I listened to those nearby more than watched, as my eyes remained fixed far away. Eavesdropping is an art I’d learned early in my life at Crestfallen Castle, and I excelled at doing it. It’s all about the eyes, not the ears. Looking at a person told them you were listening. The opposite was also true. Not looking allowed them to freely express themselves as if you didn’t exist. People who were close spoke openly as I looked at other things, pretending interest. I learned the food on the ship was served to passengers who stood in a line, the dining room was far too small for the price we all paid for our passage, and the crew couldn’t care less. We who occupied cabins below decks would empty our own chamber pots, only over the stern, and only after testing the wind direction. Our valuables, of which we had few, were at risk because no doors had locks and thieves abounded. The purser had locked storage.
The breeze picked up, and the tilt of the ship increased, along with a few small rises and dips of the deck. My stomach gave a turn at another mention of food. I reached for a handrail. We neared the mouth of the river, and the ship’s movement made me queasy, so I went back to our cabin with Emma in tow. She didn’t seem bothered at all by the ship.
The narrow passageway and closed-in feeling made my stomach worse. Nearly stumbling into our room, I found coats hanging from hooks and the floor clear of all but the bedpan. Both hammocks were strung and occupied by sleeping women.
I gently closed the door again and said, “Emma, let’s go explore.”
She smiled as if she understood my intent if not the words. We went back out onto the deck and found we were still confined by railings placed on three sides. One was the rear of the ship where the contents of the chamber pots were dumped—and it smelled like it. Emma guided me away from it to the side railing of the ship where we watched the water curl around the hull which was almost as fascinating as watching a campfire.
A woman mentioned the galley, and we followed her to a set of stairs leading up. There we entered a room that might hold forty friendly people.
The tables were tiny, each with a lip around the perimeter which was to keep the metal bowls and tumblers from falling off in rough weather. I’d overheard that, too. Nothing was breakable. Chairs were bolted to the floor to prevent movement in storms, each so small they looked child-sized. I didn’t figure that out either, it was another valuable tidbit learned from eavesdropping and snooping on the conversations of others. Small chairs meant more diners in a smaller space.
The good news was they had food for passengers set out on a sideboard. Not that I wanted any, but Emma’s eyes bulged at the sight of piles of crackers, slices of yellow cheese, apples, and small, individual loaves of bread. I said, “Yes?”
“Yes,” came her hesitant echo. Food was a great incentive for learning our language.
“Yes,” I confirmed with a wave at the table laden with the food. My intention was to reinforce the few basic words we had scribbled on the paper until she knew and understood each. With luck, those would lead to more words.
A couple got up from a table, and we claimed it. It sat four, and a young man and woman with features much like ours stood in a corner and attempted to juggle their food as they ate while standing. I caught the eye of the man and pointed to our empty seats.
They came our way, smiling. He said something indistinguishable, and I shrugged, not understanding a word. Emma responded for us, and they sat. Her manners seemed to be impeccable. The woman asked her a question, and Emma replied without an accent, “Damon.”
Her introduction didn’t end there. They talked and ate, the eyes of the couple on me more than on Emma. Clearly, they expected me to respond in their language. The man stuck out his hand and said, “Damme.” He nodded to the woman, “Hanna.”
As with the girls and Penna, the beginning of each name was pronounced hard and after a slight pause the second syllable. I duplicated them when repeating the names. Emma seemed pleased to communicate with others in her native language, and I was content to sit still and hope my stomach would calm down from the ship’s motion. Overall, it presented an interesting problem. They could speak with Emma, she with them. I couldn’t speak with any.
Kendra and Anna entered the dining room, and we introduced them. Kendra asked if I’d been outside and noticed the dragon flying behind the ship. It was not really a question, but information passed to me in case others listened. We drew attention, both in the Port of Mercia and here. Somewhere on the ship, there was the man who boarded with us, the one who had watched me before slipping into the bowels of the ship. His presence bothered me, perhaps more than it should, but there were good reasons for my fears.
Not even we’d known of the voyage until just before sailing, so that precluded him from following us. We’d purchased the last cabin. That meant he had to have purchased his passage before us. Instead of interacting with those at the table, I lost myself in trying to catch up on what was happening. We were not on a social voyage, but one with possibly deadly consequences.
Emma touched my leg to draw my attention. Damme and Hanna were standing to depart, and I’d been absently rude while my mind was elsewhere. Kendra and Anna were holding up my end of the table-talk. My mouth muttered something inane as I smiled and glanced around at the other tables searching for the unknown man who had watched me.
After our experiences with mages and the various forms they’d used to attack us, my outlook was overly suspicious. Inwardly, I knew the more likely reason for the earlier stare had been the recognition of a man who has spent a night or two in the port of Mercia, and where everyone knew us by sight. His curiosity for my presence on the voyage would be natural.
That’s what I tried to tell myself. It’s not what I believed. There is an odd thing about the eyes of a person. If all others are looking at you in a crowd, all but one person, that says there is a reason. If one person refuses to look, it is usually because they do not want to make eye contact. After that follows the obvious question of asking why? Then there was his unusual action in avoiding me by entering the doorway to the passenger quarters.
Kendra said, “Are you going to remain in this foul mood for the entire trip?”
“There was a man looking at me on deck.”
“Did he do or say anything?”
My attempted eyeroll was to be a duplicate of hers when she was upset with my stupid questions, but it failed in one way or another as both Kendra and Anna fell into fits of laughter. I decided the sea air outside might clear my thoughts. After standing and taking a few steps, I remembered Emma. Looking around, I found her at my heels, also smiling.
The wind struck as the door opened, almost pulling it from my fingers. We stepped out on the deck and saw water. Both sides. No land in any direction as far as I could see. Suddenly, the ship felt very small. The motion of the deck was steady as if the wind pulled it along and it couldn’t roll. It was easy and restful. The popping of the sails, the tapping of rigging, and the shouts of orders to the seamen were all reassuring.
An officer stepped up beside me. “Excuse me, sir. Are you feeling all right?”
“It was just a little closed in.”
“Ever been on a ship?”
I again hesitated. I may have when a child. On impulse, I concentrated the air behind the officer and pushed it forward at the officer. His cap tilted, and he reached for it without thought or concern. I said, “No, this is my first time.”
“Destination?”
“Dagger, the capital of Kondor,” I said lamely, planning to explain little else. The magic with his cap was not so much a trick as it assured me the last dragon was nearby, even if I couldn’t see it, or at least near enough for my small magic to work.