Sasharia En Garde by Sherwood Smith Page B

in the diffuse light from the stern
windows. The fabric shaped smoothly over the contours of shoulder and arm as he
reached up and carefully took the carved tree from its shelf. “There’s a spell
that goes with it. You say it, and the leaves rustle. You can listen to them.
Very pleasant, I assure you, if you happen to be caught windless out in the
deeps, the ship wallowing and no breath of air.”
    He faced me, holding out the tree in both hands. I shook my
head. “It’s too delicate. I’m afraid I’ll break it.”
    He turned away again and I whooshed out my breath, trying to
find the cause of my absurd reaction. This was a captain’s cabin, and little as
I knew of ship matters, I did know it hardly constituted personal space, not
unless the door was shut (it was not) and the scuttles all closed (they
weren’t).
    He leaned a knee on the bunk and settled the tree just
right, the fringes of his bandana swinging against his cheekbone. The books,
the green coverlet, the precise slant of the handwriting on those maps, the
tree and the silver bird. I’d seen all these the day previous, but then they’d
been just things, scarcely noticeable. Now they were personal .
    Rain began hissing on the deck overhead, which somehow made
the space feel even more cramped. Though the rain made a steady thrum, I could
hear the sound of his breathing. “Did you steal the ship?” I blushed
uncomfortably. I hadn’t meant to say that at all.
    He grinned. “It’s tradition, how pirate ships change hands.
But pause and think. Where would you go if you wanted to purchase one? To a
kingdom shipyard, asking the yardmaster if he happens to have any pirate ships
for sale—very fast, preferably with at least one false hold? No. When navies
take pirates, they tend to work the ships into their fleet, captains squabbling
over who gets command. Then, er, they tend to be spotted and cut out again by
people like me.”
    “You could have one built.”
    “But it can take years. If one has enough money. Easier to
catch ’em, I’m afraid.”
    “You said pirate ships. But you claim to be a privateer. How
do privateers get their ships?” I asked.
    “Steal ’em from pirates.” He tapped the earring glinting
against his jawline. A ruby stone glittered on it. “You wear a hoop after
you’ve survived a battle, and rubies when you’ve defeated a real pirate. While
that won’t scare off other pirates—little does—the ruby tends to ward off the
would-bes. Saves effort.”
    He twiddled his fingers, giving me a wry glance. I laughed,
as I was meant to. The moment made me feel slightly less unsettled, but far
more aware of him . Skilled
sword-swingers I had known in plenty during my fencing years, and they had come
and gone leaving me unmoved. But a guy with a sense of humor?
    “So.” He thumped his elbows on the table, hands flicking
open. “Before I get to my suggestion, what do you wish to do?”
    “I’d like to be set on land as soon as possible, thank you.”
    “Even though by now there is a price on your head?”
    “There is? But I didn’t do anything!”
    “It’s not what you’ve done, it’s who you are.” He gave me an
apologetic smile. “I guess what follows is what they’re afraid you’ll do.”
    Annoyance flushed through me; good, much better, much safer than interest. “Arrested for a
crime someone else premeditates on my behalf? That’s got to be a new one even
for the local Dark Lord.”
    “Dark Lord? King Canardan is a king, not a lord. He also has
red hair. Or would the ‘dark’ refer to his clothing? Except that he is reputed
to dress well, and the mode, everyone tells me, is light colors. Not that I
follow the fashions, as you can see.”
    Once again he made me laugh, and my annoyance vanished. I
couldn’t stay mad at him. Zathdar already knew my situation was unfair, and of
course he had a price on his head, too.
    So I said, “There’s a reward offered for laying me by the
heels whether I’m on land or at