daring victory over the Hanish Ore Fleet. Will you join us?”
This time Rath did not hesitate. “With pleasure!”
“You heard the man.” Gull snapped his fingers. “What are we waiting for?”
All at once the night air bubbled with the rollicking, infectious music of wooden pipes and hand drums. Rath found himself seated on a sack full of something soft, with Maura’s even softer backside nestled in his lap. This was definitely better than whatever reception might await them on the Islands!
When someone thrust a tall jug into Rath’s hand, he took a long swig that made his eyes water.
“What is that?” he gasped when the liquid had burned its way down his throat, numbing as it went. He was no stranger to strong drink…at least he hadn’t thought so. But this…!
“Your first taste of sythria ?” Gull took the jug from Rath’s hand and guzzled the fiery brew without betraying the least distress. “You must have sea-going blood in you. Most inlanders spew their first drink back up and scream for water.”
So that was sythria. Rath had heard of the stuff and assumed its reputation exaggerated. Now he knew better. His belly felt as if it was full of flaming oil.
Maura grabbed the jug out of Gull’s hand and sniffed its fumes. “The stuff doesn’t smell that bad. What is it made of?”
Before Rath could stop her, she tipped the jug back and drained it. After what he and Gull had drunk, there could not have been much left. Still, Rath expected her to choke and gag or belch a cloud of steam.
But she only fanned her mouth. “That is strong! Remind me not to it drink so fast next time.”
“I will try,” said Rath, though he wondered if he would remember.
From that single drink, he already felt dizzy and a good deal more carefree than he had in a long time. Perhaps he could stomach another sip of sythria, now that the first one had numbed his throat. For some reason that notion made him laugh like a fool. But foolishness felt strangely pleasant. The look on Gull’s face as he stared at Maura made Rath laugh, too.
“Your pardon, mistress.” Gull blinked his eyes as if trying to decide whether they still worked properly. “I have never before known a woman ask for a second drink of sythria after she has had her first.”
Maura sniffed the mouth of the jug again and shrugged. “I’ve tasted worse. My guardian was the most terrible cook in Norest…perhaps in the whole of Umbria. What did you say this was made of?”
“Pardon, mistress, in my amazement, I did not answer your question. Sythria is distilled from the rind of sythfruit that grows on the Islands. Folk here brew a very fine wine from the fruit itself, but Duskporters like a drink that has a bit more…brawn to it. Cheap, too, for sythfruit rind is bitter and would only be thrown away. We put it to much more worthwhile use.”
The hillcat around Gull’s neck rose and stretched. For thefirst time Rath had seen, it bounded off its master’s back into a shadowed part of the deck.
“Abri must be hungry.” Gull seized another jug from a passing crewman and took a long drink from it. “Rats beware!”
He rose from his perch on a small keg and made a sweeping, rather unsteady, bow before Maura. “Will you do me the honor of a dance, mistress? I dared not ask you while Abri had her claws in me. Jealous creature—she would never have permitted it.”
Maura made no move to accept his invitation. “I fear it would be less an honor than a torture for your toes, Captain. I have never danced with a partner.”
“Never danced?” Gull staggered back. Either he was pretending to be shocked by Maura’s words, or those two long, fast drinks from the sythria jug were having an effect on him.
It must have been the first, for he recovered quite nimbly to swoop forward and grab Maura by the hand. Before she or Rath could protest, Gull pulled her to her feet and thrust another jug at Rath to keep him company in her absence.
“That is a grave
This time Rath did not hesitate. “With pleasure!”
“You heard the man.” Gull snapped his fingers. “What are we waiting for?”
All at once the night air bubbled with the rollicking, infectious music of wooden pipes and hand drums. Rath found himself seated on a sack full of something soft, with Maura’s even softer backside nestled in his lap. This was definitely better than whatever reception might await them on the Islands!
When someone thrust a tall jug into Rath’s hand, he took a long swig that made his eyes water.
“What is that?” he gasped when the liquid had burned its way down his throat, numbing as it went. He was no stranger to strong drink…at least he hadn’t thought so. But this…!
“Your first taste of sythria ?” Gull took the jug from Rath’s hand and guzzled the fiery brew without betraying the least distress. “You must have sea-going blood in you. Most inlanders spew their first drink back up and scream for water.”
So that was sythria. Rath had heard of the stuff and assumed its reputation exaggerated. Now he knew better. His belly felt as if it was full of flaming oil.
Maura grabbed the jug out of Gull’s hand and sniffed its fumes. “The stuff doesn’t smell that bad. What is it made of?”
Before Rath could stop her, she tipped the jug back and drained it. After what he and Gull had drunk, there could not have been much left. Still, Rath expected her to choke and gag or belch a cloud of steam.
But she only fanned her mouth. “That is strong! Remind me not to it drink so fast next time.”
“I will try,” said Rath, though he wondered if he would remember.
From that single drink, he already felt dizzy and a good deal more carefree than he had in a long time. Perhaps he could stomach another sip of sythria, now that the first one had numbed his throat. For some reason that notion made him laugh like a fool. But foolishness felt strangely pleasant. The look on Gull’s face as he stared at Maura made Rath laugh, too.
“Your pardon, mistress.” Gull blinked his eyes as if trying to decide whether they still worked properly. “I have never before known a woman ask for a second drink of sythria after she has had her first.”
Maura sniffed the mouth of the jug again and shrugged. “I’ve tasted worse. My guardian was the most terrible cook in Norest…perhaps in the whole of Umbria. What did you say this was made of?”
“Pardon, mistress, in my amazement, I did not answer your question. Sythria is distilled from the rind of sythfruit that grows on the Islands. Folk here brew a very fine wine from the fruit itself, but Duskporters like a drink that has a bit more…brawn to it. Cheap, too, for sythfruit rind is bitter and would only be thrown away. We put it to much more worthwhile use.”
The hillcat around Gull’s neck rose and stretched. For thefirst time Rath had seen, it bounded off its master’s back into a shadowed part of the deck.
“Abri must be hungry.” Gull seized another jug from a passing crewman and took a long drink from it. “Rats beware!”
He rose from his perch on a small keg and made a sweeping, rather unsteady, bow before Maura. “Will you do me the honor of a dance, mistress? I dared not ask you while Abri had her claws in me. Jealous creature—she would never have permitted it.”
Maura made no move to accept his invitation. “I fear it would be less an honor than a torture for your toes, Captain. I have never danced with a partner.”
“Never danced?” Gull staggered back. Either he was pretending to be shocked by Maura’s words, or those two long, fast drinks from the sythria jug were having an effect on him.
It must have been the first, for he recovered quite nimbly to swoop forward and grab Maura by the hand. Before she or Rath could protest, Gull pulled her to her feet and thrust another jug at Rath to keep him company in her absence.
“That is a grave
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