Dolmaero leaned over him. “You’re awake. Good. We wondered if we might lose you.”
Ruiz struggled to raise his head, then looked aft. Gunderd steered; he made a jaunty gesture of greeting. The cabin boy Svin huddled beside the mate, his face white and strained. Einduix looked down at his flute; he wore a somewhat pensive expression.
Ruiz looked forward. Molnekh sat in the bows, grinning with his usual aplomb.
Jeric was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the catatonic purser.
“What’s happened?” he croaked.
Dolmaero shrugged. “None of us is sure. But Gunderd has your little gun, and he took away our knives.”
“The crew attacked us? Who was on watch?”
“I was,” said Dolmaero. He looked down, clearly ashamed. “But I was looking up at the stars when it happened. Someone threw a canvas over me and knocked me down. By the time I got untangled and stood up, it was over.”
“What was over?” Ruiz struggled to a sitting position and touched the back of his head gingerly. It was crusty with dried blood, but his probing fingers found nothing more alarming than split skin. His head ached horribly, so that he found thought difficult.
“The killing,” said Gunderd. “Your crew fared better than mine, Ruiz. Yours are still alive, but two of mine are gone.”
“Gone where?” asked Ruiz.
“Fed to the fishes,” said Gunderd. “They were thoroughly dead. The purser’s guts were lying in her lap. She probably never noticed, but I’d guess Jeric noticed when someone cut his throat. Neat job, too; whoever did it left him on the gunwale so he bled out overboard. Considerate.”
Ruiz rubbed his pounding head, trying to massage some clarity back into his thoughts. “Did you see what happened?”
“No.” In the cold dawn light, Gunderd seemed much older and more vulnerable, despite the splinter gun tucked into his waistband and his air of nonchalance. “I was asleep. But I can theorize, up to a point. I think Jeric lashed the helm when your man’s attention wandered, and went forward to revenge himself on you. Apparently he was surprised by someone. I heard a scuffle — and a classic gurgle — as I was waking. And then you started to get up and I heard the sound of wood on skull. I made a light and went forward cautiously, to find you unconscious and Jeric dead.”
“I see,” said Ruiz. What had happened? “You found no other indications?”
“No… the cutter was very clean. No one had bloody hands, except for Jeric. His own, I suppose.”
“Who hit me?”
Gunderd shrugged. “No one will admit to the deed. But whoever did the cutting, the whack was delivered by one of yours. Svin and Einduix were aft when you went down.”
Ruiz looked at the others. Nisa wore an expression of frustrated concern. Dolmaero looked embarrassed… but Ruiz saw no trace of guilt. Molnekh seemed his usual cheerful self. “Did any of you see anything?” he asked.
No one answered.
“Svin?”
The cabin boy shook his head vigorously. Gunderd laughed. “As well to blame it on sea wights as to suspect Svin. Remember, the deed was performed with elan and skill.”
“Einduix?”
The cook looked up from his seat in the waist, smiling without a trace of comprehension.
Gunderd snorted in disbelief. “Einduix. A remote possibility. He’s a butcher, I’ll grant you that, but an entirely incompetent one. That he could have made two such neat cuts… it seems a foolish speculation.”
A silence ensued, during which it gradually came to Ruiz that Gunderd probably suspected Ruiz of somehow engineering the deaths of the two crew members. “Me? Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “How do you suppose I managed to cut up your people… and then arranged to get my head broken?”
“I haven’t figured that out — though perhaps one of your confederates assisted you into slumber. But no. Despite the dire reputation your woman gives you, I can’t figure out why you’d bother with subterfuge. You had the gun.”
Ruiz shook his head and winced. “True. A mystery.”
Gunderd nodded. “As you say, a mystery. We’ll talk later, when you’ve recovered your wits.”
The morning passed in a dull misery. With stinging salt water, Nisa bathed away the blood that caked his head. He sipped cool water from the boat’s recycler and nibbled on a nutrient bar. He slowly began to feel a bit better. He couldn’t think of anything to say to anyone.
The wind held and the boat made good progress to the northeast and the Dayerak Archipelago. Gunderd steered with the casual intensity of the experienced helmsman, but by afternoon he began to show signs of fatigue. “Come,” he said. “Take a turn, Ruiz Aw. I must get my rest before nightfall, I think.”
Ruiz made his way aft and took the tiller. Gunderd moved warily away, his hand on the splinter gun. Ruiz could hardly blame him for being cautious, and smiled ruefully.
Gunderd settled himself on the far side of the helmsman’s thwart. He watched Ruiz for a while, apparently to judge the quality of Ruiz’s helmsmanship. Abruptly he tapped Svin on the shoulder and said, “Go forward with the others, boy. The slayer and I must talk of things which don’t concern you.”
Svin went slowly, as if reluctant to lose contact with the mate. Gunderd laughed and prodded him with his boot. “Hurry up! Remember, they may kill you, but they probably won’t eat you.”
Gunderd cast a speculative glance at Einduix. “Hmm…” he said. “I would swear the little snake doesn’t know a word of pangalac, but why take a chance?… Go forward, Einduix.” He made shooing gestures at the cook until Einduix got the idea and went.
“Now,” said Gunderd in a low voice. “We must speak as frankly as our hearts permit us to. I don’t believe you killed my people; but someone did. If it was one of yours… that person is a threat to you as well as me. Someone isn’t telling all they know.”
“So it seems,” said Ruiz. He had been avoiding examining the implications of the past night’s murders. His head still hurt; he felt weak and unready for any confrontation.
Gunderd looked away, across the sunlit sea. “I must tell you, Ruiz Aw… I think we have a monster among us. I can understand the killing of Jeric, who craved your blood. Whoever cut him was protecting you. But whoever killed Marlena — he was ridding himself of a minor annoyance. True, she stank, and she took up a little room, but she wasn’t dangerous to anyone. A cold deed.”
Ruiz nodded reluctant agreement.
“Let me tell you what I’ve thought. The cutter was fairly strong — strong enough at least to pick up Jeric and put him across the gunwale. Probably any of your people could have done it, even the woman. She looks strong for her size. And the fat one might easily have struck from beneath the canvas he claimed was thrown over him. So,” said Gunderd, “let me ask you. What do you know about your people that might shed light on the matter?”
Ruiz took a deep breath. Almost against his will, a memory rose up in his mind’s eye: the monster maker Publius dying. Raving. Telling Ruiz that one of the Pharaohans had been processed by the Gencha.
Should he tell Gunderd? In all likelihood, Publius had simply taken one last opportunity to hurt Ruiz.
His mind refused to work properly; he could not foresee the implications of revealing this suspicion to Gunderd. On the other hand, it was very possible that one of the Pharaohans was no longer his friend, since none of them would admit to striking the blow that had put him down. And none of them had contradicted Gunderd’s version of the night’s events.
Gunderd seemed as trustworthy as anyone he was likely to meet on Sook; he appeared to have no agenda beyond simple survival.
“All right,” Ruiz said finally. “There’s a small chance that one of my people — I don’t know which one — has recently undergone deconstruction at the hands of the Sea-Stack Gencha.”