Osha lingered longer in looking up the passage. Where had that sharp breeze come from? Where had the elder sage and his tall companion gone? Why had they been inching along and peering at the floor, and what was that object the sage held while the companion handled the old one’s crystal?
Osha found himself at a loss for any answers. The guards would most likely return Chane to the guest rooms. The moment they did so, they would notice one other guest was missing upon putting him in his room.
Wynn had specifically warned them not to cause trouble. Raising an alarm among this place’s inhabitants and causing a full search would certainly qualify. Still, if Osha chose to, he could evade the guards until morning and look about further before simply reappearing at the morning meal.
So little, mostly more questions, had been gained in this search, but Wynn had her purpose to fulfill. He wanted her to believe he served that—for her—and not to cause her even minor failures. She, and whatever she needed, was all that he had left of value in a life without purpose.
With a sigh, Osha crept back the way he had come.
Chapter Thirteen
Far down the coast, aboard the Djinn, Magiere had soon realized her initial instincts about Captain Amjad had been right—after it was too late to act. With no stops between Soráno and il’Dha’ab Najuum, she and her companions were trapped. When they’d boarded, her doubts had been only whispers in her mind. When supper was served the first night aboard, her worries had grown. She, Leesil, Chap, Wayfarer, and Brot’an were given four small pieces of flat bread and what appeared to be dried fish to share.
The flat breads were about three bites each and tasted stale. When Wayfarer tried to chew the fish, she paled. Magiere tasted it herself and found it overly salted, old, and almost leathery. Chap spit it out, and he would eat almost anything. All of them went to bed hungry that night.
Magiere mentioned that the cook was probably busy setting up stores and hadn’t had time to make a proper meal. But she suspected that no one believed her, and the next morning they’d been given four pieces of flat bread and dried fish for breakfast. When they ended up with the same for supper that second night, Leesil privately expressed concern. Wayfarer already wasn’t looking well. Her people lived on fresh fish and fresh or dried fruits and vegetables.
They never saw the cook, for all meals were delivered by a skeletal boy who didn’t speak any Numanese and always looked at the floor. Complaining to him would be pointless if not cruel.
And now, a good number of days into the long run down the desert coast, the ship’s cook hadn’t provided anything better. They were all beginning to weaken, especially Wayfarer.
More than once Magiere had considered finding the captain, but he’d made it clear that any complaints would fall on deaf ears.
However, sitting on his bunk and looking down at another “breakfast,” Leesil finally shook his head.
“That’s enough. I’m having a word with the captain.”
Chap lay beside him on the bunk. Wayfarer and Brot’an were still in their own cabin. The girl had emerged looking hopeful at each meal, and Magiere could barely stand the thought of seeing her disappointed again.
Leesil was right, warnings or not.
In the small, shabby cabin, Magiere had to slouch when she stood up. “I’m coming with you.”
Both Leesil and Chap eyed her, and even the dog appeared to frown. Their anxious worry that in a heated moment she might lose herself ... to her other half only made her feel worse. She both needed and resented them for this.
“I’m fine,” she said coldly. “And if I throw the cook over the side, it’ll be a conscious choice.”
One corner of Leesil’s mouth twitched, and he nodded at the bad joke. Chap rumbled, though he didn’t lift his head from his paws.
“All right, since you speak Numanese better,” Leesil agreed, and he flipped his hand toward the flat bread, showing traces of mold, on the bunk. “There have to be other food stores on board, as I doubt the captain eats this refuse. Chap, stay here, and when Wayfarer comes, tell her that we’ll be back shortly.”
Chap’s crystalline blue eyes rolled toward Leesil, and Magiere wondered what the dog had to say about this. When Leesil only shook his head and stepped toward the door, Magiere followed.
They’d all spent much of their time below deck, going up for fresh air only when necessary. The crew was as bad as the bread, hard and filthy, and Magiere didn’t want any more to do with them than necessary. The only good luck they’d had on this voyage was Leesil’s usual seasickness passing more quickly than ever before, likely because he’d been stuck on some ship for so long.
Magiere followed him up on deck, and they emerged into a bright morning. Several unwashed sailors looked over, but she ignored them. Of the entire crew, only one had struck her as worth the bother. He was young, with dark, curling hair, and seemed determined to keep the ship a bit cleaner, or at least try. She’d spoken to him a few times, and he was polite enough. A few days ago she’d learned that his name was Saeed.
Looking around, she spotted him once again scrubbing the faded deck with a bucket of dipped seawater. He actually smiled as she and Leesil approached, but his smile faded when he saw her expression.
“Where’s the captain?” she demanded.
“Magiere!” Leesil whispered.
She took a long breath to calm herself, but she was too angry. Back in Soráno, Leesil had had to go out gambling to pay the very high passage fee, and now Wayfarer was slowly starving.
Saeed rose from his knees with his breeches soaked, and studied Magiere’s face with his dark eyes before pointing toward the prow. “There ... but he will not hear you.”
“Oh, yes, he will,” Magiere answered, turning away toward the prow.
As she rounded the front mast, there was Captain Amjad sitting on a barrel and stuffing his face with a handful of plump dried figs. Two large, equally well-fed men stood nearby with curved blades tucked in their ragged sashes.
Magiere’s breathing started to quicken and deepen.
Amjad was repulsive from his looks to his odor, from his greasy hair to his round face of sparse patchy, straggly strands in place of a real beard. Several of his front teeth were blackened.
Magiere closed on him so quickly that she left Leesil a few steps behind.
“You need to do something about those meals your cook sends us.” She started right in. “Even our dog can’t eat that swill!”
Amjad didn’t flinch or react, and only spat a fig pit out across the deck. “You eat what the crew eats, as I told you before we left port.”
Glancing around, Magiere noticed the crew didn’t look any better than she and hers felt. Were they all living on nothing but molding bread and hardened dried fish? Then she felt Leesil’s grip latch on to the back of her belt.
“Girl with us ill,” he cut in, attempting his best Numanese as he pointed to the bowl of figs on the barrel beside the captain. “She needs fruits ... vegetables.”
Amjad turned away. “All foodstuffs in the hold go to market in il’Dha’ab Najuum. If you wanted better, you should have bought your own back in port. You paid for passage ... only.”
Magiere realized further talk was pointless, as this wretch wouldn’t do anything to help Wayfarer. The day grew suddenly too bright in Magiere’s eyes. Her irises must have turned black as she felt her teeth begin to change, pressing against the clench of her jaw.