The Vampire Megapack. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

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СКАЧАТЬ the oar-master come and release you.” He was hesitant to touch the corpse. He stood as straight as he could without letting go of the safety rope. “The captain is ordering the two of you to remain on deck until the skies clear. In such a storm as this, and with long nights, we must have the attention of every man.”

      “One of us cannot comply, Ynay,” said Sant-Germainus. He looked over his shoulder at the frothing sea. “We should be nearing Paros or Naxos. You will need a guard in the bow as well as a second steersman.”

      “How can you be sure? We’re probably off-course by leagues.”

      “Possibly. But there are more islands than those two in the Cyclades, and we should be wary of them. They are around us in the dark, and we may not see them until we are up against their shores.” Sant-Germainus had to shift his stance as the dead body struck his legs. “We will all drown if we scrape a rock in this gale.”

      The first officer looked uncomfortable. “The captain doesn’t want to risk any more lives. He’s afraid anyone on deck could be washed away.” As if to support this idea, the ship pitched toward its port side and tried to turn abeam to the wave, which would bring a fatal shift in position. Sant-Germainus held the oar with all his strength, and gradually the prow slid back to taking the waves straight on while the dead man slid as far down the other steering oar as his manacles permitted. Ynay dropped to his knee in an effort to keep hold of the safety rope.

      “If you lose your steersmen, you will sink. That is certain,” said Sant-Germainus.

      “The storm could lessen,” the first officer growled.

      “If it does, we may run aground on one of the islands—if we are lucky,” Sant-Germainus warned. “If we’re not dashed apart on rocks or cliffs.”

      “I suppose,” said Ynay, regarding the corpse of the second steersman with increasing distress. “He’s got to go over the side.”

      Sant-Germainus nodded, trying to keep the steering-oar steady. “If there is no lookout, we may lose the bottom of the ships to unseen shoals.” As much as he longed for solid earth under his feet, he dreaded the shoals, no matter how solid they were, that would rip the bottom out of the ship; he, unlike the others aboard, could not drown, and the thought of lying, chained in a wreck, alert and aware until his flesh was eaten away by sea-creatures appalled him. “Then more than cargo would be forfeit.”

      “I know,” muttered the first officer; his voice did not carry over the roar of the waves and the wind’s moan.

      “The winds are rising,” Sant-Germainus pointed out. “They have changed direction three or four times.”

      “We’ve furled the sail and pulled in half the oars. I don’t know what else we can do.” Ynay was clearly worried but unwilling to admit as much to this captured foreigner. “The captain won’t permit us to lighten our load.”

      “You can put a watchman in the bow,” said Sant-Germainus. “And bring that Egyptian oarsman to steer with me. He knows these waters and he has come through his share of storms.”

      “The Egyptian from your ship?” The first officer shook his head. “The captain would never agree.”

      “He must have someone else on the other oar, and all of you know it,” said Sant-Germainus. “No one man can hold the ship on a single steering oar alone. If the other steering oar breaks, you will have no control on the starboard side, and the ship will roll more heavily than it does now.”

      “But you and…he…are chained together. Your oar and the other one are linked by the chain,” said Ynay in a desperate attempt at reason.

      “Think of the risk of my falling, or worse.” Sant-Germainus regarded him steadily as the seas pitched around them.

      “I suppose that’s what you would have done on the Morning Star,” said Ynay.

      “At the very least, had I been caught in such a storm,” said Sant-Germainus with more emotion; the loss of his merchant-ship five days ago to these Greeks still rankled; bales of silk lashed to the deck bore the eclipse symbol of his trading company, serving as a constant reminder of his capture, the capture of his men, and his cargo’s theft. “You would do the same, Ynay; you know the sea.”

      “Our captain is not so willing to put lives—”

      “He may risk one or two, or he may risk all,” said Sant-Germainus over a new wash of wave.

      “It is dangerous, to chain a man on deck in such a storm,” said Ynay, then realized what he had said, and to whom; he added, “Your crew could drown if they are brought to help you. Let them be safe at their oars.”

      “Then the captain is risking all,” said Sant-Germainus, relieved that he had taken no nourishment for more than six days, for had he received sustenance since then, he would now be enduring crippling nausea as well as severe pain in his muscles and joints from his exposure to water and light. His hunger was growing as he tired and with it his formidable strength was waning—another day or two like this and he would be utterly exhausted and disoriented by the enervation the water gave. He clutched the oar to his chest and hung on as the waves pounded over the bow of the ship, washing back to where he stood on the after-deck. “We will all pay the price for his greed and cowardice.”

      Ynay winced as he nodded. “So I fear.”

      “Then, for your own sake, convince him of what he stands to lose.”

      The first officer clung to the safety-rope, his face distressed. “I will ask the captain if he will accept volunteers to man the oar, and the watch. And I’ll send the oar-master to—” He motioned to the corpse.

      Sant-Germainus watched Ynay lurch back toward the middle of the ship and the hatches that led below. He frowned at the man’s struggle to keep his footing. The ship rolled ponderously and threatened to capsize, but Sant-Germainus held the oar, his whole body leaning into it; the wood moaned in his hands, and for a long moment he feared the oar would break, leaving the ship at the mercy of the storm. The ship topped the swell and righted itself, sliding down the wall of water into another trough, and he used this short time to align the bow more safely.

      How he hated crossing running water! At least it was the dark of the year, so that sunlight did not join with the sea in wearing him out. Even the hard months crossing the Takla Makan in the Year of Yellow Snow, thirty years ago, was less arduous than this passage through the Aegean Sea—then there had only been cold and hunger to exhaust him, not the vitiation of running water and unrelenting labor. He wondered briefly how Rutgeros was doing below-decks and hoped that his bondsman was faring better than he was. Looking over at the dead man, he said, “May you rest quietly.”

      * * * *

      Some while later, the oar-master—a massive fellow from Odessus called Dvlinoh—came wallowing along the safety-rope and unlocked the manacles holding the corpse to the oar. “I’ll bring someone up to help you,” he said bluntly. “No one can hold these oars alone, not in a storm. The captain’s a fool.”

      Sant-Germainus said nothing, watching as the body slid down the after-deck; the oar-master caught it by the ankle and let the next wave that broke over the ship carry it off.

      * * * *

      Dark water heaved around them, changing from mountain to valley and to mountain again in restless progression, but the СКАЧАТЬ