Emshandar’s death had almost shut down the fishing business, although the storm had probably helped.
White Impress had fared far to the west and used up a whole day in search of smaller craft to carry the outlaws on the next leg of their insane quest. Acopulo had gone first; then the king of Krasnegar and the inexplicable Master Thinal. Now she had released the last of her fledglings and vanished into the mist, bearing warlock and sorceress away to whatever mysterious business they had planned but would not discuss.
Yesterday’s rain showed no signs of diminishing; indeed the weather was going from horrible to ghastly. The clothes King Rap had provided included warm cloaks, but they would not keep out the bone-chilling damp. Ylo was trying not to shiver.
Shandie was visibly edgy, which was very unusual for him. Now he was obviously trying to make cheerful conversation. Last night’s message from Umpily had depressed everyone, even the sorcerers, and the news that an imposter had been chief mourner at his grandfather’s funeral must have been an especial blow to the rightful imperor.
Ylo, by contrast, was starting to feel quite cheerful—or he had been until he noticed the motion of the boat and the stink of the fish barrels. For the first time in months, even years, he need not worry about paper piling up on his desk every time he went outside to breathe fresh air. A couple of carefree weeks in the saddle might be a very pleasant vacation, he had decided. The sooner the better.
Cheerful conversation, then . . . “To be honest,” he said,”I find I am looking back on White Impress with nostalgia, sire.”
“Me, too. But you must stop giving me titles. We need new identities. Who am I?”
Ylo had foreseen this. “You’re certainly not a farmer or a weaver. Your haircut’s military and your talk aristocrat. You’re tribune of the first cohort, XIVth Legion.”
“Why aren’t I in Qoble, then?”
“Dispensational leave. Your father was created marquis of Mosrace last summer. You’re going there for a family Winterfest.”
“Good. And you?”
“I’d better be your brother, so we can use the same excuse.”
“Why aren’t we traveling on the highway?”
“Well, if anyone dares ask us, we’re detouring to visit old friends. ”
“That’s not bad at all! Outlawry has not spoiled your ability to be a resourceful aide.”
Ylo ignored that obvious flattery. “I’m your signifer. We’re both bachelors.”
“Yes, that’s very good! Our names?”
“Er . . . Yyan and Yshan.”
Shandie adjusted his hood and peered hard at Ylo through the drizzle. No one had ever accused him of being stupid, except possibly where women were concerned. “Your brothers?”
“Yes, your . . . Yes, Yshan.”
For a moment the imperor studied Ylo’s face as if he had not done so for a while, and wanted to renew his memories of it. Then he nodded sadly. “Yshan, then! I’ll take that name as an honor.”
“He would have been very proud to lend it to you.” Then Ylo wondered if that was true—Yshan had been one of the last of the family to die, and even his patriotic fervor must have flagged a little near the end. There were reliable reports that he had been racked.
Shandie said nothing more for a while. Perhaps he knew the truth behind the gruesome stories.
Ylo had not been joking when he said that the warlock’s old ferry had been better than Uomaya. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, feeling the rain driving against the exposed corners of his face. Uomaya seemed to roll in all directions at once, and certainly with no pattern. The little cabin would be drier and possibly warmer, but he could guess how it would stink. Even here on deck and on the upwind side, the air grew unbreathable every now and again. Up. Down. Up . . . Every board was mottled silver with decades of fish scales.
He decided he would never eat fish again, never! He must not think about eating ever again, either, but his eyes kept wandering back to all those staring eyes in the barrels, shiny dead horrors.
His queasy brooding was interrupted by an exclamation from the imperor, who had pulled one of the little magic scrolls from his pocket and opened it.
“Idiot!” Shandie muttered. “Look! Umpily is going to the enthronement.”
Ylo’s insides quivered. “He’s lost a wheel!”
“No. In spite of his looks and his prying, Umpily’s a very determined man, and a brave one!”
A very crazy one. Ylo could not imagine what would drag him there. The Rotunda would be a hive of sorcerers. Scowling, the imperor produced a silverpoint. “It’s probably too late to stop him!” He scribbled a note, then stuffed vellum and stylus back inside his cloak. He sat up and adjusted his hood so he could see Ylo better. “I know you said you wanted to be part of the team, but I will not hold you to that, now we know what lies ahead of us. You have no personal stake in this battle, unlike the rest of us. As soon as we reach land, you should go. I shall think more of your brains. ”
It was a tempting thought, but of course a cautious warrior like Shandie always tested his weapons before the battle. Ylo shook his head. “What, and desert my brother Yshan?”
“Be sure! I would much rather shake hands and part as friends than have a companion climb out a window on me.”
The window gambit had already occurred to Ylo. First, though, he must lure Shandie along the Krasnegar road far enough that he would not just head back to Yewdark to collect Hardgraa as replacement bodyguard. A week ought to do it. Then Ylo could defenestrate, backtrack, and arrive at Yewdark long before the daffodils did. He was going to be very surprised indeed if he could not talk his way into Eshiala’s bed within three days. Probably two. Four at the outside. And then—ah!
But it might not be wise to mention that program to her husband. He would not enjoy his trip to Krasnegar so much if he knew what Ylo was doing with his wife.
“I’m still your man, sire.”
The imperor sighed again. “You’ve lost as many wheels as Umpily. But I’m grateful, very grateful. Ylo, it’s true I offered you the honor of Rivermead to redress the wrong my grandfather committed against your family, but there was more to it than that. Your service over the last two years has been impeccable. I value your honesty and loyalty and capability enormously. I’m not exaggerating when I say that there is no one I trust more.”
This conversation was quite embarrassing. Furthermore, Ylo could no longer ignore that other problem creeping up on him. White Impress had taken her sorcery with her, and its absence was becoming more evident every . . .
“Whom did you see in the pool?” the imperor asked quietly. Danger! Ylo felt a pulse start to hammer in his throat. “The loveliest woman in the world.”
“Yes, but you told us you’d identified her.”
“Tribune Uthursho’s wife.”
Shandie considered his fellow outlaw for a moment. “And have you? . . .”
“Not yet. She wants a divorce and marriage.”
“And you don’t?”
“Divorce yes, the other no. Not yet, anyway.”
“The army disapproves of divorce, you know.” Clearly the commander in chief did so, too. “The theory is that an officer who can’t discipline his wife can’t possibly handle troops.”
“I know. I was going to ask you to arrange it as a special favor, your—er—Yshan. ” Ylo was spinning as he went, spinning like a spider. But the web seemed to be sticky enough.
Shandie shook his head disbelievingly. “You young demon! That’s the first favor you’ve ever asked me for, and what you want is another man’s wife! If I ever, I mean when, I recover my throne, then you can have as many wives as . . . No, I mean of course I’ll arrange it for you.”
Saved! Ylo’s heart slid back to a more normal rate. And the Other Problem came back with a rush.
“ ‘Scuse me—”
He made a dive under the boom and only just reached the leeward side in time. He doubled himself over and a moment later he heard Shandie having the same problem. The fishermen came out of the cabin to watch how gentry puked.
2
A few leagues to the southwest, a very different conversation was taking place in a very similar fishing boat. Knowing how imps reacted to sailing, Rap had taken the precaution of adjusting Thinal’s seaworthiness before leaving the shielded deckhouse on White Impress. It was a small magic, which would wear off before they reached land. He wanted a serious talk with his young companion. The two of them had the tiny, fetid cabin to themselves and no one would overhear them. He soon saw, however, that he should have adjusted a few more things, like backbone. As a proficient cat burglar, Thinal was completely unafraid of heights. Anything else terrified him. He was sitting on a bunk, clutching the sides of it with white-knuckled hands, and his eyes were rolling far more than the boat. He had never been a shining beacon of heroism in adversity.