Retribution

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brice said in a hushed tone, “You threw a man over the side? Out here in the middle of the ocean?”

“Well, not intentionally. He held a knife to my neck, and I gave him a shoulder throw. He stumbled and hit the railing, then lost his balance.”

Sara said, “But you’re sure he fell?”

“Before I could move, he waved his arms around trying to catch himself—then went over. I saw the bottoms of his boots as they went over the railing and disappeared into the darkness.”

Prin placed her face in her hands and cried while shaking violently. The consoling words, pats on her back, and hugs did little to help. She fell asleep, exhausted, only to wake as she imagined the feet going over the rail again before she could react. Her scream woke Sara and Brice, and probably a dozen others in adjoining cabins.

She fell back into a fitful sleep and woke with the first light. He isn’t the only one on this ship after me. The thought sprung into her mind unbidden and without forethought. Perhaps it was the accumulation of ideas of all that had happened, beginning with the knife held against her throat. Reality set in.

More than five peaceful years had passed since she departed from Wren, with the occasional appearance of Jam the only direct danger. Prin had practiced fighting and throwing her knives nearly every day, but she had been practicing. Playing.

Counting the man overboard and the mage, there had been at least two hunting her on the ship, and when considering the sudden increase in ticket sales for the voyage, there must be ten or more others. Ten out of about fifty. They knew the time to collect the offered reward was coming to an end, and they also knew their best opportunity to collect lay in the coming weeks. Not just the ten on the ship, but the hundreds waiting for her on land. Waiting.

Sara said, “Your eyes are bloodshot.”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“That does not matter,” Sara snapped. “You must always appear calm, relaxed, and innocent. You must greet any mention of a missing man with surprise and sympathy. You are not eighteen. You are forty-six, have a slight limp, and are becoming hard of hearing. Your children are grown, and a hundred other details we’ve discussed.”

“I’m sorry,” Prin said. She withdrew the pouch of powder for administering and refreshing the aging spell Maude provided, sprinkled a pinch over each of their heads and muttered the short incantation. While no harsh changes happened, some of the fine lines in their faces became slightly more defined, matching the previous day. If they skipped a day, they would lose a decade in appearance. “Please check me out before we go to the dining room.”

Brice said, “Do you feel up to that? Eating, I mean.”

“I’m not hungry, but if I don’t go, it will look odd. We can’t afford to stand out.” Prin stood and turned, allowing Sara to inspect every aspect of her disguise before doing the same for her and Brice.

The dining room was strangely quiet for so many passengers present. More sat at single tables than those who sat at tables for two or more. Of those, many were searching for Prin, but she couldn’t tell who.

The plump, talkative man at the next table was there again. He leaned closer. “There’s a rumor a passenger is missing. The crew is searching for him.”

Sara said, “I’m sure he’ll turn up. Probably too much wine and sleeping it off.”

Prin turned to the odd man and realized his actions had drawn attention the day before and had again. There were several sets of eyes watching. The more that centered on him meant less on her. “Marcus, would you care to join us?”

His usual smile widened. Marcus eagerly stood and then noticed their table was shoved against the wall prevented him from sitting on the fourth side, but Prin was already pulling the table away from the window to give him room. The steward noticed and scowled at their actions, but Prin placed a full copper on the table in full view and said, “Is there a way to combine these two tables, so we’re not blocking your walkway?”

“I will see to it myself by the noon meal. Will all of you be eating this morning?”

Sara answered the steward and then gave Prin a small kick under the table for inviting the man who was already talking so much, and so loudly, causing people turned to look. Prin answered the kick with a smile and a nod of encouragement for the man to continue drawing all the attention in the room. The more attention others paid to him and his antics, the less they’d pay to Prin. Besides, while hiding, who would dare draw attention to themselves? Her hunters would look elsewhere.

Prin said, “Yesterday you mentioned you thought the mages were interfering with your business.”

“So, it would seem,” he replied, reaching for a mug of watered red wine. The wine made the water safe to drink and disguised the nasty taste of stale water stored in old wooden caskets. “Now, I can’t be certain, of course, but in the last few years, they want to inspect everything, and they insist on opening every crate and barrel. Not everything can be opened without damage.”

“Interesting,” Prin mused, as she thought their actions probably had more to do with searching for a certain princess than checking on his business practices. They were talking about the same actions by the mages but had come to different conclusions. That’s probably the case in many things.

A younger steward delivered four bowls of mush, made of a brown grain with a dribble of honey on the top. Despite the honey, it was still relatively tasteless. He placed a plate filled with hot loaves of bread no larger than her fist and a plate of yellow butter alongside a container of jam.

Marcus reached out to take the hand of the server in his. Prin noticed the flash of a silver coin changing hands as he said, “We’d like more bread and butter, and another generous serving of jam, please.”

Prin heard jam and froze at the name of one of her enemies. Only her eyes moved as they went from Sara to Marcus, while she tried to think if he’d stressed the word, jam. Had he been testing her by saying Jam’s name? Marcus was smiling but looked innocent.

Brice had moved his hand to the hilt of his knife, and his fingers held it ready. So, he had also heard the mention. But Marcus’ attention was centered on the bread he slathered in butter, and the amount of jam he used left little for the rest of them.

He paused before taking a bite. “Something wrong? I hope you don’t think me rude for taking so much, but there is more on the way.”

There was plenty for all. He hadn’t been that rude but sensed the tension. Prin said, “I’m jumpy these days, what with the mages and all. Then you tell us a passenger is missing.”

Marcus bit into the bread and soon wore red jam on his upper lip and mustache. “I wouldn’t worry. Since I started trading as a young man, I can count the number of passengers who fell overboard. Maybe three or four all together.”

Sara turned slowly, “Who said he fell?”

“I just assumed,” Marcus said. “It happens. Especially in storms. Those are times to stay inside because a rogue wave can sweep you off the deck, or you might trip and fall on a dark night.”

Prin stopped breathing. The descriptions Marcus gave were as if he’d seen them last night. She searched his face for a tell; a twitch, or anything else that might say he had seen the confrontation, but he took another massive bite and continued eating.

This man is a consummate liar or very good at guessing. Prin chanced a glance at Sara and found her face pale, her lower lip trembling slightly. Inviting Marcus to dine with them may have not been such a good idea. Or, maybe it was.

Prin reached for a bread roll while thinking. If at least some, if not most, of the others that were hunting her saw them eating together they might be more inclined to look elsewhere. She couldn’t be so stupid that she would invite her enemy to her table, could she?

Turning to Marcus, she asked in a pleasant voice, “What is it that you sell?”

“Weapons. I deal with knives, swords, axes, spear points, and most anything related to metal weapons.” He spoke with his mouth full, and a few grains of the coarse bread stuck in his beard, while others managed to find the front of his shirt.

With the red jam on his mustache adding to the sight, Prin had a hard time imagining him as a viable enemy. Then a stray thought came to her. What better way to hide while seeking a victim? In a way, it was what she had done when she invited him to join their table.

Prin said, “Do you have samples for buyers to examine?”

“Indeed. Who would buy without looking or sampling? Are you in the market for a weapon?”

Sara flashed a warning glance that Prin ignored. She said, “A dull knife for spreading butter on my bread is a weapon in my hands. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cut myself—even with the dullest knives.”

He shoved more bread into his mouth as the steward brought two more plates piled high. He washed it down with half of his watered wine then muttered, “Dull knives can be hazardous, too. But sharp ones hidden in scabbards below your neckline are worse.”

There. He’d tipped his hand. Prin calmly, or as calmly as possible, said, “You noticed? Most don’t.”

“My business. May I assume you know how to use it?” he asked.

“I do. It was a gift. Traveling can be dangerous,” Prin said. “A woman must be prepared to protect herself.”

He paused in his continuous eating. “Not my place to say, but since we are friends, adjusting the knife to ride lower will slightly spoil a reflexive reach, should you need to use it and not the best solution. A taller collar on your clothing might help hide the hilt from curious passengers.”

The tone of the conversation had taken an odd turn. Sara and Brice said almost nothing, allowing Prin to talk for them. Prin was almost convinced Marcus knew who she was, but she didn’t know if he was an enemy. He almost seemed the opposite.

A tall man with shoulders so wide he had to turn slightly to fit through the narrow doorways on the ship, approached. His eyes locked on Sara. Without permission from a nearby table, or from Sara, he pulled a chair from the other table and sat beside her.

“That’s rude,” Sara said, placing a hand on Brice’s arm to restrain him.

“Who are you?”

Sara smiled, “I am the one who is about to scream at the top of my lungs that you attacked me inappropriately in this public dining room when you placed your hand high on my thigh. I will throw myself backward over my chair and wail so loud the Captain will come running. The three people with me will verify everything I accuse you of. Does that answer your question as to who I am?”

He slowly drew back as she spoke with confidence and scorn, then finally scooted his chair a foot away, but his eyes remained locked on Sara. Prin noticed Marcus’ hand had moved to his ample waist. Are they working together?

Marcus’ expression said he was scared, but his actions were the reverse. A small, but deadly blade appeared in his hand, held under the edge of the table where the stranger couldn’t see it, but Sara could, and did. Brice rested his left hand on the hilt of his knife, and Prin itched to reach for the throwing knife at her neck, but he was too close. Instead, she reached for the short blade hidden behind the belt at her waist. That made three deadly knives the man didn’t know about.

“I’m searching for a woman,” the man growled. Even while sitting he towered over the others. The muscles in his hairy forearms rippled as he clenched a fist.

Sara remained calm and collected as her voice sounded as smooth as that of any matron in control of a conversation. “This is not the way to find a woman for yourself. While I appreciate your attention, you are too young for me, and my husband would object.”

“No, I want a woman,” he corrected.

“I also understand the urges a man has, but I am not your answer. There are whores in Indore if you have the coin to afford them. Now, leave us.”

He stood, again towering over her, his face flushed, the anger building.

Sara called to the steward with a wave of her arm, “This man is bothering me and making sexual advances. Would you please send for the Captain right away?”

The steward placed the plates he carried on an empty table and raced away.

The tall man stood even taller, his chest puffed out as he said, “I didn’t do that.”

Sara had turned away from him to call to another steward. Without looking back at the mountain of a man, she said loudly enough for all to hear, “you sat uninvited at our table and said to me, as you leered at my breast, I want a woman.”

“I did not leer at your breast.”

Running footsteps approached. A stern voice asked, “What’s going on, here? You say you were looking at her breast?”

It was a stout man followed by two husky crewmen who hurried to the table. He wore the cap of a captain, the small brim and gold braid identifying him as a ship’s master.

“I didn’t…”

“Damn you, man. I heard you say that when I entered.” The captain spun and snapped to the crewmen, “Take him to the brig. I’ll speak with him later and determine what to do.”

“Wait a minute, you have it all wrong,” the huge man protested, his fists balling.

Prin believed that if he decided to fight, he’d easily defeat the two sailors, but he didn’t want that kind of trouble. He might win against those two, but not the next dozen sailors who would race to defend their ship.

The Captain apologized profusely after the man was escorted away, and then took his leave. Marcus stood and retrieved the forgotten plates the steward had abandoned on the empty table and carried them back and placed one in front of each of them. His eyes met Sara’s. “Nicely done. More bread and jam?”

Prin said bluntly, “I noticed you pulled a knife.”

“I am a dealer in arms. Would you have expected less?”

“I wondered if you worked in conjunction with that man, or if you were going to defend Sara?”

The edges of Marcus’ lips twitched in amusement. “I am not such a fool to say anything other than that I was prepared to defend her. But, if I worked with him, would I now admit it? You must be careful in providing a ready excuse for me.”

“Do you intend to eat all that food in front of you?” Prin asked, with a sweet smile of her own.

“Sharing is part of my culture. Speaking of that, where were the three of you raised?”

“Gallium,” Sara said before any of the others could answer.

Marcus said, “A beautiful city, if I may say so. The blue-white clay reflects the setting sun like no other place I’ve traveled, yet the Gallium accent of yours does not remove a lingering trace of a more rural area. Say, upriver from Indore, for example.”