There was a certain calm with this here captain-a pirate if the Errant pisses straight and he ain’t missed yet-and a marked elegance and civility to her manner that told the proprietor that she had stolen not just coins from the highborn but culture as well, which marked her as a smart, sharp woman.
He believed he was falling in love, hopeless as that was. Stress of the profession and too much sampling of inland ales had left him-in his honest, not unreasonably harsh judgement-a physical wreck to match his moral lassitude which on good days he called his business acumen. Protruding belly round as a stew pot and damned near as greasy. Bulbous nose-one up on Skorgen there-with hurst veins, hair-sprouting blackheads and swirling bristles that reached down from the nostrils to entwine with his moustache-once a fashion among hirsute men but no more, alas. Watery close-set eyes, the whites so long yellow he was no longer sure they hadn’t always been that colour. A few front teeth were left, four in all, one up top, three below. Better than his wife, then, who’d lost her last two stumbling into a wall while draining an ale casket-the brass spigot knocking the twin tombstones clean out of their sockets, and if she hadn’t then choked on the damned things she’d still be with him, bless her. Times she was sober she’d work like a horse and bite just as hard and both lalents did her well working the tables.
But life was lonely these days, wasn’t it just, then in saunters this glorious, sultry pirate captain. A whole sight better than those foreigners, walking in and out of the Brullyg Shake’s Palace as if it was their ancestral home, then spending their nights here, hunched down at the games table-the biggest table in the whole damned lavern, if you mind, with a single jug of ale to last the entire night no matter how many of them crowded round their st range, foreign, seemingly endless game.
Oh, he’d demanded a cut as was his right and they paid over peaceably enough-even though he could make no sense of the rules of play. And how those peculiar rectangular coins went back and forth! But the tavern’s take wasn’t worth it. A regular game of Bale’s Scoop on any given night would yield twice as much for the house. And the ale quaffed-a player didn’t need a sharp brain to play Bale’s, Errant be praised. So these foreigners were worse than lumps of moss renting a rock, as his dear wife used to say whenever he sat down for a rest.
Contemplating life, my love. Contemplate this fist, dear husband. Wasn’t she something, wasn’t she just something. Been so quiet since that spigot punched her teeth down her throat.
‘All right, Ballant,’ Skorgen Kaban said in a sudden gust of beery breath, leaning over the table. ‘You come and sit wi’ us every damned night. And just sit. Saying nothing. You’re the most tight-lipped tavernkeep I’ve ever known.’
‘Leave the man alone,’ the captain said. ‘He’s mourning. Grief don’t need words for company. In fact, words is the last thing grief needs, so wipe your dripping nose, Pretty, and shut the toothy hole under it.’
The first mate ducked. ‘Hey, I never knew nothing about grief, Captain.’ He used the back of one cuff to blot at the weeping holes where his nose used to be, then said to Ballant, ‘You just sit here, Keeper, and go on saying nothing to no-one for as long as you like.’
Ballant struggled to pull his adoring gaze from the captain, long enough to nod and smile at Skorgen Kaban, then looked back again to Shurq Elalle.
The diamond set in her forehead glittered in the yellowy lantern light like a knuckle sun, the jewel in her frown-oh, he’d have to remember that one-but she was frowning, and that was never good. Not for a woman.
‘Pretty,’ she now said in a low voice, ‘you remember a couple of them Crimson Guard-in the squad? There was that dark-skinned one-sort of a more earthy colour than an Edur. And the other one, with that faint blue skin, some island mix, he said.’
‘What about them, Captain?’
‘Well.’ She nodded towards the foreigners at the games table on the other side of the room. ‘Them. Something reminds me of those two in Iron Bars’s squad. Not just skin, but their gestures, the way they move-even some of the words I’ve overheard in that language they’re speaking. Just… odd echoes.’ She then fixed her dark but luminous gaze on Ballant. ‘What do you know about them, Keeper?’
‘Captain,’ Skorgen objected, ‘he’s in mourning-’
‘Be quiet, Pretty. Me and Ballant are having an inconsequential conversation.’
Yes, most inconsequential, even if that diamond blinded him, and that wonderful spicy aroma that was her breath made his head swim as if it was the finest liqueur. Blinking, he licked his lips-tasting sweat-then said, ‘They have lots of private meetings with Brullyg Shake. Then they come down here and waste time.’
Even her answering grunt was lovely.
Skorgen snorted-wetly-then reached out with his one good hand and wiped clean the tabletop. ‘Can you believe that, Captain? Brullyg an old friend of yours and you can’t e’en get in to see him while a bunch of cheap foreigners can natter in his ear all day an’ every day!’ He half rose. ‘I’m thinking a word with these here-’
‘Sit down, Pretty. Something tells me you don’t want to mess with that crowd. Unless you’re of a mind to lose another part of your body.’ Her frown deepened, almost swallowing that diamond. ‘Ballant, you said they waste time, right? Now, that’s the real curious part about all this. People like them don’t waste time. No. They’re waiting. For something or someone. And those meetings with the Shake-that sounds like negotiating, the kind of negotiating that Brullyg can’t walk away from.’
That don’t sound good, Captain,’ Skorgen muttered. ‘In fact, it makes me nervous. Never mind avalanches of ice-Brullyg didn’t run when that was coming down-’
Shurq Elalle thumped the table. ‘That’s it! Thank you, Pretty. It-was something one of those women said. Brevity or Pithy-one of them. That ice was beaten back, all right, but not thanks to the handful of mages working for the Shake. No-those foreigners are the ones who saved this damned island. And that’s why Brullyg can’t bar his door against them. It isn’t negotiation, because they’re the ones doing all the talking.’ She slowly leaned back. ‘No wonder the Shake won’t see me-Errant take us, I’d be surprised if he was still alive-’
‘No, he’s alive,’ Ballant said. ‘At least, people have seen him. Besides, he has a liking for Fent ale and orders a cask from me once every three days without fail, and that hasn’t changed. Why, just yesterday-’
The captain leaned forward again. ‘Ballant. Next time you’re told to deliver one, let me and Pretty here do the delivering.’
‘Why, I could deny you nothing, Captain,’ Ballant said, then felt his face flush.
But she just smiled.
He liked these inconsequential conversations. Not much different from those he used to have with his wife. And… yes, here it was-that sudden sense of a yawning abyss awaiting his next step. Nostalgia rose within him, brimming his eyes.
Under siege, dear husband? One swing of this fist and those walls will come tumbling down-you do know that, husband, don’t you?
Oh yes, my love.
Odd, sometimes he would swear she’d never left. Dead or not, she still had teeth.
Blue-grey mould filled pocks in the rotted ice like snow’s own fur, shedding with the season as the sun’s bright heat devoured the glacier. But winter, when it next came, would do little more than slow the inexorable disintegration. This river of ice was dying, an age in retreat.
Seren Pedac had scant sense of the age to come, since she felt she was drowning in its birth, swept along in the mud and refuse of long-frozen debris. Periodically, as their discordant, constantly bickering party climbed ever higher into the northern Bluerose Mountains, they would hear the thundering collapse of distant ice cliffs, calving beneath the besieging sun; and everywhere water streamed across bared rock, coughed its way along channels and fissures, swept past them in its descent into darkness-the journey to the sea just begun-swept past, to traverse subterranean caverns, shadowed gorges, sodden forests.