Part 72 (1/2)

I did, and it worked. After a few queasy moments I kept the first two pieces of bread down, and the rest was easy. The last few pieces of bread and broth I indicated were for Growch.

A hammering on the door again, and that loud-voiced martinet who strode the deck of his s.h.i.+p like a small but determined Colossus and ruled his crew with the threat of a rope's end, was heard asking his wife in the meekest way possible if he might have some more maps?

”Take them and be quick about it! Take also a blanket and your eating things.

You will bunk with the mate. Now, be off with you! I have work to do. . . .”

I suppose my mouth must have been hanging open, because as he left she turned and winked at me. ”Never let them get away with nothing, my chick,”

she said comfortably. ”Out there-” she gestured to the sea, the storm, the tossing deck, ”-he is boss. In here, I am, and he don't forget it.”

I looked around the cabin. Comfortable, yes, but not luxurious. Not the sort of place one could call home.

”Do you sail with him all the time? I mean, haven't you got a place ash.o.r.e?

And aren't you ever afraid?”

She laughed. ”No, yes, and yes. I sail when I want a change, go to new places. I have a home far from here, near youngest son, not yet married. Afraid? Of course. But this not bad storm, only little Levante who blow us off course forty-fifty mile. Rest of voyage routine. My man know this: he only want maps to make him look important.” She bustled about, tidying the already tidy.

”Now you get some rest. Tell me all about yourself when you wake up.” She held up one of the chamber pots. ”You or dog want pee-pee?”

I slept all through the rest of that day and the night, and when I awoke at last the storm was off away somewhere else, my sickness had gone, I was hungry for the first time in days and all I had to do was concoct a romantic enough story to satisfy my indulgent hostess. It wasn't too difficult: I remembered my beautiful blind knight, invented parents who didn't understand my love, relived parts of my earlier journeys, including a near rape, and finally sent my betrothed off on a pilgrimage from which he had not yet returned, thus my escapade.

Tears of sympathy poured from her eyes. She sighed, she sobbed as my tears-of hunger: where was my breakfast?-mingled with hers.

”My dearest chick! How often I wish for a daughter! Now my prayers will all be with you. . . .” She dried her eyes, glanced at me. ”You are sure you are set on this knight of yours? My youngest son, he is not the brightest boy in the world, but . . .”

I was almost sorry to disappoint her.

One fine evening we sailed between two jaws of land into the mouth of a bay made bloodred by the setting sun. Climbing the hill behind was a beautiful city, with gold cupolas, pierced minarets, palaces and tree-lined streets. Even as we nudged in towards the quay, lights appeared in windows, along streets, moving with carriages or hand-held, until the whole city resembled a rosy hive alive with sparkling bees.

Matthew's s.h.i.+ps had a permanently allotted landing stage, so we were rowed in and tied up right on the quayside. Immediately aboard was the Master Scipio I was waiting to meet. Of medium height, with a forked beard, he exuded authority. After a brief courtesy to myself, he took Falcone's papers from the captain and started the unloading with his own team, disregarding the swarm of itinerants who crowded the quay touting for work.

The cargo was checked by myself, now fully recovered, and Master Scipio's a.s.sistant, a dark man called Justus, then it was borne away to a warehouse for storage. It was well into the night by the time we finished and we ate where we stood, highly flavored meats on skewers with a sort of pancake bread. At last we went back to the s.h.i.+p for what remained of the night. It was strange to lie down and not be rocked from side to side, and it took a while, tired as I was, to get to sleep.

Added to the lack of motion there was the noise from ash.o.r.e. Used as I was to the creaking of the s.h.i.+p, the noise of wind and sea, my ears were now a.s.sailed by the sounds of humanity at large, determined to wine and carouse the night away. The s.h.i.+p was moored right up against the ”entertainment” part of the harbor, and the night was alive with singing, wailing and shouting, wheels, hooves, and musical instruments. I learned later that the captain's wife had stood guard for the rest of the night on the gangplank, armed with an ancient sword, turning back not only those members of the crew who wished to creep ash.o.r.e, but also any enterprising wh.o.r.e who attempted to board.

Before we went ash.o.r.e finally she drew me aside and pressed a small packet into my hand.

”Is a nothings,” she said. ”But pretty enough perhaps. You take it for present.

My husband he bring it back as gift when he sail alone. Say it come from wise man down on his luck. . . .” She laughed. ”Only truth is, I get gift means he has another woman somewhere. Guilty conscience. Better you have it for dowry,”

and she gave me another of her bear hugs, which almost had my eyes popping out. ”Take care, chick; I so hope you find your man!”

On sh.o.r.e Master Scipio was waiting with his second-in-command, half a dozen guards and a horse master. After briefly introducing me, we went off for breakfast at a small tavern some half-mile from the port. We ate a thick fish stew, more of the pancakelike bread, olives, a bland cheese, and drank the local wine. A street and a half further on were our lodgings; a three-story house in a narrow twisting alley, that almost touched its neighbor across the street at roof level.

Our rooms were little more than cubicles, overlooking a central courtyard where a small fountain tinkled pleasantly amid vine-covered walls. I was lucky enough to have a small s.p.a.ce to myself: a clean pallet and a stool, and it was relatively cool.

Master Scipio spoke to us from the stairs. ”I have things to arrange. We shall meet again tonight at the same tavern. To those of you who are new to the city, a word or two of advice. Don't venture far and keep your hand on your purse. Don't get involved in arguments on religion or over women, because I won't bail you out. Watch both the food and the drink; if you are ill you are left behind. One last thing: do not discuss our cargo or our destination.”

”How long are we here for?” asked one of the guards.

”We start out at dawn tomorrow. Anyone not packed and ready will be left behind,” and off he clattered down the stairs. Not a gentle man, but at least one knew where one was with him.

Two of the guards set off almost immediately, to ”see the sights,” as they put it, but the others lingered. Eventually one, a local man, went off to visit some relative or other, and the others decided to go out sightseeing.

”You coming, youngster?”

I would dearly have loved to explore the city, but after last night's sleeplessness the pallet was more inviting. I took off my jacket and lay back, promising myself a good wash later. My eyes closed. . . .

At the foot of the pallet Growch made a great to-do of hoofing out his ears and nipping busily for fleas.

”Can't you do that on the floor?” I asked sleepily.

”More comfortable up 'ere.” He was quiet for a moment or two, and I began to drift off. ” 'Ow long you goin' to kip, then?”

”An hour or so. Why?”

”I'm 'ungry!”

”You're always hungry. . . .”

”Can you remember the last thing I ate? No, and neither can I.”

”Just give me an hour,” I said between my teeth. ”One hour . . .”

Chapter Three.

Actually he let me sleep for two and I woke gently and naturally, lying back in a luxury of la.s.situde. I could hear him out on the landing, snapping at flies.

He was quite good at it, usually; having such short legs he tried to compensate in other ways, and quickness of paw, mouth, and eye were three of them.

And of course it was Growch who had alerted me to the other of my secrets: the power of the ring I wore on my right hand. One could hardly guess it was there, I thought, lifting my finger to gaze at it. As thin as a piece of skin it nestled on my middle finger as if it were a part of it. I couldn't remove it, either. According to what I had heard, the ring chose its wearer and stayed there, until either the wearer had no further use for it or grew unworthy to wear it.

This latter must have been what happened to my father, who had left the ring, some coins and his cloak as the only legacies to my mother and myself. He had been hunted down and killed on a false accusation before I had ever been born, but my mother-who was the village wh.o.r.e and no worse for it either- had kept the few pieces he left as mementos. She had worn the cloak I now possessed, had spent all the current moneys he had left, but was unable to change the curious coins I inherited, that had so fitted the maps Suleiman and I had studied. Coincidence perhaps, but intuition told me my father had once come this way, too. A good omen.

As to the ring I had slipped on my finger so thoughtlessly the night my mother died, it had been the most magical thing in my life. According to Growch, the first creature I had met after fleeing the village where I was born, it was a precious sliver of horn from the head of a fabulous Unicorn, and as such enabled me to communicate with other creatures and also, as I discovered later, warned of impending danger.

I wondered what sin my father had committed for it to leave his finger; my mother had not been able to fit it to hers either, whereas it had slipped onto mine like bear grease and stuck like glue.

I couldn't have managed without it. Nor, I thought with a wry smile, would I have once enc.u.mbered myself with not only a blind knight, but also a dog, Mistral the horse, Traveler the pigeon, Basher the tortoise, and my beloved little pig. . . . No, I mustn't think about the pig.

Be that as it may, the ring had completely changed my life. My mother had had ambitions for me. With the help of her ”clients,” I had been educated far beyond a village girl's station. I could read, write, figure, cook, sew, carpenter, cure, fish, hunt, brew, farm, spin and weave. She had plans for me to become the sort of woman who could choose her own husband and take a place in society, but the queer paradox had been that she couldn't bear to part with me, so had, knowingly or not, fed me with sweet cakes and honeyed fruits until I was the fattest, most unattractive girl in the province and no one would have me. I hadn't realized it until after she died, and it took a while to become reconciled to her duplicity, conscious or not.

But, as I said, the ring had changed all that. By the time I had learned to communicate properly with all the creatures I met and who needed my help, the original intent of seeking the first husband I could find had disappeared under other considerations.