Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [108]
For the first two days of the voyage, Joscelin Verreuil, my Perfect Companion, spent a great deal more time than was seemly hanging over the railings and disgorging the contents of his stomach. No born sailor, he.
My chevaliers, for their part, were at home in an instant, and it did not take long for the crew of the Darielle to ascertain that they had expert sailors aboard ship. They took turns at manning the rigging, or the oars, when we rounded the Caerdicci point and the winds turned against us. I daresay I could have bartered their aid against the price of our passage, if I'd been minded to, but it kept them out of trouble and the Captain's nature sweet, so I held my tongue.
As for me, I had a cabin in the aft castle; a narrow berth, to be sure, but my own. The hempen strands of my hammock cradled me securely, and I slept soundly therein.
The winds held steady and we surged ahead of them, a froth of white water where our prow cut the seas, keepingin sight of the coastline for the most part. The Captain, whose name was Louis Namot, was quick to summon me, pointing out such sights as might be seen from shipboard. I have learned, since, that there are sailors who think a woman's presence aboard ship to be a sign of ill luck. Elua be thanked, D'Angelines are spared such idiotic superstitions.
There is a certain peace to it, committing one's fate to the seas, even as there is in surrendering to a patron's will. I thought often of Hyacinthe on that long journey, wondering if he had come to gain mastery over the scudding waves, and how such a thing might be accomplished. I wondered, too, how far his dreadful inheritance extended. Rahab's realm lay everywhere pn the deep, if Yeshuite teaching was to be believed; but the Master of the Straits was born of a D'Angeline woman, who loved a mortal Alban, and I never heard of his dominion extending beyond the waters that bordered our two lands.
With such things were my thoughts occupied during our journey, and I daresay it passed quickly enough. White-winged gulls circled our three masts as we travelled, always within a half-day's sail of land. I thought them pretty; 'twas Remy who told me that they followed the wake of offal left by our galley, descending to pluck the waters clean of fish entrails and other such discarded matter.
Day by day, we made our way northward up the length of the Caerdicci coast.
We passed tiny islands; barren rocks thrusting into the ocean, fit only for gulls and the poorest of fishermen. 'Twas another matter, according to Louis Namot, on the far side of the sea, the Illyrian coast, which was fair riddled with islands, rich and fertile and a veritable breeding ground for pirates. Indeed, his men kept a keen watch once we'd rounded the point, sharpening their swords and manning the trebuchet mounted atop the forecastle, but we passed unmolested. Illyrian pirates are notorious, but their country is caught between the hammer of La Serenissima and the anvil of Ephesium; they have no quarrel with Terre d'Ange.
On our twenty-third day at sea, the watcher in the crow's top the midmast gave a shout, and we passed the isle that marks the outermost boundary waters of La Serenissima. Unlike the others, this was no barren grey hummock-a sheer cliff faced the sea, black basalt crags towering angrily above the waves, which broke hard on the rocks below. I didn't know why, as we passed, the sailors all whistled tunelessly, and had to ask the Captain.
"La Dolorosa," he said, as though it explained everything-even he averted his eyes from the black isle. "It is a Seremssiman superstition, my lady. They say that when Baal-Jupiter slew Asherat's son Eshmun, the Gracious Lady of the Sea wept and raged and stamped her foot, and the floor of the sea rose up in answer, spewing forth La Dolorosa to mark her grief."
I am always interested in such things, and leaned upon the guardrail as we sailed by, giving the black isle a wide