I’d liked those camels. I grabbed her arm and pulled her on. “We’ve got to get out of here. If they see I know you they’ll either want more money or just kill me so this never comes back to them.” I set off, Lisa stumbling and jerking behind me. “How long before one of the men on the wall reports all this to someone important down below? I should have kept the hood on you till we were out of sight of the—”
I broke off as Lisa started sobbing, heaving in great lungfuls of air and shuddering them out as she walked. In other circumstances I might have said or at least thought something patronizing about the “weaker sex,” but frankly I knew exactly the feeling—there had been too many escapes of mine where I would have been sobbing with relief too if I hadn’t had a front to maintain before the company I was in. I kept glancing back at Lisa as I led her down through those hills.
Her sackcloth dress had got almost as muddy as my robes when I wrestled her to the ground, her hair stuck out at odd angles or hung in dirty straggles—slave-hood hair you could call it—and her eyes were red from too many tears.
Back at Thirteen I’d said I was after the least expensive beauty they had, and Lisa was in the line of eight they’d brought out from the discipline hut. None of them had been made presentable and some you had to look at pretty hard to see much beauty beneath the grime and bruises. Lisa though, took my breath. Something in her eyes, or the shape of her mouth, or . . . I can’t tell you. Maybe just because that mouth, those eyes, the curve of her neck, meant something to me, each part of her so overlaid with memories that it became hard to see what stood in front of me without our history crowding in. I didn’t like the sensation at all—most uncomfortable—I put it down to the shock of my Hell-trek and having been so long in heathen climes. It gave me additional reasons to be grateful for the desert veil I’d put in place. I’d worn it of course to stop her recognizing me and giving away the fact I was there for her. At best that would have simply increased her price ten-fold. At worst it would have got me killed.
“What?” she asked, self-conscious for the first time. “Have I got something on my face?” She reached up to touch her cheek, unconscious of the action and smearing more dirt there.
“Nothing.” I looked away, managing to stumble over a rock as I did.
She looked gorgeous. Far too gorgeous for Barras Jon.
We reached the outskirts of Port French before Lisa gathered herself enough to ask, “You have brought a ship haven’t you?”
“Well. A ship brought me, that’s certainly true.”
Lisa shuddered. “I never want to sail again. I was sick the whole way to Vyene!”
“Ah. Well, we are on an island, so . . .” I fell back alongside her, stepped in closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. I know a lot of people don’t take well to boats. I’m a great sailor and even I felt a little rough during my first storm, but I took to the whole business with the ropes and whatnot immediately. Taught those Vikings a thing or two . . .”
“Vikings?” She looked up at me and frowned.
“It’s a long story.”
“And why are you dressed as a shepherd out of the nativity? Is it some kind of disguise?”
“Kind o—”
“And why.” She shook my arm off. “Are you so muddy?” She poked at a particularly filthy part of my Bedouin robe. I didn’t like to tell her it wasn’t mud. Camels are disgusting creatures, a week at sea does nothing to improve them, and I’ve never seen the like before when it comes to projectile shitting.
Rather than explain my garb I diverted her with a question. “Why were you in Vyene?” I couldn’t think what business she would have in the Empire’s capital—or at least former empire’s former capital. “Barras was taking me to meet his family and settle on one of their western estates—”
“Barras, is he—”
“He’s fine.” Anger creased her brow. “He got held up with his father’s business in Vermillion—the Great Jon went ahead of us to Vyene—so he didn’t sail with me as planned, just sent me and my maids on with some more of the effects from the rooms in the palace . . . At least I think he’s fine.” Lisa put her hand to my arm. “He must be looking for me, Jal.
He could have come to harm—you said the pirates—”
“I’m sure he’s in good health.” I may have snapped it. My momentary concern for Barras had vanished as soon as I heard he didn’t sail with her. I wondered how many men he had out searching for his wife—trust Rollas to come closest to the mark—a man of many talents. “Come on.”
I picked up the pace. “We need to get to our ship.”
Lisa hiked up her sackcloth and hurried after me.
The Santa Maria lay where I left her, waiting for the tide, and we boarded without incident. Bartoli also remained where I left him, leaning against the ship’s rail, scratching his hairy belly. He extorted two pieces of crown silver from me before allowing my guest passage to the port of Marsail, a price I paid without complaint, not wishing to seem cheap with Lisa watching on.
Before sailing we managed to secure Lisa a dress, negotiating with the rogues on the quays over the side of the ship. A short to-and-fro with some tailor’s shop hidden back behind the warehouses and a dress was brought out, little more than an embroidered sack in truth, but better than the actual sack I’d purchased her in.
I stood guard outside the tiny cupboard that served as my cabin, defending Lisa’s honour against the largely uninterested sailors whilst she changed clothes. She emerged, tugging at the sleeves but without complaint. She looked sick even in the gloom beneath decks.
“Are you all right?”
She put a hand to the door to steady herself. “It’s just this rocking.”
“We’re still at anchor, tied to the quayside.”
Rather than reply Lisa covered her mouth and made a dash for the steps. When we set sail two hours later on the afternoon tide Lisa hung over the stern rail, groaning. I stood behind her, cheerfully watching Port French slip into the distance. I may have overstated my claim to being a good sailor, but in fine weather on the Middle Sea I can keep my footing and do a passable impression of enjoying the whole nautical affair. Lisa on the other hand proved to be a sailor who would make me look good on my worst day. I had thought I would never have shipmates messier, louder, or more given to complaint than the three camels Omar foisted on me, but Lisa outdid the trio. Like the camels the slightest swell emptied her from both ends. Only my robust objection prevented Captain Malturk having her kept in their former accommodation.
I learned on the second day of our voyage that Lisa’s violent response to travel by sea had at least made her sufficiently unappealing to the corsairs who captured her vessel that she had remained unmolested during the long passage back to the Isles. Her maids were not so “lucky” and were sold into a different market at the corsairs’ first port of call. Lisa’s escape was not without cost though, since she had arrived in Port French so close to death that the slave master came within a hair’s breadth of dumping her in the harbour rather than invest in her recuperation. At sea once again she went into a rapid decline and spent the three-day voyage curled up in my tiny cabin with two buckets. I kept to the deck and we saw little of each other until the blessed call “Land ho!” from somewhere up in the rigging finally coaxed her into the open.
She stood, pale green and shaking, as I manfully endured her stench and pointed toward the still-invisible coast as if I could see it. “The Port of Marsail! We’ll charter a place on one of the cogs that sail up the Seleen and be in Vermillion within two days at most!”
Home! I couldn’t see it but I sure as hell could taste it, and this time I’d be staying put.
SEVEN