Canvas sails snapped in the wind, a sharp sound that cut through the rhythmic slosh of waves against wood. Hudson?s plaid was folded in his bag kept below, and he spared a thought for retrieving it. The warmth of tight-woven wool over his trousers and shirt would be welcome. Still, he didn?t move from his position by the bow. Salt-spray and fresh air were a relief compared to the stifling closeness of the cabin.
The frigate Escape was five days from Rhydin?s shores, and would reach Methisaris in another two. More used to being crew than passenger ? though most of his experience was on smaller ships ? the enforced inactivity had Hudson restless. He spent most of the day on deck, watching the sailors. Estha, the South Islands factor, did not take easily to sea travel, and had scarcely emerged once.
Net-scarred hands closed on the rail, and Hudson braced his shoulders. The sway of the ship was as familiar to him as dry land, and he held not for support but simply for a connection to the wood of the vessel. Captain Mabons kept the Escape in good repair, and the rail was smooth beneath Hudson?s hands, coated with a hard layer of varnish that helped keep the wood from absorbing too much moisture.
Phrases and approaches to the upcoming trade ran through his mind, left to develop over the course of the journey. Dealing with the South Islanders would be no easy task, though not as difficult for Hudson as the initial talks had been for Rhys. Hudson?s mouth curved up in a small smile when he remembered the last bit of advice that Rhys had given before the ship sailed.
?Don?t ever mention trade or money directly to any of them. Estha understands us enough to forgive the insult necessary when we began talking with them, but it?s rude to them.? Rhys? face had mirrored what he thought of that idea, of the convolutions that were necessary to make such a culture work. It was one more reason that Hudson was going on the trip ? his expressions were nowhere near as transparent as the older man?s, when he chose.
Still, Hudson?s black eyes had lifted with surprise at that bit of information. ?And ye didnae mention it before? How dae ye expect me tae deal wi? them when we cannae speak o? trade?? His voice was sharper than was normal when he spoke with Rhys. He had great respect for the bluff, practical man ? but that respect wasn?t enough to balance the flash of irritation that Rhys had put off telling him something so critical.
?You give them gifts ? and they give you gifts. It?s just happy chance that the gifts equal each other in value, you see?? Rhys grimaced and ran square fingers through his mostly-gray hair. ?I couldn?t quite get the hang of bargaining that way. Estha likes you, though, and she said ? well, implied, the way they do ? that she didn?t think you?d have a problem with it.?
About to reply even more sharply, Hudson paused to consider, and slowly he nodded agreement. ?Aye, I dae ken th? way o? it, as it happens. ?Tis a matter o? pride, ye see. I?ll be th? more glad for th? length o? th? trip tae think things o?er, though.?
Now, with only two days left of sailing, Hudson was only marginally closer to an approach that he felt would be satisfactory to both parties. His black eyes were withdrawn, not really seeing the rills of white foam on top of the slate-green sea, until there was a cry from overhead. He looked up with focus, then.
Nothing human produced that sound ? it was a bird, some kin to an albatross by the length of its wingspan, though the contours were not quite of the bird he knew. Its color was a fog-like grey instead of white, and its call was haunting, almost plaintive. Distracted in watching it, he didn?t notice the motion coming up on his left side at first.
?Souls of those lost at sea are said to give their voices to the circigius, that the sea-bird may carry their words to those left on land.? Estha?s voice was thin with the weakness of her travel-induced illness, but still contained an almost eerily dispassionate quality. Hudson looked over and took in the woman?s pallor under the darkness of her skin tone, and the dark circles wrought under her eyes.
?Th? call be enow tae bear out th? tale, I be thinking. ?Tis a comfort tae see that their voices be carried even in th? sunny days and nae restricted tae th? dark and mists.? It would have been rude beyond belief to ask directly about Estha?s state ? or she would have taken it as a conversation about another matter entirely. So Hudson looked back at the bird that hovered in front of the ship, riding almost without motion on a rise of warm air.
?But how else should the souls dwell than in all weathers, even so fine as this? They watch for us, to give their voice when they see someone to hear it, no matter how long or how short a time their paths cross.? Dispassion had faded into a more unsteady timbre, and as suddenly as the conversation had begun it was ended. Estha turned to retreat to her cabin, leaving Hudson standing at the rail with black eyes watching the sea-bird soar.
The frigate Escape was five days from Rhydin?s shores, and would reach Methisaris in another two. More used to being crew than passenger ? though most of his experience was on smaller ships ? the enforced inactivity had Hudson restless. He spent most of the day on deck, watching the sailors. Estha, the South Islands factor, did not take easily to sea travel, and had scarcely emerged once.
Net-scarred hands closed on the rail, and Hudson braced his shoulders. The sway of the ship was as familiar to him as dry land, and he held not for support but simply for a connection to the wood of the vessel. Captain Mabons kept the Escape in good repair, and the rail was smooth beneath Hudson?s hands, coated with a hard layer of varnish that helped keep the wood from absorbing too much moisture.
Phrases and approaches to the upcoming trade ran through his mind, left to develop over the course of the journey. Dealing with the South Islanders would be no easy task, though not as difficult for Hudson as the initial talks had been for Rhys. Hudson?s mouth curved up in a small smile when he remembered the last bit of advice that Rhys had given before the ship sailed.
?Don?t ever mention trade or money directly to any of them. Estha understands us enough to forgive the insult necessary when we began talking with them, but it?s rude to them.? Rhys? face had mirrored what he thought of that idea, of the convolutions that were necessary to make such a culture work. It was one more reason that Hudson was going on the trip ? his expressions were nowhere near as transparent as the older man?s, when he chose.
Still, Hudson?s black eyes had lifted with surprise at that bit of information. ?And ye didnae mention it before? How dae ye expect me tae deal wi? them when we cannae speak o? trade?? His voice was sharper than was normal when he spoke with Rhys. He had great respect for the bluff, practical man ? but that respect wasn?t enough to balance the flash of irritation that Rhys had put off telling him something so critical.
?You give them gifts ? and they give you gifts. It?s just happy chance that the gifts equal each other in value, you see?? Rhys grimaced and ran square fingers through his mostly-gray hair. ?I couldn?t quite get the hang of bargaining that way. Estha likes you, though, and she said ? well, implied, the way they do ? that she didn?t think you?d have a problem with it.?
About to reply even more sharply, Hudson paused to consider, and slowly he nodded agreement. ?Aye, I dae ken th? way o? it, as it happens. ?Tis a matter o? pride, ye see. I?ll be th? more glad for th? length o? th? trip tae think things o?er, though.?
Now, with only two days left of sailing, Hudson was only marginally closer to an approach that he felt would be satisfactory to both parties. His black eyes were withdrawn, not really seeing the rills of white foam on top of the slate-green sea, until there was a cry from overhead. He looked up with focus, then.
Nothing human produced that sound ? it was a bird, some kin to an albatross by the length of its wingspan, though the contours were not quite of the bird he knew. Its color was a fog-like grey instead of white, and its call was haunting, almost plaintive. Distracted in watching it, he didn?t notice the motion coming up on his left side at first.
?Souls of those lost at sea are said to give their voices to the circigius, that the sea-bird may carry their words to those left on land.? Estha?s voice was thin with the weakness of her travel-induced illness, but still contained an almost eerily dispassionate quality. Hudson looked over and took in the woman?s pallor under the darkness of her skin tone, and the dark circles wrought under her eyes.
?Th? call be enow tae bear out th? tale, I be thinking. ?Tis a comfort tae see that their voices be carried even in th? sunny days and nae restricted tae th? dark and mists.? It would have been rude beyond belief to ask directly about Estha?s state ? or she would have taken it as a conversation about another matter entirely. So Hudson looked back at the bird that hovered in front of the ship, riding almost without motion on a rise of warm air.
?But how else should the souls dwell than in all weathers, even so fine as this? They watch for us, to give their voice when they see someone to hear it, no matter how long or how short a time their paths cross.? Dispassion had faded into a more unsteady timbre, and as suddenly as the conversation had begun it was ended. Estha turned to retreat to her cabin, leaving Hudson standing at the rail with black eyes watching the sea-bird soar.