Too, I thought the slave had been sufficiently punished.
I glanced upward to the platform and ring, on the foremast, where Leros now stood his watch. The light of the lantern carried only partway on the mast. I shuddered.
“I would be armed,” I said.
“You are not an officer,” he said, “and not all officers are armed.”
“I would be armed,” I said.
“Then so, too,” said he, “would a thousand others.”
“The platform and ring,” I said, “is muchly open. It is an insecure, fragile fortress.”
“Less insecure, less fragile, I fear,” said he, “than a hundred others, remote passageways, darkened corners, blind turnings.”
“Had I used the slave, and Rutilius heard of it,” I said, “he might have sought me out, openly, in rage.”
“Quite possibly,” said the tarnsman.
“And you would have been near?” I said.
“Possibly,” he said.
“I am bait?” I asked.
“Possibly,” he said.
“His name,” I said, “is not Rutilius. He is Seremides, former master of the Taurentians.”
“I know,” said the tarnsman. “I know him from Ar.”
“What is the bad blood between you?” I asked.
“It is not important,” he said. “It has to do with a woman.”
“What woman?” I asked.
“Talena, Talena of Ar,” he said.
“The Ubara!” I exclaimed.
“Once,” he said.
“Why is he here, on the ship?” I asked.
“I gather he thinks I know her whereabouts,” said the tarnsman, “that he might somehow find her through me.”
“For the bounty?” I said.
“Of course,” said the tarnsman. “And an amnesty for himself, for bringing her to Ar.”
“There would be riches and freedom for him,” I said, “and great jubilation in Ar, when she was publicly impaled.”
“It would be holiday,” he said.
“Do you know where she is?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I suspect Seremides does not believe me. I am, in a way, much pleased that he is on the ship, as here I may kill him, and, at the least, he will be unable to pursue and capture Talena, for the bounty.”
“You know the Ubara?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You could recognize her?”
“Yes.”
“Doubtless,” I said, “you would like to capture her and bring her shackled to the justice of Ar.”
The reward for her return to Ar was considerable, amounting to a dozen wealths, which might purchase a city or hire a hundred free companies.
“No,” he said, “I would have other plans for Talena.”
I shuddered at the tone of his voice.
I myself could recognize the Ubara, of course, but I did not think it judicious to bring this to the attention of the tarnsman.
“Where might be Talena?” I wondered.
“I do not know,” said the tarnsman.
“We have been long at sea,” I said. “By now any of a thousand hunters might have apprehended the Ubara. She may have perished naked and screaming months ago in Ar.”
“I think not,” said the tarnsman.
“Why do you think not?” I asked.
“It is late,” he said.
“I wish you well,” I said.
“Beware of Seremides,” said the tarnsman.
“I shall,” I said. “I wish you well.”
We turned about, to leave the open deck.
I doubted that I was the less in danger from Seremides, for having forgone the use of a slave. It might have been pleasant to fling her upon the coil of rope, head down, and thrust up her tunic, but one must concern oneself with discipline, and the ship. Too, her use was not mine.
Such things concern some men.
Not every man will untether another’s kaiila.
We had scarcely moved toward the port companionway leading under the stem castle when our progress was suddenly arrested by a cry from the height of the foremast.
“Ho!” cried Leros from above. “Ho! A light, a light! Ahead, ahead, a light!”
The bar sounded, struck twice.
Cabot and I hurried, followed by his lantern bearer, along the narrow port passageway about the stem castle, and stood at the bow. We heard others climb the steps to the stem-castle deck. We heard others hurrying about the starboard passageway about the stem castle, and were soon joined at the bow.
“Ahead, dead ahead!” called Leros, from above, his voice seemingly far away.
“There!” said Cabot, pointing.
Twice more the bar rang.
We could see the light now, even from the deck level.
“It is a ship!” cried a man.
“No!” said Lord Nishida, suddenly beside us. “It is too soon, too soon!”
At the same time, with a shift of the moist wind, a heavy, sweet odor emerged from the darkness.
“Turn about! Turn about!” cried Lord Nishida.
By now, given the ringing of the bar, one supposed that Aetius, and perhaps even Tersites, and the major officers quartered astern, closest to the helmsman, had come to the command deck, the stern-castle deck, whence orders might be most conveniently and immediately conveyed to the helmdeck, some feet below.
Lord Nishida turned about and began to hurry aft. Cabot and I, and the lantern bearer, followed him. We pressed our way through excited and curious men, in their crowds, come from below decks, rushed forward.
Save for the lanterns rushing about the deck, it was dark.
The odor became more pervasive.
I heard something brush the side of the hull.
In a few Ehn Lord Nishida was at the foot of the helm deck. There were dark figures on the stern-castle.
“Put about!” cried Lord Nishida to the stern-castle deck. “Put about! Put about!”
From the darkness above came the shrill voice of Tersites. “Forward!” it cried. “Forward!”
“Fools! Fools!” cried Lord Nishida.
He clambered to the helm deck and began to fight the helmsman for the helm.
Two mariners pulled him from the helm.
“Forward!” cried Tersites.
The wind turned, and was fair, swelling the mighty sails, and the great ship, like an unleashed sleen, leaped forward.
It was an Ahn later that the sails fell slack, and the ship ceased to move.
Once again the heavy, sweet odor was pervasive.
One could now, in the light of the dawn, see the color about, yellow and purple, the myriads of blossoms, many a foot in width, opening to the morning sun.
I now heard the voice of Aetius, above, frantic with concern.
“Put about! Put about!” he called to the helmsman.
“No!” screamed Tersites.
“We must put about, dear master!” cried Aetius.
“Never!” said Tersites.
“Take him below!” cried Aetius.
A mariner took the shipwright by the arm, and conducted him, that small, misshapen figure, protesting, struggling, from the stern-castle deck.
“Put about!” called Aetius, to the helmsman.
“I cannot!” he said. “I cannot!”
Chapter Thirteen
I looked about.
“It is an odd ship,” I said to Tarl Cabot.
We had clambered aboard the vessel, from a small ship’s boat, cutting through the masses of snarled, ropelike, blossomed vines which encircled it, covering it, almost obscuring it. It was one of several such derelicts we had noted, resting variously in the sea, a pasang or two apart. We did not know how many such vessels might lie trapped in this place, in this welter of tangled, blossoming growth which stretched far about us. At first, from several hundred yards away, we had thought them only inexplicable mounds in the sea, hills of flowers uncannily forced upward by the riot of growth, vines upon vines. Then we learned the tendrils had clasped and climbed, and covered the works of men. The odor of these enormous fields of growth, alive, rocking and swaying in the sea, with their ubiquitous, massive blossoms, yellow, and purple, which had struck me one night some weeks ago as so pervasive, striking, and unpleasant, was doubtless as physically present as ever, but, interestingly, one now scarcely noticed it, excepting with an effort of attention. The odor, in time, became a lulling odor, and, no longer noted, but invariably present, tended to produce a sense of lethargy.