Rebellion

CHAPTER 21

The night dragged on, one of the most gut-gnawing of Tali’s life. Every minute she expected the little craft to founder and plunge to the bottom, or to strike one of the many floes and icebergs that littered the sea like white confetti. They were larger, more jagged and more numerous the further south they went.

But whatever else Holm was, he was a master seaman. He handled the little craft with the delicacy of a surgeon, picking his way between the bergs and floes without so much as a scrape in the varnish.

As the hours crept by, her need for sleep became a desperate, all-consuming ache, but the more she tried to sleep the more it eluded her. Whenever she closed her eyes her head spun until she thought she was going to throw up. She hunched in the corner with a blanket wrapped around her sea coat and endured the dizziness and nausea as best she could.

“Drink this,” he said, shaking her by the shoulder.

He was holding a steaming metal cup. “What is it?”

“Ginger tea. It’ll settle your stomach.”

“Stomach isn’t the problem. It’s my spinning head.”

“It’ll do your head some good, too.”

She took the cup and warmed her cold fingers around it. “How do you boil water on a wooden boat?”

“There’s a stove. We have all the comforts here. It’s just like home.”

The boat climbed a monster swell, up and up, revealing terrifying, white-capped waves through the round front window. She shuddered.

“When I was a slave in Cython, home was a tiny cell carved out of rock, with a stone bunk, and my only possession was a loincloth.”

“But it felt like home?”

“When I was little. When my mother was alive. It was all I knew.”

“Well, there you are. And this boat is my home.”

Tali sipped her tea. The sickening motion inside her head eased, though it did not disappear.

“Would you like breakfast? Bacon? Eggs?”

She salivated. “I… don’t think I’ll risk it.”

“You’ve got to eat something.”

He checked all around, lashed the wheel so the boat would run straight, then went down the ladder, returning with a steaming saucepan.

“That was quick,” said Tali.

“I put it on when I made the tea.”

He dropped a knob of butter into the saucepan, spooned in a quarter of a cup of honey and handed her the saucepan and a spoon.

“What is it?” she said, eyeing the grey, buttery mess uneasily.

“Just porridge. It’ll put a healthy lining on your stomach — what there is of it.”

She sampled it. “It’s good!” she exclaimed. “It’s — it’s wonderful.”

He smiled with his eyes. “Compliments, eh? I’ll cook for you any day.”

The porridge settled her stomach and the honey sent a surge of energy through her. The weakness in her knees retreated a little.

They sailed on. Holm went in and out many times, adjusting the little sail. The hot tea delivered a tingling heat and the wonderful coat kept it in. It was the first time she had been truly warm since Caulderon. She dozed.

“Where are we going?” she said, as a watery, haloed sun clawed its way over the horizon. She rubbed her sore eyes.

“South to The Cape, then east along the strait between Hightspall and Suden — if we can manage it.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Pack ice. We can’t go far offshore, but close to shore is equally dangerous.”

“Why?” She didn’t know much about the sea. “Are there reefs?”

“Yes, and shoals, and dangerous currents, but they’re not the main dangers. People are.”

“Pirates?” She wasn’t entirely sure that Holm wasn’t one.

“The chancellor controls the land south of Rutherin to The Cape, and he’ll be watching for us. But after we round The Cape, southern Hightspall is now Cythonian territory all the way to Esterlyz.”

“What’s Esterlyz?”

“The south-eastern corner of Hightspall. Why does the enemy want to kill you, anyway?”

“I told you,” Tali muttered, not meeting his eye. These waters were as dangerous to navigate as the ones he was sailing through.

“I don’t believe you did.”

“Well, I would have thought it was obvious.”

“I’m set in my ways and I like things spelled out. Indulge me.”

“Because I was the first slave to escape from Cython. They have to punish me and set an example to the other slaves.”

“That all?”

“I also know Cython’s secrets.”

“What, all of them?” he said, grinning.

Was he mocking her? “Enough to be invaluable if the chancellor ever attacks Cython.”

“I still don’t see why he wants you so badly. Didn’t he question you about Cython?”

“At length.”

“And all the enemy prisoners would have been interrogated. The chancellor’s cartographers would have made maps of Cython.”

“A map’s not as good as a guide!” she blurted, then flushed.

“A guide for what? Leading an army into Cython?” For the first time, Holm seemed off-balance.

“How would I know?” she said lamely.

The muscles along his jaw had gone tight. “What the hell is he thinking?”

“He’s preparing the ground; gathering his forces; evaluating all kinds of options.” Why was she defending him?

“While the enemy is seizing the ground and destroying our forces.”

“Well, he’s making alliances…” Tali noticed Holm’s grim smile. “What’s the matter?”

“Why are you apologising for your enemy’s failures?”

“I–I don’t know. We often talked. The chancellor told me things he can’t say to anyone else.”

“If he doesn’t stop talking and start fighting it’ll be too late. Then all the strategies and alliances won’t make a jot of difference — ”

Holm broke off, adjusted the sail then took the wheel again, rubbing his jaw.

Tali looked out but saw nothing save ice and heavy seas. “Is something wrong?”

“Thought I saw something in the water, way across to port.”

“What do you mean, ‘to port’?”

He jerked a gnarled thumb to the left. “That way.”

In the morning light, the crisscrossing scars on his fingers stood out against the tanned skin. “Have you been tortured?”

He looked down. “They’re work scars. From clock springs, mostly.”

“I’ve no idea what a clock spring is.”

“It’s a long strip of metal — steel or brass — wound into a tight coil. The tension drives the clock. Some clocks, anyway. But when you have to take a coil out, sometimes it snaps open. Bloody business.”

“How did you come to be a clockmaker?”

“I failed at something important — ” His mouth tightened; he looked away. “The opportunity came up. Always been good with my hands.”

He went out and climbed twenty feet up the mast, hanging on with one hand and staring off to port. With every sickening roll of the boat the mast swayed halfway across the sky and she felt sure he was going to be hurled off, to break every bone in his body. Or go over the side and never be seen again.

What would she do if he went into the water? How would she get him out? In her present state she would not have a hope.

Tali imagined being trapped on a boat she had no idea how to sail, frantically trying to work the sail and the rudder without having any idea what she was doing, fighting the wind and the waves at the same time… Then the slow, sickening roll, the monstrous seas coming over the side and the little vessel foundering and carrying her down with it, the icy water flooding into her lungs -

Holm hit the deck with a thump, burst in and spun the wheel.

“What’s the matter?” cried Tali.

“Shell racers.”

“What are shell racers?”

“Long, low racing craft, rowed by four oarsmen. With a scrap of sail they’re faster than anything in the water, downwind. And infinitely manoeuvrable. They can go anywhere, even upwind.”

“I wouldn’t want to be out in these seas on a little rowing boat.”

“Nor I,” said Holm. “I’ve rowed them. They break up too easily.”

“What happens if they break up?”

“Go in water this cold and there’s only one minute to get you out. Beyond a minute, you die.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, studying her face. “But the massive reward the chancellor will be offering for you is worth any risk.”

And Tali still had no idea what Holm wanted from her.

He paused, then went on, slowly, “Time was when I would have thought the same. I was a great risk taker when I was young… though not all of them came off.”

Tali wasn’t sure how to interpret that. “What do we do when they catch us?”

“Can you shoot a bow and arrow?”

“No.”

“But you do know how to fight?”

“Only with my hands.”

“How good are you?”

“Not good enough to beat armed men.”