Left standing there without any idea what I should do, I forced myself to put aside the question of Shiv and the Elietimm, to lock it away in that box in the back of my mind. The others would have to look after themselves; they were together, they had allies in Relshaz, above all Livak was no fool. My first duty was to myself now; I had to concentrate on staying alive here until I could somehow return to the mainland. I was on my own and, I judged, in no little danger.
I looked at the woman but she was concentrating on her embroidery, a slight curve to her carefully painted lips and satisfaction in her almond-shaped eyes. A gesture from the swordsman caught my eye. Watching his mistress warily, he pointed to the door through which the weeping girl had fled. Keeping my face carefully expressionless, I went through the slatted door, which was still swinging on its pins from the fury of the girl’s passage.
I found myself in a large airy cabin whose long shutters opened on to a small private deck at the rear of the ship. The girl was no longer weeping but the hot tears were still wet on her face, ruining her intricate makeup. A blush swept up her cheeks and her lips narrowed. Embarrassment warred with fury in her stormy brown eyes as she took a deep breath. I judged it prudent to keep my expression as noncommittal as I could.
After a few minutes the girl shrugged with an enigmatic sigh, pushed a long curl of black hair off her face and sat on a pile of cushions, her elegant amber gown hitched above jewel-clasped ankles. They were nice ankles, though I noticed she had incongruously toughened feet. In fact she was a luscious blossom all together, about as tall as my chin, rounded hips and a plump bosom barely concealed by the loose, sleeveless silk. Her angry frown looked inappropriate on her round face but I could believe her full lips were used to pouting prettily. She pointed to the floor with a curt instruction, hitching her dress back on to one smooth brown shoulder.
It seemed the Aldabreshi didn’t believe in chairs, so I sat on the floor and tried for an ingratiating smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the Aldabreshi tongue.”
The girl frowned and tried again in Relshazri; I shrugged in mute apology. This was a new problem for me; in those few instances when I find myself dealing with a backwoods peasant who has no Tormalin, I have enough Caladhrian and Dalasorian to fall back on if pressed. I had never imagined I would need to learn the language of the Archipelago. I couldn’t even think of anyone I knew who could have taught me.
“You are Tormalin?” the girl asked after a few moments, her words hesitant and thickened by a strong Aldabreshi accent.
I bowed awkwardly from the waist, not knowing what else to do. “My name is Ryshad.”
She repeated it a few times to herself, splitting the syllables and coloring them with an Aldabreshi intonation. “Rhya Shad.”
I’d better get used to answering to that then, until I found some way out of this maze.
The girl nodded with satisfaction and then pointed to herself.
“I am Laio Shek, fourth wife to Shek Kul and manager of his weavers.”
I bowed again, making as low a reverence as I could; I know precisely the etiquette required when meeting the Sieur of a House, his heirs and ladies, how to address a Lescari Duke or an Ensaimin Lord, but I had absolutely no idea of the courtesies usual between owner and slave. I had imagined any exchanges were largely made with the tongue of a whip and had no desire to have her resort to that; I’d rather look an idiot and scrape my nose on the floorboards. I’d have no chance of getting away if I were to be injured.
There was an awkward silence, so I looked around the cabin. The wooden walls were painted in a pale yellow and furnished with delicate, silken embroideries. The floor was polished and a low bed was set against the far wall, heaped with silken quilts. Several dresses were tossed carelessly on it and a tray of makeup perched perilously close to the edge.
“You stink,” Laio said abruptly. “You will wash before you attend to your duties.”
“What exactly are my duties?” I asked cautiously.
Laio’s lips narrowed and she drew a swift breath of irritation in through her finely shaped nostrils.
“Pour me wine.” She pointing to a flagon on a low side-table by the shutters. I fetched a glassful, looking around in vain for a tray or a salver. Laio nodded approvingly but a faint frown still wrinkled her forehead.
“Take some yourself and be seated,” she said unexpectedly.
As I did so, unimpressed by its thin taste and weakness, she finished her own drink and sat twirling the narrow-stemmed glass in her hands, the nails brightly varnished. “You are a mainlander from the lands of the east, is that correct?”
“Yes, from Zyoutessela, in southern Tormalin.”
Laio dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “A mainlander, you know nothing of our islands?”
Not much, other than there were supposed to be about a hundred bloodthirsty Warlords, each ruling one major island and any number of smaller ones with an iron fist, blood and terror. I thought of the various lurid tales I’d heard over the years.
“No, nothing,” I lied firmly.
Laio looked at me with speculative eyes. “I see. How long have you been a slave?”
“Shek Kul is my first owner,” I coughed as the words threatened to stick in my throat.
Laio frowned again and muttered something petulant in Aldabreshi but I got the impression her anger was not directed at me.
“I do not know how Gar Shek managed to persuade Shek Kul to buy you, but I am sure she expects you to make a poor slave. Since the quality of a body slave reflects on his owner, she hopes you will humiliate me. I am not going to let that happen, I have already given her too much satisfaction with my reaction.”
She gestured with her glass and I hastened to refill it. “What do you think your duties here are?”
I ran through the various rumors I’d heard about the personal slaves of Aldabreshi women and opted for the least lewd.
“I am to protect you from other men, to keep you safe for your husband?” I hazarded.
A faint look of distaste flickered across Laio’s face. “Do your mainlander women submit to being guarded like fowl in a garden? You are not my husband’s slave, you are mine, do you understand?”
I nodded, understanding almost nothing so far.
“You are to defend me, that is true,” continued Laio, “not for my husband’s sake, but for mine. If I order it, you will fight whomsoever I say, even Shek Kul. In the Islands, no husband has rights over his wife’s body.”
It would be truly astounding if that were true, I thought sarcastically. The Toremal law codes are the only ones I know that will deny a man his marriage bed, and that only happens when the wife can bring three independent witnesses to the Justiciary to swear they’ve seen him abusing her. However I schooled my face to an impassive blank as I listened to Laio’s clipped accents.
“Now, listen to me; you must learn fast and I am not going to instruct you a second time. In Aldabreshi, a wife has both status and duties in her own right; we manage our husband’s property and give him children, if we so choose, in return for his protection and favor. Profitable wives are a credit to a man, marriage is a binding alliance and alliances mean power in the Archipelago. Shek Kul has alliances with his neighbors and with two of the central Lords through his wives; he is considered a powerful man. His domain is in the south of the Archipelago.”
That meant I was going even further south than the Cape of Winds; I thought with some distaste of the Archipelago’s reputedly hot and sticky climate. Laio was speaking slowly now, to make sure I understood her and I listened obediently. The more I knew about the set-up, the sooner I could work out how to get clear of this mess. I realized with a sudden, inappropriate surge of relief that at least I was on my own here; without wizards to obey or someone else’s plans to take into account. Certainly Messire would have no means of sending me aid, even if it occurred to Planir to warn him of my plight. The House of D’Olbriot’s only dealings with the Archipelago are to chase off the occasional raiders who risk the storm-tossed eastern crossing to prey on the ships that ply the Gulf coast.