Captain's Fury

Chapter 30

At Tavi's insistence-backed by more of Cyril's coin-Captain Demos hired a particularly swift tugboat for the journey upriver, once they had reached Parcia. Tavi had never been to the southern city and seaport at the delta of the Gaul, but there was no time to take in the sights. Parcia was a city of shining white stone, rising on several tiered levels almost like stair-steps, up to an impressive fortified citadel. Though not as large as Alera Imperia, the city of Parcia seemed airier, cleaner, more open.

The crew of the tugboat Demos hired reminded Tavi of Countess Amara, with their dark golden skin and their hair that came in several shades of deep gold, amber, and copper. The crew seemed more cheerful than the rivermen Tavi had known in the capital, and after running lines to the Slive, the smaller ship proceeded up the river, propelled by a crew of Parcian men with long poles, walking down either side of the tugboat, singing a working song with surprising facility as they did, pushing the vessels upriver.

In the stern of the smaller ship was a pair of middle-aged women. They settled down on seats slung outside the back of the tugboat, down close to the wa-terline. They sat dragging their feet in the water, chatting with one another, and doing handwork, mostly sewing. When Tavi asked, Demos explained that they were the wives of the tugboat's captain and first mate, and that they were watercrafters whose furies would convince the currents of the river to pretend that the tugboat and the Slive were not there.

The Gaul was busy with traffic, and would only become more so until the trading season slowed again at the end of autumn. Now that the sailors weren't needed to manage the sails, they lounged on deck for hours at a stretch, whenever Demos couldn't fill their time with make-work. As a result, Tavi found that he and Araris had an audience for their practice sessions, and to his intense discomfort they began regularly betting on the outcomes of the practices-not whether Tavi would beat Araris, which seemed a forgone conclusion. The wagers all centered on when and how Tavi would lose and how much of his blood would spill in the process.

The tugboat kept up its pace until several hours after dark, lighting its way with furylamps until the boatmen were too weary to continue, and they would start moving again just as the eastern sky began to lighten. The boat moved with surprising grace and speed up the river, often passing trading caravans on the road beside the water, on their way to Alera Imperia-and quietly, efficiently passed the other vessels being drawn upriver by tugs. As a result, it took them only six days to reach the capital.

"That's a great racket they've got going," Demos observed, as the tugboat maneuvered close to the docks and passed up the lines that would let the dock-men haul the Slive into position. "They made a quarter of what I did, just for the run up the river. No pirates, no leviathans, no worries about storms, fresh water, or food."

"Maybe you're in the wrong business," Ehren observed.

"You get to be my age, you start thinking about your retirement," Demos replied. "I like to plan ahead. I like my work, but it's going to be a little energetic for me, eventually."

Tavi stepped up next to the pair of them and nodded to Demos. "We're going to be here two days, three at the most, depending on how long it takes us to-"

Demos interrupted him with a scowl and a raised hand. "Don't tell me. The less I know, the harder it will be to incriminate myself."

Tavi frowned at him, but nodded. "Two days, three at most, and we'll be leaving in the middle of the night."

Demos grunted and beckoned the bosun. "Pay the men. Shore leave until noon tomorrow. Tell Sigurd he doesn't go until the stores are refreshed."

The weather-beaten sailor nodded, then scowled at Ehren, and said something quietly in Demos's ear. Demos listened, nodded, and frowned at Ehren.

Ehren rolled his eyes, opened his purse, and flipped two silver coins at the bosun. The man caught them, bit them both, and nodded before stumping off to his duties.

"Sailors and their swill," Ehren muttered.

The Slive bumped against the heavy rolls of burlap cushioning the edge of the dock, and the dock rats made the ship fast. Sailors lowered the gangplank, and sailors spilled off the ship, for all the world looking like students leaving a stuffy lecture hall.

Ehren gave Tavi a nod and slipped off the ship among the sailors, blending into the rowdy bunch without difficulty.

Demos eyed Tavi. "You aren't going, too?"

Tavi glanced up at the lowering sun. "In a bit."

"Ah," Demos said, nodding. "Glad your man paid my bosun back."

"Why wouldn't he?" Tavi asked.

"Some people have funny ideas about property," Demos said. "They think they can take it, or ruin it, and that they have the right to do so. You'll pay me for those chains."

"I did you a favor."

"See what I mean, about funny ideas?" Demos said. "That's my livelihood."

"No it isn't," Tavi said. "If you were primarily a slaver, your ship would smell a lot worse, and you'd have had more chains."

Demos shrugged. "Worked on a slaver before I got the Slive. The money's good, but I didn't like the smell. There's the occasional run, though. I carry all kinds of cargo."

"People," Tavi said, "are not cargo."

"The excisemen in all the southern ports seem to disagree with you," Demos said drily.

"Things change," Tavi said. "Slavery is going to be one of them."

Demos narrowed his eyes and stared at Tavi for a long moment. Then he said, "It hasn't changed yet. You'll pay me for those chains."

Tavi squinted at Demos for a moment. "Or what? You'll weigh anchor and leave us here?"

Demos's eyes went flat. "Excuse me?"

"That's what you mean, isn't it?" Tavi continued. "That if I don't pay you, you'll leave us high and dr-"

Tavi never so much as saw Demos draw his blade. It simply appeared at the end of his extended arm. What shocked him was that his own hand came up every bit as quickly, and his dagger met Demos's blade before it could touch Tavi's skin. Then the planks of the deck suddenly shuddered beneath Tavi's feet, flinging him six or eight inches into the air and robbing him of his balance. He came down windmilling his arms, and wound up on his rump. One of the planks of the deck abruptly folded, supple as a willow wand, and came down over Tavi's knife hand, pinning it painfully to the deck's wooden surface.

Demos stepped forward and drove his sword into the deck between Tavi's sprawled legs, not more than two inches from his groin. The captain growled and squatted down to be on eye level with the young man.

"I've taken your money," he said in a tone full of quiet rage. "That means I do the job. Period. Do you understand me?"

Tavi just stared at him for a moment in shock. Then he stammered, "The ship. The whole ship is a wood fury."

"And she's mine," Demos said. "And you will repay me for the property you damaged before this trip is over."

Behind the captain, Tavi saw Araris appear silently on bare feet, his sword in hand. He drifted closer, his face intent.

The door to the cabin snapped open with sudden, vicious force, striking Araris in the shoulder and sending him to the deck in a sprawl.

"And tell your swordmaster," Demos continued, eyes never wavering from Tavi's, "that if he draws steel on me again, he'd better be smart enough not to do it aboard this vessel."

Demos rose, drew the tip of his blade from the planks of the deck, and sheathed it. Turning to Araris, he said, "We both know you'd take me in a fair fight."

Araris rose slowly and sheathed his sword. He gave Demos a slight bow of the head. "When's the last time you were in a fair fight?"

Demos made a curt gesture at the deck, and the plank pinning Tavi's arm flexed and released him, returning to its original position. "I think I was twelve. I never saw the point. Good day, gentlemen."

Tavi watched Demos stroll away and shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Araris asked quietly.

"That," Tavi said, "is a dangerous man."

Araris rubbed at his shoulder and winced in silent agreement.

Tavi glanced at the sun. "Another hour, and it'll be dark enough to go. There's a boardinghouse on Craft Lane. We'll stay there until we can get everything we need." Tavi frowned and lowered his voice. "How is she?"

"Better, since we've gotten away from the ocean," Araris replied.

Tavi shook his head. "The things she did, Araris. That was some major crafting. That thing with the shark… And I've never even heard of anyone moving through the water that way. I thought that the spray was going to start cutting my skin, we were moving so quickly."

Araris frowned. "I don't remember much of it."

"She healed you without using a tub."

Araris's eyes widened slightly. "She… didn't mention that."

"I saw Lady Placida do that once," Tavi said quietly. "But that's all. I mean, I knew Isana was a skilled healer, even when compared to Citizen healers, but this is the second time I've seen her do something on such a large scale that wasn't healing."

Araris nodded slowly. "When she flooded that little river, just before Second Calderon."

"Exactly. What she did out there wasn't exactly new. But it's certainly more than she's ever done before. More than even she thought she could do, I'm certain."

Araris drummed his fingers idly on the hilt of his sword. "A lot of times, you don't really know where your limits are until they're tested. I've known any number of people who had a tremendous gift in metalcraft, but who, for whatever reason, never used it." He shrugged his shoulders. "How often is one called upon to hurl an attacking shark onto the deck of a pirate ship, Tavi?"

Tavi flashed Araris a wry grin. "You've known her longer than I have," he said quietly. "Have you ever seen anything else like this? Something that would indicate that her crafting might be a more significant gift than anyone knew?"

Araris shook his head. "You mean to ask if your father ever said anything about it."

Tavi glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well. Yes."

Araris folded his arms and was silent for a long moment. "It was a long time ago. And… for a long time, it wasn't anything I cared to dwell on."

"But if there's anything you remember…"

Araris held up a hand and closed his eyes for a moment. "Once. When we were talking about what Sextus would say, when he learned about Isana. Your father had just told me of his intention to marry her and…" Araris glanced at Tavi, and the young man felt a flash of the singulare's discomfort and shame. "And I told him that there would be the crows to pay if he did. Gaius wouldn't have minded a bastard or two running around-the bloodline has never been a particularly fruitful one. But he definitely had plans in mind for Septimus's wife. He'd have chosen someone not only for political gain, but for their skill at furycraft as well, to keep the royal bloodline strong."

Tavi sighed. "I'm not holding advice you gave my father against you, Araris. Bloody crows, man, you know me better than that. Just tell me what he said."

Araris nodded. "He said that Isana was more than he expected. And that she would be more than Gaius had bargained for, either." He sighed. "But he wasn't necessarily talking about her crafting."

"It sounds like he was. What else could he have meant?" Tavi asked.

"There weren't many people willing to stand up to Septimus, but she was one of them. If she thought he was wrong, she'd call him on it. Not argue, exactly, but… he could get most people to go along with him through sheer force of personality. He couldn't bull his way through Isana like that. She never raised her voice, never really seemed to be in conflict with him-but she'd never give an inch, either." Araris shrugged. "Tavi, your father never set much store by furycraft when it came to the important things."

"He never had to work without it, either," Tavi said.

"True enough." Araris's frown deepened. "But… Tavi, I don't know if you know this. But the House of Gaius has always been gifted with… not prophecy, precisely. But a measure of insight, foresight, that went beyond what could be explained away as simple wisdom."

Tavi frowned. "I've never heard about that."

"It isn't something that's casually bandied about," Araris said. "Septimus was particularly… intuitive. He would just casually mention things that were going to happen, weeks or months later. Miles used to write them down. Keep track of them. Sometimes, Septimus would hardly remember mentioning it. I don't think it was anything he had control over."

"What's that got to do with Isana?" Tavi asked.

Araris shrugged. "Just that he might have made the remarks based on an intuition." The singulare smiled faintly. "You've got to admit, Isana's done quite a bit more than Gaius would expect out of a woman from a steadholt. She was instrumental in the events of Second Calderon. If not for her, in fact, Gaius would have died the night the Vord attacked his meditation chamber. And according to Countess Amara, only her warning saved her and your uncle from being killed by Kalarus's Immortals-and their actions helped tilt the balance of power in Kalarus's initial attack." He shook his head. "Or maybe he was talking about her furycraft. Maybe she had more power at her disposal than she knew. Or…" He frowned.

"What?" Tavi asked, intent. "Or what?"

"Or maybe… maybe your father placed more furies at her disposal. Before he died."

Tavi frowned. "Could… can that be done?"

"Oh, yes," Araris said, nodding. "The way furies can be passed from generation to generation on a steadholt. Remember when Old Frederic passed Thumper to Young Frederic?"

"I thought that only happened, you know. Out in the country, where people name their furies."

"As far as I know, there's no reason that someone couldn't pass more furies along to someone else, whether they were discrete beings or amorphous. It's just rarely done among the Citizenry. A child with a high potential generally attracts many furies to himself all on his own, of course-Septimus certainly did. But his power would have been significantly greater when his father died or stepped aside and willed the majority of his power to pass on."

Tavi frowned. "And… what? You think my father might have willed some of his furies to her when he was killed?"

Araris shook his head. "I just don't know, Tavi. But I think it's significant that both times she demonstrated extraordinary strength, your life was in danger." His eyes went distant, and he smiled very faintly. "It would be just like Septimus, to find a way to protect his son, even years after his own death."

Tavi frowned at that. Araris had said more about his father in the past moments than he had in most of the previous two years. It was a lot to think about.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a sharp little ache went through him. Was his father still there, somehow, watching over him? The very thought was incredibly reassuring, almost unbearably sad, sweetly painful. It was the kind of thing he had dreamed about when he was lonely, uncertain, or afraid.

Like now. He was about to set out to break Varg out of the most secure prison in all of Alera. The Grey Tower was home to some of the most dangerous swordsmen to be found-and, partially in thanks to his own recommendations, its furycrafted defenses were some of the most deadly to be had. And even if the rescue was successful, they would have to elude the pursuit that was sure to be sent after them. As if all of that wasn't enough, there was Varg to consider. Tavi was not at all certain what the Canim warrior's reaction would be once he was free. Varg might well decide his best course of action would be to tear Tavi's throat out and make his own way from there.

Tavi smiled faintly at Araris, and said quietly, "I'll take all the help I can get."