Ylo reluctantly threw off the covers and swung his feet down to a cold and dirty floor. “Shaving?”
Hardgraa whipped out a dagger and offered it hilt first. “Lots of water outside. Bucket and rope on deck.” He had obviously shaved recently, and without nicking himself. Ylo had never understood how he ever managed to do that, even with hot water and soap, because his face had the texture of tree bark. It might be as tough. Perhaps he used sandstone.
“I’ll think about it.” Ylo began dressing. If Shandie really had ordered him on deck in five minutes, then the centurion would not be bluffing about delivering him there ready or not.
Hardgraa leaned back against the door. “You’ll miss that wolfskin, won’t you? Girls will take longer?”
“At least another ten minutes.” Ylo shivered into the shirt. ”You do realize that the imperor is now deposed? Legally he can’t give us orders anymore.”
Hardgraa grinned menacingly. “He can give me orders!”
“Somehow I thought you would see it that way.”
The centurion tested the edge of his dagger with a horny thumb. “Are you telling me that you don’t recognize Shandie as imperor?” The grin was still there, and the menace more obvious.
Ylo pulled on hose. What was his relationship to Shandie now? An imperor could reward his associates with vast riches. A deposed ruler had nothing to offer but danger and hardship. On the other hand, if he ever did win back his throne, then his gratitude to those who had stood by him in his time of troubles ought to be infinite. Obviously a cautious man would assess the odds with great care. Last night the situation had seemed utterly hopeless, but perhaps by daylight there might be some rays of encouragement.
He met the centurion’s steely eye. Hardgraa would not be thinking that way. His loyalty to Shandie was personal and absolute; he would serve Shandie if he had to hide out in a cave until his dying day. He and Ylo were longtime comrades now, but the old legionary would not hesitate to slit Ylo’s throat if he suspected he was a threat to the imperor, and obviously anyone on this ship who was not totally loyal would be a threat. The rule of law did not apply here, as Ylo himself had just pointed out.
“I think I’ll discuss my allegiance when Shandie himself asks me.”
The centurion put his dagger away, but his face alone was still an open threat. “Should have taken that dukedom while you had the chance, shouldn’t you?”
Ylo bent to buckle a shoe. It was a perfect fit. “Rivermead? That was just a rumor, just court gossip. Why would he have offered to make me a duke? Would I have turned it down if he had?”
“He told me he had, and you had.”
Ylo did not look up. He had been very stupid to refuse that offer. The preflecting pool had promised him Eshiala, but even if he still put any faith in that vision, what was a seduction compared to a dukedom? He had hoped to win both—tumble first and Rivermead second.
“I expect you’ll believe him and not me, then.”
“Every time,” Hardgraa said.
Shoes fastened, Ylo rose to his feet, balancing against the gentle roll of the ship. “Any idea where we’re going or what we’re doing?”
Hardgraa’s face was unreadable now. “Not much. The most urgent business is to find a safe retreat for the impress and her daughter.”
Ylo picked up the cloak and adjusted it on his shoulders. “Sounds logical.”
“Of course she’ll need protection—someone will have to stay and guard her.”
Their eyes met.
“Old Ionfeu and his wife, I expect?” Ylo said, but his heart had started to beat a little faster.
Hardgraa nodded. “Plus a fighting man.”
“Then we’ll see who he really trusts, won’t we?”
“Yes, we will, won’t we?” the centurion said darkly. Ylo felt quite hurt by his obvious suspicion.
The deckhouse was bright and reasonably warm. Everyone was sitting around on shabby chairs and well-worn sofas, and the prevailing mood seemed to be one of dark brooding. There was no talking. There was no sign of food, either, so Hardgraa had not been lying when he said that Ylo had missed breakfast. His arrival seemed to go unnoticed.
Shandie was sitting by himself, staring into space, thinking. His face gave nothing away, but then it never did. He was the most impassive of men. Whether he was deciding what to have for lunch or how many thousand men to send to certain death, he always looked like that when he was thinking.
Ylo walked over and bowed. He needed practice in bowing. He had the imperor’s full attention instantly—Shandie never thought about more than one thing at a time. The midnight eyes appraised him with a hint of amusement. “Ylo! Morning! I almost didn’t recognize you without your wolfskin.”
“Nor I, sir. The back of my neck feels very chilly.”
“It will feel worse, I’m afraid. I’ve appointed you high admiral for the next half hour. The helmsman needs a break.”
“Aye, sir,” Ylo said in a growly Nordland accent. Resignedly he headed for the door. When he glanced back, Shandie was lost in thought again. The general glum silence in the room suggested that no one had found a solution to the problem yet. Ylo went out on deck and crunched across the snowy planks to where the big jotunn heifer was holding the wheel. The wind blowing over Cenmere was colder than a snake’s smile. An inland sea more than a hundred leagues long could raise fair waves when it wanted to. It wasn’t trying very hard at the moment, but imps were never good sailors and Ylo was astonished at his feeling of well-being. Sorcery, likely.
The water was the exact color of lead coffins; the clouds hung low overhead like lids. Snow had stopped falling, but there was enough still up there to bury this unpropitious ferryboat. The horizon all around was hazy, and blank—not a sail, not a trace of land. Ylo’s landlubber impish soul cringed in horror at the sight of so much water.
The big woman did not look as weary as she should if she had been driving this hulk all night. He hated women bigger than himself, and he wanted nothing to do with sorceresses.
“I was sent to relieve you,” he said.
“May the Gods preserve us, then. Do you know how a compass works?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Hold the wheel steady and try to keep that red bit exactly where it is now.”
“Sounds easy.”
“But you won’t find it so.” She crinkled the weatherbeaten wrinkles around her ugly pale eyes, and walked away.
The wood was cold. In a few minutes his fingers were frozen and he was chilled to the bone. The compass needle refused to stay where he wanted; when he looked back he saw the wake was about as curly as his hair. He found that evidence of his own incompetence very irritating, and knowing he could do no better even more so.
How could Shandie fight an army of sorcerers? How could a deposed imperor ever regain his throne against those odds? If anyone in that deckhouse had found a convincing answer, they would not all have been looking so black. Always Shandie had been an inspiring leader, and a generous one, but a sensible man did not stay with a doomed cause. Contrariwise, a band of outlaws did not tolerate potential traitors. Common sense whispered that Ylo’s best course of action was to swear eternal loyalty until he reached shore—and then just vanish. He would never be Duke of Rivermead now. A wealthy, buxom widow was his only hope.
But there was one interesting advantage to the sudden change in his fortunes. The preflecting pool’s prophecy seemed a lot more believable since yesterday. He had never quite believed that he would ever find means to seduce an impress. Royal ladies were always very carefully guarded. His chances were much better now.
Boots crunched on the snow, and the king of Krasnegar arrived with a rush. He grabbed the wheel, began turning it. “Easy, there!” he said, laughing as if he were calming a horse. “You almost had her in irons, Admiral!” He had remarkably callused hands for a king.
“I did what she said!” Ylo protested, stepping back and letting the faun do as he pleased with the wheel, as he obviously knew what he was about.
“The wind shifted on you! And we need to make a course change, anyway. ” He was taller than Ylo, this so—unlikely faun, and he had very penetrating gray eyes. “Stick around a minute. I need to ask you something.”
“Me, your Majesty?”
“We’ve been establishing motives,” the king said. He had the hulk’s sharp end pointed the way he wanted it now, but he didn’t give the wheel back to Ylo. Apparently he was enjoying himself. “In effect we’re outlaws, you know. Even the imperor is! So the question everyone must answer is: Do you want to stay with the team, or do you want out?”