Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [60]
Ibn strolled across the dock, hands linked behind him in a studiously casual pose. He nodded to the guard, an elderly sailor nearly as taciturn as himself. Stopping a few paces away, he turned toward the sea and pulled out his pipe.
"Smoke?" he offered, holding out a small packet of the fragrant weed.
The guard accepted it, packed and lit his own pipe. The two men puffed in companionable silence and watched the moon sink toward the sea.
"Had enough of the city," Ibn commented. "A man needs to have the sea close to hand."
"Yep," the guard agreed.
"Can't sleep in them stinking inns, those flat beds. You're a man of the sea. Bet you still sleep in a hammock."
"Yep."
"Mine's on yonder ship, and that's where I'd like to settle for the night. Bends the laws a mite, that I know. Reckon it'll cost me some."
The guard held out his empty pipe to indicate the desired currency. Ibn reached into his jacket and pulled out several small packs of pipe weed. The old man studied them for a moment, then held up three fingers.
"Fair price for a night's sleep," Ibn agreed. The goods changed hands and the pirate paced quietly toward his ship.
He made his way down to the galley, and shouldered open the portal set above the water line. A wooden chest stood just below the portal. Ibn opened it and took out a hurdy gurdy, a peculiar instrument that looked like a lute but was played by turning a crank to vibrate the strings and pressing keys to produce a tune. He thrust it into the water and began to grind out a few measures of "Lolinda, She's a Lusty Lass," a tune accompanied by strange clicks and squeaks that had no meaning Ibn could follow.
It had been Hrolf's idea to use tunes and musical rhythms as signals. The boisterous pirate had had a fondness for a well-sung tale. His own singing, however, had inflicted nearly as much pain as his sword. A rare smile came to Ibn as he remembered.
Then the surface of the water stirred, and a too-familiar face popped up beside him. Ibn tossed aside the hurdy gurdy and reached for his pipe.
Xzorsh regarded the human with astonishment. Never before had Ibn used the summoning song, never had he sought audience with one of the Sea People. He hid his puzzlement as best he could and waited politely for the captain to speak his mind.
Ibn sent a smoke ring drifting toward the open portal. "I've come about the drow wench," he said at last.
The sea elf nodded and waited for the sailor to continue. Ibn seemed edgy, uneasy. Xzorsh put this down to the man's dislike of elves and his reticence to pass along a favor.
"Here," Ibn said at last, thrusting a silver medallion into Xzorsh's webbed hands. "It's about the teacher. This will take you where you need to go. Don't ask me no more questions," he concluded in querulous tones. "What I said is what I know."
The sea elf thanked him and slipped the medallion around his neck.
Immediately the familiar chill of the sea vanished, to be replaced by stone walls and too-dry air. Water puddled on the floor, but it felt thin and somehow unhealthy. Curious, Xzorsh stooped and dipped his fingers into the shallow pool. He tasted it, and his eyes widened with delighted understanding.
"Fresh water!" he exclaimed, marveling that such a thing truly existed.
"Hardly," said an amused, musical voice behind him.
Xzorsh rose swiftly to his feet and turned to face two drow males.
His first instinct was fear, and his hand flew to his weapon belt. He caught himself before drawing steel, and silently chided himself for his reflexive, narrow-minded response. Of course these were the teachers Liriel had promised him. He had not expected drow, but what other wizards was she likely to know?
The two males watched him come, and their flat, cold eyes reminded him of a shark's gaze. Xzorsh's smile faltered, and he came to a stop a few paces away.
"The gems," one of them said.
Xzorsh produced the little mesh bag given him as surety and handed it over. "These belong to Liriel. Since you know