nyctasia’s curiosity about the Windhover only served to put the crew on their guard against her. It generally boded no good for them when someone took such an interest in their doings, and Destiver was doubly suspicious of her passengers after her encounter with Corson. When she found Nyctasia seated by the open hatchway making notations in her commonplace book, she was certain that the game was up.
“Give me that!” She snatched the book away, ignoring Nyctasia’s protests. “What are you writing?”
Nyctasia pointed. “A description of those ropes securing the mast, all supporting each other. I find the balance of forces most interesting.” She held out her hand for the book, but Destiver paid no heed. “See here,” Nyctasia said coldly, “it merely says that two ropes attach to each side, and one each to the front and back.”
Destiver could not read and she would probably have doubted the truth of this, had the drawings not confirmed Nyctasia’s words. “Front and back!” she snorted,
“The stays run fore and aft, and the shrouds run athwartships.” She threw the book down beside Nyctasia, who seized it and immediately began writing again.
“Wait a bit!” she called after Destiver. “Which did you say were the shrouds?”
Destiver lost all patience. “Get out of my sight,” she yelled. “Get below and stay out from underfoot or I’ll have you keelhauled!”
Nyctasia was wise enough to obey, despite her vexation.
How dare a common sailor address an Edonaris in that manner! In Rhostshyl she’d have been pilloried and flogged for such insolence. “Peace, peace!” Nyctasia counseled herself. There were sure to be many more such indignities before her journey’s end.
But these thoughts were driven from her mind at once when she pushed open the cabin door and saw Corson kneeling over the book of spells, staring into the silver mirror. “Corson!” she gasped. “What have you done?”
“Not a rutting thing!” shouted Corson. “I did just as it says, and here I am looking at my own face! I could do that without this crazy nonsense of yours.”
Nyctasia picked up the book and looked at the spell with horror. “Vahn help us!” she whispered, sinking onto the bunk. “Corson, you fool-! Be thankful you didn’t understand it. That’s all that saved you.”
“Saved me? From what?”
“From getting what you wanted! You might succeed in working that spell if you could read its meaning, but there’d still be the price to pay. All power has its price.”
Corson had not considered this. “Like the spell you did on the way to the docks?”
“In a way. It’s always dangerous to draw upon a power you don’t possess. But if I use a spell of Reflection, I know what will be demanded of me in return, to restore Balance. When it’s done blindly, without the proper preparation, it’s like a weapon in the hands of a child. More is lost than gained.”
“But I did as the book said. I followed it to the letter.”
“I don’t mean that absurd ritual,” Nyctasia said impatiently. “All that’s mere superstition to deceive the ignorant. Even the words of the spell are only the outward sign of the Principles of Power-power that could destroy you! To learn to wield that power takes years of discipline and study. That’s the preparation I speak of. If that is lacking in you, the magic will exact its own sacrifice.”
Corson was trying to find a way through the maze of Nyctasia’s explanation.
“Well, what would be taken from me?”
“There’s no saying-I can only tell you what’s happened to others.” She opened the book of spells, turned over a few leaves, and began to read. “It is said that those who’ve seen their loved ones in the glass have never seen them again in life.”
Corson paled.
“There is a tale,” Nyctasia continued, “of a poor student who desired to learn whether he would marry the one he loved. Commanding a Reflection of the future, he saw the maiden lying upon her bier, at which sight he was so stricken with grief that he straightway took his own life. When tidings of this reached his lady, she did in truth perish of sorrow, and thus did the vision of the student come to pass.
“Others have been shown more than they could bear to see, and have lost their reason in consequence. There have been those who tore out their own eyes to escape from the sight-”
Corson had heard enough. “Very well, suppose you did it, what then?”
Nyctasia shook her head. “It would be safer for me than for most, but one doesn’t undertake any spell lightly. The Discipline lessens the danger but cannot abolish it. Only the veriest simpleton would squander such hard-won mastery without good cause.”
Corson knew that Nyctasia wouldn’t find her jealousy sufficient reason for using the spell. “Oh, no matter,” she said, disappointed. “I don’t care about it, I was only looking for some amusement.”
“For vahn’s sake, Corson, you can’t toy with such things! Promise you’ll not try this again, please!”
“All right, all right, I promise. But the boredom’s more deadly than those wretched spells anyway.” She kicked fretfully at the side of the bunk. “What do you find to do all day on this rat-ridden scow?”
“Well, I was trying to learn something about the ship, but the captain ordered me to stop asking questions and stay below. What a surly-tempered creature she is.”
Corson laughed. “You call me a fool, but at least I’ve the sense not to ask too many questions of a shipful of smugglers.”
“Smugglers!” Nyctasia was shocked. Smugglers were the bane of the Maritime cities. As Rhaicime of Rhostshyl it was her duty to see the lot of them arrested, and instead she found herself in league with them.
“Use your sense. Who else would smuggle us out of Chiastelm?”
“Small wonder they don’t like questions, then,” Nyctasia admitted. “Corson, what does it mean to keelhaul someone?”
Carson succinctly described the brutal punishment. “It’s murder, really. No one survives it.” She grinned at Nyctasia’s discomfiture. “But Destiver’s all talk and swagger-she’s not about to keelhaul anyone. She’d simply cut our throats and throw us overboard. Just keep out of her way. I’ve not saved your worthless life twice over just so that you could be food for the fish.”
“As to that,” said Nyctasia, “why did you save my worthless life a second time?
You owed me no further service once we’d reached Chiastelm.”
Corson was taken aback. “Why? Well, because… you’d not paid the rest of my fee. And you still haven’t,” she added.
“And I thought,” said Nyctasia in wounded tones, “that it was for loyalty and friendship’s sake. You like me-admit it!”
Corson flushed. “Like you!” she blustered. “Plague take you! You silly, conceited, devious, high-born witch!”
Nyctasia sat back, helpless with laughter. She was the most irritating person Corson had ever met. You couldn’t argue with her, she was too glib. And you couldn’t fight with her, she was too small. To get the better of her somehow was a constant challenge to Corson.
“But you’re right,” Nyctasia said when she’d caught her breath, “I do owe you the rest of your fee.” She picked up her cloak from the floor and shook it out,
“And an Edonaris always pays her debts.” She suddenly ripped one of the patches from the cloak and removed the gemstone concealed beneath it. “Will this suffice?” she asked, tossing the large, brilliant diamond to Corson.
Abashed, Corson stared at the priceless jewel, “Won’t you need this? You’re a fugitive-how will you pay your way?”
“I only have to go as far as Hlasven. I’ll not want for anything with ’Ben.”
“Ben?” It was a commoner’s name. “I thought he’d have forty names and a score of titles, like you.”
“Not quite like me, but you’re near the mark. He’s the Lord Erystalben Cador Jhaice brenn Rhostshyl ar’n Shiastred. Unless you care to hear the ancillary distinctions as well?”
“Spare me,” said Corson. “But what makes you so free with your answers this morning? It’s not like you to give names and destinations.”
“I’d have to tell you sooner or later, since I assume you’re coming with me.”
“Why? You won’t need a bodyguard once we’ve landed in Lhestreq.”
Nyctasia shrugged. “You’ve no other plans at present, and I could profit from a few lessons in sword fighting. Besides, I enjoy your company.”
Corson didn’t know whether to be flattered or indignant. Nyctasia was probably laughing at her. “I may as well go that way as another,” she said finally, pocketing the splendid diamond. “I suppose I owe you that much if I take this in fee.”
“Nonsense-you’ve more than earned it. And there’s something more due to you as well.” She took the golden earrings from her pouch and pressed them into Corson’s hand. “Do try not to lose this pair.”
Corson was no longer surprised by anything Nyctasia did. She accepted the gift coolly and put them on.
“I was right,” said Nyctasia, “they do bring out the gold in your hair. Now we’re quits.”
“Not quite. There’s still something I owe you.”
“What’s that?”
For answer, she suddenly caught Nyctasia up in her arms and laid her down on the berth.
“Corson-”
Corson knelt beside the berth, bending over her. “Don’t be afraid,” she teased.
“I’m casting a spell on you.”
Nyctasia put her arms around Corson’s neck and started unpinning the long braid.
“Don’t you know, a witch whose passions are aroused may turn into a ravening demon?”
“Oh, hold your tongue for once!” Corson exclaimed, and silenced her with a long, fierce kiss.
It was past noon when Nyctasia emerged from below deck, and the midday meal was almost over. She looked suspiciously at a thick grey soup, consisting mainly of lentils and rubbery potatoes, with an occasional shred of meat which she did not attempt to identify. She had found the food on board ship nearly as bad as Corson had described it, but she was too hungry to be particular. Hard bread and dried apples, with a cup of dark ale, completed the meal. Nyctasia took everything and joined Corson on the long bench.
“Now we’re quits,” Corson remarked smugly.
Nyctasia glanced at her, suppressing a smile. “You’re a dangerous woman,” she said, biting off a piece of stale bread.
Corson grinned into her soup. “Especially when I’m bored.” She wolfed down the rest of her food. “By the way, what does isnathon scrathling mean?”
“Corson!” Nyctasia choked on her bread.
“What’s the matter?” asked Corson innocently. “You kept saying it to me this morning.”
“I called you that?”
“And a lot of other things I’ve never heard before. What does it mean?”
Nyctasia shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s quite impossible to translate-”
“Try.”
“Really, I…” Nyctasia protested, giggling. Corson couldn’t get another word out of her for the rest of the meal.