The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [49]
Off the bow, the sun dropped toward the now-black waters of the gulf.
Thwap…splat…thwap…The paddles dipped, and the Eidolon rolled, and we all were carried cubit by cubit, rod by rod, kay by kay, toward Candar.
Isolde stood at the rear of the bridge, tacitly ignored, while Myrten shuffled the cards under a swinging lantern and Tamra clutched a rail still tacky from varnish.
I just watched the white foam spill from the wave crests.
XVII
THE WAVES REMAINED moderate across the entire gulf, giving the Eidolon a near-constant rocking, pitching motion the entire trip. The half-steamer maintained a west-northwest heading.
I hadn’t slept well, waking time and time again, but I had slept—unlike Sammel, who had eventually shared Tamra’s discomfort with the ship’s motion, and spent much of the night at the rail.
Isolde slept like a log. She even snored. Myrten arrived back late, and his purses were far fuller than when he had left, proof that knowing the odds was profitable anywhere. He also rose first. Even his quiet movements were enough to keep me awake.
I followed him up the ladder and onto the sun-splashed deck, where various members of the crew were already working—varnishing the other railing, disassembling another winch. Ignoring the industrious types, I trailed Myrten into the ship’s mess.
Wrynn, Dorthae, and Krystal were already there.
I eased onto one of the oak benches across from Myrten—the table was empty except for us.
Scuffff…
Sammel stood there, swaying, but not in rhythm to the pitching of the ship. I motioned to the table. He finally staggered to a spot at the end of our table closest to the wall and away from anyone.
Breakfast was dried fruit—apples, red currants, peaches—hard biscuits, and a tea so strong even I winced. The tea was excellent for softening the biscuits.
I ate slowly, not looking up. Clearly, the crew had eaten earlier, much earlier. The mess room, under the bridge, took a space not much bigger than our two cabins together. The two tables were bolted to the floor, as were the backless benches. The grooves in the table would hold something, perhaps trays for dining in heavy weather.
Sammel tried the biscuits, and a touch of tea. After no more than half a biscuit, he got up and left, still greenish around his ears.
Wrynn, Krystal, and Myrten wolfed down everything in sight.
Despite his late night, Myrten looked fresh and rested, although his black hair was more unruly than ever. Myrten was the first to leave, without even a grunt. Dorthae followed him out, a glint in her eye. Wrynn fingered the hilt of her throwing knife, then followed the pair.
Krystal smiled, shaking her head.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” she answered, except that it wasn’t an answer. She continued to sip from her mug, but took nothing else from either of the polished wooden serving platters.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Men…” She shook her head. Her hair was bound up, not in silver or gold cords, but in dark blue, as if she didn’t want to call any attention to herself. “Men…” she repeated, as she stood up, leaving the mug on the table. Her steps were quick and sure, not that the deck rolled or pitched much, and she was gone before I could figure out what I could have said to keep her.
Just as I was finishing up a second biscuit and some dried peaches by myself and getting ready to leave, Isolde arrived with Tamra in tow.
For an instant, like the palest of china fired by my mother, precious and breakable, the redhead paused. “Urrrppp…” The burp destroyed the fragility. “Excuse me.” She slumped onto the bench where Myrten had been sitting.
Isolde poured the dark tea into two brown hard-glazed earthenware mugs.
“Honey?”
Tamra nodded, swaying slightly to the roll of the Eidolon.
I downed the last of my mug and looked around for a place to leave it.
“Don’t leave just yet, Lerris.”
“Where would I go?”
Tamra sighed.