Chapter 27: [09.3] The Voyage Home

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Isla awoke a few days later to the sound of bells, and she knew it was time. She opened her trunk and pulled out a thick, red cloak. She was ready.

The sun had barely risen, but already the deckhands were hard at work. They had rigged a platform onto the ship's board and were in the process of lowering an accommodation ladder. Hooks were secured, davit set, and with many shouts and instructions, down went the contraption.

'Watch the bridle! Turnbuck – Watch the bridle!'

Isla tucked herself in her cloak, watching Turnbuck watch the bridle, both of them equally perplexed at the entire mechanism.

'What's happening?' A pair of Surikh women were whispering frantically to each other. 'It's still a day or two to shore.'

'Is it an inspection?'

'Have we a squatter on board?'

A few more joined them, all curious at what was unfolding on the main deck below. Three officers stepped from the companionway and formed a triangle by the platform, awaiting whomever it was that would embark from the ladder.

The now sizeable group of passengers made various sounds of disappointment when it turned out to be an aging Surikh man of no spectacular bearing. Just like they said.

He had plain, cotton breeches and muddied boots; a large, straw hat that kept most of his features hidden; and a young girl close behind, wrapped in a brown leather mantle two sizes too big.

That's him for sure. What was his name? Sir Edric had told her, but it had been so long ago ... Berthold? Burton?

The three officers greeted them; the man bowed low, the young lady curtsied. Their voices were drowned under the chatter of Isla's fellow spectators, most of whom where choosing that moment to carry on to the dining cabin for breakfast. Isla walked farther along the rails for quieter and better view of their visitors.

'... simply too old, and in need of retirement. They've gone mad, they have! Ripped our mainsail to pieces ...' she could barely hear the man over the morning wind, even with them standing on the platform directly below. 'Fortunately we have a spare. Sails, that is, not sylph. It's a good day's journey to land. We just haven't got the men to row us to shore. The Kingsfisher is a small boat compared to Tempestorm, but even so ...'

'I will be more than happy to come aboard and help you regain control of your sylph.' Isla recognised Kithrel's voice, even though she could not see his face from her angle.

'Your offer is most gracious, but it wouldn't do.' The man bowed deeply at Kithrel. 'They've scared the carbuncles out of my daughters, pardon the expression. We've set them loose. The sylphid, I mean – not my daughters. They're gone, now.'

The three officers had a small discussion Isla could not catch. She did, however, catch the eye of the fisherman, who regarded her for a good few seconds before turning back to the officers with a proposition.

'I know you must have sylphid to spare. Pardon my forwardness, but if we could just buy a dozen – half – from you, we would be forever in your debt.'

'That would be a matter for our captain to decide,' said a second officer. 'You may bring the request to him. We've set our marid to anchor, so you are free to come and go until the matter is settled.'

'Thank you. You're most kind to an old fisherman. Please ... please allow me to provide entertainments for you tonight.'

'We're still recovering from our last party.'

'My lords, no party,' said the visitor with a wave of his hands. 'Think of it as a ... a welcoming home. My daughters were once dancers for a great lord ... they know all the traditional dances one could ask.'

'Even the Apsura and her Stole?' asked the second officer. Isla sighed from where she stood eavesdropping. How unoriginal an example of man and sailor, requesting one of the most lascivious dances known in the history of Surikhand.

The fisherman stammered for a good few seconds, obviously unprepared for the thought of his daughters performing such a lewd show. 'Well ... indeed, they've presented that particular dance time and time again ... they also make great broth and spiced chicken?'

'Say no more,' interrupted the third officer, although not unkindly. 'Our captain will have us flogged if we turned down fresh, spiced chicken. Come, I'll take you to him, and you can send for your daughters and that chicken of theirs.'

The fisherman turned to the girl behind him, gave a few instructions, and followed the three officers into the companionway. Isla clutched the rails, leaning forwards to better study the girl they had left behind. She looked up, apparently sensing Isla's attention, and after a second turned to descend the ladder.

They had seen her. Isla's heart raced. Ready or not, the plan's moving forward.

It was only after sunset that the fisherman's daughter returned, and this time she brought her sisters. One after another they boarded Tempestorm from the temporary ladder, all clad in the same brown mantle and each carrying a case.

Isla watched from a safe distance, still draped in her red cloak, her salamander peering from her pocket before jumping out and scurrying off across the deck. Pepper dashed under passing feet and shrieking women, nimble now that its tail had regrown, and disappeared into the small tent that had been set upon the main deck.

The fisherman sat by its entrance, six cages of sylph at his feet. He patted each daughter on the back and spoke to them in turns as one by one they entered the tent.

'Looks like you have your wish.'

Again, Isla jumped at the sound of Kithrel's voice. 'You really must stop stealing up on me. It's getting rather old.'

'Aren't you happy those sylphid will finally see open air?'

'Only as far as their cages allow.'

'You are incredibly difficult to please.'

'I wouldn't say so. It has pleased me to meet you.'

A smile crept slowly up Kithrel's face. Isla had to restrain herself from taking back her words. It won't be long before we each go our separate ways, she reminded herself. It was about time she tried being kind.

'Is that so?' Kithrel tilted his head, as though waiting to be lavished with more praises.

Isla did not disappoint. 'Insufferable as you are, you've taught me many things.'

'Have I?'

'You taught me a little of daemons. You taught me how to dance.' He was also good target practice for her theurgy, but he did not have to know that particular detail.

'I'd like to teach you many other things, too, if you have the –'

'I knew this was a mistake.'

He chuckled. 'My apologies. Will you sit with me tonight? As I'm sure you've heard by now – we have a live show during dinner.'

'I've never seen you at dinner.'

'The crew does not normally dine with the guests. I prefer to keep to myself, besides. But I thought I shall make an exception for tonight.'

'I ...' Isla stopped short.

The fisherman's daughters were coming out of the tent. They had discarded their mantles, and Isla blushed at what they wore underneath. A semi-transparent brocade was wrapped around their upper torsos, hiding nothing but the most vital parts of a woman's breasts. The other half of their bodies were covered – or pretending to be covered – by tulle skirts so sheer it left their decorated undergarments for the entire continent to see.

Two of them carried platters of spiced chicken; the fowl uncut save for its head and legs. Two more carried jugs of rice wine. Isla noticed how Kithrel's eyes trailed them as they sauntered to the upper deck and into the dining cabin.

Typical. 'Looks delicious, hmm?'

'They certainly do.'

Isla was gone before he could turn back to face her.

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The Apsura and her Stole told the tale of beautiful water spirits who would ascend from their underwater kingdom early every morning to bathe in a hidden lagoon. Two of the fisherman's daughters enacted the bathing scene before the dining cabin. They stripped off their shawls, rubbing their poorly-clad bodies against the fabric, bells tied to their wrists jingling with every sharp sway.

The only music to accompany their dance was a synchronised humming; each sister singing at a different range and tempo. They had the audience captivated, even before the hero of the story – a third sister dressed as a man – made his entrance.

'That is Vishnar,' Isla whispered to Eshe beside her, 'come to take his bride.' Her eyes trailed the room, half hoping to find Kithrel amongst the seated audience. But if he had decided to join the passengers after all, she could not see him.

The entire room was left in semi-darkness, all lighting reserved for the impromptu stage that had been set at the front. All she could see in the darkness was the fisherman's remaining daughter, more modestly covered in her brown mantle, walking towards their table, tray in hand. She poured Eshe more rice wine, something dropping by Isla's feet as she did so.

'His bride?' Eshe's puzzled voice drew her back to the scene onstage. 'I am quite lost.'

'You would be, if you aren't familiar with the story.' Certain Eshe was distracted by the dance, Isla reached down to retrieve the dropped item. 'The apsura need their shawls to return home. Without it, they will drown.'

Vishnar crept upon the apsura, took one of their discarded shawls, and disappeared back offstage. Their song gained urgency as the apsura dashed in search of the lost shawl. Now they sang in chaotic harmony, and finally, the elder sister had to stay behind when the sun was rising and her stole nowhere to be found.

Vishnar reappeared onstage, drawing everyone's attention but Isla's. She was more interested in the younger apsura, dancing and sashaying away. Her role in the performance was over, and soon she was back in her dark brown mantle, helping her remaining sister wait upon the passengers.

The rest of the dance was a duet; and a bawdy one at that. The two dancers simulated a kiss behind an unfurled shawl, their silhouettes enacted an imaginative scene of lovemaking, their singing became more akin to animalistic grunts.

Isla blushed, though most of the other guests enjoyed it immensely, judging by the loud cheers and cooing.

'It's getting rather hot.' She cast off her cloak, draping it around the back of her seat.

'Oh, Isla.' Eshe smiled at her. 'This is all a natural act of life. One day you, too, will be in a similar situation. It is good to watch and learn what to expect.'

I expect my suitor to not trick me into sleeping with him by pretending to help me, when in fact he was the one who stole my clothes in the first place.

Isla shook her stream of thoughts away and turned her attention back on the dance.

The apsura had found her shawl hidden amongst Vishnar's belongings, and after much twirls and dance-fighting, was on her way to leaving him and returning to her underwater realm.

Isla braced herself. This was where Vishnar would force himself upon her; force her to carry his child and remain in the human realm forever. Shawls and sheets were flung into the air. Ribbons streaked over the stage. The two actors entangled themselves and, under the cover of streaming fabric, Vishnar claimed his bride. His voice dropped, the only music to accompany the scene was the apsura's haunting cries as he took her.

'I can't watch this.' Isla stood as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb the audience behind them.

'You have a soft heart, but it is only a play, my friend.'

'I know. But they are good actors. Enjoy the rest of the performance.' She paused, and as an afterthought added, 'Thank you, Eshe.'

Eshe's face was unreadable in the dark, but Isla could feel the surprise in her sudden grip. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

Isla smiled, left without another word. She spared one last look at her friend before she exited. It was not hard to find her; Isla's red cloak still marked the seat she had just left. Already her tutor was enrapt in the play, now only one scene away from ending.

She sighed, pushed herself out the door, and shrugged on the leather mantle in her hand. It was two sizes too big, but at least it kept the wind from her face.

The deck was empty save for a couple sailors at watch. One of the fisherman's daughters was lowering the sylph cages onto their cockleboat. Soon the play would end, and her sisters would be out to help carry the rest of their belongings.

Isla approached the makeshift tent and, with a nod to the fisherman, lifted one of the remaining cages.

Soon the decks would be bursting with passengers returning to their rooms, full of talk and drink. And none of them – Isla was sure of it – none would notice that four of the fisherman's daughters came on board, but five went back.

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