She was tempted to go back on deck. To get some fresh air, if nothing else. She resisted the impulse. The women’s quarters were already heavy with odor, true enough, but Helga knew that by the end of the voyage the air down here would be well-nigh fetid. The men at their work above wouldn’t appreciate having her underfoot; not in the least. And she’d rather save her trespasses on their territory for a later time, when she’d really need fresh air.
She leaned back against one of the cushions and gave Ilset a friendly smile. Jessep’s young wife gave her a shy smile in return, but it was very short-lived. They were already catching the first waves of the open sea, and the motion was apparently beginning to bother the girl. Helga found herself wondering if Ilset had ever been on a ship before.
Apparently not, judging from the girl’s reaction not five minutes later. Helga managed to get Ilset’s head over a bucket soon enough to catch most of it.
Most, but not all. Helga sighed and began rummaging for an old cloth in her belongings. Finding none—she never got seasick herself and hadn’t thought to prepare for the problem—she stuck her head through the opening in the cloth which separated her and Ilset from the other women.
“Do any of you—”
One of the women, grinning, was already handing her a rag. Ilset had not been quiet in her distress.
“Bound to happen,” said the woman, grinning widely. Helga could see that she was missing a fair number of her teeth. An attractive enough woman, otherwise. Helga thought her buxom build was probably matched by a buxom temperament, and was cheered by the thought.
“It’s going to stink down here something awful,” she probed.
“Beats dying,” came the immediate response, as the woman passed the test with flying colors. “Even if the poor girl thinks she’d rather be dead right now.”
“We’ll get along,” predicted Helga. “What’s your name?”
“Polla, ma’am. Polla”—there came a slight hesitation, just a hint—”Hissell. He’s the new First Spear. Can I give you a hand?”
“Pfaw! Just to wipe up some puke? Do I look like a prissy noblewoman?”
Polla’s grin was now matched by all the other women. “Not exactly, ma’am,” said one of them. “A noblewoman, yes. Prissy, no.”
Helga grinned herself, ducked back into her quarters, and went to work with the rag. Soon enough, she was half wishing she’d taken Polla up on her offer. But she knew that a small amount of inconvenience was well worth gaining the allegiance and trust of the women of her escort.
Women do all the real work. That makes us smarter.
* * *
After nightfall, Trae came into her quarters. Mumbling apologies to the women in the outer quarters, as he groped his way through the half darkness—all that their one little oil lamp allowed—he eventually stumbled through the curtain.
“Uck! Stinks!” he muttered, waving his hand in front of his face. Then, seeing Ilset’s wan face in the flickering light shed by Helga’s own lamp, his usual good humor returned.
“Be at ease, young lady. I assure you—from bitter experience—that you’ll get over it. Eventually.”
He turned to face Helga. “You were right, but don’t brag about it more than two days. Or I’ll sneak down here and piss in your gruel. It would have been easier to design it your way.”
The word “gruel” seemed to distress Ilset. She turned her face away and fought down a gag.
“Cheer up!” boomed Trae. “Always eat gruel on your first sea voyage. Easy down, easy up.”
Ilset immediately proved his point. Scowling, Helga handed Trae a rag.
“All right, loudmouth. Your turn.”
Chapter 11
The first significant opposition came in Solinga, the capital of the northern province which had once been the independent league of Emerald city-states. Which was perhaps fitting in an ironic sort of way, thought Demansk. The Emeralds themselves figured prominently in his plans for the future—and the opposition came from the Confederate governor of the province.
It was almost as if the man understood that Demansk brought his own ruin in his train. Which, indeed, he did. If Demansk was successful, the status of the Emeralds would undergo a dramatic improvement. Not least of all, because Demansk would eradicate the long-standing evil of the Confederacy’s system of tax collection—which, in practice if not in theory, relied on men like Governor Willech to make it work.