Guasachdach with only three half-mad lads as crew. During her father’s greatest voyage around the world, he fell ill, went fully mad before he perished, and it was left to Lianaichto squelch a mutiny and bring back the treasures due the king of Meith, else she would be turned into a mast.”
Rùnach knew several of the descendants of that particular king of Meith, but couldn’t bring to mind a one of them who would have turned a sea captain—or his daughter—into a mast. But perhaps he wasn’t as well-read as the average galley lad.
The lad made a shooing motion at the seagull, but it only squawked at him, which left him backing away, making signs Rùnach assumed were of ward and other seafaring usefulness. He would have assured the boy that it was only his horse masquerading as a rather obnoxious bird, but he was interrupted by the boatswain calling the hands to their stations. The kitchen lad disappeared belowdecks, leaving Rùnach to his watching.
The port of Sgioba was every bit as squalid as he’d expected it might be. There was a certain amount of wear one might expect to see in a port, but this went far beyond simple sea air. He had no fear for himself, but he certainly wouldn’t have brought his sister to such a place.
Then again, for all he knew Mhorghain had traveled here more than once when he’d been unaware she was even alive. He found himself rather more grateful than usual that she had someone now to look after her, though perhaps she would do just as much looking after her husband as he would her.
He looked about himself for the tall, painfully thin lad he’d paid passage for, but didn’t see him. Now, that was a lad who would have been better off to stay at home. Perhaps he’d found sense and was hiding behind a barrel until he could rush down the gangplank and hie himself off to whatever relative he was seeking, hopefully without finding himself robbed yet again.
“Do you have dreams, my lord?”
Rùnach almost fell over the railing. He pulled himself back to himself and found Captain Burke standing next to him, watching him closely.
“What?” he managed.
The captain leaned against the railing with the ease of one who had done it innumerable times and knew just how comfortable hecould get before he fell overboard. “I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I have the feeling you’ll understand.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “My dreams are troubled.”
Rùnach suppressed the urge to swear. Did he have the sort of face that led people to divulge details better left undivulged? He had gone out of his way to keep to himself and keep his face covered, lest he draw unwanted attention. Apparently he hadn’t been diligent enough.
“Sounds terrible,” Rùnach said, trying to imbue his tone with just enough sympathy to allow the captain to feel as if he’d been heard, but not enough to encourage him. “Bad ale, no doubt.”
That the captain didn’t respond to that but plunged straight into a description of his troubling nocturnal visions said something perhaps about the seriousness of them. Rùnach tried to pay attention, but truly he had no desire to listen to anyone’s dreams of barnacles and leaky hulls and—
Rùnach held up his hand suddenly. “What did you say?”
The captain frowned, as if he were slightly disappointed in Rùnach’s ability to listen. “I said I had dreams of streams running through my belowdecks.”
“I’m no seaman,” Rùnach said, “but aren’t mice generally the only thing running belowdecks?”
Captain Burke drew himself up. “Not on my ship. Well,” he amended, “not often. And if it were just mice troubling my dreams, I wouldn’t be so unsettled. Unfortunately, ’tis those streams that won’t leave me be.”
It was obvious that the captain wasn’t going to let
him
be until he’d unburdened himself fully, so Rùnach leaned back against the railing alongside his host and folded his arms over his chest, settling in for what
Rùnach knew several of the descendants of that particular king of Meith, but couldn’t bring to mind a one of them who would have turned a sea captain—or his daughter—into a mast. But perhaps he wasn’t as well-read as the average galley lad.
The lad made a shooing motion at the seagull, but it only squawked at him, which left him backing away, making signs Rùnach assumed were of ward and other seafaring usefulness. He would have assured the boy that it was only his horse masquerading as a rather obnoxious bird, but he was interrupted by the boatswain calling the hands to their stations. The kitchen lad disappeared belowdecks, leaving Rùnach to his watching.
The port of Sgioba was every bit as squalid as he’d expected it might be. There was a certain amount of wear one might expect to see in a port, but this went far beyond simple sea air. He had no fear for himself, but he certainly wouldn’t have brought his sister to such a place.
Then again, for all he knew Mhorghain had traveled here more than once when he’d been unaware she was even alive. He found himself rather more grateful than usual that she had someone now to look after her, though perhaps she would do just as much looking after her husband as he would her.
He looked about himself for the tall, painfully thin lad he’d paid passage for, but didn’t see him. Now, that was a lad who would have been better off to stay at home. Perhaps he’d found sense and was hiding behind a barrel until he could rush down the gangplank and hie himself off to whatever relative he was seeking, hopefully without finding himself robbed yet again.
“Do you have dreams, my lord?”
Rùnach almost fell over the railing. He pulled himself back to himself and found Captain Burke standing next to him, watching him closely.
“What?” he managed.
The captain leaned against the railing with the ease of one who had done it innumerable times and knew just how comfortable hecould get before he fell overboard. “I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I have the feeling you’ll understand.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “My dreams are troubled.”
Rùnach suppressed the urge to swear. Did he have the sort of face that led people to divulge details better left undivulged? He had gone out of his way to keep to himself and keep his face covered, lest he draw unwanted attention. Apparently he hadn’t been diligent enough.
“Sounds terrible,” Rùnach said, trying to imbue his tone with just enough sympathy to allow the captain to feel as if he’d been heard, but not enough to encourage him. “Bad ale, no doubt.”
That the captain didn’t respond to that but plunged straight into a description of his troubling nocturnal visions said something perhaps about the seriousness of them. Rùnach tried to pay attention, but truly he had no desire to listen to anyone’s dreams of barnacles and leaky hulls and—
Rùnach held up his hand suddenly. “What did you say?”
The captain frowned, as if he were slightly disappointed in Rùnach’s ability to listen. “I said I had dreams of streams running through my belowdecks.”
“I’m no seaman,” Rùnach said, “but aren’t mice generally the only thing running belowdecks?”
Captain Burke drew himself up. “Not on my ship. Well,” he amended, “not often. And if it were just mice troubling my dreams, I wouldn’t be so unsettled. Unfortunately, ’tis those streams that won’t leave me be.”
It was obvious that the captain wasn’t going to let
him
be until he’d unburdened himself fully, so Rùnach leaned back against the railing alongside his host and folded his arms over his chest, settling in for what
Similar Books
