Meanwhile, she could indulge herself in an inspection of the fittings, admiring the shiny woodwork, the ingenious catches on cupboard doors, and the drawers that would not open if the ship rolled. Porters knocked and entered with baggage and departed. The room was still not crowded, even then.
Eventually she pulled a deliciously comfortable chair around to face the great windows and settled into it with a sigh. She kicked off her shoes and prepared to enjoy just watching the harbor.
A few minutes later the door opened and then thumped closed. Inosolan stalked across to the window in silence. Feet were running overhead, voices calling out, blocks squealing. Already the ship was drifting away from the quay. Dawn Pearl leaned slightly as the wind began to catch her sails. Inosolan had not said a word yet.
“Where is his Majesty?” Kadolan inquired.
Good guess—Inosolan turned around and scowled. She wore a full dress of cool emerald-green silk with half sleeves and a low neckline. She had let her hair grow during the past few months, and now it was coiled high on her head below a pearl tiara. She was as beautiful as a poet’s dream of maidenhood. Her expression of suicidal sulks would have shamed a six-yearold being sent to bed without supper.
“Down in what they call Gnome Quarters. In irons.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very wise choice.”
Inosolan turned her back and told the window, “He refused to board and demanded leave to appeal to the emir. The imps ran him up the plank at swordpoint, of course.”
The noises outside continued; a thoughtful silence settled into Kadolan’s stateroom. It would be interesting to see what happened to Azak when Dawn Pearl reached Angot. The journey on to Hub would mean a long trip by stage, over the Qoble Mountains and then across much of Shimlundok Province. Skarash swore he was going no farther than Angot.
Would there be magic waiting for them in Angot? Or was there magic on board already? Would Azak be shipped in irons all the way to the capital? It hardly mattered at the moment. Kadolan bent to find her shoes.
“Stubborn idiot!” Inosolan muttered. “His own fault.”
Inosolan had done very well, really. For months in the desert she had kept the sultan at arm’s length without ever seeming to hurt his feelings or rouse false hopes. That was no mean feat of balance. Now Kadolan was a little worried that the relationship was starting to change in some way she had not defined. The terrible events in Thume had shaken everybody. Azak had nearly died, Inosolan had almost been ravished. Things had been different since then, attitudes altered, values reassessed. Perhaps Ullacarn, as a return to civilization, had helped the change. Azak in imp clothing had been a shock—certainly to Kadolan, and probably to Inosolan. He had not been a barbarian any more.
It might be better for everyone concerned if he did complete the rest of the journey in chains, all the way to Hub. Inosolan could sit inside the carriage and that dangerous young man could be strapped on the roof with the baggage.
Kadolan rebuked herself for unworthy thoughts.
“Well, this is true luxury,” she said. “Is your stateroom as magnificent as this?”
“I haven’t looked.”
Respectably shod again, Kadolan pushed herself to her feet. “Then let’s go and have a look now, and then go up and—” Inosolan swung around and glared at her. “And have a nice time, I suppose?”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s easy for you! I’m on my way to marry a goblin. I’ve been captured by a warlock, and from the way he looked at me, the goblin may very well be going to get me as secondhand goods. Azak’s down in the bilge, and I hate ships, and I’m a lousy sailor—”
“And you sound like a spoiled child.”
“And I— What? You don’t get seasick!”
“Are you seasick now? Is seasickness what is bothering you?”
Inosolan made a snorting noise and stalked toward the door. And Kadolan felt a rush of anger. “Answer the question!” Inosolan stopped and spun around, her mouth open in shock. “You are still behaving like a spoiled child,” Kadolan said having gone so far, she would have to continue. ”You are not married to a goblin at the moment. You are not being importuned by any warlocks that I can see. You are, in fact, about to enjoy a voyage in royal luxury on the finest ship I have ever seen, across the Sea of Sorrows, an expanse of water renowned for its fair weather and good sailing. You are likewise going to continue on the journey of a lifetime, through some of the world’s finest scenery and across half the Impire to Hub itself, where you will very likely be granted royal honors and all the hospitality of the Imperial court. If you do believe that you are going to be married to a goblin—and I personally find the idea so absurd that I cannot take it seriously—then I suggest that you attempt to appreciate the good things that are happening at the moment, instead of making yourself miserable all the time brooding over a future that may never happen.”
“Absurd, you said?” Inosolan was pale with fury. ”Absurd?”
“Absurd.” Kadolan sighed, wishing she had kept her annoyance safely bottled up. “I’ve told you before. The principle of compromise is to find something, or someone in this case, which . . . who . . . is equally acceptable to both sides. A goblin, I think, would be equally unacceptable to both sides. All four sides, really: you, and the citizens, and the Impire, and—”
“ You didn’t see that warlock—”
“No, I didn’t, and I’rn not certain you did.”
Inosolan drew a deep breath, but before the angry torrent could flow, Kadolan added, “He might have been Rasha.”
“Rasha? That’s crazy!”
“I don’t see why it’s any crazier than what you say, though. A warlock can change his appearance, but so can a sorceress. You met someone who upset you. You claim you knew the voice, but I am sure his Omnipotence of the East is not so stupid as to disguise his face and forget his voice. You say he cured your headache, but that could have been a result of shock. In fact, the whole episode may even have been a delusion promoted by Elkarath. You agree?”
Inosolan shook her head, wide-eyed. “You’ll go mad it you start thinking like that.”
“Exactly,” Kadolan agreed. “That’s why I try not to. I’m sorry I was rude, dear. Do let’s go and get some wind in our hair. You’re going to die, you know.”
“I am?” Inosolan gaped—and then suddenly smiled, still pale. ”We all are, you mean?”
“Exactly, dear. Eventually. We just mustn’t brood about it. Now, let’s go. After you . . .”
2
Whether he looked like an elf or a faun, Rap was still much the same divided boy who had hung around the harbor in Krasnegar whenever he hadn’t been hanging around the stables. Almost nothing could ever thrill him more than actually boarding a ship, and the Allena was a very splendid ship, a luxury four-master—square-rigged on the two fore masts and lateen on the aft—and she was the grandest, cleanest, most breathtakingly beautiful thing Rap had ever seen. When possible, elves traveled as they did everything else, in style.
He spared a few admiring glances for the bustling harbor of Noom, which had been dark and deserted when he first arrived in town. He admired the variety and the volume of the shipping, the cutters and dhows and junks and caravels and a dozen other types, and he marveled at the hubbub and bustle of one of the great ports of the Impire, gateway to the Dragon Sea and half of Pithmot. He was impressed, almost embarrassed, by the comfort of the little stateroom assigned to him on Allena. But mostly he just stood on deck and gazed longingly in every direction at once.
He wondered if passengers were allowed aloft. Unless someone chained him down, he was going to explore Allena from stem to stem and keel to royals as soon as she sailed. Of course he could talk anyone into anything now, and the temptation to use mastery was going to be irresistible in this case, however much his conscience might grumble. Yet the expression on Gathmor’s still-mangled face showed that he was not going to sit in his cabin and knit, either. Likely all Rap need do was stay close to the sailor, and he’d find a way.
Playful white clouds scudded across a wondrous blue afternoon. The tide was running, the wind rising as evening approached. Seabirds shrieked among the masts and rigging, tangs of tar and fish mingling with the heartrending smell of the eternal sea itself. Jotnar and imps and trolls and even a few elves jostled along the dockside; porters trotted up and down the gangplank, loading the last few stores from the bakeries and markets of Noom. The crew was almost ready to cast off. Rap was on his way to Ilrane, Lith’rian, and—please Gods!—to Inos. Yet even that thrill could barely compete with the sheer joy and excitement of just boarding a great ship.