Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1)

  Chapter 11

  There was fish stew again for breakfast – it seemed that most Tarasanka meals involved stew, whether it was served with stretchy flatbread or, like this morning, over a bowl of grain. Apparently they made no distinction here between breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  Eleanor fiddled with the emerald pendant as she ate. She'd slept with it around her neck, one hand clasped protectively around the chain.

  "So you just picked this up as we walked through the market?" she checked.

  He nodded. "Sorry if that seems crazy, but I wasn't sure our money would stretch that far and I really wanted you to have it. I hope you don't mind too much."

  "It makes one thing easier," she said, "because we're nearly broke."

  "No way, I'm not letting you sell it – I got it for you to keep, and besides, it's too risky. Someone might recognise it."

  Her fingers tightened on the pendant. Maybe it was worth enough to clear their debts at the tavern, but somehow she didn't want to give it up. "I wasn't thinking of selling it, but you've proved you've got a useful skill there."

  "I'm not a thief," he said quickly. "I never stole a thing in the Empire."

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled into her stew, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just meant, well, just..."

  "Don't panic. I'm not offended. I just don't want you relying on my skills as a master thief. I think I was lucky."

  The nervous tightness in her chest was gone as quickly as it had arisen, and she smiled back at him. "Then I'm sure you can be lucky again."

  "What's your plan?"

  "Well I was thinking about the market, and how everyone's very careful, but maybe if one of us created enough of a distraction, we might make ourselves an opportunity. But that was before you demonstrated what you're capable of – maybe we should just take another gentle stroll."

  "I told you, I've never done that before. But we must have the same sorts of skills, or you wouldn't be going for the academy – so I bet you'd be just as good as me."

  "No." He looked expectantly at her, so she tried to explain. "When I tried, I got caught. This was back home... just a few dollars here and there, picking the odd pocket... only so I had enough to live on..."

  He heard the frantic tone creeping into her voice and reached out to rest his hand on her arm. "It's okay."

  "How is that okay? How is any of this okay? We're turning into criminals." Sophie's words still haunted her – not usually the brightest girl, but for once she'd been worryingly perceptive. Eleanor didn't know how many laws she'd broken, now, but the descent into criminality was certainly a slippery one.

  Raf interrupted her thoughts: "You did what you needed to do, right?"

  Eleanor nodded, and scraped up the last spoonful of her breakfast.

  "Then that's fine. That's the best anyone can hope for. And you've identified we need more money now, so come on, what's the rest of this plan of yours?"

  She shrugged uncertainly. "I didn't get much further, but there's no hurry – unless we need the money sooner, there's no point taking risks until we're ready to leave the city."

  "The sooner the better, though. We need to get back to warn the Association."

  "About the trap?" She was too ashamed to admit that it had completely slipped her mind. "I'm not sure why they need us to warn them – surely they'll have noticed by now that they've got no students this year."

  "They'll know something's wrong, but if those Tarasanka bastards are half as sneaky as they seem they'll have disappeared without trace in the hope they can pull the same trick next year. We can't let that happen."

  "Okay," she agreed, though she still felt he was rushing for no reason – next year's students wouldn't be graduating until the summer solstice, and they'd be home well before then. "So we need to get our bangles back, get some money, and get out of here. Time for another walk?"

  Hidden beneath the red robes once more they walked again to the Ngavra building, skirting the edge of the market this time. Raf tried the door: still locked. They exchanged frustrated glances but ducked round the corner and made sure they were alone before either of them dared to speak.

  "Maybe we should try the roof," Eleanor suggested. "I came out that way – we'd just have to be careful of the bell."

  "That's it!" He struggled to keep his voice low. "The roof. Ellie, you're a genius."

  "What?"

  "How did we get out of the tower? The roof. Forget all this faffing around with disguises and snakes, let's just go in the way we came out."

  "That's not an easy climb." She remembered their struggle to get down the slick walls of the tower; going up would be harder, though at least they'd be prepared this time.

  "I thought you liked a challenge?"

  "I do." She smiled in spite of herself. Yes, it would be hard – but it was the sort of challenge she relished. "What about you?"

  "Looking forward to it already. Plus, it means we can use those green robes as cover for our grand heist at the market tomorrow." Raf wasn't bothering to disguise the excitement in his voice; now he was getting back to peak physical form, he was in his element. "Come on, let's get back."

  His enthusiasm was infectious, and they spent the rest of the day sparring in the courtyard, laughing and joking in the lulls between bouts of energetic fighting. They completely forgot to get lunch and came inside only when darkness began to fall, to the evident amusement of their landlord. After another hearty dinner they went to bed, still buzzing with adrenaline but physically tired enough to fall easily into a deep sleep.

  Raf shook Eleanor awake the next morning – caught by surprise, she lashed out and was trying to wrestle him to the ground before she woke up sufficiently to realise what was actually happening.

  "Sorry!" she cried, releasing her grip. "I'm so jumpy. And I was always first to wake up at school, I'm not used to people touching me while I'm asleep..."

  "You shouldn't waste your energy," he said, smiling, and threw her green robe onto her bed. "We've got a busy day."

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Did we make a plan?"

  "Enough of one, don't you think? Today, money. Tomorrow, back to the tower. And then – run. Easy."

  "Easy," she repeated. Easy was the one thing it was unlikely to be. "Don't we need to think it through in a bit more detail, though?"

  "Ellie." His voice was firm. "You're obsessed with details. We need to get this done, so let's just do it. Trust yourself, okay?"

  "Okay." She turned to pull on her robe, hoping he wouldn't sense her continued uncertainty.

  The green robes were cut to a different style than the red, and fitted slightly less well but it would have to do. It was only for one day – for one theft – and then they could return to the relative safety of the red disguise. Pretending to be a religious adherent of any kind was hard enough – Branav had been right, silence was a big advantage for them.

  Eleanor's mind filled with worries as they made their way towards the market. They had no plan, and though Raf had obtained her pendant by taking advantage of some unpredictable chance she wasn't sure they'd be so lucky twice. Besides, to work together they both needed to spot the same opportunity.

  They turned between two rows of crowded market stalls, pressing amongst the throng and quickly noticing that today they were not jostled in the same way as the other shoppers. Indeed, space opened up around them as they moved deeper into the market, and many people even averted their eyes. Something about this uniform made them objects to be avoided.

  As they turned the next corner Raf lurched sideways and fell to his knees, clutching first at the sleeve of Eleanor's robe and then, as he collapsed to the ground, seizing the corner of tablecloth which trailed from a nearby grocery cart. Eleanor's stunned reaction was genuine – but as the cascade of fruits began to tumble and roll towards the next stall, she suddenly understood what he was doing. A grocery cart wouldn't have much money, but the clothes stall beyond it looked expensive and
– suddenly – abandoned. She stepped quickly across and dipped her hand into the cash box, intent on scooping as much money as she could into the purse she wore beneath her robe.

  She turned back to Raf, ready to run, but his was no longer the only green-robed body in sight. In addition to his prone form on the ground, two others knelt beside him. As she watched they lifted him, muttering incomprehensibly to one another. One of them cast a glance in her direction, motioned sharply for her to follow, and then they were off – striding quickly through the streets, the crowds parting ahead of them. She hurried to keep a pace behind them as they walked swiftly to the same building where she'd previously seen the snake ritual.

  The door was still locked, but one of the men had a key and ushered them inside. The other man took Raf's limp body and laid him in the middle of the room, then barked a command at Eleanor and indicated a door which led from the back of the hall.

  She didn't know what was expected of her – she'd worried about her ignorance in trying to imitate these people, but this was beyond the worst scenario she'd envisioned. She didn't dare hesitate, but strode across the room and let herself through the door. She breathed a sigh of relief when it clicked closed behind her; at least this gave her a moment to think.

  Her relief was short lived, though, when she realised she was standing at the edge of a small pit full of snakes. She swallowed hard, and wondered whether they were dangerous. On the plus side, there was now very little question as to what she was supposed to do: the room contained only the snake pit, and to her left a large wicker basket.

  Simple, she told herself. Snake into basket, basket through to where Raf was – she hoped – still pretending to be dead. After that, they'd just have to take things as they came. She reached down towards the nearest snake, which rose up and hissed into her face; when she tried to touch it, it hissed more loudly then turned and slithered out of reach.

  She tried a couple of different ones but none of them seemed to want picking up, and they slipped all too easily from her grasp. Maybe they knew she wanted to put them in the basket.

  She picked up the basket and laid it on its side at the edge of the pit; as one slithering mass, the snakes retreated. Eleanor stepped warily into the pit, convinced now that the snakes were more scared of her than she was of them, and pushed the basket further towards them. She kept inching forwards, then picked up a handful of sand and threw it, scattering it over their heads and sending them into a panic as they tried to avoid the falling grains. She felt the basket move beneath her hand and scooped it up as fast as she could. It was heavy; her plan had worked.

  With the snake still writhing inside the basket, she clambered out of the pit and let herself back into the hall. The two men had vanished, leaving Raf lying in the middle of the floor, and Eleanor put the basket down and rushed to his side.

  "It's me," she whispered. "Don't move, I don't know if they're watching us."

  In spite of her warning he sat bolt upright. "I don't care, we can run faster than them. Come on!" He jumped to his feet, grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door; they heard footsteps on the stairs as they left but it was too late for caution.

  They sprinted through the streets until they were close enough to the tavern to worry about being followed, then pressed themselves into the recess of an abandoned doorway and waited for nightfall before creeping back.

  "That was close," Raf said once they were safely back in their room. But there was a glint of excitement in his eyes.

  "Too close."

  He shrugged. "We did it, didn't we? We didn't even have to fight."

  "I had to fight those stupid snakes! And I don't even know why I bothered – how soon did they leave you?"

  "It went quiet just before you came in. I couldn't see anything, they pulled that blasted hood right over my eyes – I wasn't sure they'd gone until you said."

  They fell into silence for a moment, then Eleanor brought out the purse she'd filled. "I think this should be enough," she said. "At least – I really hope so."

  Raf lay back on his bed and flicked a throwing star casually towards the ceiling; he'd borrowed it to practise with and he was slowly improving. This time it caught the wood, but didn't sink in deeply enough and he had to roll out of the way as it fell again.

  "We should go at night," he said, flicking the star upwards again. "They won't be expecting us, anyway – they'll assume we've done the sensible thing and already left the city – but we don't want to be seen."

  "Tomorrow night, then? Not tonight."

  "No, not tonight." He reached up for the star, which had lodged properly this time. "We'll rest tonight, sleep as late as we can, make sure we eat well... all that."

  "Sleep sounds good." Eleanor yawned. "I'm tired. Don't you ever wish you'd just accepted your assignment?"

  "No." He thought for a moment. "I mean, I'd never have accepted the assignment they actually gave me, whatever it was – that's the point, isn't it? I'd never settle for that and they know it."

  "You're so certain about everything. So confident." She wondered what he'd make of the envy in her tone. "I nearly settled for what they gave me, even though I knew it wasn't right. I didn't know whether to believe all this. I didn't really believe it till I met you, and even then, sometimes..."

  "Sometimes what?"

  "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing. If I'm supposed to be doing this."

  He sat up to face her. "Ellie, you're being daft. You're doing fine, and the day after tomorrow we're going to go home and get back on track properly. It's time you stopped worrying."

  "Okay." She blew out the lamp and curled under her blanket. It was easy for him to say 'stop worrying'; nothing seemed to worry him. But she was somewhat reassured by his confidence in her. "Good night."

  The next day, after wasting as much daylight as they could, they started getting ready to go out. They both arranged their weapons about their persons before pulling the red robes over their heads, and Eleanor tucked her pendant safely inside her sock.

  Once they were ready they explained to the landlord – whose name they'd never learnt – that they were leaving. If everything went according to plan they'd find a boat ready to sail from the city as soon as they were done, and it would waste valuable time if they had to come back for anything. They settled their debts easily, and Eleanor stashed the remaining money in a pouch out of sight at her waist.

  The night was pitch black and navigation was difficult in the dark; although they'd been out and about in the city a little, they hadn't been back as far as the castle and it took them a couple of attempts before they were sure they were looking up at the right tower.

  "Certain?" Raf checked. "We don't want to end up doing this more than once."

  "Pretty certain," Eleanor said. But they couldn't even see the top of the tower through the darkness.

  They took off their disguises and strapped the folded robes to their backs – if they were caught creeping around inside the castle then pretending to be monks probably wouldn't help, and it would certainly make the climb a lot harder.

  The lower section was as easy to climb up as it had been to come down, apart from negotiating the overhang of the roof. The roof-tiles were cold and a little slippery, but presented no major obstacle, and before long they'd crawled along the ridge of the roof until they could touch the smooth stones of the tower itself.

  Slowly and carefully, feeling for hand-holds in the dark, they began the climb. It was just as tricky as they'd anticipated, made more so by the darkness and the cold of the night. But eventually, with no damage more serious than scraped fingers and aching arm muscles, they reached the ledge beneath the cupola.

  After a moment's rest, sitting with their legs dangling over the edge, Eleanor got up to try the door. It was locked, but a little investigation proved it was a simple lock, and a moment later they were inside.

  With every step they tried to move in silence, glad that their leather-soled boots weren't riveted, ever
y ounce of concentration focused on making as little noise as possible. They crept down the stairs, and smiled awkwardly at each other by the flickering lamplight as they emerged into the corridor they recognised all too well – relieved to be in the right place, but unable to quite block out the horrors they'd faced here. Raf reached across and squeezed Eleanor's hand, and she squeezed back, fighting against the tears which threatened to escape her eyes.

  Each door they opened was a risk, they were afraid they'd end up in some guard-room or someone's bedroom, but it seemed that this part of the castle was genuinely deserted at night and they relaxed a little as they progressed. It took them a couple of attempts before they found the right room – a small office, with a pile of golden bangles at one corner of the desk.

  Eleanor picked them up, sorted through for her own and clipped it firmly into place, fastening it above her elbow so that it wouldn't be visible, then started looking through the others for Raf's name.

  "V-N-five-nine-F-six-two-E-Y-G... is this you?" she checked, reading from one of the bracelets. He nodded, and she handed it across to him. "What do you think we should do with the others?"

  He held out his hand. "We'll take them back with us. The Association needs to know what's happened here."

  She passed them across and he tucked them into his pocket, as she picked up everything that looked like it could be valuable.

  "Okay, let's get out of here."

  "Wait... while we're here... I'd quite like to get my knife back." She'd been hoping their captors would have stored everything in the same place – that would have made it much easier.

  "I know it's special to you, Ellie, but finding one knife in a building this size is going to be tricky. And what if someone's using it?"

  "Oh, I know." She tried to force a casual tone onto her voice. "I wasn't going to search every guard, but it might still be in the torture chamber. I just want to have a look."

  Finding the torture chamber was easy; they'd been taken there enough times. Eleanor hesitated briefly as her hand reached the door handle, the fingers of her other hand tightening on the hilt of her dagger. She could rationalise, tell herself repeatedly that there was no more danger in this room than any of the others, but her heart still thumped in her chest and she knew that part of her would never believe it was safe.

  She took a deep breath and pushed the door. The room was deserted and dark, just the furnace in the corner glowing with a faint red light. Raf unhooked one of the lanterns from its bracket in the corridor and followed her, the swaying lamp casting distorted shadows across the room.

  "I can hold this for you," he said. "Just tell me where you want to look first."

  She felt guilty for keeping him here, sure that the memories this room evoked were no more pleasant for him than they were for her, but she couldn't leave without her knife. What would Laban say? And besides, the beauty of that knife was the only reason she'd even stepped onto this path – if she hadn't held that perfectly balanced blade, if she hadn't possessed the skill to throw it with such accuracy, she'd be bored out of her mind in the Port's police force right now. Again she wondered if that would have been better; boredom was seldom fatal. But oh, how dull it would have been.

  Raf had started scouting the room as she stood distracted by her thoughts.

  She scanned the top of the shelf from which, she was sure, she'd once seen the short man retrieve her knife. A few rusty nails, some thumbscrews... a work of art like her knife would have stood out in such company, and it didn't. Her heart sank. Maybe one of the guards was indeed using it as his own, though the thought angered her – none of them deserved it.

  As she turned to examine the next surface, however, a sparkle of green caught her eye and she cleared aside a small pile of iron tools to reveal the bejewelled hilt of the blade she knew so well. She pulled it out and held it aloft in delight: "Got it!"

  "Great!" He sounded genuinely pleased, though she suspected that was mostly because she'd now be willing to leave.

  They went out the way they'd come in, and though the climb down the slick tower wall was no easier they were growing more confident as they learned where the best holds were to be found. They stopped atop the peaked roof to put their disguises back on before sliding down the last easy stretch of wall into the street.

  "To the harbour, then?" Eleanor asked, excitement bubbling at the idea of getting home and pushing on with their quest. It had been a lengthy and painful diversion, but it would all be worthwhile once they were back in the Empire.

  "Shh," Raf hushed her, a little half-heartedly. There was no-one around to worry about whether silent monks were speaking.

  She tucked a few stray hairs safely out of sight beneath her hood, and started down the steep alley which sloped towards the sea. They'd taken only about a dozen steps when an unexpected noise made them both freeze.

  Raf reached for his knife but they were upon him before he could wrench the dagger from its sheath – two broad-shouldered giants who dwarfed his skinny frame. One of them lifted him easily two feet into the air and shook him, shouting something in Tarasanka. Eleanor flattened herself against the nearest wall and felt beneath her robe for her throwing stars, hoping they wouldn't notice her until it was too late.

  Her first star sliced across the throat of the guard who was holding Raf, causing him to drop his prisoner as he collapsed onto the cobblestones. Raf stumbled to his feet, dagger in hand now, and lunged towards the remaining guard but the gigantic man deflected the blow all too easily and lodged his own blade between Raf's ribs.

  "Raf!" The scream ripped from Eleanor's throat against her will as she watched him fall, the anguish of everything they'd suffered together filling her voice. She wanted to run to him, but the guard was turning his attention away from the fallen bodies and she knew with grim certainty where his focus would fall next.

  She fumbled with another star, shaking with nervous energy, feeling sick with fear for herself and for Raf. She couldn't let the guard get close to her; she'd stand no chance hand-to-hand against a man of this size, and he was clearly pulling no punches. This time, no-one cared to keep them alive.

  She flicked the star from between her fingers; it was a good shot, but not quite good enough, ripping into his shoulder without slowing him. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her, his other hand ready with the dagger. She kicked at his arm, twisted desperately so that his blade glanced away from her, and somehow managed to plunge her stiletto into the side of his neck.

  He died quickly and noisily, not releasing his grip on her until his last living moment, and his corpse fell heavily across her, knocking her to the ground. She pushed his body away and he rolled a few feet down the hill as she got up. Finally she was free to run to where Raf lay on the ground and dropped to her knees beside him, relieved to find he was still breathing in ragged gasps. A dark stain had spread across the front of his robe, black-on-black in the gloom though she knew exactly what it was.

  "Come on," she said, slipping her arm beneath his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position. "We have to get to the harbour. Who knows how many more of them are coming?"

  "You go," he rasped. "I can't travel like this."

  She shook her head. "I can't leave you here. We're in this together, remember?"

  "You have to. You have to get back and warn them. Can't let something like this happen again."

  "Don't be stupid. I'm not leaving you here where they can find you. Let's get you back to the room and then we can talk."

  She ignored his protests, hauled him to his feet and half-carried him through the streets and back to the tavern; there was no sign of the landlord so she had to help him up the ladder on her own, and he collapsed on the bed.

  "You shouldn't have done that," he said weakly. "Now you've got further to go."

  "Don't worry about me. We'll hide out here till it dies down."

  "No, you need to go now, you need–"

  She cut him off. "We're in this together. That means
I'm not leaving without you."

  "Stop being so stubborn. I'll be right behind you, just as soon as this all heals up. But you need to get back, you need to get a message to the Association as quickly as possible. Do you know someone you can contact?"

  She shook her head: she knew only Laban, and she had no way to get in touch with him if he didn't want to be found.

  "Then the easiest thing is for you to go to Venncastle – just go to the guards at the gate and tell them that the Provost needs to contact the Association. Tell them there was a trap at the code tower. They'll understand, and it'll be passed on as quickly as you could hope."

  She was bemused but it seemed easier not to argue. "So where is Venncastle?" she asked.

  "Flying Rock Island – do you know it?"

  "No, I grew up on the mainland."

  "It's easy to get a boat from Dashfort or Almont – or wherever you end up. And once you get there, the school's pretty obvious. Big, black building – looks a bit like a castle, mostly because it is."

  "Okay."

  "And you know how to get to the code tower and the maze, do you?" Her blank expression must have given her away, because he sighed a little and said, "Right, go to Venncastle first. From Flying Rock Island you can borrow a boat and row across to the White Isle, which is where the code tower is – it looks like a lighthouse. You might want to leave it a week or two to give the Association time to clear up any stray Tarasanka, but Flying Rock's not a bad place to be. Then back to the mainland. Dashfort you've done before so that's easy, you just need to do it again for the new number, and then head inland, south east about a hundred miles – the maze is well inside the Silver Forest. Are you going to remember all that?"

  "I'll remember. Thank you."

  "Now get moving," he said urgently. "Before word gets round."

  She pulled off her red robe and handed it to him. "You'll need this," she said. "Yours is ruined, but we can use it to patch up that wound." She used her knife to slice away the bottom of his robe and tied a makeshift bandage across his chest. "And you'll need money." She reached beneath the folds of her clothes, and placed the purse with all their remaining coins and jewels on the bed beside him.

  "What about you?"

  "Oh, I'm a commodity in my own right! Once I find a ship, I can work my way back across the sea."

  Raf pulled the spare name bangles from his pocket. "You'd better take these – give them back to the academy."

  She took them from him and linked them together to form a loose chain, which she then threaded onto a strip of cloth and tied tightly about her waist, out of sight beneath her clothes.

  "Now go!"

  She nodded, fighting back tears. "I'll see you at the academy, then?"

  "I hope so." He reached out and squeezed her hand. She flung her arms around his neck, hugged him quickly then turned and fled the room, determined not to let him see her cry. She ran towards the harbour and somehow – she didn't know how – she managed to stop herself looking back.

  Dawn was breaking as she reached the shore. She had no idea how she was going to find a ship heading in the right direction, but she knew she had to do it quickly now she'd abandoned her disguise. She assumed there would be more smugglers bound for the Empire, if she could only find them, who'd be grateful for an extra pair of hands. She avoided the rows of heavily-armed Tarasanka military vessels, pausing only briefly to wonder how such a small country managed to find enough sailors to maintain such a large navy, and headed towards the merchant ships berthed where the Rose had been all those weeks earlier.

  She started off by asking everyone she met whether they spoke Charanthe, but she got only blank looks; before long, she resorted to just repeating "Charanthe? Dashfort? Almont?" to anyone whose attention she could catch.

  Eventually, one man – at the end of a human chain loading crates onto a large ship – responded. "You Gharanded?" he asked, passing the last of his crates along to his colleague. "What you want?"

  "I need to get back to the Empire. I need to take a boat." She pointed at the ship, not quite sure how well he understood her. "Where are you going?"

  "Going? Going now."

  "Where?"

  The next sailor from the chain came over to join in as soon as he'd handed on the crate. "You not Magrad," he said. "You want Magrad man? Not able!"

  "No!" She shook her head vigorously. "I don't want a man. I want to work."

  "You? Work?" They both looked incredulous.

  "Yes! If you're going to the Empire. Charanthe? Yes?"

  "Dazzford, in Gharand... yes?" the first man checked.

  "Yes." His pronunciation left a lot to be desired but the words were just about recognizable.

  "You wait here." He beckoned his colleague to follow, and climbed up onto the ship.

  Eleanor waited, conscious of the passage of time as the sun rose into the sky. She wondered whether she should give up and try to find a boat which had actually come from the Empire, whose crew spoke Charanthe with native fluency, and who could be guaranteed to take her home. But it had taken so long to find someone who understood her even partially, so she pushed those thoughts from her mind and concentrated on her surroundings, alert for any sign she might have been recognised. A small crowd had begun to gather at the bow of the Magra ship – men, women and children all stared down at her, waiting to see what would happen.

  Eventually the first sailor returned, accompanied by another man. "Here is captain," he said, indicating his companion. "He not speak Gharanded. You speak, I tell him what, yes?"

  "Tell him I want to work on the ship, to get home."

  He turned to the captain, and they exchanged a few short sentences in Magrad. The captain kept glancing at Eleanor and shaking his head.

  "He say, you is woman."

  "So?"

  "Woman not work."

  "But I can work! I know how to sail." She wasn't sure how much he understood, so she walked across to one of the mooring ropes and picked up the spare length at the end of the line. "Look, I know all the knots." She tied a figure of eight, then loosed it and demonstrated a bowline, and then a sheet bend.

  The captain said something in Magrad, and the other man translated: "You come ship, and show."

  He set off towards the ship and she followed him, wondering what she was supposed to be showing. He stopped by the smallest of the ship's four masts. "Show," he repeated.

  The sails were rigged ready for the boat to sail out of the harbour and she wasn't sure what they wanted her to demonstrate so she simply folded down the smallest sail, hauled it up again, and turned back to the captain to see if she could work out whether she'd satisfied him of her usefulness. Most of the crew seemed to have gathered around, and the women and children watched in fascination from a little further back.

  "Davh," the captain said, nodding.

  "He say yes," her translator said. "You come. I show you bed; come now."

  The hammock she was assigned was in the women's quarters, and she was alarmed to find that this also meant sharing a room with all the prepubescent children the ship was carrying. The other women had all followed them down from the deck – some watching and chatting amongst themselves with evident suspicion, while others were simply curious. There were eleven women in total, and about twenty children of varying ages; none of them spoke a word of Charanthe but one woman provided Eleanor with a pillow, blanket and towel, which seemed about the warmest welcome she was going to get.

  Relieved to have found a suitable ship, and in the interests of trying to keep below deck and out of sight until they left the harbour, Eleanor made a big show of rearranging her few belongings and hanging her bag on the peg by her hammock.

  "You work night," the sailor said. "You sleep now."

  "Okay," Eleanor agreed, though she was far from happy with the idea of working the night shift. Still, it was a good excuse to stay out of the way for a while, so she climbed into her hammock without further comment.

  The other women
stayed staring at her for some time, though she closed her eyes and tried to pretend they weren't there, fingers clasped around the ropes of the hammock. Tears welled behind her eyelids as she thought of Raf, alone now in a hostile city. She wondered if she should have argued, stayed to keep him company, tried to nurse him back to health. But at least this way she could take the message to Venncastle as he'd suggested, and she'd see him again at the academy. Assuming he survives. She tried to push such painful thoughts from her mind, focusing instead on the gentle rocking of the ship and the breathing of the women who were still watching her. She pressed one foot against the other, feeling the hard metal of her pendant digging in to the sole, comforted and distracted by the almost-pain.

  After a long moment the boat started moving; she heard footsteps as the women went up onto the deck and then silence. Finally alone, she managed to fall asleep.

  She was woken by a middle-aged woman, who shook her harshly and then pointed upwards as soon as her eyes flickered open. Once she got out of the hammock, the woman pushed a smoked fish into one of her hands and a beaker of weak ale into the other.

  "Thank you," Eleanor said, and took a mouthful of fish.

  "Dhang oo?" the woman repeated, puzzled.

  "Thank you, yes. It means... oh, never mind!" Eleanor gulped down her drink and ate as quickly as she could, collecting fish bones in her empty beaker, then followed the woman up on to the deck. Time to learn how the night shift worked.