The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(41)

When she got to the end of the first scene, she looked up to see Gabriel gazing at her anxiously.

"Well?"

"It's… promising," she said.

"You truly think so?"

"Truly. But if I were you, I'd make sure to put your name on every page. And burn the ones you mean to discard, or tear them up and throw them overboard."

"Why so?"

"The skraylings are mad for stories; they're as good as money to them. Which means that ownership is important."

Gabriel held out his hand for the script. "Thank you for the reminder. I'll do it right away."

She settled down on the cushions to doze the heat of the day away. Sandy was right. Mal was probably almost to Venice by now. Perhaps he would come to Provence on his way back to England. She smiled to herself at the thought, and closed her eyes.

Erishen waited until he was sure the girl was busy talking to Gabriel, then made his way to the bow. He had not wanted to alarm her, but she was not alone in her concern over their slow progress. The captain owed them a clearer explanation at the very least.

Captain Hennaq was conferring with his quartermaster over their supplies, so Erishen waited at a respectful distance until they were done. This would have to be handled carefully if he were not to cause offence. Though Hennaq had agreed to help them, he made it clear he did so for his cousin's sake alone. As a law-breaker, even an unwilling one, Erishen had no place in the clan hierarchy.

From the little he could overhear, Erishen was able to gather that the captain was concerned about their supply of fresh water. It was always a problem on long voyages, and with enemy lands on either side, finding somewhere they could safely refill their barrels would not be easy. After some debate they agreed they would consult the navigator on the best place to land, and the quartermaster left the foredeck.

"You wish to speak to me?" Hennaq said, seeming to notice Erishen for the first time.

"I bring a request from my Christian friends." It was not the ideal topic, but it had the advantage of having some truth behind it. "It is their custom at this time of year to celebrate their spring festival, and they seek your permission to do so."

The captain glanced towards the passengers' tent.

"What does this festival entail?"

"The first three days require only quiet contemplation, then it is customary to hold a celebratory feast."

Hennaq hissed his amusement. "It does not sound like much of a festival."

"It is their tradition, not ours," Erishen replied, softening his reproving words with a stance of submission.

"Very well. They may proceed, though we have few enough supplies for a feast. I will instruct the cook to do his best." He paused. "I think there can be no harm for us all to eat well together, eh?"

"No, indeed. Thank you, sir."

"However your Christian friends must not interfere with the work of the crew, nor importune them to join in the other ceremonies."

"Of course, captain." The skraylings had listened attentively to the first missionaries to the New World, paid them generously for the stories they told, then told them very politely to go home. Those that did not take heed had soon fled in terror from visions of Hell out of their own sermons. "I think the Christians have learned their lesson."

"Is that all?"

Erishen bowed. "My friends also asked me to enquire whether you or any of your crew possess a copy of the Christian book of stories they could borrow."

"I shall make enquiries amongst the crew. But any such copies will be in our own tongue."

"I will read it to the Christians, putting it into English," Erishen replied. It would be good practice of his language skills, as well as another way to pass the time.

"When is this… festival to take place?"
Ah, now we get to it. "That is the difficulty. My friends have lost track of the count of days since we left England, and it is important that they celebrate on the same day as other Christians."

Hennaq looked up at the sky. "Please, excuse me."

He hailed the first mate, then made a complex series of arm movements, signalling his commands to the crew. Something about the ropes, or the sails…? Erishen had little idea; he had never been much interested in sailing.

"We have been at sea for twenty-two days," Hennaq went on. "Do you not agree?"

"That is what I thought, but I did not trust my own reckoning. I have been studying an English book of mathematics and astronomy, and also following our voyage on one of their maps."

"And?"

"And I am perplexed. Either the map is wrong, or we have sailed much further south than the gateway to the Inner Sea."

He watched the captain's reaction, expecting bluster or denial. Instead Hennaq smiled, baring his fangs.

"The map is not wrong, nor your calculations."

"What?"

"I have changed my mind as to our destination."

The captain nodded absentmindedly. Erishen turned in alarm; too slow. Powerful hands seized his arms and a sack was thrown over his head. He struggled and cried out, but to no avail. There were at least three of them, maybe more, and though he was a good head taller than any skrayling, he could not fight blind. And even if he did break free, where would he run to?