And with that, Tarrin threw her over the side.
She made the most wonderful scream as she fell, which was cut off by her impact with the water. He didn't look over, but the savage curses and vile promises hurled at him from below made it apparent that had her head above water.
"Kern," Tarrin said in a steady voice, looking at him.
"What is it, lad?"
"I think you need to get yourself a cat."
Kern looked at him, then his eyes widened, and he grinned. "Aye, I do believe ye be right. A nice black cat."
"We'll find something suitable in Dayise. I'll give it some instructions."
"I be appreciatin' that, lad."
After Sheba was fished out of the sea, things went smoothly. The panther Wikuni glared at him from the other ship, her eyes boring into him as she spoke to the ship captain in hushed tones, but Tarrin didn't give her much mind. He turned and shifted back to cat form, then laid down by the ship's crudely fashioned emergency wheel. After the Wikuni were loaded aboard the frigate, it raised its anchor and pulled away from the galleon without so much as a word from its captain.
"I think ye can tell Dolanna to come back up," Kern told him as the galleon began moving towards Dayise again.
Tarrin nodded to him, then padded towards the steep stairs to the deck. He shifted back into his humanoid form once he was in the companionway below, then opened the door to her cabin. "Dolanna, the Wikuni are gone," he told her. "We're moving again."
"I felt the ship's motion, dear one," she told him lightly, adjusting the veil over her face a bit to get it off the base of her nose. "Any problems? I heard Sheba screaming."
"She threatened Kern, so I tossed her overboard," he replied bluntly.
"Well, I suppose she had that coming," she mused. "Tell the others to go back on deck."
"Yes ma'am," he acknowledged with a nod.
He opened each cabin door and told the occupants that it was over, and they began to arrive back on deck. Azakar still looked uncomfortable in his brightly colored robes, and Faalken's continuous jibes didn't help the matter. The cherubic Knight was careful not to get within arm's reach of the hulking youth, mainly because he was wearing his armor this time. Tarrin didn't waste time, he shifted back into cat form and climbed into Miranda's shoulder bag, then pushed and nudged at the contents until he could lay down somewhat comfortably. He got jabbed by one of Miranda's needles, which required another round of settling in until the needles stuck into skeins of yarn and bobbins of thread no longer posed a stabbing threat. Miranda picked up the bag after he stopped moving and rested it on her shoulder easily, looking down into the open mouth of it and giving him a cheeky grin.
"How do they keep control of all this?" Dar asked curiously. "There are so many ships. How do they know where to go?"
"Most of them don't," Keritanima replied. "Most of the quays are first come, first served. Some of them have specific berths. Those are the ones that have the red paint along the edges of the dock. That means someone owns that berth, and only certain ships can dock there. The rest are run by the city."
"It seems crazy. How do they move their cargo if they don't know where they're going to be docking?"
"That's how they've done it for hundreds of years," she replied. "I don't know the specifics of how they transport cargo, but they must have some kind of system."
Tarrin peeked out of the shoulder bag to see them approach Dayise. They had cleared the ring of anchored ships and were moving into the harbor. He noticed that there were no sea fortresses, no naval defenses in place to defend the island city from shipborne attack. Then again, who would dare attack? The sheer number of ships coming and going, all of which would probably join in the defense of the important city, meant that an attacker would have to fight an armada of various ships to gain access to the islands. Kern directed the ship into the middle of the rows of stone quays, until he pulled up to an open slip at the end of one of the larger piers. It was painted red-Tomas must own the berth-and men were on hand to accept ropes thrown from the ship so it could be pulled in and secured.
It only took about twenty minutes to go from the Wikuni frigate to being tied to the dock. Once the ship was stable, the gangplank was lowered, and Kern approached them from the steering deck. "Here ye be, Mistress Dolanna," he told her in his gravelly voice. "I hope ye have a good journey."
"Your aid was indispensible, Captain Kern," she replied with a gentle smile, letting him take her hand. "We thank you, both for your aid and for your discretion."
"Tell Kern to expect a new cat sometime in the next couple of days," Tarrin told Keritanima in the manner of the Cat.
"Uh, Kern, Tarrin says to expect a new cat in the next couple of days. If that makes any sense."
"Aye, it makes perfect sense," he replied. "He said he'd be teachin' a cat that looks like him how to act, so I can use it to bluff anyone who knows about him."
"Clever," Keritanima said appreciatively.
"Good journey to ye, Dolanna," Kern said. "I got repairs to oversee."
"May the winds ever favor you, Kern," Dolanna replied. "Alright, my friends, let us find an inn, then I will attempt to locate Renoit. Keritanima, help me hide your Vendari companions behind Illusions."
Dayise's streets were wide, and there was a curious lack of horses that were common in Suld. The place smelled of people and fish, rotting fish, and the wastes associated with both of them. But the sea breeeze blew in from the ocean, cleansing it of much of the miasma that hung over Suld. Tarrin peeked out of the shoulder bag and watched people go by, people dressed in every imaginable style and manner. Suld was a port city, but Dayise was a port first and a city second. What caught his attention was that ever third person was Wikuni. The Wikuni almost owned Dayise, it seemed, for there were a tremendous amount of them walking the city streets. Azakar led their group along the streets, following Dolanna's quietly relayed directions. None of the Wikuni gave Keritanima or Miranda even a second look. After all, Keritanima looked totally different from what she did now, and the Vendari bodyguards that always accompanied her were absent. Nobody would believe that the fox-Wikuni was the High Princess.
"Get down, Tarrin," Miranda said under her breath.
Tarrin hunkered down a bit so he couldn't be seen, but kept looking about intently. The architecture of the city was modest, most of the buildings being made of a grayish stone with white streaks in it, probably quarried from the islands themselves. Most buildings were directly against the street, making the place feel more like a hallway than a thoroughfare. Most of the buildings were inns or taverns, but that was a function of their location. So close to the docks, they were in an area that catered either to cargo or to the men that crewed the ships. Because sailors were a very rowdy bunch, most of the buildings showed some minor damage, and bits of broken glass and the occasional splinter or tankard shard could be found near the walls of the buildings. The run-down appearance of the area told them that the owners weren't all that worried about appearances anyway. There were very few horses, and the ones that were there were all pulling carts. There were some litter-carriers, hauling about this or that rich person, even a coach or two. But almost everyone was on foot, and most of them had the look of seafarers. There were a surprising number of women about, obviously citizens who looked after the businesses that catered to the very many travellers and sailors that frequented the city, but a good number of them were wearing the revealing dresses and had the general appearances of prostitutes. For such a group, there was no doubt that there were a good number of brothels in the city. That didn't count the freelancer hard currency girls. It was a Shacean city, and his father had told him often than Shaceans didn't look down on prostitution. It was a job, just like any other, and it wasn't a bad thing for a woman to be a prostitute. There was a great deal of money to be made in the trade, if the woman had the right body and face. Shaceans were a rather liberal sort when it came to that kind of thing, a facet of their general happy-go-lucky and free-wheeling culture. But not every woman was wearing a dress with her breasts hanging out of it, and those women disappeared as they moved further and further from the docks. Some were wearing very well-made dresses and jewelry, markers of either well-to-do husbands or good business practices, but most were dressed in simple garb that marked them as workers or servants. Most of the rich-looking women were escorted by armed men who kept an eye on the other pedestrians, trained bodyguards not unlike Binter and Sisska.