He leaned over, hooked a hand over the lowest rung, and pulled the boat tight against the the ladder. And stood there waiting for them to climb down or go away, whichever pleased them.
Desantro snorted, but she didn’t comment. “Zazi, I’m going first so I c’n give you a hand. Hang onto the ladder till him and I steady you. We’ll get y’ in, don’t worry.
Penhari leaned on the bitt and watched her go down the ladder neatly and easily despite the gear she was carrying, the food and more clothing and her fee in coin and no doubt other things she liberated from the Falmatarr. She swung into the boat with an ease that almost matched the man’s, slapped his shoulder and pointed up at Penhari.
Time to move. Honey Mother defend me. She lowered herself to hands and knees, reached backward with one foot until she could feel the rung; grunting and fumbling about, she finally got both feet on the ladder and started clumsily down it. The rungs were slimy with moss and smashed crawlers; she loathed having to touch them, but she told herself: I can do whatever has to be done. She said it under her breath several times as she lowered herself, but never fully believed it, even when she felt hands on her, steadying her, taking part of her weight and in the end lifting her bodily into the boat, getting her seated on a folded square of canvas placed a few inches before the mast.
Desantro knelt beside Penhari, wiping her hands with a damp cloth, fussing over her like a mother with a sickly child; she looked across the older woman’s shoulder, popped out her breath in an impatient tssht!
The Naostam sat by the steering oar, watching stolidly; he might have been carved from red sidawood except for the occasional glimmer from his eyes.
“What y’ waiting for, Hahlaz? Get the sail up, le’s get going, huh?”
“Women,” he said and spat over the side; his voice was reedy, with as much modulation as there was expression in his face. “Gi’ penter a jerk, she come loose. An’ siddown. Y’ fall in, it y’r problem. Been paid f’r Pili, not f’r swanin’ about.”
The night was calm and hot. The boat zagged across the northern end of the Lake-That-Never-Fails, catching the vagrant breezes and using the fugitive currents to work toward the twin black towers that marked the beginning of the River.
Penhari leaned against the mast, feeling every shimmy and twist of the boat through her spine; she was deeply relaxed now, a heap of cous-cous without a bone in view, but she wasn’t sleepy-her mind cycled around and around all the thoughts that had passed through her head from the moment she surfaced after the beating, leapt from that to what lay ahead, compulsive speculation insecurely based on stories from her scrolls and the few books she’d managed to get her hands on, leapt back to the pain and fear she was escaping from. Past and future, equally futile, over and over until she rebelled against treading the same ruts again and began noticing what was happening around her.
Her body was shifting with the boat, ballasted by the gold, tilting one way, then another, as the boom slammed side to side behind her, the sail bellying out, sinking, popping out again. At first she didn’t understand this to-ing and fro-ing, but she had the habit of study, so she watched carefully what the man was doing and considered the results of those actions.
What wind there was came into her face, not from behind, wind out of the east-yet they were moving into the east. There had to be a reason. She listened to the sounds the sail made, looked over her shoulder at it, considered the way Hahlaz shifted the angle of the boom, how he turned the ship and sent the boom crashing to the other side, how they kept gliding for-
ward, the black ward-towers getting closer and closer.
After an hour of this she had some dnderstanding of’ the principles involved, along with an itch in her palms to take hold of the rudder and that rope and do it herself. It was frustrating sitting there, letting herself be carried along by someone else’s skill. But what else have I done all my life? Let my maids coddle me, the Kassians guide my thinking, Desantro carry me. Now that man. Who despises both of us. Abey’s Sting, fifty-two years and I’m still in the egg.
Desantro was sitting on the other side of the mast, watching Hahlaz, turning occasionally to see what was happening in front of them. “What about those?” She swung her arm, her finger sweeping from tower to tower. “Trouble?”
“Naah. Nobody home. Jeggin’ guards like soft livin, an’t gonna fry nu h’ms off way out here.”
“Good.” She settled back. “Zazi, how you doing?”
“Not bad. I’m starting, to enjoy this.”
Desantro laughed. “Choo-ee, swanning Ma.”
› › ‹ ‹
Pen hari woke cramped and stiff with her bladder distended, an ache throbbing over her ears, her tongue a dead mouse in her mouth. Mulimuli! Never again. The boat was moving slowly around a long shallow curve, the land on both sides of the River flat and dull, no green, just shades of brown. Even the few trees that grew on the banks were half dead, the remaining leaves thick-skinned and gray with dust, hanging limply from dessicated petioles. The sun was molten and red, only halfway up, the peaks of the Kondunis like jagged black teeth across the disk, but the day was already so hot and dry she could feel cracks opening in her skin.
She eased out of the slump, moving carefully so she wouldn’t wet herself. “Desa,” she croaked.
“Water, Zazi?” Desantro cleared her throat, shifted enough to put a gulp in the smooth glide of the boat.
“Water I need to get rid of.”
Desantro clicked her tongue, shifted again. “Hahlaz. Hai!”
“Gnuh.”
“That bunch trees, c’d y’ make it? Pull in over there?”
“Thought you in a hurry.”
“Hurry’s over. Hai, turn this thing.”
“Old fish landing round next bend. Trees ‘n a shack.”
Desantro snorted. “Gotcha. Do it.”
Hahlaz squatted by a ring of smoke-blackened stones, shaving curls off a piece of the shack’s door.
Penhari was so stiff she could barely walk. She’d been heaved out of the boat like a bale of cloth and now she had to lean on Desantro’s arm or she couldn’t have put one foot in front of the other. When they were behind the shack, she stopped. “This is enough. Help me out of these windings, will you? rm about to add heatstroke to everything else.”
Desantro took the cloak, snapped it out flat on the ground, then started unwinding the spare clothing from under the blouse.
As the wandering breeze stirred over her sweaty skin, Penhari sighed with pleasure. “Abey! It’s almost worth it just for this.”
Desantro chuckled, helped Penhari out of the underskirt; she didn’t comment at the weight, just dropped it on the rest of the pile. She rolled the cloak and its contents into a neat bundle, set it near the corner of the shack. “Can you wait a minute more?”
“If I have to.”
“We need some dry leaves for wiping. I know you used to water and towels, Zazi, but you roughing. it now.” She went hurrying off into the scatter of trees.
Penhari leaned cautiously against the wall; it creaked but it held. There was a touch of satisfaction in Desantro’s voice. Talk about enjoying this. Should I worry? Nayo. She’s a kind creature, she wouldn’t do me harm. Discomfort doesn’t count. Or humiliation. Getting her own back. Or a piece of it. Wouldn’t I, too, if I were her? Oh, Jannam, do I ache. Hurry up, woman, I don’t think I can hold it any longer.
Desantro came hurrying out of the trees, her hands full of decaying leaves. “Here,” she said when she reached Penhari, “you crumple them like this. Make a wad outta them.” She grinned, her face flushed. “I learned that when I was hardly hatched. You do your thing and I’ll go see what Hahlaz has got up to.”
› › ‹ ‹
Penhari squatted and let go, feeling more pleasure as the urine hissed than she’d ever, got from sex.