As they drew away with exasperating slowness, Ayuir waved from the quay before disappearing towards their inn. The Flying Fish heaved and bounced on a brisk chop, driven up the estuary by a steady west wind. The afternoon sun blazed in a clear blue sky.
"I hope he makes it back to Penembei safely," said Zerlik in a worried tone. The young Irazi was already looking green. "He speaks but few words of Novarian."
"Poor fellow! I would have given him lessons."
"Oh, it is not with him that I am concerned, but with my beautiful car and team. I can always get another manservant."
Jorian grunted. Zerlik said: "Excuse me. I have heard of these curious ideals that are rife in Novaria, of consideration for the lower classes, and I suppose I should guard my tongue with more care. Why put we not up the sails now?"
"We ought to get farther from that lee shore first, lest this sea breeze blow us back thither and pile us up."
They rowed for a while in silence, until Zerlik said: "Let me rest for a moment; I am fordone."
"Very well. What sort of speech do you use in Penembei?"
"Why, Penembic, of course."
"Is it related to Fediruni? I speak fair Fediruni, as well as Mulvani and Shvenic."
"Nay; Penembic is related to no other tongue—at least, in this part of the world—albeit it contains not a few words of Fediruni and Novarian origin. Our dynasty is of remotely Fediruni origin, you know; King Juktar was a nomadic chieftain in Fedirun. And before that, a Novarian adventurer founded the city and begat a dynasty. But Penembic is a much more precise and logical tongue than your congeries of Novarian dialects. Most of us speak a little Fediruni, since that is the tongue of the cult of the supreme god Ughroluk."
"You must teach me Penembic."
"I shall be pleased to. At least it will take my mind off this damnable stench offish. Tell me: Why took you Gatorix's exhorbitant price for his glass? And why the sudden haste?"
Jorian chuckled. "I looked through the telescope up the Kyamos and saw a squad of horsemen riding hard down the river road. They were mere specks in the glass, but natheless they gave the impression of Xylarian guardsmen… Hola!" Jorian reached behind him into the cabin and took the spyglass from its rack. He peered through it shoreward. "By Astis' ivory teats, those losels are on the quay now!"
"Let me see," said Zerlik.
On shore, the telescope showed a group of black-clad men, one of whom held the horses while the others expostulated with several Chemnites. Their vigorous gestures could be seen.
"Let's hope they don't find a barge and put to sea after us," muttered Jorian. "Eight oars could easily overhaul two. Row harder!"
After a while, Zerlik asked: "Could we not put up the sails now?"
"We shall, but count not too heavily upon them. With this onshore wind, we shall have to tack out to sea, and I know not how high our little tub will point. Here, give me the glass. Ten thousand demons, but they've already found a barge and are putting out! Now we're for it!"
Chapter Two
THE FLYING FISH
He must hoist the sails instanter," said jorian.
Zerlik asked: "How do we that? I have never sailed."
"First, we heave to in the eye of the wind." With powerful strokes of his oar, Jorian turned the bow of the Flying Fish westward. The little ship pitched wildly as she took the waves bow-on. Jorian shipped his oar.
"Now," he said, "keep her in this position whilst I raise the sails. Oh, dip me in dung!"
"What is the matter?"
"I forgot that these sails had their covers on."
"I thought you were a nautical expert?"
"Do be quiet and let me think!" Jorian quickly unhooked the lashing of the mizzen cover.
"It is my skin, too," said Zerlik plaintively.
"Fear not for your precious skin. Tis I whom they're after."
"But if a fight develop, they will not draw subtle distinctions…"
Jorian, heaving on the mizzen halyard, forbore to answer. The mizzen yard went up by jerks. The yellow sail flapped and boomed as it luffed. Jorian shouted:
"Keep her head into the wind!"
"Why not sail on this sail alone?"
'Too far aft; she'd give us too much weather helm."
"I know not your nautical terms. Here come our pursuers!"
The black-hulled barge, rowed by eight men, had covered half the distance from the quay to the Flying Fish. Zerlik asked:
"Then why did you not put up that big front sail first?"
"One must hoist sail from stern forward. If one hoists the foremost sail first, the wind takes charge and sweeps one downwind—which in this case is upriver, whither we are fain not to go. There!"
Jorian belayed the halyard and worked his way forward to the mainmast. An instant later, Zerlik heard a wild yell. He called:
"What is the matter now?"
"May fiends torment, for a million eternities, the bastard who lashed this sail cover! He tied it in a hard knot, around to the front where I can't see it."
"Hasten, or the Xylarians will be upon us." The pursuers were now close enough for their faces to be discerned.
"I do my utmost. Shut up and hold her bow steady!"
The mainsail yard, swathed in the canvas sail cover, extended out for several feet beyond the bow. The knot that secured the lashing was at the forward end of this yard. To reach it, Jorian had to sprawl out lizardlike on the yard, gripping for dear life with his left arm, with his feet on the anchor, while he felt around the butt end of the yard with his free hand. To untie a hard knot with one hand takes doing even when one can see the knot, let alone when one has to work solely by touch.
The freshening wind drove larger and larger waves up the estuary. The Flying Fish leaped to each impact like a horse at a fence. Smash! smash! went the little ship's bow as she came down from each pitch.
Tossed up and down, eight or ten feet to each toss, Jorian had much ado to keep his grip on the yard. The sun, near to setting, turned the seaward waves to gold, which glared in Jorian's eyes like the glow from a furnace.
The barge drew closer. The Xylarians were within easy bowshot, but Jorian was sure they would not try archery. For one thing, the wind would carry their shafts awry; for another, they wanted him alive.
"Zevatas damn it!" he screamed as his hat blew off, alighted gently on a wave, and went sailing up the estuary on its own.
"Jorian!" called Zerlik. "A man is readying a lariat."
When it seemed hopeless, Jorian felt the knot yield to his straining fingers. The black pursuing barge was almost within spitting distance. The knot came loose at last. Feverishly, Jorian unhooked the sail cover, bundled it up, and tossed it aft. It came down on Zerlik and wrapped itself pythonlike about him. In trying to free himself from the canvas, he let go his oar.
"Keep her head into the wind!" bellowed Jorian, heaving on the main halyard.
Zerlik bundled up the sail cover and returned his attention to his oar. "Here comes the noose!" he called.
One Xylarian cast his lariat, but the cast fell short, into the heaving blue water. The yellow mainsail went up. Its luffing in the strong wind shook the ship. Jorian shouted:
"Point her to starboard!"
"Which is that?"
"Oh, my gods! Back water, stupid!"
Zerlik caught a crab with his oar but at last did as commanded. As the bow fell off to starboard, the wind, with sharp cracks, filled the sails on the port tack. The Flying Fish heeled to starboard and began to pick up speed.