Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3)

Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3) Page 29

“I wish I did,” I said with regret. “But no, I’m afraid not. All it told me is that Thierry’s alive. That is the only thing of which I’m certain.”

He sighed. “The gods are stingy with their directions, aren’t they?”

I nodded. “That they are, my lord captain.”

Septimus Rousse slapped a broad hand down on the table. If the table hadn’t been bolted to the floor, it would have jumped; I know I did. “With your permission, I’d like to come with you, my lady.”

I raised my brows. “On the search?”

“Aye, on the search!” He leaned forward. “Why not? I’ve got a good crew and an able first mate in Alaric Dumont, one of the best, a genuine descendant of Philippe Dumont. If anything were to happen to me, you’d be in good hands.”

“Assuming whatever happened to you didn’t happen to the rest of us,” Balthasar Shahrizai observed.

“True enough.” Captain Rousse grinned at him. “The jungles of Terra Nova! We could all die out there, couldn’t we?”

“In ever so many ways,” Balthasar agreed with a sidelong glance at Denis de Toluard. “Or so I’m given to understand.”

Denis frowned. “Would you prefer I painted an unrealistic picture of the dangers we face?”

“His highness Prince Thierry was bound for a mighty river in search of this alleged empire, wasn’t he?” Septimus Rousse asked shrewdly, ignoring their bickering. He reached around the table with one long arm, pouring each of us a measure of perry brandy from a decanter. “Tell me, what do the lot of you know about navigating rivers?”

Bao coughed. “Quite a bit, actually. There are mighty rivers in Ch’in.” I kicked his shins beneath the table. “But doubtless not as much as you, lord captain,” he offered.

“We would be grateful for your aid and expertise, my lord,” I added. “If you are truly minded to accompany us, I accept the offer with gratitude.”

Septimus Rousse hoisted his snifter of perry brandy, swirling and studying it before tossing it back in one gulp. “Done and done!” he proclaimed, slamming the empty snifter onto the table. “I’m coming with you.”

I was glad.

Days wore onto weeks. We sailed and sailed, Naamah’s Dove riding abreast the waves, bellying her way over the swelling crests, plunging into the troughs. Captain Rousse studied his charts, studied the night skies, consulted his sextant, plotting our course across the trackless ocean. His capable sailors went about their business, fearless and uncomplaining.

The rest of us simply did our best to stay out of their way and pass the time as best we might—reading or telling tales, playing at dice or card games, studying the Nahuatl tongue under Denis de Toluard’s tutelage. It was every bit as tiresome and cramped as Balthasar had predicted, and with a limited supply of fresh water for bathing, we did indeed grow increasingly malodorous.

For me, there was also a certain loneliness at being the only woman in the expedition. Despite the fact that the men were polite and respectful, there was a rough-hewn sense of camaraderie among them that excluded me. Men have their own way of communicating, their own set of jests and boasts. When the seas were calm enough to permit it, they sparred with one another on the decks. Even when the seas were choppy, they scuffled and arm-wrestled and found ways of testing one another’s strengths.

I didn’t begrudge them, but it left me feeling isolated. It wasn’t the first time I’d been the sole woman in the company of men, but never before had I been confined in close quarters with so many of them for such a long time.

When I dreamed of Jehanne some six weeks into our journey, it was a welcome relief.

Once again, I was back in the Palace, standing in the marble hallway before the door to my plant-laden bower.

This time, I smiled as I opened it.

“Hello, Moirin.” Jehanne’s blue-grey eyes sparkled at me. She was sitting curled on my bed clad in only a thin shift of white silk, her fair hair loose and shining over her shoulders. The wonderful fragrance of her perfume mingled with the green scent of sun-warmed plants. “Have you missed me?”

“Always.” I closed the door behind me. “Have you a message for me, my lady? Have the gods deigned to grant you further knowledge?”

“Mayhap.” Jehanne tilted her head. “Or mayhap it was your loneliness that drew me out of mine. Come and kiss me.”

I obeyed gladly; glad, too, that in my dream, I was freshly scrubbed and clean, clad in clean attire.

“Again, please,” Jehanne said; and there was a vast ache of loneliness in her voice, vast enough to put mine to shame. I climbed onto the bed beside her and slid my hands into the shimmering, silken curtain of her hair, pulling her against me and kissing her thoroughly and deeply. When at last I released her, she shuddered all over and sighed with profound gratitude. “Thank you.”

I stroked her bare arm, marveling at how real it felt. “Is this about Thierry?”

“No.” Her star-bright eyes were filled with candor and regret. “I wish it were.”

I couldn’t help sighing. “Why are the gods so stingy with their directions?”

She didn’t answer right away, watching my fingertips trail over her fine, fine skin. “There is a balance that must be maintained, Moirin,” she said at length. “Even gods dare not upset it with their interventions, lest all the worlds crumble. Did not the dragon tell you as much in Ch’in?”

I blinked. “You know about the dragon?”

Jehanne smiled with quiet sorrow. “I know many things, few of them useful. For instance, I know that Naamah has showered uncommon blessings on you, especially for one who had never pledged herself to her service. Would you not agree?”

“Aye, my lady,” I said. “But—”

She laid a finger on my lips, silencing me. “You have served her in your own way, I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes, Moirin.” Jehanne glanced at me beneath her lashes. “I know about your Ch’in princess, and your broad-shouldered Vralian lad. I know about your wedding night. But I am here to tell you that the sacrifices Naamah asks of us may not always be so pleasant and easy. You have a hard choice coming.”

“What is it?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I am not allowed to say. Only to remind you that you have been blessed with uncommon grace.”

“All right.” I nodded. “Thank you. I will be mindful of it.”

“Good.” Looking relieved, Jehanne wound her arms around my neck. “Tell me you loved me best, Moirin,” she murmured, kissing me. “At least among the women you’ve known. Lie if you must; I won’t mind. I know I was not the most worthy among them.”

“I loved you best,” I said truthfully.

“Did you?”

I laughed. “Yes, Jehanne. Worthy or not, among the women I have known, I love you best.”

She gave me a sparkling look. “I’m glad.”

Ah, gods! It was true. I had come to cherish my friendship with my fiercely reserved Ch’in princess Snow Tiger, and I had delighted in her willingness to show her vulnerable side to me in asking for Naamah’s blessing; and I would always be a little bit in love with my lovely Rani Amrita for her unfailing courage and the immense kindness she had shown me, not the least of which came about when I was tormented by Kamadeva’s diamond, racked with desire beyond my control.

But neither of them was Jehanne, whom I had loved first and best.

In my dream, I demonstrated it at length.

I awoke to bells clanging, and shouting abovedeck.

THIRTY-THREE

Bao was already out of our narrow berth, reaching for his bamboo staff. I came out of sleep hard, still entangled in the remnants of my dream, imagining I could smell the lingering trace of Jehanne’s perfume, feel the silken warmth of her arms wrapped around me.

“What is it?” I asked sleepily. A jolt of alarm raced through me, and I sat upright. “Ah, gods! Is it a fire?”

Bao shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Barefoot and sleep-disheveled, we raced topside, scrambling up the ladder, the other inhabitants of the wardroom hard on our heels.

On the main deck, we found a grim-faced Denis de Toluard with one of Rousse’s sailors in his custody, others surrounding them. In the dim light of the safety lanterns hanging from the masts, I couldn’t tell who Denis had in his grip.

“Denis?” I felt disoriented and bewildered. “What passes here?”

Captain Rousse pushed his way through the knot of sailors. “I’d like to know that myself!”

“Captain.” Denis greeted him with a curt nod. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came abovedeck for a bit of fresh air.” He shook the fellow by the scruff of his neck. “I found this one slinking out of the chart-house.”

“And this shoved under his shirt.” Alaric Dumont, the first mate, showed the captain his thick logbook containing all his invaluable notes and charts. “Pried the lock on the case by the look of it.”

“What?” Septimus Rousse sounded as bewildered as I felt. He peered at the fellow. “Edouard? What in the world were you doing?”

The sailor didn’t answer. I recognized him now, a tall Eisandine fellow I knew only as a hard worker.

“Edouard!” The bewilderment in Captain Rousse’s voice gave way to rising anger. He grabbed the front of the sailor’s shirt in one fist. “Tell me! What in the seven hells were you doing with my logbook?”

“Nothing good,” Bao muttered beside me.

The sailor kept his silence. With a roar of disgust, Rousse flung him to the deck, planting his feet and towering over him. “Tell me!”

Whatever he was about, this Edouard had courage. He kept his mouth stubbornly shut on his secret.

“All right, then.” With an effort, Septimus Rousse took a step backward and collected himself. “Alaric, put him under guard.” He glanced at the eastern horizon. “Come dawn, we’ll see if a spot of keelhauling will make him talk. Night shift, resume your posts.” Turning to me, he bowed. “My apologies, my lady. I assure you, the matter will be dealt with.”

The crowd gathered on the deck dispersed. Bao and I returned to our wardroom along with the others.

Now that the crisis had been contained, I was wide-awake, my nerves jangling. I daresay all of us were. We kindled a lantern and sat at the long table that bisected the room, discussing the matter.

“Why would anyone steal the captain’s logbook?” Brice de Bretel mused. “Name of Elua! We’d be lost at sea without it!”

Balthasar studied his fingernails. “Precisely.”

I swallowed hard. “You think he meant to sabotage the expedition?”

He shot me a look. “What else?”

“Rousse should have beaten a confession out of him!” Alain Guillard said in a fierce voice.

“Are you familiar with the practice of keelhauling?” Denis inquired. The other shook his head. “Believe me, the captain doesn’t intend to go easy on him.”

“What do you think, my lord Denis?” I asked him. “You’re the one spotted the fellow. What was he planning to do with the logbook?”

“At best, hide it. At worst…” He shrugged. “Dispose of it.”

“But that’s madness!” Clemente DuBois’ eyes were wide. He was alleged to be a skilled swordsman, but I wasn’t overly impressed with his intellect. “Why would anyone do such a thing? It would doom us all!”

“Most likely,” Bao said in a pragmatic tone. “I think that was the idea. For sure, it would doom the mission to failure.”

Balthasar glanced up from his nails. “The more interesting question is, who put him up to it?”

There was silence in the wardroom. All of us, even slightly dim-witted Clemente DuBois, knew that the list of folk who stood to benefit from the failure of our expedition was a very, very short one.

“Would he?” I asked in wonder. “Would Duc Rogier do such a thing?”

Balthasar shrugged. “Unless the man’s stark, raving mad, someone did. Someone provided a damn powerful incentive to get a man to risk throwing his own life away just to scuttle our mission.”

“We need a confession from him,” Denis said in a low voice. “We need to know if there are others, or if he was working alone. And whatever else happens, whether we succeed or fail, if we live to see Terre d’Ange again, our noble Regent can’t be allowed to get away with this.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Bao commented. “Hard to get a man ready and willing to die to talk.”

“He’ll talk,” Denis predicted. “Once he’s had a taste of keelhauling, he’ll talk. I saw it done to a sailor caught stealing rations on the first voyage.” He shuddered. “He’ll beg for a chance to talk.”

In that, he was wrong.

Come dawn, I found out exactly what the process of keelhauling entailed. In theory, it was simple. A long rope was tied under the sailor Edouard’s arms, and he was lowered overboard to be dragged alongside the ship. I thought the threat of drowning must be the worst of it, but it was only part. After weeks at sea, the sharp-edged barnacles that clustered on the ship’s hull tore at the fellow’s flesh.

Three times, Captain Rousse ordered Edouard lowered and dragged; and three times, he came up coughing and sputtering seawater and bleeding from increasingly numerous gashes, his clothing in tatters.

Each time, he refused to break his silence.