There were booths lining the edge of the plaza. Some were selling food. Others had umbrellas and fans. On the far side, the island rose, forming a gentle hump, crowned with flowering trees. While the hill wasn't steep, people only climbed it using a set of stone steps with red wooden arches standing over them.
"What is this place?" Turk asked.
"This is TempleIsland." She took his hand and pulled him toward one of the booths. The vendor was cooking pieces of meat on a thin wooden skewer. Paige held up four fingers, received four skewers, and paid with a five yen coin. "It's a holy place."
"And this is holy food?" he asked.
She smiled. "No. It's chicken!" She handed him two of the skewers. "For once, no fish!"
He had to admit that the change was delicious. As they ate, she led him to another booth, this one selling roast corn. "We're going to eat our way across the plaza?"
"What? You don't like this plan?"
"Just surprised by it."
"I translated here for ten years." She held up the corn she just bought. "I got addicted to some of the food. We can't grow corn on the Rosetta."
"Manny says you're very good at translating."
"I'm the best." She smiled up at him. "I really loved doing it. It pays well. And it's safe work. No fighting storms. No treacherous waters. No man-eating fish." She took a bite of her corn and moaned at the taste. Did she know how erotic it sounded? "And you eat nice."
"Why did you quit?"
The smile fled her face. She concentrated on nibbling the kernels off the corncob without making a mess of her kimono. Only after she finished, and licked her fingers clean, did she answer. "My parents died when our boat went aground on a reef off of Omaha Landing. Ethan and I were here in Ya-ya translating. Orin and the others were left stranded and orphans at Omaha. I'd been saving my money to buy a house here in Ya-ya. I decided to buy the Rosetta instead."
"Why not buy the house and bring your family here? It seems safer than putting them all on a boat."
"I . . .I thought about it. There were too many reasons why getting a boat outweighed moving them here. Orin and Avery love the sea. Avery can't translate, and Orin' doesn't like it. Nor does Charlene; as you might have noticed, she doesn't like to do hard work."
Turk laughed. "I would have thought translating was easier than working on the boat."
"Mentally, translating is a wonderful challenge. You're an invisible negotiator between two unreasonable parties. Each side says rude comments about the other, makes impossible demands, and you have to make it seem as if everyone is being polite and reasonable. And translating between two groups of humans is actually the hardest. Humans, more than any species, seem to have this 'I must come out on top in this deal' mindset. You have to manage the deal so both groups think they're walking away with more than the other party."
"The other species don't think like that?"
"Not in the same way."
Fish-shaped cakes filled with sweet bean puree were next.
Following her was like applying a mobile male intelligence test to the crowd. Every man noticed her. The smart ones looked first to see if she was alone and accurately determined that they couldn't take Turk in a fight. The less intelligent would try to intercept her, and only notice Turk as he blocked their path. Only one idiot was stupid enough to try to go around Turk, but luckily he understood the warning in the low growl that Turk gave.
Thankfully the crowd thinned and became more focused on their own missions as they climbed the steps. Bailey had a hand pressed to her mouth. It was only when she glanced at him that he realized that laughter danced in her eyes.
"I can take care of myself," she murmured, "but thank you. That was the easiest I've ever gotten through a crowd."
He refrained from pointing out that was exactly why he came with her. She took his hand again even though there was no reason to; they were nearly alone when they reached the top of the stairs. A lush garden stretched out before them, with pea-gravel paths meandering away in several directions. She guided him down the path, the gravel crunching underfoot.
Only when they were completely alone did she quietly confess, "The only thing I didn't like about translating was that so many men assumed that since they'd paid for my services, they'd paid for all of me."
He didn't ask for details. Certainly he'd spent enough years with people assuming that just because he existed, they could gratify their sexual whims with him. When he realized that ten years of translating meant she'd started younger than Hiliary was now, he growled low with anger.
She leaned against him, touching her forehead to his shoulder. "You don't need to growl so. Nothing happened worse than a few conversations with human octopi."
"Octopi?"
"It's the plural of octopus."
"Oh." He understood now. He'd had a few conversations like that when he was very young. "Not octopuses?"
"No. Octopi."
"What are we doing here then?"
"Two things have to happen before the Rosetta is seaworthy again. The first is to raise some money. We're nearly broke. The second is to find a good but inexpensive engine."
"How are we going to raise money here?"
Mysteriously, his question drew a radiant smile from her.
"What?" he asked, and glanced behind him to see if there was something amusing behind him.
She ducked her head, shaking it. "Nothing."
"Tell me."
"You said 'we.' It made me happy." She continued to study the path before them. "I'm hoping that you'll stay with us."
That jolted emotions through him, much akin to a sugar rush on a rollercoaster. In the past, women either ignored him, or viewed him as a perverted sex toy. He had no experience in anything else. Was this something else? Was she indicating that there could be something between them? He became acutely aware that she still held his hand. With the Baileys being his only known refuge, could he risk misinterpreting her?
"So, how are we going to raise money?" he carefully skirted around the issue.
"We're going to visit my teacher, Ceri. Most people that need translating come to her."
After what she'd told him, he was surprised. "You're going to translate?"
Bailey nodded. "It will better than fishing."
"Anything would be better than fishing."
They'd turned a corner and stopped in front of a small wooden house. On a knee-high porch, an old woman in an elegant silk kimono sat drinking tea.
"Sensi." Bailey greeted the woman, bowing low with respect.
Turk stared speechless. Bailey was striking, from her honey gold curls to her vivid blue eyes. The roughness from work and weather, however, made her real and touchable.
Ceri was beyond beautiful; she was perfection only slightly touched by time. Her long thick hair was glossy silver, gathered into a loose braid with silk ribbon wove through it. Her skin was so pure white that it was ethereal. Her eyes were a deep shade of lavender that outside this world he would have suspected to be contact lens or artificially dyed. With her kimono artfully arranged around her, the woman seemed like an expensive doll.
The woman gazed into his eyes. It was a look of want and the promise of sexual release of such intensity that he felt his body respond even as he growled warning.
"Please don't play with him, Sensi." Captain Bailey murmured.
"Indulge an old woman." Ceri's obviously had taken voice lessons; her tone was as perfect as her looks. "You have come begging."
Captain Bailey stiffened, breathing in sharply.
Ceri glanced at Bailey, frowned slightly, and looked away. "Yes, you would, foolish, foolish child."
Turk felt like he'd missed a full section of the conversation. What would Bailey do?
"You're almost as bad as your brother," Ceri said. "Entirely too much pride in your family."
"Compared to?" Bailey asked.
Ceri laughed. "That's your father's blood speaking there. Ready to fight."
"Ceri,
I did not come here to fight with you. I put in ten years of doing anything you asked of me. I earned the right to leave without recriminations."
Ceri gazed into her teacup for several minutes of silence before murmuring, "Oust, love."
Only then did Turk realize that the woman wasn't alone. An old man stood in the shadows of the porch. His stance said "bodyguard." Turk nodded to him; one warrior to another. The man returned the nod.
"Please fetch me my book," Ceri said to her bodyguard.
Oust went into the house and returned with a book stuffed with scraps of paper.
"It's Ethan that I'm angry with." Ceri untied the ribbon that held shut the book and leafed through the pages. "Every spare moment he had, he focused on the Seraphim. Trying to build a lexicon for creatures with no commonality with us."
"No profit."
Ceri gave a slight motion, conceding that Bailey was closer to her objection to Ethan's obsession. "You at least had good cause to go. He disrupted everyone's life with his wild goose chase."
"Have you heard anything from Fenrir's Rock?"
Ceri shook her head. "Nothing of your family. From what I could tell, there was nothing but chaos afterwards. A hurricane was closing on Fenrir's Rock, the inner harbor is inaccessible, and the outer harbor has been destroyed. Everyone scurried away to safer harbors before the storm hit."
Bailey nodded.
"This is the list of those confirmed dead." Ceri took out a paper and held out it out Bailey.
Bailey ran her finger down the list of names, her face registering degrees of hurt. She blinked away any chance of crying, but her nose started to run. "Shit," she murmured pressing the back of the hand to her nose and then looked up and saw Turk watching her. "There's a lot of people from Fenrir and Georgetown that I know one way or another. The Becker twins lived about five houses down—they are—they were my age. Janni Thompson—she—she dated Orin," she gave a slight laugh, "but she was a complete bitch, and I was happy when she dumped him. And—And—"
Bailey stared at the floor, her shoulders squaring to a stubborn set. There were times she reminded Turk of Mikhail. Misha would get the same 'I'm not going to tell how bad I hurt' look. He'd keep it all inside until it had the force of a black hole, and then he'd collapse. It was frightening to think that Bailey might share the same self-destructive tendencies. Pushing never worked with Mikhail, so Turk wrapped his arms around her, laying his cheek on her forehead, and waited. After a minute, she poked him in the ribs, like she knew what he was doing, but then hugged him. Taking comfort in his presence.
"As it stands, I can use you." Ceri took back the list and replaced it in her book. "A goodly number of Fenrir's people came here, and I'm short handed."
Bailey nodded, and then for Turk's sake, explained. "The people of Ya-ya usually only know a smattering of Standard, and the Fenrir people don't speak any Japanese."
Bailey sighed, and Ceri tsked her. Again Turk felt like he missed something. It was like they shortcut through the conversation, taking detours that bypassed him completely.
"You have a bodyguard now." Ceri gave an elegant wave of her hand to take in Turk. "You will not have the same problems as before."
Turk understood then what had gone unsaid. The Fenrir's Rock people were the ones most likely to expect more from Bailey then just translating. And Ceri was right; Turk would make sure that wasn't a problem.
Bailey laughed. "In that case, I'll have a different problem."
"There is that," Ceri said. "I'll send word to you when I have something for you."
* * *
Captain Bailey was quiet as they walked back through the crowded plaza. Only after they cast off, did she break the silence. "I'm sorry. Ceri assumed you were staying."
"I don't see how I could find my ship," he started to explain his reasoning for staying. ""I don't know where it went down. It probably sank. I have no way of searching for it . . ."
"Why would you want to find your ship?"
He wondered how he could explain it to her. "What if a hole opened up and dropped you onto New Pontic steppe."
"Where?"
"Exactly, you're not sure where you are. As far as you can see, it's grass and nothing else. Some seemingly kind but eccentric people find you. Luckily you can speak their language but they don't speak Standard or English. They say you can stay with them as long as you want, but you need to get used to eating borscht and help take care of their horses."
"Borscht?"
"Borscht. No fish. The sea is too far away."
Captain Bailey shook her head, obviously unable to grasp the idea of no ocean. "What exactly is . . ..horses?"
"They're very large animals that you ride, but they're very skittish and spend an extraordinary amount of their time trying to get you off their back."
"You've ridden on a horse?"
"Misha's family put a good deal of importance on the trappings of old royalty." After revolting against his original owner, Viktor had cloaked himself in the mysticism of divine right. God had chosen the Tsars of Russia; Viktor maintained that God had brought forth their bloodline to once again act as God's will in flesh. Viktor reinforced that line of thinking by copying much of the ancient imperial lifestyle. "You can't imagine how unsettling it is to lose everything from your world. From your language to the color of the sky—gone."
"I know how Reds are treated on military ships. You might be better off than most, but why go back to a place where you're a slave?"
"I was raised in the house of a powerful man. One thing I learned well: no one is free. Even the rich and powerful still have masters. I've seen men who rule cities of several million people grovel."
Bailey shook her head. "I don't have a master."
"You have a cruel and heartless master: this ocean. It doesn't care if you live or die."
"It's not the same."
"It's completely the same. You picked facing the ocean on your little ship instead of staying here at Ya-ya as a translator. You made the ocean your master."
"At least I'm not a slave."
"I'm not a slave. Misha gave me the same choice you did; I chose to stay with him."
12
Eraphie
When Mikhail was young, one of the housecats had her kittens under the crawlspace of an outbuilding. By the time the kittens were found, they were several weeks old and feral. Mikhail and Turk used food to lure them into live traps and then spent days holding the kittens, forcing them to be tame beasts.
Mikhail doubted his female Red would trust him if he caught her in some kind of trap. Nor that prolonged physical contact would tame her; it would be much like trying to gentle a Bengal tiger merely by holding it.
But he could leave out offerings to lure her out. He tried to put himself in her mindset. She was alone on an island where a military ship just landed. That she was hiding from them indicated she was frightened of them. What kind of things would make her trust them? Things she needed. Food. Clothing. Blankets.
Could she read? Creches used Standard so that Reds could be used on any United Colony ship without a language barrier. While pictographs were heavily used with Reds, they were also taught the rudiments of reading. What the female had spoken, though, seemed to be true English. Without the usual Red training, it was possible that she hadn't been taught to read. Regardless of her ability, she might interpret his assumption that she could read as proof that he saw her as a human being. He dug up a spare reader and downloaded all of his books which were in English. He took the precaution to have Tseytlin bug the reader so they could track the woman's movements.
Mikhail carried his offerings to where he last saw her. "Hello? I realize that you're stranded here. I brought you some things you might need." It felt awkward, talking to the dark. She probably wasn't even listening, but he couldn't pass up any opportunity to communicate. "We don't mean you any harm. We just arrived at this place and we could actually use a native-born guide."
He carefully positioned the bundle
where it could be easily seen and made sure it appeared purposely left. The offering would be moot if she thought someone just mislaid it. "My name is Mikhail Ivanovich Volkov and my ship is the Svoboda. And in case I forgot in all the excitement, thank you for saving my life earlier."
He added a note, hoping that she really could read. There were no pictographs for "Mikhail Ivanovich Volkov" and "thank you."
He backed away from the bundle and waited a few minutes. With the kittens, he and Turk would have to leave the area before they would venture out from the crawlspace. Apparently at least that much held true.
* * *
"I can't take this, Mikhail."
Mikhail still felt claustrophobic in the sea-scented confines of the Svoboda. He'd found shelter at the edge of the rubble in the building still standing. He wasn't sure what the Fenrir people had done in the bare structure, but the sides of the building folded back until it stood completely open. He'd settled at the center of the bare concrete floor. Butcher set up guards all around him so that he saw a Red every time he looked up.
Thus he was stunned when he looked up and found the female Red crouched down in front of him, close enough to touch. Somehow she had slipped past all the guards. No wonder his Reds hadn't spotted her on the island earlier; she could come and go like a ninja. Her appearance startled him so much that he said, "Pozhaloistra," and had to repeat himself in English. "Pardon?'
"I can't take this!" She repeated and pushed the reader at him. "It's too expensive."
"No, no, it's practically disposal." He waved off her attempt to hand it to him. None of his guards had noticed her arrival. The ocean and wind, he realized, was generating white noise that was screening their conversation.
"Maybe in your universe it's disposal but not here!" She gave the reader a small shake. "This is worth a month's wages. Maybe two. I can't take it."
"You saved my life."
"That was for me, not you. I knew if I just watched you die, that would eat at me, make me someone I don't want to be. I need to respect myself, and I can only do that by being a person that I can respect."
He didn't want to take the reader back, especially if she considered it very valuable. Ruthless as it might seem, he needed her in debt. "Let's consider it a month's wages then. I need help. You could use the work. I'm guessing that there's a lack of job openings here at the moment."