Pen had a distinct sense of his boots sinking into a bog, deeper and deeper.
“Papa gave Mama a little house in Raspay,” Seuka went on. “I liked it there. We slept out on the porch above the back garden when it was hot. But the landlord said we couldn’t stay there by ourselves without Mama.”
Raspay was a modest port town in the princedom of Jokona, on the western side of the peninsula, right. A merchant based in Zagosur might easily make it the terminus of some personal coastal trade route. “Did your papa have no family in Zagosur?”
Lencia scowled. “Too much. He has a wife and children there. He wouldn’t ever take us to meet them, and Mama said she didn’t know, and we weren’t to pester.”
She being, presumably, the legitimate wife. Some such women were tolerant of husbandly by-blows. Most were not. So if not orphans outright, the sisters were half-orphans for certain; bastards by Ibran law, and by Jokonan as well if the second wife wasn’t official.
And, of course, they were here. As he was. Was propinquity a theological hazard?
“So, Jokona,” sighed Pen. “Are you Quadrenes or Quintarians?”
They tensed, looking anxiously at each other. “Which are you?” said Lencia after a cautious moment.
“Quintarian,” said Pen firmly. “Very common in my country.” Countries, he supposed. He had traveled far from the cold cantons in late years.
Two sets of narrow shoulders relaxed. “Papa is Quintarian,” Lencia offered. “Mama said we could be Quintarian at home, but had to be Quadrene outside. So… I don’t know… partly?”
Pen spared a moment of fresh loathing for the sectarian idiocy that made even children afraid.
Well. A trained divine and sorcerer seemed a generous gift to fellow wards of the white god, here in this hold. Though surely any other decent adult would have taken up responsibility for the helpless…
The gods are parsimonious, murmured Des, slyly quoting his own text back at him. A slight sense of preening.
So it seems. Just once, Pen thought glumly, he’d like to get an answer to prayers, instead of being delivered as one.
And where are we going now? If his bodiless demon had possessed any eyes but his own, Pen thought they’d be crinkled in amusement.
Lodi. Evidently. He could feel the new weight dropping onto his shoulders like baggage onto a packhorse. Somehow.
Clunks and clanks vibrated through the bulkhead, and the thumps of footfalls. Calls in Adriac and Roknari filtered down through the grating—bellowed orders and acknowledgements, not screams. The ship surged sideways, evidently unmooring from the cargo coaster. Flapping canvas snapped taut, and the ship heeled in response.
Des, what can you make out? It was past time to take a wider survey of his situation and what resources he had.
They seem to have split their crew. Taking the coaster whole as a prize, I daresay. I imagine they will travel in convoy to whatever port they use to sell off their captives and goods.
Which port was an important question. In times of war, combatants on all sides would haul captured enemies home to be ransomed or enslaved, depending on their rank. But though conflict among the realms bounding this sea was endemic, Pen hadn’t heard rumor of any open warfare this season. Their pirates seemed to be strictly a venture of commerce, homegrown.
The blend of languages in the crew was telling. Adriac-speaking Carpagamo wrestled with the Roknari for hegemony over the long chain of mountainous islands that ran north and swung around to the east, with a gap of open sea before the Archipelago proper. The islands closest to the mainland were held firmly by Carpagamo, though sometimes Adria or Darthaca muscled in. The islands at the looping tip were usually held by some Roknari prince. In between was a debatable stretch that went back and forth, or was left as a neutral buffer if times were peaceful. This mixed lot of sailors had to be from one of the often-brutalized buffer islands, and Pen could only wish Quadrenes and Quintarians could be so cooperative for better ends.
Umelan, Desdemona’s—eventual—sixth human possessor, had been a war victim, kidnapped from her Archipelago island home by a Darthacan military raid and sold south to Lodi. Continentals captured by the Roknari were sold north to the Archipelago. In both directions, the scheme worked the same way to tame captives, separating them from families, communities, languages and religions, dropping them down off-balance in strange friendless places. There they would have no choice but to cooperate in the theft of their labor, while working to scrape together what funds they could to buy their way out, or hope to be granted freedom as an act of charity by their bond-holders. Umelan had received such a boon in the will of Des’s fifth possessor, the courtesan Mira of Lodi. The receipt of Mira’s demon at her death had been less planned.
Umelan’s experiences were a century out of date, and in general Pen did not enjoy dipping into her unhappy memories, or, worse, having them invade his dreams, but she was a resource of information better than any scroll. Place her in the plus column.
(A sour snort, he thought, from that one-twelfth layer of Desdemona that was Umelan. He mentally offered her a humble salute in return. She had, after all, gifted him with her language, for all that he had refined his command subsequently by his own studies.)
A buffer-island port would host small merchants and traders from all over, so captives might be sold either north or south. The coaster’s men and Penric would be earmarked for north. It was a coin toss whether being enslaved on the galleys or in the mines was more lethal, but either was to be vigorously avoided. Female captives commonly were given over to the same domestic duties they would have been performing at home: spinning, weaving, gardening, cleaning, cooking, childcare. Childbearing. What fate was planned for these Jokonan girls was a puzzle, though the fact that they were being kept separate and relatively unharmed was probably not due to kindness.
In any case, the need to rid themselves quickly of their perishable prizes, plus the division of their crew, meant that the islander pirates would be heading straight for port. Pen could not hope for some new clash to turn out the other way and lead to his rescue.
“Is your papa a rich merchant?” he asked the Corva sisters. “Do you think he would ransom you, if word were taken to him in Lodi?” If Master Getaf was still in Lodi, among other uncertainties. But promise of a ransom greater than their sale price as slaves could be a major protection for them. Possibly safer than hooking up with a displaced sorcerer on the run.
They looked at each other in surprise, so this wasn’t a thought they’d already had. Hm.
“I… maybe not very rich,” said Lencia.
“He brought us presents,” Seuka offered, in an equally hesitant tone.
And had housed a long-time mistress, but unless Master Getaf kept a family in every port, maybe just the one. Hold the ransom notion aside for now.
Trying to offload our baggage already? murmured Des.
Trying to think sensibly. This hasn’t been a good morning.
I could sink this ship in five minutes.
I know you could. Please refrain, at least till we’re on dry land. Pen considered this. I might let you have it then.
For a present? Des was amused, contemplating this chance at chaos.
You are not my mistress. Thankfully. For all that she was the permanent extra party in his marriage bed, and any other. Thank all the gods for tolerant, wise Nikys. He tried not to think too much about Nikys, because the worry would make him frantic and stupid.