The Vampire Megapack. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

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СКАЧАТЬ horizon off their port side ahead, its light revealing in the distance the suggestion of an island.

      Sant-Germainus hung over his steering oar and regarded Khafir-Amun, who held the other next to him. “I think the captain will relieve us shortly.” He spoke the Egyptian tongue with an old-fashioned accent.

      “A foolish, frightened creature, not worthy of this ship; he makes no offering to Poseidon,” said the Egyptian, a tall, wide-shouldered, leather-skinned man with arms as tough as tree-trunks from his long years at the steering-oar; he had a wide, irregular scar along his jaw and another cutting through his eyebrow, and his left hand was missing its little finger. “What made him think he could command a ship, let alone a band of sea-robbers?”

      “A family trade, perhaps?” Sant-Germainus ventured, making himself stand upright in spite of the ache in his limbs; his sodden dalamatica adding to his chill. He rarely felt cold, but combined with damp, Sant-Germainus was now distinctly uncomfortable.

      “Then he should have left the trade and apprenticed himself to a camel-drover,” said Khafir-Amun. “Ynay is better suited to this work than the captain will ever be.”

      “That is often the case,” said Sant-Germainus, thinking back to the many times he had seen outwardly powerful men who were supported by more capable assistants. “Ynay is a true sailor, and sensible.”

      “Your man—Rutgeros?—volunteered to watch, but the captain wouldn’t allow it, nor would he allow anyone who had been among your crew. He said you and they would hatch mischief if you were allowed to work together.” He glanced toward the island in the distance. “Do you know where we are?”

      “I know we are not at Naxos, or Paros. We cannot have been blown as far as Crete. Amorgus or Ios, perhaps.” Sant-Germainus squinted in the increasing sunlight, his skin starting to feel tight, as if he stood too near a flame.

      “Amorgus is long and thin and much too far south,” said Khafir-Amun. “From here, that island looks small and probably fairly round. There are no very high peaks I can make out.” He thought a moment. “The small island east of Naxos—what is it called?—that might be it.”

      “We may be east of Naxos,” Sant-Germainus conceded. “Not so far south as Koufonisia or Karos, I would reckon.”

      “Dhenoussa,” said Khafir-Amun. “That’s the island. I wish I could see it more clearly. I am almost certain I am right.”

      “I doubt we could have been blown so far to the east,” said Sant-Germainus, but even as he said it, he began to think of the long night and the furious wind. They might well have gone farther than he had assumed. He looked over his shoulder toward the west but could not make out the three peaks of Naxos. “We could have reached Dhenoussa,” he said with less certainty; now that they had come through the heart of the storm, he realized he was more exhausted than he could remember being in more than a century.

      “It’s too big for any of the Makaris, so it must be Dhenoussa. After such a night as we have passed, I would not be surprised to see Melos ahead, had we gone southwest, or Mykonos, had we been driven backward.” He chuckled to show he knew this was impossible.

      “With the seas still running so high, I wonder if we will find a safe harbor, whatever island it may be.” Sant-Germainus bore down on his oar as the ship crested another wave; his arms shook with the effort and he felt his grip beginning to fail in spite of the manacles holding him in place. “We will see more as it gets lighter. We’ll be better able to work out where we are.”

      “Dhenoussa has two shelters—one on the northwest side of the island, the other on the northeast, and there is a bay on the south-southwest side, and a few coves and inlets as well, but it is much more exposed.” Khafir-Amun recited from memory. “The southern inlets can also give protection, but not very good anchorage.”

      “If we cannot find them, it hardly matters,” said Sant-Germainus.

      “If the captain would post a watch, we would manage better. We need to know where we are,” said Khafir-Amun, repeating the cause of his anxiety. “We needs a man in the bow, and one in the stern.”

      “Yes; but the captain is not willing to order that,” said Sant-Germainus, and after a glance at the brightening sky ahead beyond the bow, added, “And I fear I must rest soon.” This admission made him flinch inwardly.

      Khafir-Amun nodded. “No man should pull a steering oar longer than a full day or a full night.”

      “Including the day or night at the dark of the year?” Sant-Germainus asked.

      “The days are short now, but in bad weather it hardly matters—every hour seems a day or more.” Khafir-Amun looked again toward the island, now appearing a bit larger. “We’re getting closer.”

      “More risks of rocks,” said Sant-Germainus uneasily.

      “I hope the captain will decide to anchor here. He should order a full inspection of the ship.”

      “After she’s bailed out,” said Sant-Germainus, and shoved his end of the oar upward as the ship dropped down a swelling wave; men on deck grabbed hold of the two safety-ropes as water cascaded over them and into the open hold. Shouts from below erupted at once, and Sant-Germainus saw three more oars shipped inside. “One way or another, she will not go much farther.”

      “No. Nor will the men,” said Khafir-Amun.

      “The captain will order Dvlinoh to beat them.”

      Khafir-Amun laughed unpleasantly. “It will do no good. They have no food. All three water cisterns have been breached, so there is nothing to drink unless we open the amphorae for their wine—not that the men would object to that. The barrels of salt pork were washed away some time last night. And the beans are sodden—the cook says they are going to spoil, and must be thrown overboard. He’s only going to cook up the few that are dry, and when they’re eaten—”

      “Then he must reprovision,” said Sant-Germainus, holding the shuddering oar so tightly that he felt his manacles dig into his wrists.

      “If he wants to get back to Thera,” said Khafir-Amun with grim satisfaction.

      “Thera: is that where he is from?” asked Sant-Germainus. As another wave slopped over the side of the ship, he wobbled on his feet.

      “So he said,” Khafir-Amun said, frowning as he watched Sant-Germainus balance himself against his oar. “He could be from there.”

      Sant-Germainus regarded the men striving to move more buckets of water out of the hold. “It is cold enough that the oarsmen will soon have chilblains, if they do not already. They will have to be given something warm to drink, and soon.”

      “They are all cold,” said Khafir-Amun. “It was folly to set out so late in the year.”

      “It was that or have the ship impounded and the oarsmen taken as slaves,” said Sant-Germainus. “Storms were a more acceptable hazard.”

      “Storms are one thing, pirates are another.” Khafir-Amun nodded slowly.

      “The Morning Star could weather storms,” said Sant-Germainus. “But storms and pirates were beyond her to withstand.”

      Khafir-Amun touched his hands together. “You did СКАЧАТЬ