. Dissension was unacceptable in their purpose.
Eywodan came up beside her. Glancing about the deck, he cocked his eyebrow again.
“Am I to assume you have something better in mind?” he asked.
Dänvârfij was grateful for his show of support but did not say so. This was expected of all who shared the purpose given to a team’s leader, but she gave him a nod of respect.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Should I come with you to report to Fréthfâre?”
“No, watch the crew ... and anyone else who comes on deck.”
Eywodan nodded and wandered off. He settled where Rhysís had stood stubbornly a moment ago and leaned against the rail. Dänvârfij turned to head below.
What she did now was best done alone, for authority. There would be no further open defiance, regardless of anyone’s rightful desire for revenge ... even her own.
Chapter Seventeen
The next day, Leesil was on deck, and for once the ship’s rolling didn’t make him quite so miserable. Though he certainly didn’t feel normal, at least he’d kept breakfast down. Magiere, having recovered for the most part from that bit of ugliness in Chathburh, sat on a barrel behind him. She was still unsettled, but as so often before, they’d chosen not to talk about it.
Leanâlhâm was kneeling by Chap, and the two were obviously in some kind of “chat,” though Leesil heard bits from only the girl’s side. It struck him that those two had been getting awfully chummy lately, but at least Leanâlhâm wasn’t hiding away as much.
Still, he worried about her future. For someone so young, she’d lost too many people in her life. What would happen when it came time for her and Chap to part ways?
Leesil knew full well that they would eventually. All that remained to figure out was where Leanâlhâm should go. The sight of her beside the dog as the two huddled against the rough breeze only made such a notion worse.
Leanâlhâm was Sgäile’s niece, and just as with Magiere, Leesil wasn’t about to let anything happen to her. That also meant getting her somewhere well away from Brot’an. And the old assassin was a bigger problem.
Brot’an stood hulking over the rail and gazing toward the distant shore.
Leesil noticed an almost imperceptible stiffening of Brot’an’s shoulders. Anyone else might have missed it, but he had received too much dark tutoring from his mother. Slipping to the rail, he followed Brot’an’s gaze.
Under the steady wind, a small two-masted vessel sailed along nearer the shoreline.