faster and be talking sooner. This way, if anyone’s listening for news of us, they’ll at least think we’re aboard the ship still. Maybe they’ll sit and watch for us to come off until it sets out again, back to Hernystir. Meanwhile, we’ll be quietly ashore in Ansis Pelippé.” Cadrach clucked his tongue in satisfaction.
“Oh.” Miriamele considered silently for a moment. She had underestimated the monk again. Cadrach had been sober since they had boarded Gealsgiath’s ship in Abaingeat. Small wonder, since the voyage had made him violently ill several times. But there was a shrewd brain behind that plump face. She wondered again—and not for the last time, she felt sure—what Cadrach was really thinking.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “That was a good idea. Do you really think somebody is looking for us?”
“We would be fools to suppose otherwise, my lady.” The monk took her elbow and headed back toward the limited shelter of the lower deck.
When at last she saw Perdruin, it was as if a great ship had risen out of the unquiet ocean, coming suddenly upon their small, frail craft. One moment it was a deeper blackness off the bow; in the next, as though a final curtain of obscuring mist had been drawn away, it loomed overhead like the prow of a mighty vessel.
A thousand lights gleamed through the fog, small as fireflies, making the great rock sparkle in the night. As Gealsgiath’s cargo-hauler glided in through the harbor passages, the island continued to rise above them, its mountainous back a wedge of darkness pushing ever upward, blocking out even the mist-cloaked sky.
Cadrach had chosen to remain below decks. Miriamele was quite satisfied with the arrangement. She stood at the railing, listening to the sailors shouting and laughing in the lantern-pricked darkness as they furled the sails. Voices rose in ragged song, only to end abruptly in curses and more laughter.
The wind was gentler here, in the lee of the harborside buildings. Miriamele felt a strange warmth climb up her back and into her neck, and knew without thinking what it signified: she was happy. She was free and going where she chose to go; that had not been true for as long as she could remember.
She had not set foot on Perdruin since she had been a small girl, but she still felt, in a way, as if she were returning home. Her mother Hylissa had brought her here when Miriamele had been very young, as part of a visit to Hylissa’s sister, the Duchess Nessalanta in Nabban. They had stopped in Ansis Pelippé to pay a courtesy call on Count Streáwe. Miriamele remembered little of the visit—she had been very young—except a kind old man who had given her a tangerine, and a high-walled garden with a tiled walkway. Miriamele had chased a long-tailed, beautiful bird while her mother drank wine and laughed and talked with other grown people.
The kind old man must have been the count, she decided. It was certainly a wealthy man’s garden they had visited, a carefully-tended paradise hidden in a castle courtyard. There had been flowering trees and beautiful silver and golden fish floating in a pond set right into the path....
The harbor wind gained strength, tugging at her cloak. The railing was cold beneath her fingers, so she tucked her hands under her arms.
It had been not long after the visit to Ansis Pelippé that her mother had gone on another journey, this time without Miriamele. Uncle Josua had taken Hylissa to join Miriamele’s father Elias, who was in the field with his army. That had been the journey which had crippled Josua, and from which Hylissa had never returned. Elias, almost mute with grief, too full of anger to speak of death, would only tell his little daughter that her mother could never come back. In her child’s mind, Miriamele had pictured her mother captive in a walled garden somewhere, a lovely garden like the one they had visited on Perdruin, a beautiful place that Hylissa could never leave, even to
“Oh.” Miriamele considered silently for a moment. She had underestimated the monk again. Cadrach had been sober since they had boarded Gealsgiath’s ship in Abaingeat. Small wonder, since the voyage had made him violently ill several times. But there was a shrewd brain behind that plump face. She wondered again—and not for the last time, she felt sure—what Cadrach was really thinking.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “That was a good idea. Do you really think somebody is looking for us?”
“We would be fools to suppose otherwise, my lady.” The monk took her elbow and headed back toward the limited shelter of the lower deck.
When at last she saw Perdruin, it was as if a great ship had risen out of the unquiet ocean, coming suddenly upon their small, frail craft. One moment it was a deeper blackness off the bow; in the next, as though a final curtain of obscuring mist had been drawn away, it loomed overhead like the prow of a mighty vessel.
A thousand lights gleamed through the fog, small as fireflies, making the great rock sparkle in the night. As Gealsgiath’s cargo-hauler glided in through the harbor passages, the island continued to rise above them, its mountainous back a wedge of darkness pushing ever upward, blocking out even the mist-cloaked sky.
Cadrach had chosen to remain below decks. Miriamele was quite satisfied with the arrangement. She stood at the railing, listening to the sailors shouting and laughing in the lantern-pricked darkness as they furled the sails. Voices rose in ragged song, only to end abruptly in curses and more laughter.
The wind was gentler here, in the lee of the harborside buildings. Miriamele felt a strange warmth climb up her back and into her neck, and knew without thinking what it signified: she was happy. She was free and going where she chose to go; that had not been true for as long as she could remember.
She had not set foot on Perdruin since she had been a small girl, but she still felt, in a way, as if she were returning home. Her mother Hylissa had brought her here when Miriamele had been very young, as part of a visit to Hylissa’s sister, the Duchess Nessalanta in Nabban. They had stopped in Ansis Pelippé to pay a courtesy call on Count Streáwe. Miriamele remembered little of the visit—she had been very young—except a kind old man who had given her a tangerine, and a high-walled garden with a tiled walkway. Miriamele had chased a long-tailed, beautiful bird while her mother drank wine and laughed and talked with other grown people.
The kind old man must have been the count, she decided. It was certainly a wealthy man’s garden they had visited, a carefully-tended paradise hidden in a castle courtyard. There had been flowering trees and beautiful silver and golden fish floating in a pond set right into the path....
The harbor wind gained strength, tugging at her cloak. The railing was cold beneath her fingers, so she tucked her hands under her arms.
It had been not long after the visit to Ansis Pelippé that her mother had gone on another journey, this time without Miriamele. Uncle Josua had taken Hylissa to join Miriamele’s father Elias, who was in the field with his army. That had been the journey which had crippled Josua, and from which Hylissa had never returned. Elias, almost mute with grief, too full of anger to speak of death, would only tell his little daughter that her mother could never come back. In her child’s mind, Miriamele had pictured her mother captive in a walled garden somewhere, a lovely garden like the one they had visited on Perdruin, a beautiful place that Hylissa could never leave, even to
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