The wizard hesitated. “You give me too much credit.” She lifted her hand to flick stray strands of brown hair off her cheek, and her sleeve slid partway down her forearm. In so doing, it exposed marks on her forearm. They looked faded, but Anton discerned that was because they were actually peeking through a layer of pigment she’d spread on top of them.
The sight of the tattoos made him take reflexive note of the location of his weapons. He only had his dagger and skinny hidden boot blade on his person; he’d left the saber under the shelter. He considered, too, the feasibility of simply lunging at her and shoving her over the side. Yet he realized he was no more inclined to kill her now than he had been on the street in Westgate.
“Actually,” he said, “I didn’t give you enough credit. Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that you might be one of the wicked tattooed wizards of Thay.” He gestured to indicate the exposed sigils.
She gave a start and peered at the telltale marks. He could all but hear her thoughts as she quickly considered whether she could possibly convince him that the arcane symbols weren’t what he believed them to be. Then, grimacing, she said, “The Black Hand take it, this stain is supposed to be waterproof!”
“Take it from a sailor,” Anton replied, “nothing is truly waterproof over the long haul. And we’ve had a very wet night and morning.”
“Well, at least I can stop wearing this nasty thing.” She pushed her cowl back, pulled her brown wig off, and gave the shaven scalp beneath a vigorous scratching. A hint of stubble grayed the ivory skin of her scalp.
Somewhat to Anton’s surprise, baldness didn’t mar the mage’s looks. Rather, it made her exotic, like the occasional sea elf women he’d encountered over the years, though he suspected the latter would have mightily resented the comparison.
When she finished scratching, she said, “But you have to understand-”
“Please,” Anton said, “allow me. You and your master are virtuous Thayans, expatriate because you can’t bear your native land’s depravities. You only disguise your nationality to avert prejudice, and you truly do mean to help Stedd. It could scarcely sound more plausible, and naturally I believe it all implicitly.”
A grudging smile tugged at the corners of the wizard’s generous mouth. “As I fervently believe the halfling really did hire you, one of the most infamous reavers from Suzail to Escalant, to help whisk a little boy to safety.”
Anton grinned. “It sounds like neither one of us is able to lie to the other anymore.”
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion.”
“Fair enough. But in this interlude of relative candor, will you favor me with your real name? I doubt it’s Wydda. That’s not Thayan.”
“It’s Umara Ankhlab.”
“Well met, Umara.” He offered his hand, and she shook it. She had the soft skin of someone who’d never performed manual labor, but her grip was firm. “I assume you and your leader-”
“Kymas Nahpret.”
“-you and Kymas are actually hoping to collect the bounty on Stedd the same as I was.”
Umara frowned. “You’re wrong there. Kymas and I are in service to Szass Tam. The Lich King tasked us to find Chosen and fetch them back to Thay.”
“And Stedd’s a ‘Chosen’? He doesn’t call himself that, or at least he didn’t while we were traveling together.”
“But he is. The champion of reborn Lathander, as Evendur Highcastle is the hand of Umberlee.” She sighed. “With each, I employed a talisman to be sure.”
“If you knew all that, it might have been more sporting of you to go after the undead pirate lord instead of the wandering farm boy.”
The wizard scowled. “And it might have been more ‘sporting’ for you to win your gold attacking cogs and round ships like pirates are supposed to.”
“I imagined the lad would be older, and likely a lunatic or charlatan who wasn’t doing anybody any good … but as we’re being honest, I’ll confess it wouldn’t have mattered if I had known the truth. Evendur’s offering a lot of gold. Which, given that Stedd is now in the hands of your fellow Thayans, I suppose has now passed beyond my reach. Unless, of course, you care to help me pluck the boy from Kymas’s clutches. You, I, and Falrinn can split the bounty three ways, after which you can live out your days in luxury as a genuine expatriate.”
Umara hesitated just long enough to make him wonder if she was actually considering the proposition. “I’m afraid not. My family is Thayan nobility going back for centuries. I know my path, even if … That is to say, I know my path, and it isn’t treason.”
“Even though your superior left you behind in Westgate?”
“With the sunlords pursuing us, he set sail as expeditiously as possible to safeguard the success of our mission. It was just what I should have expected of him, and I don’t hold it against him.”
Anton suspected that wasn’t wholly true. But he also sensed that pursuing the matter wouldn’t subvert her loyalty. “Well,” he said, “in any case, I can’t honestly recommend treason as the gateway to a happy life.”
“How’s that?”
“Nothing.” He raised the spyglass and scanned the seas before them, meanwhile reflecting that truth was overrated. He and Umara had only been indulging in it for a few breaths, and, ridiculously, here it was already trying to rekindle regrets grown cold long ago.
He didn’t see any ships, Thayan or otherwise. When he lowered the telescope and turned back around, it annoyed him a little that the wizard appeared to be studying him. But if her scrutiny had afforded any insights, she didn’t see fit to remark on them.
Rather, she simply said, “If you and Captain Greatorm get me back aboard the galley, I’ll see to it that Kymas pays you for your trouble. It won’t be a fortune like Evendur Highcastle’s bounty.” She smiled a crooked smile. “As you’ve already observed, my master plainly doesn’t consider me indispensable. But I am a Red Wizard of Thay, and it will be something.”
He wondered if she truly believed he’d settle for that. She might if she didn’t know his reputation for boldness and relentless pursuit of an objective. But even if she didn’t believe it, the suggestion was a reasonable tactic given that, landlubber that she was, she needed Anton and Falrinn to sail the boat. Better, then, to come to a false accord now and defer a fight until they caught up with the other Thayans.
And, Anton realized, pretending to agree to her offer now and saving hostilities for later made just as much sense for him. She knew what Kymas’s ship looked like. He didn’t. Her magic might prove useful as they pursued it. And if she truly did believe he was willing to settle for whatever payment Kymas might offer, she’d presumably prevail on her superior to welcome him aboard the Thayan ship, which should simplify the task of spiriting Stedd off it.
He sighed with what he hoped was a convincing imitation of resignation. “Whatever your master is willing to pay for you, I suppose it will have to do.”
Throughout the morning, a favorable wind carried them eastward. Meanwhile, fiddling with his various mechanisms, Falrinn repeatedly trimmed the sails and reset the rudder. Umara, whose curiosity apparently outweighed any tendency to aristocratic aloofness, alternately pestered the gnome with questions about his innovations and sought to make conversation with her fellow human.
For his part, Anton found that he didn’t much mind the distraction. Trustworthy or not-almost certainly not-she was pleasant enough to talk to. Perhaps it was because she had manners and an education, even though acquired in her sinister necromantic homeland, and it had been a long while since he’d conversed with a lady. Generally, the reaver’s life restricted his choice of womanly companions to festhall bawds and female pirates as coarse as … well, he supposed, as coarse as he himself was.
He pointed out landmarks when the mainland became visible, despite the grayness and the rain, and taught Umara to fish with trailing lines. They grilled the sea bass and dolphinfish they caught, and ate them at dusk.