Cuirin’nên’a—Nein’a—his mother.
Worse, Chap instinctively knew that when Brot’an had paused in the woods to lean against the tree, he had been pondering something weighty. Try as Chap had, again he could not dip into the old shadow-gripper’s memories. It was becoming infuriating. Upon returning to the ship last night, Brot’an had simply gone to his cabin and not come out again.
Amid the people milling on the waterfront and piers, Chap spotted a head with pitch-black hair bobbing through a cluster of hawkers. He did not see sparks of red in those tresses until ...
Magiere pushed through, with Leesil behind her. She actually smiled for an instant before looking back to make sure she had not lost him. They looked happy.
Chap hesitated at ruining that. But it was not to be, as they climbed the ramp with Leesil now grimacing at boarding the ship again.
“How was your night?” Leesil asked. “All quiet?”
—No—
Chap watched tension flood Leesil’s tan features. Magiere stepped in at Leesil’s side and caught his expression. That one moment of relief, maybe happiness, that Chap had seen in her from afar instantly vanished.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Is Leanâlhâm all right?”
—Leanâlhâm—is fine— ... —Brot’an—left—the ship—last night— ... —Come—
Magiere winced at the rush of words but nodded. Chap repeated for Leesil as quickly as he could find the memory-words to match. Leesil was the first to head below.
Chap followed with Magiere, and once inside their cabin, Leesil dropped on a bunk’s edge as Magiere closed the door and then joined him.
“What happened?” she asked.
Chap hesitated. Calling up the right memory-words would be laborious. He chose to raise the words for Magiere and let her tell Leesil. That especially might be best when it came to the mention of Cuirin’nên’a.
—Brot’an—left—the ship—and—headed—into the woods—
At a soft knock on the door, Chap’s snort gave way to a growl. The door cracked open before anyone called out, and Leanâlhâm peeked in.
“You are all back,” she said, appearing relieved.
Had she thought Chap was off the ship as well? He took one look at her face, and his exasperation vanished. She had been in her cabin all night with no one but Brot’an for company.
“May I come in?” she asked shyly.
“Of course,” Magiere answered, though she frowned with a quick glance to Chap. “Next time we make port, you should come with us. You need to get off the ship whenever possible.”
At that, Leanâlhâm looked less relieved.
Chap knew it would not be wise or kind to shoo the girl out in order to relate what little he had learned. He needed only three words easily found in both Leesil’s and Magiere’s memories.
—Later—but—soon—
Chapter Nine
Two days out of Kêdinern, Dänvârfij’s ship docked in late afternoon at the port of Berhtburh. She immediately disembarked, though this time she took Rhysís with her. He never complained, but she could see he felt confined aboard the vessel.
Since the night in Kêdinern by the river’s mouth, Eywodan had been too watchful, too silently concerned over her state of mind. Rhysís was more than able for any purpose, and he would never give note of her demeanor or ask her about her thoughts.
Still, she needed to stop dwelling upon the past. Some things could not—or need not—be changed.
There was more to Rhysís than met the eye in some ways. Dänvârfij preferred Anmaglâhk garb, even for everyday life, and felt out of place in these human clothes. She suspected Rhysís rather enjoyed their new disguises.
He had chosen his attire carefully and was now dressed in fine breeches and a deep blue tunic. Before, he had always worn his long hair loose, but now it was tied back with a matching but darker blue scarf that covered his head. To her, he looked ridiculous; the contrast of color with his eyes made them stand out too much. He had also discarded his sling and was trying to restrengthen the shoulder of his bow arm.
Berhtburh was larger and busier than Kêdinern and might almost qualify as a city. Here, among an apparent diversity of peoples and manners of attire, she and Rhysís would not stand out so much. Some men along the waterfront were nearly as tall as Rhysís; maybe one or two were as tall. But in their hide-and-fur clothing, and their long, coarse hair and shaggy beards, they looked more like animals than any other type of human she had ever encountered. Their weaponry, from axes and maces to war picks and hammers, betrayed a penchant for reckless carnage.
Two an’Cróan, or “elves” to these humans, passed with little notice along the bustling shoreline as they searched for a harbormaster’s office.
“There,” Rhysís said.
He pointed to a building no wider than a broad cutway, for it looked as if it had been built into the mouth of one, squeezed between one huge warehouse and a fishery. In the late afternoon heat, the stench from the fishery made Dänvârfij cover her mouth and nose.
When they reached the narrow building, Dänvârfij hesitated at bringing Rhysís inside. He spoke less Numanese than most of the team, but she changed her mind. At Kêdinern, the harbormaster would remember only a late middle-aged elf. Here, anyone present would remember a younger couple. It was best to mix any notice of their presence.
She ushered Rhysís in and followed him.
Inside was a typical harbormaster’s office. Desks, maps, a telescope, cabinets full of drawers, and other things lay about in some organization she could not fathom, though the place was long and cramped compared to the wide one on the isle. Four clerks worked in the distance along the interior, for it was barely wide enough for both a desk and room to walk. All the clerks were dealing with either captains or sailors in a buzz of words she could not follow.
Then she noticed Captain Samara of the Bashair.
He was speaking to a wizened elderly man with thinning silver hair that curled around his ears. The stooped little human wore a leather vest that hung too loosely on him, but he gripped a finely crafted cudgel with a brass head shaped like a creature Dänvârfij had never seen.
This had to be the harbormaster, judging by a similar possession of the one on the isle.
Captain Samara spoke too low to hear, but his manner was overly polite, almost subservient. She studied the little harbormaster, and there was a nearly imperceptible hatred in his eyes.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he almost shouted, his voice venomous. “Just be gone by midmorning.”
Samara was the only dark-skinned Suman in the place. Perhaps the harbormaster did not care for him or his kind. The captain nodded once, quick and curt, as if wanting to be gone. When he turned to leave, he spotted Dänvârfij with Rhysís near the door.
“Do you require assistance?” he asked. “May I help with anything?”
“No,” Dänvârfij said, “thank you.”
Samara hesitated but then nodded and left. Rhysís glanced after the captain, but Dänvârfij found the harbormaster watching her the same way he had looked at Samara. She approached him cautiously.
“Pardon,” she said and decided to use Eywodan’s story. “We were ... to catch ... Cloud Queen ... at Wrêdelyd. Our way from Calm Seatt ... was delayed. Can you tell if ship ... came here ... and when left?”
The man’s left cheek twitched at her broken Numanese, and he turned away. “This is a business office for captains and merchants. We don’t cater to those who can’t keep their own schedules.”