The fact that Yubere had welcomed her into the fortress on her last visit, had freely allowed her the use of his brother Remint, had treated her as an important ally… all these things disposed Yubere’s people to seize joyfully upon her advent, to regard her as their salvation. They had been particularly impressed by her Mocrassar bondwarrior — of a higher lineage than Yubere’s Moc, a creature which Ruiz Aw had apparently killed in the course of assassinating Yubere. They seemed to see a hopeful omen in her Moc’s superiority.
Yubere had evidently believed himself immortal and had made no attempt to select an heir. Indeed, he had gone to great pains to discourage any initiative among his henchmen.
“Paranoia is its own reward,” she said, turning on her side. With her fingertip she traced the black opal butterflies set into the backrest of the tub.
“What?” asked Marmo, who for once watched her, instead of playing his endless processor games.
“Nothing,” she said, and slid her hands up her torso, enjoying her own beautiful flesh. Did the old cyborg still hide a remnant of sensuality somewhere deep under the metal? She laughed and submerged herself up to her chin.
“You appear to be cheerful enough,” said Marmo. “Why is that? The situation still seems dangerous to me.”
“You worry too much, Marmo. Your rumor-mongering campaign has succeeded brilliantly. The pirates look everywhere for their great treasure — especially in each other’s pockets. They settle old scores, they spy on each other, they bay after Ruiz Aw. No one suspects us, or at least no one suspects us more than they suspect everyone else.”
“It can’t last,” said Marmo dourly.
She laughed again, and thereafter ignored him.
At midmorning Gunderd distributed a meal from the boat’s emergency stores: dried fish, starchy biscuits, fruit-flavored glucose tablets. “We won’t dry or starve… for a while, anyway,” he said. “The boat was stocked for twenty — and the watermaker works well enough.”
They ate in silence — except for Dolmaero, who gave his share to Molnekh. The crew woman now seemed catatonic.
When Ruiz had finished, he decided to make a diplomatic gesture. “Gunderd, perhaps we should become better acquainted with each other. Will you introduce your people?”
Both groups looked at him as though he had succumbed to some incomprehensible insanity. But finally Gunderd smiled crookedly. “If you like, Ruiz. Well… this member of the vegetable kingdom is Marlena, our purser,” he said, patting the woman on the arm. “She was making her last run before retirement — and she’s been sure that we would meet with some disaster since the hour we sailed from SeaStack. Of course, she felt the same way on every voyage, but since this was to be her last trip, her various dreads seemed more pitiable than usual. Irony indeed.”
Gunderd waved his hand at the boy. “And this is Svin, paragon among cabin boys, nephew of our late captain — and general layabout. He knows nothing of any importance whatever, and is quite proud of the fact.”
Svin smiled uncertainly.
“Einduix the cook needs no introduction, except to say that we are fortunate to have no cooking facilities aboard — else our chances of survival would be considerably lessened.”
Einduix, hearing his name, executed a jerky bow, pigtail bouncing.
“Finally, Jeric, able-bodied seaman and one of the few competent crew on the lost Loracca. Also your deadliest enemy, at the moment. His lover Modoc was one of those you gave to the sea.”
From his post at the tiller, Jeric watched Ruiz with small hot eyes, teeth bared in a strange grimace.
Ruiz considered apologizing, then rejected the impulse. Jeric would receive such an apology with the contempt it deserved, and Ruiz would gain nothing useful.
“We’re all pleased to meet you,” said Ruiz brightly. “With such a crew, we’re sure to survive.” His words sounded somewhat hollow and rather foolish, even to himself, but he went on, attempting to inject sincerity into his voice. “So. I’ll introduce my friends.”
He gestured at Molnekh. “This is Molnekh, a master conjuror of Pharaoh, where the best magicians in all the worlds are bred. Later he’ll perform some amazing sleights, to help us pass the time.”
Molnekh bowed theatrically and showed his cadaverous grin.
“And this is Dolmaero, Guildmaster of Pharaoh, an able man in all respects: trustworthy, intelligent, courageous. Though he’s presently indisposed, we can rely on him for sage advice.”
Dolmaero raised himself from the rail and made a feeble gesture of greeting.
Ruiz touched Nisa’s shoulder. “And this is Nisa, a princess of Pharaoh.” He almost added, and my beloved—but he restrained himself. She nodded distantly and looked back out at the sea, as if she expected to find something of interest in that tossing gray waste.
Gunderd’s bushy eyebrows twitched quizzically. “And yourself, Ruiz Aw? What is your specialty?”
Ruiz shrugged. “You know my name. I’m something of a generalist; I’ve tried several trades and achieved no great distinction in any of them.”
Gunderd looked dubious, and the Pharaohans looked surprised. But at first no one seemed willing to contradict Ruiz’s assessment of himself.
But then Nisa tossed her head and spoke. “Ruiz Aw is much too modest. And I’ve grown tired of listening to him tell lies, though he does it wonderfully well. He’s a notable enforcer and slayer; he’s killed more people than he can count, loved more women than he can remember, lived more years than he’s willing to admit. Recently he slew the mightiest man in SeaStack…. Remint was this latest victim’s name.”
Mouths fell open and eyes grew wide. Gunderd seemed especially affected; he wore the expression of a man who, playing with what he had supposed to be a harmless garden snake, has just been told that it is actually a deadly viper. “I had no idea,” he said slowly. “Are you sure? Remint has a potent reputation, to say the least.”
Ruiz shifted uncomfortably, surprised by Nisa’s testimonial. He would have preferred to maintain a lower profile. “She exaggerates a bit. Remint may be dead, but I didn’t see his corpse. In any case, I’ve retired from my former profession.”
Gunderd looked unconvinced. “Tell that to Modoc and Drinsle.”
Ruiz found it difficult to defend his actions. The two crewmen he had killed were hardly soldiers; they could not be described as casualties of any legitimate war. True, they weren’t notable humanitarians themselves; they’d been engaged in ferrying human beings to a dreadful fate at the hands of cannibals. Still, the Immolators wanted to be delivered to the abattoirs — and this was Sook.
No, his only justification came from one basic consideration. He would kill again with as little hesitation — if it allowed Nisa and Ruiz to live a little longer.
“I regret their deaths,” said Ruiz. “Were you in my shoes, would you have done otherwise?”
“Perhaps not,” said Gunderd after a moment.
No one spoke again for a long time. Loracca’s survivors seemed to be digesting Nisa’s revelations with reluctance, but they all watched Ruiz with a greater degree of wariness — even Jeric. That might be for the best; perhaps they would think twice before attempting any treachery. Maybe Nisa’s rash claims would turn out to be useful.
Jeric drove the boat northeast, across the diminishing swell.
By midafternoon, the wind had fallen to a light breeze, barely enough to ruffle the great green backs of the leftover storm swell. The sun had broken through, and only a few wispy clouds marked the verdigris sky.