'Dev? Of the Amigal? The shipmaster nodded slowly, recollection kindling a spark in his eyes. He spared the soothsayer a perfunctory nod. 'What are you waiting for? Go on, do your best by us.'
The soothsayer handed the shipmaster the yellow gourd. 'Swirl it round and then pour it out.'
Master Uten cast the liquid out so vigorously that the closest rowers had their feet anointed.
'Do not move!' The soothsayer's commanding voice kept them rooted to the ground, even though the noxious reek of his concoction was making Dev's eyes water.
'What do you see?' the shipmaster demanded.
'I see a sea flower,' intoned the soothsayer solemnly. 'And a squid.'
Dev studied the sand along with everyone else but, try as he might, he could see nothing but random splatters of dark sludge with flies fastening thirstily on them.
'The sea flower drifts through the ocean, seemingly insignificant yet trailing poison tentacles in its wake,' continued the soothsayer. 'As for the squid, there are said to be beasts beyond the western reaches with bodies longer than the biggest galleys, which spin whirlpools in the deeps to draw ships down into their maw.' He looked up sharply. 'We are all at risk of being sucked into dangerous waters, into perilous times. Certainly anyone sailing south risks meeting great peril, coming upon them all unseen, unexpected.' Then, startling everyone, he leaned forward to sweep away the stained sand, scattering the image. 'The rains will bring new luck, to wash away this stain on our futures.'
'If they ever arrive,' grunted the shipmaster. 'The Greater Moon's waxing and we've had no more than a couple of wettings. Bring me weather guidance in the morning and that might be worth something to put in your bowl.'
'I believe I've already earned some consideration,' said the soothsayer, affronted. His gaze slid towards the bubbling cook pot.
'I don't think so,' the shipmaster glowered.
Dev watched with open amusement as the seer gathered up his trappings and his injured dignity and stalked away. These last days before the rains were always good for a few entertaining fights, with every temper so frayed by the incessant heat.
'Well now.' The shipmaster's tone warmed as he glanced around his oarsmen. 'I do remember Dev, now I think on it. And I reckon we've all earned a little relaxation after the pull we made to get here. Dev's the man to supply it, if anyone's got news that he might find of interest.' The unspoken command in his words was plain.
'I've just shipped in from the western reaches,' one man began diffidently. 'There was word of sea serpents beaching themselves in the Sier domain.'
'You never said, 'remarked one of his shipmates with surprise.
The man shrugged. 'Didn't know what to make of it, nor yet if it might be true.'
'I don't see anyone making up such a tale.' Shipmaster Uten shot a challenging look at Dev.
'It would be a curious thing,' nodded Dev in apparent agreement. 'Anyone else heard of such oddities?'
'They're saying there's magic loose in the southern reaches.' A younger man volunteered this, half laughing, half looking for reassurance. 'You can ask what you like for a good talisman, I heard.'
'I heard it was warfare.' An older man beside him wasn't amused. 'Nearly as bad.'
'Which do you suppose it is?' Dev looked at the shipmaster. 'Certainty's worth more than guesses.'
The shipmaster turned to pick out a sombre face in the circle. 'Ruil, you joined us from a ship coming from the Tule domain. What was the word on the wind thereabouts?'
'I don't know about words on the wind.' The man licked cautious lips, sweat on his forehead gleaming in the low sun. 'But there was certainly smoke.'
'How so?' Dev didn't have to feign interest at that.
At his shipmaster's nod, Ruil continued thoughtfully. 'It looked like cloud at first but too high up and with no hint of rain. You could taste the char in the back of your throat. Some days it was thicker than others, like fog, only not. Some days, it was all but gone but then it came back. Three babies died around the anchorage in the same night, them and an old woman, and the spokesman's grandsire. There wasn't a mark of illness on them but they were dead all the same. Tule Reth decreed it an ill omen and that no ships from the southerly reaches were allowed to land. That's when I decided to come north.'
'That sounds more like pestilence than warfare or magic' Dev looked sceptical.
'Tule Reth wouldn't let ships coming out of the southern reaches land but he let them pass.' Ruil shook his head obstinately. 'If he thought they could be carrying some disease, he'd have set his triremes sinking any that reached his sea lanes. It was wickedness in the wind, not sickness.'
'There's no end of people looking for passage north.' The shipmaster gestured around the shallow curve of the bay now vanishing into a soft dusk. 'None are falling sick, so whatever they're fleeing, it's not disease. Whatever it is, it's bad enough to risk travelling through the rains to get away from it. There's more than one of us heard rumour that it's magic'
'Warfare or magic' Dev nodded slowly, still holding the shipmaster's gaze. He'd be cursed if he was going to look away first. 'Either way though, that's news worth something to lighten your cares.'
The shipmaster grinned and snapped his fingers at a crewman with a bucket of wooden bowls. 'Give our friend something to line his belly.'
'Thanks.' Dev accepted a steaming bowl pungent with herbs and full of chunks of fish. The rowers crowded round to collect their share and Dev grabbed a torn slab of flatbread to soak up the broth well thickened with crab-meat. Tossing the empty bowl back into the bucket, he grinned at the shipmaster. 'That's the best meal I've eaten in a while. I'll go and see what I might have to liven up your evening by way of return.'
'Jailan, go and give him a hand.' The shipmaster jerked his head at the oarsman.
Back by the water, Dev climbed briskly aboard the Amigal. Once down in the cramped stern cabin where his few possessions were stowed in his hammock or shut away in the battered chest bolted to the floor, Dev fished beneath his tunic for keys hung on a chain around his waist. Kicking aside a couple of discarded scarves and an empty pot of face paint that one of the girls had left, he unlocked the door to the little ship's main hold and went in.
Dev closed the door, shutting himself into pitch-blackness. A moment later, a small white flame appeared, dancing on his palm, illuminating his grinning face. Taer Badul could issue his petulant edicts against magic, just like every other petty Aldabreshin tyrant. They wouldn't catch him. He didn't even need his magic to evade them, superior intelligence more than sufficed.
The flame brightened to throw light on all the various necessities for keeping the Amigal seaworthy and Dev fed that were stowed in chests and casks secured along one side of a hold barely tall enough for Dev to stand in, even with his less than common height. He turned to the row of barrels opposite. Beyond stood baskets well stuffed with tandra fluff, a motley collection of bottles poking out of the white fibres like bulbous green seeds. Dev made a quick accounting and scowled. This was the problem with coming so far south. Plenty of people wanted his wares but there were no opportunities to replenish his stocks.
Still, he would be the last one to go short. Dev pulled a horn cup from a half-empty basket and a dark bottle with a crusted wax seal declaring its distant barbarian origins. Tossing his cold little flame into the air where it hung, fluttering like a guttering candle, he levered the bottle's cork out with his Barbak dagger. He took a sip and rolled it thoughtfully around his mouth. The shining surface of the white brandy reflected the dancing flame and Dev's creased brow.