Read Online Voyage of the Basilisk : A Memoir by Lady Trent (9781429956369) by Marie Brennan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Brennan
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his arms in a great arc for momentum, sprinted forward and leapt from the cliff.
It was no suicide. His body gathered itself in a graceful line as he plummeted downward. Despite his care, the sound when he struck the water reached us clearly, and Abby flinched back. My own breathing stopped. I could not draw air again until his dark head and gleaming shoulders broke the surface once more, followed shortly by a shout of delight.
“He is mad, ” I said, staring.
Next to me, Tom snorted. “So says the woman who once threw herself off a cliff.”
“I had a glider,” I reminded him.
Tom forbore to mention that it had been of untested design. (We had long since agreed that we should be cautious as to which of my various deeds we allowed my son to hear of at what age, lest Jake get Ideas.) I returned my attention to the top of the cliff. The men there chose not to follow their friend, but clapped one another on the shoulders and vanished back into the trees. Before I could ask whether we should send the longboat after the fellow in the water, he set off with a powerful stroke, heading, I thought, for the harbour.
The wind was carrying us onward regardless, and it would likely have been dangerous to veer so close to shore, lest we be blown onto the rocks. I watched the swimmer recede in our wake, wondering if he begrudged us leaving him behind, or was enjoying his time in the water. I did not know whether to call the season autumn or spring—we were south of the equator, though not by much—but the air was warm and the seas mild enough to make for a pleasant swim.
Soon enough I had to turn my attention elsewhere, for we were coming into port. The swift descent of the land meant the harbour, though small, was deep enough that we could approach quite close to shore. Had Namiquitlan been a great city, they might have built piers alongside which we could dock, and then we could have disembarked directly. But it was merely a small town, noteworthy only because several of the local trading routes converged there for the monthly market, and so we had to use the ship’s boats—a procedure that had been exotic five months previously, but was now almost routine.
There was a small hotel in Namiquitlan. I immediately sent Tom to book a pair of rooms there, so grateful for the chance to escape the confines of the Basilisk that I nearly wept. While he did that, I oversaw the gathering of our luggage and equipment. We intended to stay in Namiquitlan for at least a month, during which time the ship would go elsewhere for trade; we could not leave behind anything we might need.
Partway through this process, shouts drew my attention down to the beach, where a small knot of men had gathered. Someone had just come out of the surf, and those around him were slapping his back and shaking his hand. They eddied our way, and I understood—not from their words, which were a polyglot salad, but from their tone—that they were taking the fellow for a drink.
As they drew closer, I recognized the man at the center as the cliff diver we had seen. He was not, as I had assumed, a local. His skin was nearly as dark as theirs and his nose aquiline, but his face was not so broad nor his lips as full, and his dripping hair was loosely curled. Akhian, perhaps—especially now that I could see his slops were the loose trousers they call sirwal .
They were also rather torn from the force of his dive. I looked away, my cheeks heating. I had seen men in far less clothing than that on my Erigan expedition … but I had still been grieving then, for all I had thought myself recovered. I was not nearly an old woman yet, though, and my long solitude itched.
The knot of men passed, seeking one of the dockside establishments where they could celebrate the diver’s deed. I put him from my mind, and prepared to hunt for dragons.
* * *
I knew better than to blunder about aimlessly in the forest, hoping to find my quarry. The region was unfamiliar
It was no suicide. His body gathered itself in a graceful line as he plummeted downward. Despite his care, the sound when he struck the water reached us clearly, and Abby flinched back. My own breathing stopped. I could not draw air again until his dark head and gleaming shoulders broke the surface once more, followed shortly by a shout of delight.
“He is mad, ” I said, staring.
Next to me, Tom snorted. “So says the woman who once threw herself off a cliff.”
“I had a glider,” I reminded him.
Tom forbore to mention that it had been of untested design. (We had long since agreed that we should be cautious as to which of my various deeds we allowed my son to hear of at what age, lest Jake get Ideas.) I returned my attention to the top of the cliff. The men there chose not to follow their friend, but clapped one another on the shoulders and vanished back into the trees. Before I could ask whether we should send the longboat after the fellow in the water, he set off with a powerful stroke, heading, I thought, for the harbour.
The wind was carrying us onward regardless, and it would likely have been dangerous to veer so close to shore, lest we be blown onto the rocks. I watched the swimmer recede in our wake, wondering if he begrudged us leaving him behind, or was enjoying his time in the water. I did not know whether to call the season autumn or spring—we were south of the equator, though not by much—but the air was warm and the seas mild enough to make for a pleasant swim.
Soon enough I had to turn my attention elsewhere, for we were coming into port. The swift descent of the land meant the harbour, though small, was deep enough that we could approach quite close to shore. Had Namiquitlan been a great city, they might have built piers alongside which we could dock, and then we could have disembarked directly. But it was merely a small town, noteworthy only because several of the local trading routes converged there for the monthly market, and so we had to use the ship’s boats—a procedure that had been exotic five months previously, but was now almost routine.
There was a small hotel in Namiquitlan. I immediately sent Tom to book a pair of rooms there, so grateful for the chance to escape the confines of the Basilisk that I nearly wept. While he did that, I oversaw the gathering of our luggage and equipment. We intended to stay in Namiquitlan for at least a month, during which time the ship would go elsewhere for trade; we could not leave behind anything we might need.
Partway through this process, shouts drew my attention down to the beach, where a small knot of men had gathered. Someone had just come out of the surf, and those around him were slapping his back and shaking his hand. They eddied our way, and I understood—not from their words, which were a polyglot salad, but from their tone—that they were taking the fellow for a drink.
As they drew closer, I recognized the man at the center as the cliff diver we had seen. He was not, as I had assumed, a local. His skin was nearly as dark as theirs and his nose aquiline, but his face was not so broad nor his lips as full, and his dripping hair was loosely curled. Akhian, perhaps—especially now that I could see his slops were the loose trousers they call sirwal .
They were also rather torn from the force of his dive. I looked away, my cheeks heating. I had seen men in far less clothing than that on my Erigan expedition … but I had still been grieving then, for all I had thought myself recovered. I was not nearly an old woman yet, though, and my long solitude itched.
The knot of men passed, seeking one of the dockside establishments where they could celebrate the diver’s deed. I put him from my mind, and prepared to hunt for dragons.
* * *
I knew better than to blunder about aimlessly in the forest, hoping to find my quarry. The region was unfamiliar
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