Voyager of the Crown Page 6

  “We must find shelter soon,” Arjan said, cradling Cantara in his lap. “And food.”

  “Let’s keep moving, then,” Zara said. “I imagine the nocturnal animals, whatever they are, come to the river at night. We need to make camp away from it.”

  “I saw more papayas,” Theodore said. “Just a few yards from here.”

  “That’s excellent, Theodore,” Zara said. “Let’s get a drink, gather food, then make camp and eat something. And we should probably set watches.”

  No one argued with her, which relieved her mind. Belinda would follow her instructions, and Theodore just wanted a clear line of authority, but Arjan was smart and utterly committed to keeping Cantara safe. Zara was certain he’d only follow her lead so long as it coincided with what he wanted to do. She was certain their only chance was in staying together, and the Zakharis would ultimately be helpless on their own. She’d have to lead Arjan to see that following her was the safest course of action.

  Going back to the river was harder than she’d guessed, not because it was difficult to find, but because the memory of the thrashing water, of Watson’s gurgling screams, made everyone hesitant to return. Zara took her fears in hand, straightened her shoulders, and strode briskly to the shallow riverbank, scattering monkeys as she crouched to scoop up delicious water and drink it down. The others slowly followed her lead until they were all kneeling or crouching beside the rushing flow. After a few mouthfuls, Zara felt less exhausted and more optimistic. Even the gnawing ache in her belly was lessened, though not so much that she wasn’t interested in food.

  She accepted some papayas from Theodore, who’d found a long branch to bat the fruits down. Was it arrogant, believing she was the best choice to lead these people? Or just good sense? In all her years, in everything she’d done, she’d never been interested in power for its own sake, or for the sake of self-aggrandizement. She just knew what had to be done, and did it. Yet she felt deep satisfaction in seeing her plans come to fruition, in seeing some selfish or dishonest person receive a good metaphorical thrashing at her hands, so was that arrogance, or something else?

  She took another papaya and tucked it with the rest into the crook of her arm. This was the wrong time to have that inner debate. Later, when they were all safe on Goudge’s Folly, she could contemplate her motives and her abilities. Until then, she had to focus on keeping everyone from panicking.

  They walked further into the jungle, looking for a place to sleep, until Zara realized none of them had any idea what constituted a good campsite and picked a spot at random. “I can light a fire,” Arjan said, “but I see few sticks to make one.”

  “I think we shouldn’t range far,” Zara said. “We’ll just have to set watches, and be alert. But for now, I’m ready to eat something.”

  They ate in exhausted silence, the only noise the quiet pffft of seeds being spat and the occasional tick when one struck a tree. The trees grew closer together where they sat, and Zara picked idly at the bark of the one next to her and found it was thin and peeled off easily. She kept herself from picking a larger patch and ran her fingers over the vines that wrapped around the tree. They were green and pliant at about head-height, but down near the ground they were thick and grayish-brown, like saplings huddling up for warmth. At least there was no need for a fire to keep them warm. If this had happened in the Eidestal, they’d all be dead by now.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Theodore said abruptly.

  “That should be me,” Arjan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Arjan began, then glanced at Cantara, who was mostly asleep in his lap. “Very well.”

  “I’ll go third, then,” Zara said.

  “You shouldn’t have to watch,” Theodore said. “It’s a gentleman’s job to make a lady’s life easier.”

  “Thank you, Theodore, but if three of us watch—” Zara glanced at Belinda, who was also asleep. “We’ll all get more rest, doesn’t that make sense?”

  “All right,” Theodore said, and pushed himself up stiffly. “And…call me Theo.”

  Zara nodded. If mortal danger didn’t entitle you to a nickname, what would?

  “I will wake you at your turn,” Arjan told Zara.

  “Thanks.” This wasn’t the best time to challenge him on his sudden acquisition of Tremontanese. Zara lay down near Belinda and put her hands behind her head so she could look up at the darkening canopy. The sun probably hadn’t set yet, but the thickness of the leaves blocked out so much of the light, it felt like full night. She could hear the monkeys even if she couldn’t see them, and wondered if they made noise all night long. If so, falling asleep was going to be a problem. She yawned and closed her eyes. Might as well make the best of it. She fell asleep wondering how long this journey would take them.

  Someone was shaking her shoulder. “Rowena,” Theo whispered in her ear, “get up.”

  Zara opened her eyes. “Is something wrong?” Why hadn’t Arjan woken her?

  “Maybe. There’s something you need to see.” Theo tugged on her arm, trying to get her to rise. Zara propped herself on her elbows and looked around. Belinda was still deeply asleep, her breath whistling through her nose as usual. The Zakharis were curled together nearby. “It’s over that way,” Theo whispered. She could barely see the dark shape of his arm stretched out to point.

  She sat up fully and looked in that direction. A pinpoint of yellow light, barely visible past the trees, glowed steadily in the darkness. “A campfire,” she said. “Or a really big lantern.”

  “What should we do?”

  Zara watched the light for a few moments. It had to be either big or close for them to be able to see it through the trees. “Wake everyone,” she finally said.

  They huddled together, which made Zara feel as if they were sheltering against some invisible storm. “That could be someone who can help us,” she said.

  “Or it could be someone who couldn’t care less what happens to us,” Belinda said. “Or tries to kill us.”

  “We don’t have a fire, so that person, whoever it is, doesn’t know we’re here,” Zara said. “We don’t have to approach him. Or her.”

  “But this could mean saving us,” Arjan said.

  “It could.”

  “Rowena, what do we do?” Belinda said.

  “You want me to decide?”

  “You were right every time Watson was wrong. I trust your judgment.”

  Zara looked around. Everyone, including Arjan and a sleepy-eyed Cantara, nodded at her. Well, it’s what you wanted. “I say we approach him,” she said. “And by ‘we’ I mean me.”

  “I stronger am. I should go,” Arjan said.

  “If I’m wrong, someone’s going to need to help everyone else escape,” Zara said, “and Cantara might need to be carried. I’m the sensible choice.”

  Arjan looked skeptical, but nodded. It was so nice when people didn’t argue. Zara stood and brushed off her trousers where she’d knelt in the dirt. “Let’s all get closer, so if something happens, you’ll know right away.”

  They went as quietly as possible, which wasn’t very quiet. The only thing that saved them, Zara thought, from being mistaken for a family of monkeys was the lack of undergrowth for them to crash through. When they were close enough to the light to identify it as a campfire, Zara motioned all of them to sit still and went on alone.

  Her heart was beating rapidly, whether from fear or from excitement, she couldn’t tell. Being effectively impossible to kill didn’t mean she didn’t feel pain; in fact, it meant pain could go on forever if the person inflicting the pain knew what he was doing. But this person—or maybe people—could mean the difference between her friends dying in the jungle and all of them returning safely home.

  She moved from one broad tree trunk to another, trying to keep quiet and out of sight. She wanted to see this person before he saw her. There was a tent that looked too small for more than one person, that was good. A box, too large for someone to carry; t
hat meant—

  A large shape moved near her, something that snuffled, and irrationally she thought of the caiman and stifled a shriek. In the next moment, she realized it was some kind of pack animal, a donkey or mule or something. She’d never been good at identifying animals beyond the basics. She clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sound that had already escaped her and leaned against the nearest tree. The donkey approached her and lipped her hand, slobbering all over it. This time, she managed to keep quiet, edging away from the animal and wiping her hand on her trousers. It followed her. What did the creature want?

  A deep voice, speaking in a language she didn’t understand, startled her. She froze again, not caring that the donkey was intent on licking her hand for whatever flavor she was. The voice said something else, still in the same language. Did he know she was there, or was he talking to the donkey? She heard someone shift, the sound of a chair scraping across the ground, and soft footsteps grew louder as the speaker approached. There was no way she could stay hidden, and after all, she’d gone there to talk to whoever it was.

  She stepped away from the tree and held her hands out so it was obvious she was unarmed. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He wouldn’t understand her, but she couldn’t do anything about that.

  A man, backlit by the fire, stopped with his hand outstretched to pet the donkey’s neck. “Sweet heaven,” he said. “I thought you were Karitian.”

  “You’re Tremontanan,” Zara said, startled.

  “I was,” the man said. “No wonder you didn’t respond when I told you to come out into the open and stop skulking around. Where did you come from?”

  “That’s a very long story. I’ll be happy to tell you,” Zara added, “but I’d feel more comfortable if I could see your face.”

  The man patted the donkey’s neck once more, then backed away from her. Zara followed. The man retreated almost to the fire and took a seat on a folding camp stool. “Satisfied?” It was hard to tell his age in the flickering light, but he had a handsome face, with a square jaw and dark eyes whose color she couldn’t see in the firelight. His short hair was a streaky blond that looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors, and he was looking at her steadily, examining her as closely as she was examining him.

  “My friends and I—”

  “Friends?” He made a show of looking around the tiny clearing. “Do you keep them in your pockets?”

  “We didn’t know whose fire this was,” Zara said, irritated by his sarcastic tone of voice. “Better to be safe than dead.”

  “You don’t know I’m not dangerous. Or did you assume because we were born in the same place, we’d automatically be friends?”

  “I didn’t know you were Tremontanan when I approached, but I assume I’d have a better chance convincing someone who speaks my language to help me than a Karitian who probably would kill me on sight.”

  “That’s a typical Tremontanan attitude, that all Karitians are bloodthirsty bigots.”

  Zara took a calming breath. Arguing with this man was pointless. Trying to gain his support was probably pointless too, but she had to try, for all their sakes. “I admit I don’t know anything about Karitians except merchants’ tales, so I’m sorry if I sound prejudiced. Are you going to let that stand in the way of helping us?”

  “There’s that ‘us’ again. Who are you?” He leaned forward with one elbow on his knee and propped his chin on his hand, settling in for a story with the same sardonic air that annoyed her before. It annoyed her further that he didn’t offer her a seat, until she realized he probably only had the one. Thinking about sitting made her realize how tired she was, how much she wanted to sleep, but she took a stance that would keep her from falling over if this went too long and began the story with the pirates attacking the Emma Covington.

  She left out the details of the shipboard battle, left out the details of her fights with Watson as they traveled, and left out everything about Alfred’s mysterious Device. When she came to the end, the man said, “None of you have any more sense than babies. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get from here to the junction of the Amgeli and the Kulnius? Let alone down the river to Manachen?”

  “Of course not,” Zara said, stung by how dismissive he sounded. “It’s not as if we had much choice. Were you listening at all, or did you miss the part where we were shipwrecked?”

  “Even so, you ought to know traveling along the coast is safer.”

  “Well, we do now, and thank you so much for that ‘help.’” Zara turned away, wishing she dared slap him across that handsome, smug, annoying face.

  “Wait,” he said, and despite herself, Zara paused, though she didn’t turn around. “What’s your name again?”

  “Rowena Farrell.”

  “The name’s Ransom,” the man said. “You all might as well stay the night here. The jungle can be dangerous if you don’t have a fire. Sometimes even if you do.”

  Zara nodded curtly and went back to where she’d left the others, not bothering to conceal her path from Ransom. Quickly she summed up their conversation. “He’s not going to help,” she told them, “but he’ll let us sleep near his fire tonight.”

  “Why won’t he help us?” Belinda said.

  “I don’t know. Because he thinks he knows better than every other living person in the world how things should run? I think we should take advantage of the fire, and head back north in the morning.”

  “This journey will take long,” Arjan said.

  “There’s no helping that. We just have to make the best of it.”

  “Arjan, it will be all right,” Cantara said in Eskandelic. It was only the second time Zara had heard her speak since the shipwreck. Arjan looked grim, but helped Cantara stand. Even the little sleep she’d gotten had done her good, because although she still favored her broken arm, she was moving more easily and looked like she didn’t need Arjan’s help to keep from falling down.

  They returned to Ransom’s camp to find him still sitting on the stool. He stood when they arrived, and said, “You didn’t say anyone was injured.”

  “I didn’t think you’d care,” Zara said.

  He gave her another sardonic look and went to Cantara. “Let me look at that.”

  Arjan stepped between them. “You do not touch her.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m a doctor. Or do you want her to go on suffering?”

  Arjan held the man’s gaze a moment longer, then stepped aside. Ransom guided Cantara to sit on the stool and gently removed the makeshift splint. Cantara hissed as he ran his hands over her arm. “It’s broken,” he said.

  “We knew that,” Zara said.

  Ransom ignored her. “You’ll want to hold her for this,” he told Arjan, who knelt behind Cantara and put his arms around her. “This will hurt, but it won’t last long.” He gripped her arm in two places and bowed his head. Cantara let out a shriek, then sagged, unconscious. Arjan shouted and began to let go of her.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Ransom said without raising his head. “I’m healing her arm. It accelerates the natural healing process and it hurts like hell, but in a few minutes it will be over. You’re Eskandelic, you ought to be more sensible about this.”

  “You should to warn,” Arjan growled.

  “Sorry, I thought I did. Now hold still. This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

  The clearing went silent except for the donkey chewing something that by the sound of it was made of leather. Zara kept realizing she was holding her breath and let it out slowly, irrationally afraid of distracting Ransom even though she remembered Dr. Trevellian had never had any problem working around distractions. Not that healing magic worked on her; her own magic resisted it.

  She wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually Ransom raised his head and released Cantara’s arm. “There you are,” he said, and pressed the tip of his forefinger to the center of her forehead. Cantara stirred and sat up, as far as she could w
ith Arjan holding her. She moved her arm wonderingly. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Ransom said. “Now, will you make introductions, Miss Farrell?”

  “We won’t be here long enough for that to matter,” Zara said.

  “Nevertheless, it’s polite, don’t you think? You can call me Ransom,” he added, addressing the group at large.

  Zara grimaced. “Belinda Stouffer,” she said, indicating the woman. “Theodore Jenkins. Zakhari Cantara and her husband Arjan.”

  “Welcome to my camp,” Ransom said with a bow. “Now, why don’t you all find spots around the fire. Nettles will give warning if anything large comes calling, but there’s no point not using every advantage.” He folded the stool and set it next to the box, then ducked inside the tent. Zara and Belinda looked at each other, and Zara could see Belinda was thinking the same thing she was: what kind of man was this?

  She settled as far from the donkey—Nettles, what an appropriate name for his prickly owner—as she could, lay on her back, and stared up at the canopy again. At least they had a safe place to sleep for the night, and she wasn’t going to think about anything beyond that until she had to. Beside her, Belinda rolled over and squirmed as if looking for a more comfortable spot. She looked so exhausted, almost as much as Cantara had; she wasn’t in any shape for this kind of, hah, adventure.

  A figure loomed up over them, dark against the firelight, then crouched. “I think you should take my tent,” Ransom said to Belinda in a low voice. “You’re suffering from dehydration and the delayed effects of shock. It’s not much of a bed, but better than sleeping on the ground.”

  Belinda sat up. “But shouldn’t everyone—”

  “Go on, Belinda,” Zara said. “He’s right. No one’s going to begrudge you.”

  “All right. Thank you, Dr. Ransom.”

  “Just Ransom,” he said, and helped Belinda stand. Zara watched them walk away toward the tent, then went back to staring at the invisible sky. That was unexpected. A doctor, with inherent healing magic. What had brought a man whose talent and training would have made him rich in Tremontane to the jungles of Dineh-Karit?