The Fox

  “Year ago, autumn. Some fellow nosing around, asking not only for Elgar the Fox—we have a harbor full of spies asking that kind o’ question, the Venn being first—but he out and said yer name, what is it, Indrevet Ala-Grubber? Anyway, I tried to chase him off, but he came back. That time he ran athwart the hawse of our old Captain Wenald, him’t spent eight years chained to a galley by pirates— same pirates hired by the Venn—and he was near killt before your Angel saved him. Said later the jumble o’ speech from the spy was your Iascan.”

  Inda felt that zing of alert again. His palms were wet, his heartbeat hammering. “And?”

  “Softly, softly, now. That one down there beside young one-arm is another king’s spy, unless I miss me guess.” He indicated the Vixen, riding the green waves a coin toss to the lee. One of the brothers was watching birds through a glass. The other brother swept the ocean beyond the cove. A man stood between them, gaze on Inda’s ship. “Angel told me the spy said something about king’s orders—he was a, what was it, a Runner? Something, and he was to find ye.”

  Inda drew a breath. “King’s orders.”

  “This Vee-dritt bein’ sent last spring by this king—I remembered the name, as it happens, on account it is so close to me wife’s, which is Vyadrit, strange, that, about names—”

  Inda did not hear the man’s low-voiced discursion into naming customs. He recognized the name Vedrid. The Sierlaef’s boy, back when the king’s heir was an academy horsetail and Inda a scrub. Inda and his fellow Tveis had known all their names, if only to avoid them, especially Nallan.

  So the Sierlaef had to be king now—Aldren-Harvaldar, in Marlovan. The hope he’d begun to feel—and hated himself for feeling—had gone, leaving questions. Why would the Sierlaef send a spy or assassin against me? Or is it the Harskialdna on behalf of his nephew?

  But would the uncle still be Harskialdna, or had the heir gotten his way and made Buck Marlo-Vayir his Harskialdna? But why would Buck—

  He felt his mind spinning into uncertainty, and made an effort to shove it back behind the old wall. Speculation was useless. Not enough information.

  Chim had stopped talking and was eyeing Inda again.

  Inda said, “And so?”

  The older man sighed. “And so what Perran feared all along is probably going to come to pass: an embargo will kill the kingdom’s trade if we don’t obey the new orders. Nearly all the kingdom works either for the river trade comin’ up from the south, or else the sea trade. If the threats get worse, the king will take the Fleet for his own, for defense. Only reason he hasn’t squashed us is the Venn wouldn’t let him have a war fleet. Said they would protect us, that was the treaty ten years ago. So, see, the king pretends he doesn’t know about us, but if he needs our fleet, he orders it took over, and puts this young lord who’s courtin’ the crown princess in charge. If we refuse, we lose our charter—”

  “I’ll have the prisoner shifted aboard our transport.”

  The voice behind caused them to turn.

  Longnose—Inda never did learn his name—might have been an honest man by his own lights, but Inda never left him enough time to prove it.

  It had been a mistake to bring the dag here. But Inda did not have to compound the error. “Off my ship,” he said, and gestured to Fox, who straightened up from lounging against the rail far forward. Fox sauntered aft, hand on a knife hilt as Inda said, “See these people off my ship. We are setting sail.”

  Fox did not speak, nor did his slow saunter alter, but somehow every line of his body, from slanted narrow green eyes to the ring of his boot heels, exuded menace.

  Longnose flushed, glared at Fox, then back at Inda. “May I ask where you are bound?” he asked in Dock Talk.

  “To scout the east,” Inda said.

  Longnose gave him a look of comprehension. “Where the Venn happen to be looking for you?”

  “I’m scouting for pirates.” Inda opened his hands wide. “There are always plenty of pirates.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  AS the boats rowed away from the Death after the captains’ conference, Eflis leaned on her oars and glanced back at Sparrow in the bow. “Not saying anything to Dasta. Might get the wind up, like. But that Elgar sure is a strange one.”

  Sparrow didn’t pause in her stroke. “Strange? What do you mean, strange in looks, in manner? Not his plans, surely.”

  “Oh, not his looks. Right ordinary—until you catch him laughing, and then he’s, oh, he’s sun-bright, brighter than Tau. Gets that way when he talks plans, too.”

  “Well, his plans make sense,” Sparrow admitted. She would never actually say it out loud, but she’d been impressed by Inda Elgar. On first meeting she’d thought there was more of the lying, that that tall redhead Fox was really Inda. Especially after rumor was whispered around the fleet that Elgar the Fox’d been caught spying in Ymar, and tortured—then not only escaped but set fire to half a city in retaliation. She could see that sarcastic Fox doing all that, maybe with short Inda following, until you actually spent time with Inda, heard him talk, heard him laugh. You didn’t notice anyone else, then—he suddenly became the sort of leader one could follow, if one was to follow anyone.

  Eflis shrugged. “I like this new plan. Raiding the raiders! Ought to be fun. But Inda’s as short as a Delf. Dasta and Tcholan were much more dashing Elgar the Foxes at the Fire Islands. So tall, and those black duds.”

  Inda himself had explained the ruse. Sparrow had been inclined to anger until Eflis laughed so hard she knocked over her glass of wine. She thought it great fun having been fooled, and she’d made Inda promise that at least once she’d get to wear the black outfit. When he said, “Of course! Didn’t Gillor wear it a few times on the island reconnaissances? ” and Gillor responded, “Mine is in the gig. Happy to share,” Sparrow’s perspective changed: instead of seeing herself and Eflis as having been duped, she perceived that they had been accepted into Elgar’s inner ring.

  Eflis said, “I can see how it happened. That Fox looks about as sinister as Mad Marshig o’ the Brotherhood used to wish he looked. And Majarian did, the stinking shit. But Inda doesn’t even try. Dresses like an old dockhand.”

  Sparrow said, “Practical, is all.”

  Eflis picked up her oars again, and put some back into her stroke, sending the skiff bucketing over the little waves. Then she stopped again. “As for looks, yee-hoo, Tau is even prettier than I remembered when he was Coco’s toy.”

  Sparrow snorted. Eflis did have a roving eye, but as long as it didn’t light on other women, it was fine with her. “And doesn’t he just know it.”

  Eflis rounded her eyes. “You seen him prinking and prancing?”

  “No, but he’s got about as much heart as a gold coin. If you want cold, arrogant males, for pref, give me Fox. Not in my cabin, but on my deck, fighting off all comers. Huh!”

  Eflis chuckled as she flexed her arms. “How sore I was after he put us through that first drill. And I thought we were so tight!” She smacked a bicep. “Look at us now!”

  “How about let’s feel it,” Sparrow retorted, “or we’re gonna sit on this water all night.”

  Their laughter drifted over the water as they took oar again, and sped for Sable.

  Neither Fox nor Tau paid the departing captains any heed.

  Tau strolled on deck and breathed deeply of the ocean air: salt, kelp, fish, but no whiff of land. How good it was to be back at sea!

  Yet he was restless. Was that because they were heading in the direction of home after all these years?

  Inda had said to the captains just now, “Venn raiders are using Idayago as target practice. Shall we go practice on them?”

  Jeje had cheered loudest of all. The urge to find Jeje and talk was so instant, so automatic, Tau had to laugh at himself. Of course she wasn’t here. There she was, slanting away on her Vixen again. And happy to be there.

  He did not miss the Comet, or his perfumed life amid Bren’s aristocrats and those who kept them entert
ained. What he missed were the morning talks with Jeje during drill. He felt as thought one eye was missing, or part of his mind; he badly wanted to discuss the astonishing change in Inda, who somewhere, somehow, had learned to laugh. It was such an open laugh, a rushing chuckle that began deep in his chest and sounded so free, often bringing tears that Inda just shook away. Inda talked no more than he ever had, but somewhere, somehow he’d laid aside, or lost, the ability to hide his emotions—

  Fox clapped his hands to summon the off-watch for yet another of the endless training workouts. With a sense of relief Tau ran to the forecastle and reached for a weapon.

  Down below, Signi listened to the running feet, as she’d listened for carefully counted days.

  She lay back, staring out the stern windows at the sea. Elgar the Fox had had the hammock turned, just so she could look out the window. She had only mentioned it to Fibi the Delf as a test of language, more than as a test of persons—or at least so she had thought.

  Yes. The time had come to examine the truths in her own mind.

  It was true that she was a failure. Chief Sea Dag Valda had entrusted her with the most important task in the world—to get to Sartor with the Venn secret of navigation— and she had failed.

  She had failed because though most human beings could not lie to her without betraying the lies—few were aware that bodies often spoke more truly than lips—she could not descry all Dag Erkric’s safeguards. No, call them traps. And so her attempted peaceful mutiny ended in blood and death. And shortly thereafter the very safeguard that Valda had meant to protect her had betrayed her: they were isolated and alone, and thus ripe to fall into the hands of none other than Elgar the Fox.

  That discovery had been almost as sharp a shock as had that stunning blow from the wooden block. Except Elgar the Fox had proved over the succeeding days to be nothing like what people said. Nothing at all. She had discovered the truth of Count Wafri’s plot by careful listening and putting together of clues when she had been scouting the likeliest ship to request. She knew that Elgar the Fox had destroyed Limros Palace in escaping; she knew he intended to make war on her people. She did not expect him to have such compassionate eyes, a body so eloquent with old hurt. Such scars in one so young! He had to be ten or twelve years younger than she.

  He would not give her to the Brennish people to be put to the question.

  He asked women to tend her, and to treat her with respect.

  And he couldn’t bring himself to harm her, though she had long heard of the many deaths at his hands or at his command.

  What did he see in her own face?

  The cabin door opened, and she composed herself as best she could; she had reviewed the facts. It was now time to acknowledge the new path that the truths revealed.

  Inda entered his cabin.

  He knew it was ridiculous to leave his prisoner here, forcing himself onto the already crowded mates’ area. He sensed that they felt uncomfortable with him there, though he could not imagine why—he was careful to take no more space than anyone else. How could he, with only two changes of clothes? But every time he thought about putting Dag Signi down into the hold away from light and air his mind flinched from the idea.

  She lay, as before, in his hammock. He studied her faint, crooked smile, the shadow of the dimple in her cheek.

  “We run away from Bren folk,” she observed. In Iascan. Her accent was strongly Venn, not Delf. “Why?”

  “Because the Brens wanted to keep you, and force me to stay. I think your Venn are going to attack my homeland, and I intend to fight them.”

  Her brow furrowed as she sorted his words. And she said, finally, “If I give parole.”

  Inda’s head jerked up. Had he heard that right? “Parole? ”

  She nodded once, a firm nod. “If you attack north side of strait, my people there, parole ends.”

  She’d practiced that, he sensed. “We are not attacking the north side,” he said slowly and clearly. “I was only there to find you. And to chart. But we will be attacking your people who are raiding on the Idayago side.”

  “You burn people on ships?”

  He flushed with guilt and made a warding gesture as he looked away. Then he said, “I’ll burn their ships so they can’t use ’em, but nobody on them. We won’t let ’em land on Idayago, but they can use their longboats and go north with my goodwill.”

  She nodded. “It is good. I stay.”

  He tipped his head a little, studying her. “Why?”

  She gave a rueful smile. “It hurts.”

  His entire body was expressive of relief as he flicked his fingers to the knife he wore along his forearm. He pulled the long knife out, but kept the point away from her, his gaze at her elbow, his attitude patient and unthreatening. He was waiting to cut her bonds!

  She obligingly scrunched to one side, the hammock jiggling warningly, as he sawed the silk binding her wrists.

  “I’ll send Fibi down,” he said. And did, moving up to the captain’s deck, where he stood watching the drill on the forecastle, his mind struggling to comprehend what the mage’s parole might mean.

  When Signi appeared on deck, she was considerably cleaner, her sandy hair severely pulled back into a short braid, and the grubby blue robe gone, no doubt drying below after a couple of dunks in one of the ensorcelled buckets. He recognized the shirt, green-dyed wool jacket, and sailor’s trousers from Gillor’s seabag. The two women were about the same height, though this Venn mage was a little more spare than Gillor.

  Her movements were peculiarly fluid as she rubbed slowly at her wrists in gentle circles. Though the season was winter the low northern sun was warm on deck, and many went barefoot. The prisoner did also, and Inda could see that she was used to it. Her feet were brown and as tough as his own.

  She moved soundlessly, unobtrusively, stopping near the mainmast. Inda suspected her post aboard Venn ships was there. She watched the drill forward, pursing her lips when Fox threw Tau to the deck, gold hair flashing. Grunt, scramble, and the two jumped up, breathing hard, Fox laughing; the old competition was back, but some of the bitter sting had vanished.

  It was then that the rest of the crew noticed that they had been joined. Surprise, even shock, riffled through them all at the sight of the mage on deck, her hands free.

  Fox raised his knife in ironic salute. Tau said something that Inda could not hear, as the wind came from behind him. The prisoner met his gaze then looked away, her face relaxing a fraction only when she spotted Fibi. She brought her hands up, palms together—a gesture Fibi mirrored with a brisk and graceless clap.

  Inda felt a tingling prod over his ribs—his vest pocket. He remembered the new golden scroll-case. It wasn’t a round scroll-shape like the Venn one he’d seen in Wafri’s hands. Apparently Sartoran ones were square, flat cases that better fit the style of clothes aristocrats wore.

  Inda moved aft and opened the case. There was a tiny paper from Jeje, in her round, uneven hand—

  The lookout yelled, “Six sail, hull down, lee-bow!”

  And on the paper: 6 sail hull up. Venn.

  Hull up: the entire ship visible, hull down: only the masts.

  Inda moved to the binnacle, laying his hand on the gold cases there, each paired to one on another of his ships. He got that same magical tingle-poke from two; the third tingled as he touched it, and when he opened them, bits of paper showed variations of the same news.

  His first experiment was a disappointment.

  “They’re worthless,” he exclaimed in disgust. And as Gillor stepped close, head cocked in question, “Use the signal flags. I want this as we practiced: we’ll maneuver upwind of them. Two to each warship, the scouts to keep circling and keep up the fire-arrows until they strike their flag and go over the side.” The Venn had battle flags like most military ships, Inda had discovered, which were used to signal intent to attack, neutrality, or surrender.

  Pirates had no such custom, though some mimed military action at whim, but who wo
uld believe their signals?

  The Venn masts appeared, and soon they were hull up.

  The exquisitely beautiful tall-masted square-sail ships were designed for deep waters, which Inda’s smaller fore-and-aft ships were not. But the Venn square sails could not sail into the eye of the wind nearly as closely as Inda’s fleet. That was their single weakness, he had watched it again and again over the last year, and he would use it against them now.

  “And after they go over the side?”

  “Drive ’em north. I don’t want them landing on the south shore. North, it’s none of our affair. And burn the ships after we loot ’em.”

  “Prisoner?” Gillor’s dark-fringed eyes were wide with interest.

  “Gave parole. But when their masts heave up on the horizon put her below, in the purser’s cabin. Lum can shift his flour barrels somewhere else for storage. Bar it but let her free inside, with a lamp. I don’t want to risk the Venn spotting her—this raider pack could be a search for the scout—and she doesn’t need to see her own people fought against.”

  Gillor nodded, then strode forward, issuing orders to the flag hands and to Fox, who listened, head slightly bent. For a moment he observed the two: the woman gesturing, her attitude evocative of intensity and appeal—it was her watch, and she wanted to command—the man listening, remote and intense before the lift of the hand that turned the ship over to her. He moved to the weapons box and took up position with one of the newer defense teams.

  With Gillor Inda had relaxed his rule about not sleeping with crew because he enjoyed her laughing abandon, and because she showed him no favor over Tcholan or a couple of the other hands. Her gaze had strayed most often toward Fox—not that that got her anywhere. Like Tau he never slept with crew. Now Gillor’s mind was on the attack. If she carries this one, Inda thought, she’s got the next ship we capture.

  Ship. Mage.

  Signi’s expression was intent, inscrutable. Her body poised, evocative of deference and question. How did she do that? He had never seen anyone move like she did. She stood so quietly, without any unnecessary motion, yet it was impossible to look away.