Malekrin had told me no one would be looking our way, and now here was something on fire, conveniently far from where we were. “Your handiwork?” I asked.
Malekrin gave me an unprepossessing grin. “It wasn’t easy, delaying it like that.”
“And you’re not worried about setting fire to your own people’s tents?” I asked, trying to keep any suggestion of judgement out of my voice.
“It’s just a store for hay, they won’t miss it,” he whispered back dismissively.
If I’d had doubts about Malekrin being Moaradrid’s son, they were starting to diminish. Disregard for the lives of others and a passion for setting their property on fire were certainly qualities Moaradrid had possessed in abundance. I was even starting to see a similarity in the boy’s face, even if he had none of his father’s hawkish intensity. “Did you have something to do with the guards leaving as well?” I asked.
“Of course. I told them relief was on the way and they were urgently needed to clean out my grandmother’s latrines… a punishment for taking so long to restrain you. They weren’t happy about it.”
“I don’t imagine they were,” I agreed.
Malekrin ducked around the corner of a tent and I stayed close. He was leading us by an indirect route to the dockside; keeping away from the main thoroughfare, weaving instead through the clusters of high-sided tents that bordered it. The shadows were thick there, for the night sky was overcast and there were no torches lit. Even if the town had been thronged with people, we’d have stood a chance of moving Saltlick unnoticed.
When we came out, there was nothing between us and the harbour but a stretch of gravelly sand. I could see no one. As we hurried across the intervening distance, I wondered again at the size and number of the craft moored there. What exactly did a tribe of nomads want with a fleet of what could only be considered ships? What was Kalyxis up to? She’d struck me as the kind of woman who by her nature would always be up to something.
I could have asked Malekrin, but we were already hurrying towards the end of the leftmost wharf by then, Saltlick crashing behind us, and I decided questions could wait. This was going to be a short trip indeed if anyone saw us leave. The boat Malekrin came to a halt before was tied amongst a flotilla of smaller vessels, craft presumably kept for fishing the nearby waters. His was no more impressive than any of the others; another statement, maybe, of how highly these people really considered their bastard prince. Regardless of whether his claims of being kept like a prisoner were true, he obviously hadn’t been living like any kind of royalty.
“I call her Seadagger,” Malekrin said, with obvious pride.
Even in such dire circumstances, I struggled not to laugh. “You can call it whatever you like… but if you’re saying it out loud, let’s stick with ‘the boat’, all right?”
Malekrin gave me the filthiest of looks, and hopped aboard. “Your pet monster better not sink her,” he said.
“Saltlick’s good with boats,” I lied, thinking back to the time he’d once rowed Estrada and I to safety and almost drowned us all in the process. However, Malekrin’s craft was larger than that measly rowboat had been, and though it had clearly been designed to be sailable by one man there was space for a couple more.
I leapt aboard. Malekrin had already brought out a pair of oars, and between us we manoeuvred the boat as close to the wharf as we could manage. Once it was brushing the timber, Saltlick knelt down and lowered himself in. His sudden weight set the craft rocking distressingly, but he was quick to crawl towards the centre. After a minute, though we were drenched from head to toe, we’d at least returned to an even keel.
Malekrin cast off the mooring rope, shoved us free and began to set sail. Whatever his failings of character, he’d been honest about his ability to handle a boat, for it took him hardly any time to get the small craft rigged, behind the wind and out into open water. We were free — and readying to leave the far north, Shoan, or whatever the damned place was called. So far as I could tell, no one had seen us go.
But how long could it possibly take them to realise we were missing? Or that their insufferable so-called prince was gone, and his boat too? Not long, I knew.
And after that, with us stranded at sea, how long could it be before I found out the punishment for kidnapping Shoanish royalty?
CHAPTER NINE
Unbearable as every aspect of his personality might be, Malekrin had one redeeming trait: his seamanship was excellent.
He soon had us scudding before the waves, aided by a hard wind driving down from the north — a direction he’d dismissed as a course of escape without any contribution from me. “There’s nothing to the north,” he’d said, “except barbarians.”
I’d refrained from pointing out that there was nothing but barbarians to the south either, at least until we passed the border into Ans Pasaeda. I supposed that never having seen a city, Malekrin considered horse riding the highest expression of culture and tents the epitome of architecture. What use was there in disillusioning him now? If we should somehow make it to Altapasaeda, he’d learn the truth soon enough.
At any rate, I was grateful that Malekrin expected no contribution from Saltlick or me in the running of his beloved craft. Saltlick had immediately lain himself out in the stern and within seconds his head was lolling, tectonic snores rattling from his throat. Whatever last spark that had been keeping him moving was vanished, and I suspected he might sleep for days if we left him to. Malekrin eyed him with contempt, and turned the same look on me when I struggled into the crook of Saltlick’s arm — the only space on the boat now free — and drew my cloak over me. But he didn’t say anything, and I interpreted his silence as confirmation that he could manage well enough without us.
However, there was one matter I knew I had to attend to before I surrendered to exhaustion. Around a yawn, I said, “You know, I think the best person to help you is Marina Estrada… one of the friends I tried to tell your grandmother about. She’s mayor of a little town; I’m sure she could find you somewhere to start your new life.”
“I can look after myself,” muttered Malekrin.
“Really? If I was you I’d take whatever help I could get. Anyway, we’ll have a better chance of getting to safety with Estrada and the others on our side.”
Malekrin gave a grunt that I took for, if not agreement, then at least acknowledgement of what I’d said.
“The thing is,” I went on, “there’s a… situation. We shouldn’t just go blundering in.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Malekrin said, “and I heard what you told my grandmother. Your friends are in trouble.”
“All right,” I admitted, “they’re in trouble. And you can do what you like, but I have to try to help them. So keep a look out for a beached ship, will you? There are rocks nearby, so be careful.”
“Fine,” he agreed, in a tone that implied it was anything but.
It was all I reasonably could hope for. I had my plan now, desperate as it might be. If Estrada and the others were still alive, if they’d managed to resist the palace guard for this long, then I’d have to find a way to bargain Malekrin’s life for theirs. There were plenty of assumptions involved, not least that anyone would actually want the brat alive; but I was too tired for second guessing, and there was no way my dwindling consciousness was going to offer anything better.
I let my head fall back upon Saltlick’s armpit, trying hard to ignore the pungent odour of giant sweat, and closed my eyes.
I woke to Malekrin kicking my leg, with more enthusiasm than he’d shown in anything else up to that point.
“Ow! Stop that,” I mumbled, trying to curl into a ball.
“Shush!” he spat. “I’ve found your damn boat.”