Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [152]
“Really,” an embarrassed Ehomba demurred, “passage will be quite sufficient. Our two large friends can find room in your hold, among your cargo.”
“Done.” Reaching across the table, Stanager shook the tall southerner’s hand. “You really didn’t know these stones were diamonds, or that they were valuable?”
“Oh, they have always been valuable to me,” Ehomba conceded. “Feeling of them reminds me of home.” He glanced over at the supercargo. “Take your payment, please.”
“A fair payment,” Simna interjected in no-nonsense tones. “We’ve hidden nothing from you, been completely up-front. As the old man says, we could always buy ourselves a ship.”
“Ayesh,” agreed Stanager, “but it wouldn’t be the Grömsketter, and whatever crew you engaged wouldn’t be the Grömsketter’s crew. Have no fear, foreigner—this is an honorable vessel crewed by honest seamen.” She nodded at her supercargo. “Take the payment, Broch.”
Licking his lips, the elderly mariner contemplated the riches strewn so casually before him. Finally, after much deliberation, he settled on the second-largest stone, a perfect deep pink diamond of some six carats.
“This one, I think.” Hesitating to see if the owners objected, he then quickly plucked the rough gem from the table. “And a few of the smaller.” He smiled. “To give the selection a nice play of color.” Having made his choices, he handed them to Stanager.
“Thank you, Broch.” She deposited them in her empty drinking mug. “Please wait outside for us.”
“Thank you, Captain.” He turned to leave.
“Just a second.” Simna was smiling knowingly. “What about the one that ‘accidentally’ got caught under your fingernail? Middle finger of the left hand, I believe?”
“What? Oh, this.” Feigning confusion, the old man removed a half-carat stone from beneath the offending nail and placed it back on the table. “Sorry. These small stones, you know, are like sand. They can get caught up in anything.”
“Sure they can.” Simna was still smiling. “Etjole, pack up the rest of your pebbles.”
The herdsman scooped the remaining stones into the little cloth sack. Old Broch watched his every move to see if he might overlook any. When it was clear that the herdsman had not, the supercargo sighed regretfully and left.
“Well then.” Planting both palms firmly on the table, Stanager pushed back from the table and stood. “Welcome aboard the Grömsketter, gentlemen. I’ll have Broch show you to your cabin, and we’ll see about getting your oversized companions properly settled below. You have two days to enjoy the sights and delights of Hamacassar. Then we set sail downriver for the Semordria, far Calex, and the unknown.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Ehomba executed his half bow. “Is there anything else we should know before we depart?”
“Yes.” Turning her head to look at an expressionless Simna, she declared sweetly, “If this foreign creature doesn’t take his hand off my ass I will have Cook mince and dice him and serve him tomorrow morning for breakfast hash.”
“Hoy? Oh, sorry.” Simna removed the offending hand, eyeing it as if it possessed a mind and will of its own. “I thought that was the chair cushion.”
“Think more carefully next time, foreigner, or I will prevent any further confusion by having the errant portion of your anatomy removed.”
“I said I was sorry,” he protested.
“Your eyes argue with your words.” She led the way out of the mess.
Later, as they followed old Broch through a narrow passage, Ehomba leaned down to whisper to his companion. “Are you mad, Simna? Next time she will have you quartered!”
A dreamy lilt tinted the swordsman’s voice. “Her beauty would drive a man mad. A little sunburnt, yes. A little hardened by the weather, to be sure. But to see her at ease on a broad bed, divested of mariner’s attire, would be worth a couple of those diamonds to me.”
“Then I will give you the diamonds, but keep away from her! We have yet to enter the Semordria, much less cross it. I am a good swimmer, but I do not