muscles, if not manlike, were imposing.
“I’m sure you all saw last night that the rumors we been hearin’ are true. There’s reaver activity farther north than ever this year, an’ it’s startin’ earlier. We could be a target anytime.”
Maia found that a stretched conclusion to reach from one isolated incident, and apparently so did the other vars.But Naroin took her responsibilities seriously. She told them so, laying the padded bill across her back.
“Captain’s given orders. We should be ready, in case o’ trouble. We’re not goin’ to be anybody’s sealfish steak. If a gang o’ jumped-up unniks tries hopping this ship—”
“Why would anyone want it!” a var muttered, eliciting chuckles. It was the sharp-jawed woman who had cursed earlier about “Lamai brats.”
“What kind of atyp bleeders’d hop us for a load o’
coal
?” the half-Chuchyin went on.
“You’d be surprised. The market’s up. B’sides, even a coerced split of profits could ruin the owners—”
Naroin’s explanation was interrupted by an offensive blat, imitating a fart. When the bosun glanced sharply, the Chuchyin var nonchalantly yawned. Naroin frowned. “Captains’ orders needn’t be explained to likes of you. A crew that doesn’t drill together—”
“Who needs drill?” The tall var cracked her knuckles, nudging her friends, apparently a tight-knit group of tested traveling companions. “Why fret about lugar-lovin’ reavers? If they come, we’ll send them packin’ for their daddies.”
Maia felt her cheeks redden, and hoped no one noticed. The master-at-arms simply smiled. “All right, grab a bill an’ show me how you’ll fight,
if
the time comes.”
A snort. The Chuchyin variant spat on the deck. “I’ll just watch, if it’s all the same.”
Naroin’s forearms revealed bowstring tendons. “Listen, summer-trash. While on board, you’ll take orders, or swim back where you came from!”
The tall woman and her comrades glared back, confrontation certain in their hard faces.
A low voice interrupted from behind. “Is there a problem, Master-at-Arms?”
Naroin and the vars swiveled. Captain Pegyul stood atthe edge of the quarterdeck, scratching a four-day growth of beard. Banal of appearance back at the Bizmai tavern, he now cut an impressive figure, stripped down to his blue undershirt, something males never did in port. Three brass armrings, insignia of rank, circuited an arm like Maia’s thigh. Two other crewmen, taller and even broader in the shoulders, stood bare-chested behind him at the head of the stairs. Despite the redolent tension, Maia found herself fascinated by those torsos. For once, she could credit certain farfetched stories … that sometimes, in the heat of summer, a particularly large and crazy male might purposely torment a lugar into one of those rare but awesome furies the beasts were capable of, just to wrestle the creature one-on-one, and occasionally win!
“No, sir. There’s no problem,” Naroin answered calmly. “I was just explaining that all second-class passengers will train to defend the ship’s cargo.”
The captain nodded. “You have your crewmates’ backing, Master-at-Arms,” he said mildly, and walked away.
The shiver down Maia’s back wasn’t from the north wind. Generally speaking, men were supposedly as harmless, four-fifths of the year, as lugars were all the time. But they were sentient beings, capable of
deciding
to get angry, even in winter. The two big seamen remained, observing. Maia sensed in their eyes a wariness toward any threat to their ship, their world.
The Chuchyin made a show of examining her finger-nails, but Maia saw perspiration on her brow. “Guess I could spar a bit,” the tall var muttered. “For practice.” Still feigning nonchalance, she stepped over to the weapons rack. Instead of taking up the other padded training bill, she grabbed a trepp meant for combat, made of hard Yarri wood with minimal wrapping round the
“I’m sure you all saw last night that the rumors we been hearin’ are true. There’s reaver activity farther north than ever this year, an’ it’s startin’ earlier. We could be a target anytime.”
Maia found that a stretched conclusion to reach from one isolated incident, and apparently so did the other vars.But Naroin took her responsibilities seriously. She told them so, laying the padded bill across her back.
“Captain’s given orders. We should be ready, in case o’ trouble. We’re not goin’ to be anybody’s sealfish steak. If a gang o’ jumped-up unniks tries hopping this ship—”
“Why would anyone want it!” a var muttered, eliciting chuckles. It was the sharp-jawed woman who had cursed earlier about “Lamai brats.”
“What kind of atyp bleeders’d hop us for a load o’
coal
?” the half-Chuchyin went on.
“You’d be surprised. The market’s up. B’sides, even a coerced split of profits could ruin the owners—”
Naroin’s explanation was interrupted by an offensive blat, imitating a fart. When the bosun glanced sharply, the Chuchyin var nonchalantly yawned. Naroin frowned. “Captains’ orders needn’t be explained to likes of you. A crew that doesn’t drill together—”
“Who needs drill?” The tall var cracked her knuckles, nudging her friends, apparently a tight-knit group of tested traveling companions. “Why fret about lugar-lovin’ reavers? If they come, we’ll send them packin’ for their daddies.”
Maia felt her cheeks redden, and hoped no one noticed. The master-at-arms simply smiled. “All right, grab a bill an’ show me how you’ll fight,
if
the time comes.”
A snort. The Chuchyin variant spat on the deck. “I’ll just watch, if it’s all the same.”
Naroin’s forearms revealed bowstring tendons. “Listen, summer-trash. While on board, you’ll take orders, or swim back where you came from!”
The tall woman and her comrades glared back, confrontation certain in their hard faces.
A low voice interrupted from behind. “Is there a problem, Master-at-Arms?”
Naroin and the vars swiveled. Captain Pegyul stood atthe edge of the quarterdeck, scratching a four-day growth of beard. Banal of appearance back at the Bizmai tavern, he now cut an impressive figure, stripped down to his blue undershirt, something males never did in port. Three brass armrings, insignia of rank, circuited an arm like Maia’s thigh. Two other crewmen, taller and even broader in the shoulders, stood bare-chested behind him at the head of the stairs. Despite the redolent tension, Maia found herself fascinated by those torsos. For once, she could credit certain farfetched stories … that sometimes, in the heat of summer, a particularly large and crazy male might purposely torment a lugar into one of those rare but awesome furies the beasts were capable of, just to wrestle the creature one-on-one, and occasionally win!
“No, sir. There’s no problem,” Naroin answered calmly. “I was just explaining that all second-class passengers will train to defend the ship’s cargo.”
The captain nodded. “You have your crewmates’ backing, Master-at-Arms,” he said mildly, and walked away.
The shiver down Maia’s back wasn’t from the north wind. Generally speaking, men were supposedly as harmless, four-fifths of the year, as lugars were all the time. But they were sentient beings, capable of
deciding
to get angry, even in winter. The two big seamen remained, observing. Maia sensed in their eyes a wariness toward any threat to their ship, their world.
The Chuchyin made a show of examining her finger-nails, but Maia saw perspiration on her brow. “Guess I could spar a bit,” the tall var muttered. “For practice.” Still feigning nonchalance, she stepped over to the weapons rack. Instead of taking up the other padded training bill, she grabbed a trepp meant for combat, made of hard Yarri wood with minimal wrapping round the
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