“Your imp is apparently intent on coming to me,” Ko-nu said firmly. ”Now, will you fetch him, or do I come and get him?”
“You will give him back to us?”
“Of course. I merely want him to comfort a dying boy.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Shiuy-Sh demanded shrilly. The priest was brought in the dory and passed up like baggage to Seaspawn’s waiting hands. He was small, elderly, exhausted, and reeking of untreated harbor. He collapsed in a dribbling heap on the deck and all attempts to raise him failed, for he merely flopped back to his knees. When he had finally caught enough breath to speak, he lifted both hands to Ko-nu in supplication.
“Save me!” he wailed in cultured Imperial tones. “Take me away from these lunatics, from this pesthole! I have gold. I will pay, but for the sake of all the Gods, I beg you to take me out of here.”
Ko-nu could not recall swearing any oaths to Shiuy-Sh. To succor a priest might appease the Gods and preserve the ship from any further harm on this ill-omened voyage. Most important of all, the holy man would be able to spend a decent amount of time with Po-pu and Wo-pu.
“Up anchor!” said the captain. And so it was done.
2
Sir Acopulo had not attempted swimming since he was a child and had been very unskilled at it even then. His condition when he was hauled aboard the ship was not improved by the large quantities of indescribable harbor fluid he had ingested. Nevertheless, by the time the ship had cleared the headlands he had disposed of that and been rinsed off with buckets of seawater and begun to feel better. Not even the onset of inevitable seasickness could dampen his exultation at having at last escaped from Ysnoss.
He had never met mermen before and had never quite believed that their hair could be truly blue. It was though—a very pale blue, but unquestionably blue. Their eyes were silvery. The crew was entirely male, of course, about impish height, slimly built, with skins as pallid as fish bellies, and about as smooth. There was not a hairy chest aboard. He wondered why the sun did not tan them, and why such bleached wraiths should hold such a notorious attraction for women of other races. They seemed a strangely morose bunch, more like a convocation of undertakers than any other sailors he had ever met.
He was offered garments like theirs—cloths tied at the waist, hanging to the calf. They had a pearly shimmer as if made of fishskin and they clung like wet cobweb, although they did not seem to restrict their wearers’ freedom of movement at all. He declined them graciously and retained his soaked clerical habit. Imps, he had always believed, should dress like imps. Furthermore, he did not wish these primitives to see the money belt and dispatches he wore around his waist.
With his damp garments clinging to him in clammy embrace, he was conducted to the captain’s cabin. It was cramped with barely room for a table and two chairs, although admittedly clean and cozy enough. It had an odd, musky odor, sweetish but not unpleasant. He refused the chair offered him; he moved some books and instruments from a dresser to the bunk and then sat on the dresser. There he was alongside an open window and could breathe deeply of the cool sea wind. Already his stomach registered every dip and roll of the ship. Upstairs, men were singing a jigging chantey that kept time with the motion. He wished they would stop; it didn’t help.
“A draft of yam rum, Father?” the captain inquired, producing a flask and two mugs.
Acopulo’s stomach knotted, perspiration prickled on his forehead. “That is very kind of you, my good man, but thank you, no. I may have to go and lie down very shortly. I just want you to know that I am extremely grateful to you for rescuing me from that pestilential lunatic asylum.”
The merman’s pinched face displayed shock. “You were being held against your will, Father?”
“I was indeed! Some neighboring village recently acquired a resident priest and Ysnoss wished to emulate it. I was bound for Zark on a matter of urgency and must now make up all the lost time I can. I am prepared to pay well for your assistance . . . plus extra for superior accommodation, if available.” Acopulo glanced around thoughtfully. Presumably the captain’s own cabin was the best aboard. How much should he offer for it?
The merman frowned with eyebrows as blue as his hair. He must be well into his forties, yet there was no spare flesh on him at all—ribs showing, belly as flat as a boy’s. At first sight, Acopulo was prepared to think well of the seaman. He had a sober, businesslike attitude; he had given orders to the crew sparingly, efficiently. Just because he was not imp was no reason to look down on him; his breeding was not his fault.
Now Captain Ko-nu turned to replace the flask in a chest and produce. another. “If the motion of the ship troubles you, Father, then my grandmother’s sea urchin cordial is a proven remedy.”
Again Acopulo declined, and this time he thrust his head out the window and sucked in all the cool air he could find. The Evilish coast of Sysanasso was already fading into the distance. Gods be praised! Free at last!
Seven months ago the imperor had entrusted him with letters to the Caliph. Even in winter, seven weeks should have sufficed for such a journey. Weather, elves, and finally the odious fauns—all had conspired to block his progress. Obviously the Gods were punishing him. He had assumed clerical dress only as a disguise, but They must have taken it as an affront, an irreverence. Well, now his penance seemed to be over. He would resume lay costume the moment it became available. The Gods could not be so enraged that They would consider a fishskin loincloth adequate for a man of his eminence.
Acopulo had even wondered, in his more desperate moments in Ysnoss, whether the Gods were rebuking him for straying from his youthful ambition to take holy orders. He would have made a fine priest, of course. Possibly in a few years, when Shandie was safely established on his throne and in less need of Acopulo’s guidance, that old ambition might be reconsidered. The church would welcome such a recruit, and probably appoint him a bishop in record time.
He discovered that he was staring glassily down at very unruly green water. He resumed his seat on the dresser and straightened his hair with his hands as well as he could. There wasn’t very much of it these days, although what there was required cutting.
The captain was hunched over the table with his face in his hands. He looked up with a glum expression. Come to think of it, this did not seem to be an overly jolly ship. The singing in the background was becoming quite depressing. Well, Acopulo was not going to be long aboard.
“Now, Sailor,” he said cheerfully. “Where can you let me off?”
“We head home to the Keriths, Father.” The captain’s accent was strange, although he was obviously trying to speak proper impish in place of the crude patois used on deck.
Acopulo opened his mouth to explain that he was not a priest, but the merman continued, “I hope we shall meet up with some trading vessels to which we may transfer you.” He smiled sadly. “We cannot enter any port outside the Keriths, of course.”
Mm! Acopulo had overlooked that restriction. “You can put me ashore at some deserted spot, then?”
The thin man frowned. “In Ilrane? The elves have a poor regard for strangers.”
No! Never Ilrane!” Not elves again! Acopulo shivered and wiped his streaming face. He really must go and lie down. His growing nausea was making it hard for him even to recall basic geography-of course there was only Ilrane between Sysanasso and Kerith, nowhere he could acquire respectable layman’s garb, even.
The merman tried to smile, although the result was more of a grimace. ”And we cannot take you home with us, obviously.”
“Oh, I think I should be safe enough at my age.” Acopulo spoke modestly, but he knew he would have been safe enough at any age. Even in his youth, he had never been susceptible to storms of passion. No woman had ever interested him much; his only experiment in intimacy, at the age of fifteen, had brought him nothing but embarrassment. He had shunned messy affairs of the flesh ever since. Other men’s inability to do so he regarded with tolerant contempt. Chastity was merely a matter of willpower and self-discipline.
The ship was rolling harder and the chanting had taken on a slower, melancholy tone. Suddenly someone shrieked, as if being tortured. Acopulo jumped. The captain groaned, but seemed unsurprised. Then came another, longer cry.