“Thrasne owner,” she called, making her way up the plank.
“Medoor Babji,” came the call in return. He was below, where she often found him, supervising the repair of the ship’s planks stove in by some great floating tree on the wide River. She poked her head down, attracted by the strange’ smell from below. Most of the crew was there, caulking the new planks with frag sap. The hot pungency of the caulk took her breath away, and she wondered how they could bear to work in the close heat of the hold. She went back to the deck, pausing for a time to admire the great winged figure that poised at the bow of the vessel, a giant flame-bird, perhaps, or a winged angel. Tired of this, she leaned against the rail, watching the water. There, after a time, Thrasne joined her.
“Another day or two,” he said, wiping his hands on a scrap of waste. “We’ll be done with it.”
“How can you breathe down there?”
“Oh, after an hour or two, you get drunk with it. When everyone starts giggling and stumbling, then’s time to call a halt for the day. They’ll be coming up soon.” He nodded at her, a friendly expression. “Medoor Babji,” he mused. “What does your name mean? It must mean something.”
“It does mean something,” she retorted. “As much as yours does.”
“Thrasne?” He thought about this for a moment. “It was my grandfather’s name. It was the name of the place he came from, inland, where they had a farm. So, what does your name mean?”
“The Moor have a secret language of naming. We usually don’t share our secret names with Northshoremen.”
“Oh.”
He said it flatly, accepting rejection, and she immediately sought to make amends.
“I just meant it wasn’t customary. All our names are two words, and the two words put together have another meaning. Like in our home tribe, there’s a man named Jikool Pesit. Jikool means ‘stones,’ and Pesit means ‘nighttime,’ ‘dark.’ Stones in the dark are something you fall over, so that name would mean ‘Stumbler’ in Northshore language.”
He turned an interested face, so she went on. “I have a good friend whose name is Temin Suteed. Temin means ‘a key,’ and Suteed is ‘golden’-ah, like sunlight. If you lock up gold with a key, that means ‘treasure,’ so that’s her name. Treasure …
“My grandfather’s name was M’noor Jeroomly. M’noor is from the same word as our tribal name. Noor. Noor means ‘a speaking people.’ And m’noor means ‘spoken.’ Jeroomly means ‘promising,’ so the two together mean ‘oath,’ and that was his name.”
“How about Taj Noteen?” asked Thrasne, who had met the troupe leader.
She laughed. “In Northshore he would be called Strutter.”
Thrasne shook his head, not understanding.
“It comes from the words for cock and feather, that is, plume, and the plumed birds always strut, you know.”
“But you won’t tell me what your name means?”
She flushed. “Perhaps someday.” Actually, Medoor Babji still had her baby name, and it meant something like “dearest little one.” She did not want Thrasne to know that. Yet.
He let it go, staring out across the River, upon his face that expression of concern and yearning that had so interested Medoor.
“What’s out there?” she asked, taking the plunge. “You’re always looking out there.”
“There!” He was startled, stuttered a reply. “Oh, someone-someone from the crew, is all. Someone we had to leave on an island when we came in for repairs. We’re to pick … her up when we’re solid again, and it’s been longer than we planned. We thought it would be before festival.”
“Oh.” She didn’t comment further. With some men she might have teased, but not with Thrasne. Whatever bothered him, it was no light thing. And whoever he had left behind, it had been no common crew member. “Well, we may see you down River, then. Our leader says we’ll visit three more towns before turning north.”
“Possibly.” He wasn’t interested. She could tell. His lack of interest was irritating enough to gamble on. “Thrasne?”
“Hmm?”
“Who is she, really?”
His silence made her think she had overstepped, but after a time he turned toward her, not looking at her, heaving one hip onto the rail so he could sit half facing her.