“So, steal my smoke, will you, missy? Well, I’ll get you, and when I do I’ll teach you what happens to smoke thieves. You’ll be begging to be put in the stocks . . .”
Edyon was still standing by his bath as Gravell stomped away. All was quiet again. He shivered. He heard the boys come in and check Gravell’s bath area, and the boss of the bathhouse giving them orders to tidy everything up.
Edyon climbed back into his bath.
The water was hotter than he remembered, and he sank into it with a smile. He felt around for the bottle and found that it had sunk to the bottom. He held on to it and lay back and his aches began to ease away.
CATHERINE
THE PITORIAN SEA
The seed-stolen slow rot of nutshells, open coffins on the forest floor
“Life’s Journey,” Queen Isabella of Brigant
THE SEA crossing to Pitoria took three days. Catherine’s farewells in Brigant had been brief. The most surprising was the one with her father, who had come to her room for the first time ever on the morning of her departure. He had demanded to see her jewelry, taken away the smaller and cheaper pieces, and given her a heavy gold and diamond necklace in their place.
“It was your grandmother’s,” he grunted when Sarah put it round Catherine’s neck, then added, “You’re my daughter; now at least you look like it.”
And that was that. He had appeared on the quay as she boarded her ship but hadn’t spoken to her, reserving his conversation for Boris.
Catherine’s good-bye from her mother was longer but hardly an outpouring of emotion. She kissed Catherine on the cheek and handed her a thin volume of poems and a new book on Queen Valeria.
“What have you decided about your new life, Catherine?”
“To do what I can with it. Valeria is an inspiration, though I’m not sure I have her force of personality.”
“Don’t expect everything to come to you overnight. Learn as you go. You will make mistakes, but don’t make the same one twice. No one has all the answers from the beginning. Even Valeria took time to win the people to her.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Then I’m sure you’ll succeed. Also, listen to Sir Rowland, the Brigantine ambassador. Trust him. I know him well. He’ll help you.”
Something in the queen’s tone set Catherine wondering how her mother knew Sir Rowland, but she was prevented from wondering for long. As the ship hit the first waves outside the harbor, she was overcome by a feeling of nausea. One of Boris’s soldiers was already being sick over the side.
“Are you a woman, Webb?” Boris berated him. “Weak at the knees at the first sign of a wave?”
Deciding the comment was directed at her as much as at poor Webb, and determined not to show weakness in front of her brother, Catherine descended to her cabin as quickly as her dignity allowed—and proceeded to throw up into a bucket for the rest of the day.
For the first two days of the voyage, Catherine stayed prone on her tiny bed, feeling miserable. She slept at odd times and couldn’t face conversation with her maids, though she heard them talking of the soldiers on the boat, how handsome they were, and how strict Boris was. On the second day, she looked through the first book that the queen had given her and realized that her mother had written the poems herself. Many were about loneliness, lovelessness, and womanhood. Catherine was surprised at the emotion they contained, but rather than depress her they made her more determined. She didn’t want to have the life her mother had had. She didn’t want to end up writing a book of sad poems. She turned instead to the book about Queen Valeria, wishing that someone might one day write such a book about her.
On the second night, Catherine improved and found herself desperate for some fresh air. Her maids were sound asleep, and Catherine was in no mood for corsets or fiddling with her hair, so she dressed herself. As she crept up the steps, she remembered that there would be men on watch and perhaps sailors. Sails still needed to be tended at night, she assumed. She cautiously raised her head above deck, but as the breeze hit her face she realized that no matter who was there she wasn’t going to go back below; the fresh air felt wonderful.
The deck was empty, and she moved quietly to the ship’s rail. The sea was black and calm, the stars out in their thousands. Catherine filled her lungs with the cool, salty air and felt the last twinges of seasickness fall away.
By now her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and she saw there were men in the rigging. Eight—no, more, perhaps ten or twelve—were moving silently and quickly, astoundingly quickly. Dressed in black, they descended rapidly, sliding down dark ropes. Catherine was hidden from their view by some wooden containers that were lashed to the deck. Hidden until one of the men slid to the deck right in front of her. Not only was the man dressed in black, but he was wearing a close-fitting black mask. He stared at her and seemed as surprised as she was.
Catherine forced herself to speak. “Good evening, sir. May I ask what you’re doing?”
The man didn’t reply and didn’t move. She was about to ask her question again when a horribly familiar voice spoke from behind her.
“You’re feeling better, Your Highness.”
Catherine turned. “I . . . I didn’t know you were coming to Pitoria, Noyes.”
Noyes just gave his usual half-smile, then said, “I wouldn’t miss your marriage for the world.”
Catherine wanted nothing more than to get away from Noyes and back into her cabin, but she forced herself to meet his eye.
“Are those your men? What are they doing up there?”
“I train my men for many circumstances, Your Highness, even the sailing of ships.”
Catherine did not believe that was what he was doing for a moment, and she stood waiting for him to leave, but of course all he did was look at her and she felt her skin crawl with it, so without another word she returned to her cabin.
In the morning Boris came to see her, bending his head to avoid hitting it on the beams.
“You were on deck last night.”
“Yes. I had been feeling unwell, but I am much better now. Thank you for your concern, brother.”
“I am concerned, but not for your health. You were alone. Again. None of your maids were present. You weren’t even dressed properly.”
“I needed air.”
“What you need is discipline. Don’t you care what people will say? You’re about to be married.”
“The seasickness has caused me to empty my stomach, not my memory.”
“You should learn to behave with dignity. Until you do, you stay in your cabin. Your maids too. I don’t want any of you on deck for the rest of the voyage. And if I see you gadding about I’ll have you in leg irons.”
Boris left and Catherine screamed with frustration. Here on the ship, a Brigantine ship crewed by Brigantine men, Catherine knew she had no choice but to do what Boris demanded. However, she was determined that the moment she stepped on Pitorian soil things would change.
* * *
Early in the afternoon of the third day, the ship maneuvered into the dock in Charron. As soon as the ropes were made fast, Catherine went up on the deck and scanned the crowd. Boris came to stand by her and commented, “You’re out of your cabin quickly, sister.”
“I’ve been cooped up in that box for three days. I’m keen to see my new country.”
“And your new husband.”
“Indeed.” Catherine looked at all the figures on shore. There were many young men, all well dressed. Some dark-skinned, some light. One very tall. One huge fat man. “Which one is he?”
Boris’s eyes flicked about. “I can’t see him or his pennants.”
“But I thought he was supposed to meet me here,” Catherine couldn’t resist replying. “It’s so hard organizing a wedding, isn’t it, brother? So much to remember, so easy to forget things . . . like the husband.”
Boris leaned close to her and snarled, “I didn’t forget anything, nor will I.”