“Don’t curse at me in your foreign tongue!” snarled Grazoot, the plump little harpist.
Ezkr was standing behind Grazoot. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, urging the bard on. “He thinks he can walk all over you, Grazoot, because he insulted your harp once and you let him get away with it.”
Grazoot puffed out his cheeks, reddened in the face and glared. “It is only because Miran has forbidden duels that I have not plunged my dagger into this son of an izzot!”
Green looked from one to the other. Obviously this scene was prearranged with no good end for him in view.
“Stand aside,” he said haughtily. “You are interfering with the discipline of the ‘roller. Miran will not like that.”
“Indeed.” said Grazoot. “Do you think Miran cares at all about what happens to you? You’re a lousy sailor and it hurts me to have to call you brother. In fact, I spit every time I say it to you, brother!”
Grazoot did just that. Green, who was downwind, felt the fine mist wet his legs. He began to get angry.
“Out of my way or I’ll report you to the first mate,” he said firmly and walked by them. They gave way, but he had an uneasy feeling in the small of his back, as if a knife would plunge into it. Of course, they shouldn’t be so foolish, because they would be hamstrung and then dropped off the ‘roller for the crime of cowardice. But these people were so hotheaded they were just as likely as not to stab him in a moment of fury.
Once on the rope ladder that ran up to the crow’s nest, he began to lose the prickly feeling in his back. At that moment Grazoot called out, “Oh, Green, I had a vision last night, a true vision, because my patron god sent it, and he himself appeared in it. He announced that he would snuff up his nostrils the welcome scent of your blood, spilled all over the deck from your fall!”
Green paused with one foot on the rail. “You tell your god to stay away from me, or I’ll punch him in the nose!” he called back.
There was a gasp from the many people who’d gathered around to listen. “Sacrilege!” yelled Grazoot. “Blasphemy!” He turned to those around him. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” said Ezkr, stepping out from the crowd. “I heard him and I am shocked. Men have burned for less.”
“Oh, my patron god, Tonuscala, punish this pride-swollen man! Make your dreams come true. Cast him headlong from the mast and dash him to the deck and break every bone in his body so that men may learn that one does not mock the true gods.”
“Tahkhai,” murmured the crowd. “Amen.”
Green smiled grimly. He had fallen into their trap and now must be on guard. Plainly, one or both of them would be aloft tonight during the dark hour after sunset, and they’d be content with nothing less than pitching him out over the deck. His death would be considered to have come from the hands of an outraged god. And if Amra should accuse Ezkr and Grazoot she’d get little justice. As for Miran, the fellow would probably heave a sigh of relief, because he’d be rid of a troublesome fellow who could carry damaging stories of a certain conspiracy to the Duke of Tropat.
He climbed up to the crow’s nest, and settled gloomily to staring off at the horizon. Just before sunset Grizquetr came up with a bottle of wine and food in a covered basket.
Between bites Green told the boy of his suspicions.
“Mother has already guessed as much,” said the lad. “She is a very clever woman indeed, my mother. She has put a curse upon the two if you should come to harm.”
“Very clever. That will do a great deal of good. Thank her for her splendid work while you’re picking up my pieces from the deck, will you?”
“To be sure,” replied Grizquetr, trying hard to keep his sober face from breaking into a grin. “And Mother also sent you this.”