Jeryon says, “I didn’t want some Aydeni landlubber on this ship. I don’t want one in the dinghy either.”
“Think of her as provisions then,” Solet says. Several sailors, still armed with their gory tools, laugh.
“Stay with us,” Tuse tells the poth. “The men need you. Hanosh needs you. And you’ll get your share. You’ve earned it.”
“I don’t heal for money,” she says. “I won’t kill for it either. I’ll take the chance.”
Jeryon says to Tuse, “You don’t like this, do you?”
“It’s not the choice I would have made,” Tuse said.
“Did make, Tuse,” Jeryon says. “Putting me in a boat is one thing. Putting her in one is another. You didn’t think of that, but you can’t stop, can you?” Jeryon shakes off the escort and stands beside the poth. “She’ll be the one you see at night, not me. As for you two, if anyone cracks, if anyone lets slip what he’s done while he’s drunk in a bar, it’ll be Tuse. Then I won’t need to tell the Trust my side of the story.”
Livion and Solet give Tuse a warning look. He returns it.
The poth says, “I’d like to put on a fresh smock.”
“No,” Solet says. “And let’s check those pockets.”
“I’m going freely,” Everlyn says. “I will not be searched.”
“I could take the whole dress,” Solet says, “and give you to the sea in whatever’s under there.”
She tightens her lips and pulls from the deep hip pockets several bottles of lotion and powders. From those in the folds around her legs emerge bandages, small tools, and, improbably, two limes. From the pockets inside her sleeves come bandage ties, a pot of unguent, and packets of medicinal herbs. She drops it all in a clatter.
Solet says, “Is that it?”
“Yes,” the poth says.
“Let’s check one more place,” Solet says, “just in case.” He reaches for the thick floral brocade that extends from the deep vee of her collar. She covers her breasts. He taps her wrists. Resigned, she lowers her arms. He reaches behind the brocade and pulls from a pocket there a flat knife with a bone handle. He admires it. It’s like the full-size version of his finger blade. He pockets it.
“Is that it?” Solet says.
Again the poth says, “Yes.”
“Fool me once,” Solet says. “Hold her.” Two sailors stretch her by her arms and Solet runs his hands up each arm, over her back, belly, breasts, and broad, heavy hips, then from her crotch to her ankles. He finds no contraband. He and the crew might have taken a greater thrill from the search had her furious dignity not stiffened their hearts. The sailors let her go.
He says to Jeryon, “Pick up anything in the hold?” Jeryon yanks out his two pants pockets. They flap as uselessly as a spaniel’s ears.
Solet looks to Livion, who orders, “Put them in the dinghy.”
They’re led down to the starboard rail. The dinghy’s thwarts have been removed, as well as the collapsible mast, the rigging, and the rudder.
It seems so much larger, Jeryon thinks.
“It seems so small,” the poth mutters.
Jeryon offers the poth his hand. She refuses it, jumps into the dinghy, and kneels by the transom as he climbs in after her. He remains standing, the cords in his arms and his neck tensed. A sailor unties the painter and tosses it into the dinghy. It drifts away from the Comber.
Everlyn gets up, rocking the boat as little as possible, and stands behind Jeryon.
Jeryon says, “Livion, remember this. I don’t take chances. I plot a course, and I bring my boat in.”
“If you did take chances,” Livion says, “you wouldn’t have that one to bring in.”
Tuse descends to the rowers’ deck, Solet takes the oar, and Livion pipes. The oars extend from the galley like the legs of a crab. The ports have been reopened, but none of the rowers look at the dinghy. Livion pipes again. As the oars stroke for Hanosh, Beale comes to the rail. He can’t help it. He waves.
Jeryon calls out, “I still would have saved you.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Poth
1
* * *
I shouldn’t have saved him, Jeryon thinks. Now I’ll have to destroy him too.
Solet would happily kill for revenge. Ynessi love revenge so much they have songs celebrating it. They feature the most brutal and cunning slaughters, people and places, times and events. Children are taught the songs as much to learn about the city’s history as to learn about its mores. And you can dance to them. Because revenge leads to more revenge, songs are often parts of a cycle, and these are the basis for daylong, sometimes weeklong, parties.
Tuse would kill for revenge if he were drunk and angry enough.