The Shewstone Read online

  Then Matt thought she heard a soft sob. Should she say something? A hug was not going to be well received—more the pity. Eawynn’s appeal was all the stronger, now she was not wearing the shapeless robes. Maybe a few nice words tomorrow might ease the friction. Would compliments work?

  Matt sighed and rolled over. All things considered, it was just as well she had not been planning on any action between the sheets with Eawynn. Matt would not have turned it down. The long voyage would pass quicker, but Matt had to regretfully accept that ship had most definitely sailed.

  *

  The spring sun was warm on the foredeck. The sky was cloudless blue. Eawynn made herself comfy, leaning against a crate, out of the breeze. In truth, she had not slept well, though she was not about to admit it to anyone, and certainly not Matt. She might drift off soon. Meanwhile, it was pleasant, lying in the sunlight, listening to the seagulls and the bow slicing though the waves, with the gentle rocking of the deck beneath her.

  To the left, or port as the sailors called it, a line of headlands retreated into the distance, the hook of Pinettale. Above the cliffs, green hillside rose to snow-capped peaks. It would be the last land they saw until the ship reached the mainland. Then they would sail along the coast to Sideamuda. Eawynn could see the map in her head. She had spent enough time poring over one.

  Her ancestors had come from Rihtcynnedal. They were the rulers and warriors who had brought civilization to the barbarian lands. Even after the fall of the empire, they formed the aristocracy whose firm guidance had seen the Island of Pinettale prosper. And she was going to the place where it had all begun. She was going to walk the ancient streets of Cyningesburg. It was so unbelievable. Eawynn was frightened she would lose all self-control and start jumping up and down with excitement, like a toddler.

  Her father had told her tales of the great city. Yet he had only read about it in books. Certainly, Eawynn had never dreamed she would go there. Was that part of the reason she had agreed to this? Otherwise, even the hope of recovering the Shewstone would not justify working with the lowlife thief. Eawynn did not know how she was going to stand the journey.

  The only way was to take comfort in the bits she could enjoy, like lying on the foredeck, with nowhere to sweep or polish, no elder sisters to find fault, and no stifling weight of stone. Just ten days ago, she thought her life would be forever in the temple. Strange how quickly things could change, but change could run both ways. She had to go back. There was no place for her in the frightening world outside. Yet for now, she could enjoy the freedom to do nothing but admire the scenery. Drowsiness clouded the edges of her mind.

  The sound of a door roused her. Eawynn peered around the edge of the crate. Matt emerged from the cabin, looking decidedly green. With a hand over her mouth, she staggered to the rail and flopped over, to the unmistakable sound of retching.

  Eawynn made no attempt to hide her smile. So Matt had a weak stomach? There was a touch of divine justice to it. She did not look the cocksure queen of the harbour now. The arrogant seductress was completely off her game. Although, to be fair, the pose did show Matt’s rear end to good effect. Eawynn squashed that thought immediately. Matt was a deceitful, self-serving crook. Eawynn would never let herself see anything remotely attractive about her again.

  “Hey, Jon. You’re an arse man, aren’t you?” a sailor called out.

  “Not when they’re puking their guts out.” The one who answered stood only a few feet from Eawynn.

  “Why? You don’t need to look at the mantelpiece while poking the fire.”

  “The sound of spewing would put me off my stroke.”

  “Just sing a song and hump in time.”

  “Nah. I’m waiting to see if this other one wants to tan her nice white tits.”

  Eawynn glared at the man, stunned by his impertinence. Then she realised he had been speaking Kemruhnic. She raised her voice, using the same language. “I can assure you, I’m not going to risk getting sunburnt there.”

  The way the sailor jumped was all Eawynn could have wished for. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We didn’t mean—”

  “You thought I wouldn’t understand you.”

  “Nobody else onboard does. But me and Davi come from Kemruhn, and sometimes we muck about.”

  “I’m a translator.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed. “You won’t tell Mistress Flyming what we said, will you?”

  “I’m here to translate whatever she needs to know.” The sailor looked so nervous, Eawynn relented. “But she probably doesn’t need to know that.”

  “Thanks. I mean, I respect the Flyming family. We all do.”

  Flyming, a good name for a family of criminals. Did anyone know what the word meant? There was no trace of irony in the sailor’s voice. “Your captain said he owed them a favour.”

  “We all do. Three years back, we docked at Fortaine with a cargo of Ferridian brandy, which wasn’t what it said on the papers, if you know what I mean.”

  Eawynn thought she did, and nodded.

  “One of the crew ratted on us. Took a backhander and told a tonnage man.”

  “A who?”

  “A customs officer.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, we’d all have been clying the jerk, or dancing on a rope. But Edmund Flyming said he’d sort it out. The papers got shuffled, and the rat went missing. Flyming had his men take him for a swim in the bay.”

  “Pardon?” Half of what the sailor said was lost on Eawynn, though she had caught the main thrust.

  The sailor shrugged. “You know. Tied him up in sailcloth with a few rocks for company and tipped him overboard.”

  The casual acceptance of murder took Eawynn’s breath away. “And the customs officer, did he get taken for a swim too?”

  “No. Edmund Flyming said he was an honest man doing his job. Besides, without the papers and the rat, he didn’t have no evidence. Flyming was a good man. The sort you look up to. His word was gold.” The sailor looked sad. “He’ll be missed. We’re all here to give his daughter any help she needs. She’ll get her sea legs after two or three days. They always do.” He pointed to the stern. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ve got to get on. Thanks for keeping that stupid stuff to yourself.”

  Eawynn watched him go. On the other side of the boat, Matt was all but crawling back to the cabin. What sort of world was this, where a gangster boss and cold-blooded murderer could be spoken of as “a good man”? What sort of people had she become mixed up with?

  A swim in the bay. That was a phrase Matt and Jenny had used back in Fortaine. Some people had been murdered and Matt thought it was amusing. That was why the porters avoided her and Jenny. It was fear, enough to intimidate the entire dockside. No wonder the sailor did not want his bawdy comments repeated. Eawynn took a deep breath. All she wanted was to get the Shewstone, return to the temple, and never set eyes on Matt again.

  *

  Banks of black cloud crowded over the horizon, swallowing the late afternoon sun. Already, the wind was picking up. The hull smacked down hard between the crests of choppy waves.

  Matt eyed the clouds glumly. Typical. Three days dying in bed while my stomach tried to turn itself inside out and there was beautiful sunshine. Finally, I feel normal again, and this is what I get.

  A sailor ducked down beside her, nimbly tying off a set of rope ends. “You best get inside, ma’am.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just a squall. We’ll be fine, but it’s gonna get a bit damp on deck.” He hurried to the next item needing to be secured.

  Matt gave the thunderclouds another resentful scowl and returned to the cabin. The minimal fittings were already bolted down. She collected any loose items and stowed them in the locker under the bunk. The task did not take long, especially once Eawynn arrived to help. Soon, everything that could be clamped, stored, or tied down had been.

  With nothing left to do, Matt sat on the side of the bunk and pouted at the wall. So far, she had seen more than she liked of the cabin inte
rior. Eawynn swung out the seat contraption from under the desk, looking no happier. But then, as if an afterthought, she opened the locker and pulled out a bucket which she thrust into Matt’s hands.

  “Just in case.”

  The mocking smile did nothing to improve Matt’s mood. This was going to be fun. Up until now, she and Eawynn had done a good job of avoiding each other. Although, conversation was rarely going to be an issue when one person always had her head over either a bucket or the side of the ship. What hope was there they could find something civil to talk about now?

  The pitch and yaw became ever more violent. The timbers creaked and groaned. Hammer-blow waves shook the entire ship. Somewhere, something broke free and thumped through the hold. Shouts from the crew pierced the sound of the rising wind. Matt strained her ears for the voices, trying to gauge if any degree of panic was setting in. Then her stomach started to object. Though she hated to admit it, the bucket in her hands was reassuring.

  The shutter over the porthole swung back, smacking against the wall. The second time it did this, Eawynn rose to latch it shut. As she stood, her head was caught by a last stray beam of sunlight, sneaking under the clouds.

  With each day, as her hair grew imperceptibly longer, the colour was becoming more vivid. When it was fully grown, Eawynn’s hair would be red enough to make half the royal family weep with jealousy. Coupled with her white skin, she must be only a step or two from the aristocracy.

  “Are you some lord’s by-blow?”

  Eawynn dropped back onto the seat. “Yes.”

  “Did your mother tell you who he was?”

  “I’ve no memory of my mother. My father paid her off. He was Thane Alric Wisa Achangrena.” There was no mistaking the stiff-necked pride in Eawynn’s voice.

  “Figures.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The priesthood and the nobles, hand in hand. Parasites, bolstering each other up.” The arrogant aristocracy, with their exalted Rihtcynn blood, was guaranteed to put Matt’s back up. Why would anyone boast descent from such bloody tyrants?

  “Parasites? What would you count thieves as?”

  “Some are poor folk, trying to put food on the table after bloodsuckers have skimmed off the lion’s share.”

  “Is that your excuse?”

  “No. People like me and my father, we’re evening up the balance. The nobles do bugger all, except grow fat off other people’s work. They get the priests to say it’s what the gods want, and anyone who objects is evil. Then they pay the judges and the city watch to make sure nobody else gets a look in. When it comes to theft, we’re gnats. I might lift a purse here and there. Your King Swidhelm stole the whole fucking island.”

  “He brought peace and stability when the empire was collapsing.”

  “He got peace by killing anyone who was making a noise.”

  “Where would Pinettale have gone without him?”

  “I know where he went, into a damned great palace, to eat his dinner off gold plates.”

  “Somebody has to impose order. Civilization doesn’t come about by magic. You might not like it, but we need laws for everyone’s benefit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Like we need roads, and markets, and an army to keep us safe. Without somebody strong enough to organise things, we’d all be living in mud huts, eating whatever we could scrape together. That’s when it didn’t get stolen by raiders. You can’t deny that under King Swidhelm’s linage, Pinettale has never been richer. And not just the nobles, everyone has been better off.”

  “So if the poor get a pennyworth, it’s all right if the rich take the rest of the barrel? Admit it, apart from those days before I picked you up, had you ever been hungry in your life?”

  “The life of a priestess isn’t easy.”

  “You reckon?”

  “You saw what it was like. We work, dawn to dusk, and we’re up half the night. You ate in the refectory. How many gold plates did you count there?”

  “Then more fool you not to stay with your father.”

  “I didn’t get to choose. I’m a bastard. When I got in the way of his ambitions, he dumped me at the temple. No, I was never hungry, but I wasn’t living a life of luxury.”

  “And they didn’t give you a soft ride, because you’re Lord Whatsisface’s daughter?”

  “Oh, of course. That’s why I was sweeping the floor when you met me. I was bottom of the pile. The temple wanted me even less than my father did.”

  “I don’t believe you couldn’t have traded on his name.”

  “Thane Alric Wisa Achangrena? His name would get me nowhere. The last sighting of his head was on a spike over the city gate. I’m not just a bastard. I’m a traitor’s bastard.”

  The name had been vaguely familiar, although court politics had never been one of Matt’s main preoccupations. She gave a sarcastic laugh and waved with her fingers, beckoning. “So your father was executed for treason. All right, run it past me one more time. Tell me again how it’s important we follow the rule of law and how naughty criminals are.”

  “At least my father wasn’t a murderer or a thief.”

  “At least my father kept his word.” So much for civil conversation.

  Eawynn jumped to her feet and reached for the door.

  “You can’t go outside.”

  “I’m not staying here. I’ll find a space in the hold.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  Maybe that was not the best line to calm things down. Eawynn yanked the door open and stepped into the storm just as the ship rolled violently to starboard. A surge of water broke across the deck and swept into Eawynn, knocking her off her feet. The back of her skull cracked against the doorframe as she fell. The outflow washed her listless body against the gunwale but was not strong enough to sweep her overboard.

  Matt sprang off the bunk, grabbed Eawynn under the armpits, and dragged her back inside the cabin. She kicked the door shut before another wave hit. Even as she did this, Eawynn started groaning and struggled to sit up, although clearly dazed.

  The risk of setting fire to the ship during the storm meant they had not lit the lantern, but Matt had to check for injury. Contrary to common belief, a blow to the head was not a safe way to send anyone to sleep. Matt flipped open the tinderbox. The wild motion of the boat made striking the flint trickier than normal, but fortunately the tinder was still dry. A flame wobbled into life.

  Matt turned up the wick. “Look at the light.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Eawynn scowled but stopped arguing.

  “Now keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes.”

  “Are you going to ask me my name now?”

  “No.” Matt stood. “You’ll be all right.”

  Eawynn needed three attempts to get to her feet. The fact she accepted Matt’s help on the last one, without complaint, showed how weak and unsteady she was. Holding Eawynn’s arm, Matt could feel her shaking, either from shock or cold. Her clothes were soaked through, and a ring of drips fell around her boots.

  “You need to get warm.”

  Eawynn shrugged by way of answer.

  Matt reached for the buttons on the wet shirt. “So take these off and get into bed.”

  Eawynn batted her hands away. “I can do it myself.”

  “Fine.” At least she had stopped acting like an idiot.

  Eawynn turned her back and tugged her shirt over her head. Matt opened her mouth to offer more advice, but the words stuck in her throat. Across Eawynn’s back were a dozen or more thin lines of cuts and bruises, unmistakably the result of a week-old flogging. The rush of anger caught Matt by surprise. Shit-ugly Sister Arsehole and the other bitches in the temple—they had done this. Matt’s hands balled into fists, a reflex action. There was no target for her to punch, but she so much wanted one.

  She lost a key and she kissed me. One little key. A key I stole. Matt forced her hands to open, forced her breath to
release. Meanwhile, Eawynn removed the rest of her clothes and slipped into bed. Matt arranged the wet material as best as possible for it to dry, then blew out the lantern and lay down on the floor. Night was a long way off, but there was nothing else to do.

  I’m sorry. The words were too weak. How about, Why don’t I go give Shit-ugly Sister Arsehole a good kicking for you? Matt closed her eyes. Given Eawynn’s goody-goody ideas about right and wrong, she would not be any happier with the offer than the apology. You did not deserve it. A simple truth, and one Eawynn must know without being told. The priestesses were a bunch of evil bitches. Why did she want to go back to them?

  Matt lay, staring up into the gloom while the ship heaved and shuddered beneath her. How did Eawynn total up the balance between them? She had accused Matt of upsetting her feelings, but not of getting her whipped. So which had hurt the most? The call was not Matt’s to make, and there was no obvious way to settle the score. She would get the Shewstone, and anything else Eawynn wanted, and maybe it would help. However, Eawynn hated her, and that was not likely to change anytime soon. Matt could not say she blamed her.

  *

  The ship was rocking gently when Eawynn woke the next morning. Dawn was long past and warm golden light flooded through the open porthole. The storm had blown itself out. Matt had already left the cabin.

  The back of Eawynn’s skull was tender, but she had no other problems. Her head felt clear. In fact, she felt better than she had since boarding the Blue Puffin. Sleeping in a bed definitely agreed with her more than the floor.

  Eawynn saw her clothes from the previous night’s insanity, hanging to dry from whatever improvised hangers could be found. She reached over and felt the hem of her shirt—a little damp, but wearable.