"So… we have to tend this kitten while we're out there risking our fives?"
"I'll throw you overboard before I'll lose her, Kosta." Caldris chuckled. "You think I'm lying, you just test me. But keep your breeches on; she'll be in the covered basket."
Speaking of the basket seemed to recall it to his mind. He reached into it again and drew out a small loaf of bread and a silver knife. Locke saw that the loaf had many small marks upon it, about the size of the muzzle of the little creature trying to slip out of his arms. Caldris didn't seem to care. "Master de Ferra, hold out your right hand and don't whine."
Jean extended his right hand toward Caldris. Without hesitation, the sailing master slashed the knife across Jean's palm. The big man said nothing, and Caldris grunted as though pleasantly surprised. He turned Jean's palm upside-down and smeared the bread with the blood trickling from the cut.
"Now you, Master Kosta. Keep that kitten still. Vile luck to cut her by accident. Plus she's armed, fore and aft."
A moment later, Caldris had made a shallow, stinging cut across Locke's right palm and was pressing the loaf of bread up against it as though to stanch the wound. When he decided that Locke had bled sufficiently, he smiled and moved to the edge of the stone plaza, overlooking the water.
"I know you both been passengers on ships," he said, "but passengers don't signify. Passengers ain't involved. Now you're gonna be involved, proper, so I got to make things right for us first."
He cleared his throat, knelt at the edge of the water and held up his arms. In one hand he held the loaf of bread; in the other, the silver knife. "Iono! Iono Stormbringer! Lord of the Grasping Waters! Your servant Caldris bal Comar calls. Long you been pleased to show your servant mercy, and your servant kneels to show his devotion. Surely you know a mighty fuckin" mess waits over the horizon for him."
He tossed the bloody knife into the bay, and said: "This is the blood of landsmen. All blood is water. All blood is yours. This is a knife of silver, metal of the sky, sky that touches water. Your servant gives you blood and silver to show his devotion."
He took the loaf of bread in both hands, tore it in half and threw both halves into the water. "This is the bread of landsmen, that landsmen need to live! At sea, all fife is yours. At sea, yours is the only mercy. Give your servant strong winds and open waters, Lord. Show him mercy in his passage. Show him the might of your will within the waves and send him safe home again. Hail Iono! Lord of the Grasping Waters!"
Caldris rose from his knees, groaning, and wiped a few smears of blood on his tunic. "Right. If that can't help, we never had a fuckin" chance."
"Beg pardon," said Jean, "but it seems to me you could possibly have mentioned us along with yourself—"
"Don't think nothing of it, de Ferra. I prosper, you prosper. I cop it, you're screwed. Praying for my health works to your full advantage. Now, put the cat in the basket, Kosta, and let's do some business."
A few minutes later, Caldris had Locke and Jean seated beside one another at the rear of the dinghy, which was still lashed firmly to several iron rings set into the stone of the plaza. The covered basket was sitting on the tiny deck of the dinghy at Locke's feet, occasionally emitting bumping and scratching noises.
"Right," said Caldris, "far as the basics go, a boat is just a little ship and a ship is just a bigger boat. Hull goes in the water, mast points toward the sky." "Of course," said Locke, as Jean nodded vigorously.
"The nose of your boat is called the bow, the arse is called the stern. Ain't no right and left at sea. Right is starboard, left is larboard. Say right or left and you're liable to get whipped. And remember, when you're directing someone else, it's the ship's starboard and larboard you're talking about, not your own."
"Look, little as we know, Caldris, I daresay we know that much," said Locke.
"Well, far be it from me to correct the young master," said Caldris, "but as this venture is somewhat in the way of completely fuckin" mad, and since all our lives are looking mighty cheap, I'm gonna start by presuming that you don't know water from weasel piss. Is that suitable by you, gentlemen?"
Locke opened his mouth to say something ill-advised, but Caldris went on.
"Now, unrack the oars. Slide "em in the rowlocks. Kosta, you're starboard oar. De Ferra, you're larboard." Caldris unlashed the dinghy from the iron rings, threw the ropes into the bottom of the boat and hopped down into it, landing just before the mast. He settled down onto his backside and grinned as the boat swayed. "I" ve locked the rudder tight for now. You two will do all our steering, gods help us.
"De Ferra, push us off from the quay. That's right. Nice and easy. Can't fly sails straight from the dockside; got to get some sea room first. Plus there's no breeze behind these walls for us to use anyway. Row gently. Pay attention as I move around… look how I'm making us wobble. Don't like that, do you? You're turning green, Kosta." "Hardly," muttered Locke.
"This is important. What I'm trying to tell you about now is called trim. Weight needs to be distributed sensible in a boat or a ship. I move to starboard, we heel over on Kosta's side. I move to larboard, we heel over even worse on de Ferra's side. Can't have that. That's why stowing cargo proper is so important on a ship. Gotta have balance fore and aft, starboard and larboard. Can't have the bow in the air or the stern r i higher than the mast. Looks silly, then you sink and die. That's basically what I mean when I says "trim". Now, time to learn how to row." "We already know how to—"
"I don't care what you think you know, Kosta. Until further notice, we're gonna presume that you're too dumb to count to one."
Locke would later swear that they must have spent two or three hours rowing around in circles on that artificial bay, with Caldris crying out, "Hard a-larboard! Back water! Hard a-starboard!" and a dozen other commands, seemingly at random. The sailing master constantly shifted his weight, left and right, forward and centre, to force them to fight for stability. To make things even more interesting, there was an obvious difference between the power of Jean's strokes and the power of Locke's, and they had to concentrate to avoid constantly turning to starboard. They were at it so long that Locke started in surprise when Caldris finally called for a halt to their labour.
"Vast rowing, you fuckin" toddlers." Caldris stretched and yawned. The sun was approaching the centre of the sky. Locke's arms felt wrung-out, his tunic was soaked through with sweat and he fervently wished that he'd had less coffee and more actual food for breakfast. "Better than you was two hours ago, I'll give you that. That and not much else. You gotta know your starboard and larboard, fore and aft, boats and oars like you know the width of your own cocks. Ain't no such thing as a calm or convenient emergency out on the blue."
The sailing master produced lunch from a leather sack at the bow of the dinghy, and they floated relaxingly in the middle of the enclosed square bay while they ate. The men shared black bread and hard cheese, while the kitten was let out to make quick work of a pat of butter in a stone crock. The skin that Caldris passed around was full of" pinkwater", warm rainwater mixed with just enough cheap red wine to partly conceal its stale, leathery taste. Caldris took only a few sips, but the two thieves rapidly finished it off.
"So, our ship is waiting for us somewhere around here," said Locke when his thirst was temporarily beaten down, "but where are we going to get a crew?"