Chapter One: Launch
The second mate climbed down the rope ladder into the stern of the ship’s tender. The four rowers, wrapped in wool mantles, took their places. A fog like the inside of a ball of wool blanketed the water. The second mate checked his compass even though he could find the port by nose. It smelled of humans.
Why would a shih-aan want to live among the weed-eaters?
The second mate was on his way back to shore instead of helping raise the Narek-aan’s sails because he had stupidly accepted a promotion when the previous second mate had gone home for breeding duties. The pay increase would help requite his marriage bond price and speed the day when he might captain his own ship. But. But.
He formerly regarded leadership the way he had swimming, until he fell in. He was now in over his head. Competence was no longer sufficient to maintain the crew’s respect; he’d resorted to shouting, threats and referring problem cases to the first mate—the first mate who enjoyed formal violence in public and liked to refine technique in private, occasionally on the second mate. And the second mate would automatically be stuck with any duty that was important enough to require an officer but that could be delegated to someone unable to say no. Now he was off to pick up their passenger—a wealthy passenger—who commanded service and respect he did not, in the second mate’s opinion, deserve.
Lantern glow loomed out of the thinning fog. One of the rowers fended off a heavy-timbered pier while the other three backed water. The second mate found himself looking upwards into the face of a human.
The human was short with red hair all around his head except at the very top, which was bare. His skin was as pale as teeth, and the pupils of his wide eyes were round. He was carrying a long boathook, which he shifted to point forward and down in the universal language of aggression. A human was no match for a shih-aan on a level surface, but the implement would give anyone pause.
The second mate thought fast. He turned his wrist to show a leather token stamped with his destination, attached by a string. The human’s eyes shifted to the token. He rested the boat hook against his shoulder and pointed to one side. Then he moved his shoulders in some sort of shrug, held up four fingers and pointed again in the same direction.
Lowering his eyes to show respect he didn’t feel, the mate snapped an order to the rowers. As they pulled away the sun broke through the mist. Out on the water, the four-masted full-rigged ship Narek-aan danced against the anchor chain. The harbor was too shallow for a deep-drafted shih-aan vessel to dock. One must wait for high tide to pass safely over the hull-breaker shoals lurking beneath the channel.
On the docks humans yawned and stretched, coiled ropes and prodded the bullocks that drove the cranes. One and two-masted human ships sprouted sails and scooted into deep water. The docks looked like docks everywhere, except everything was about one fifth under scale.
By the time they reached the fourth pier along, the second mate was starting to fret. High tide was approaching too quickly.
The rowers made the boat fast, and the mate climbed the rope ladder. He adjusted his mantle while he looked over the crowd of humans. There was one figure tall enough to be a shih-aan, though he was dressed like a human in trousers, coat and a hat with a long green feather. His mane was so black it was nearly blue, his skin a soft fawn color, lighter than that of a sun-baked sailor. A smaller figure standing in his shadow was presumably a wathara slave. The other shih-aan’s head turned as the second mate approached and lowered his eyes.
“Good health and fair weather to you,” said the mate. “I am the second mate of the sailing ship Narek-aan, and I invite you aboard.” He looked at the passenger’s hands. Most shih-aan males had multiple rings, marking their alliances and skills. The passenger wore only one ring—a band of solid rose quartz. The Council’s signet. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Wasn’t this shih-aan supposed to be a merchant? A Council ring belonged on the hand of a diplomat, and diplomat was a polite word for spy.
“I am Shieh Yeras,” said the passenger.
A shift of the wind brought the passenger’s scent to the second mate, communicating in a language of power and desire. Suddenly the second mate’s courtesy seemed inadequate. The effort required to prevent his knees from folding enraged him. Only then did he see that the creature next to his passenger was not a wathara. It was a human.
The second mate’s claws extended, but he over-ruled them. He’d never imagined that a human could be domesticated, or that a shih-aan would want one.
“Is that thing yours?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Shieh Yeras.
“Do you intend to bring him aboard?”
The pause was just long enough to be uncomfortable. “Yes, second mate, I do.”
The words were spoken in the correct mode, the tone mild. Nevertheless the second mate felt as if someone were making a joke at his expense. His claws extended again.
“Does it require a cage? We were not informed, and are not prepared.”
Shieh Yeras said, “The human will lodge with me.” The subject of this conversation remained still and quiet, eyes lowered, pale hair blowing in the rising wind.
Was it possible that the shih-aan used the human for bed-service? The very idea appalled the second mate. He snapped, “I speak with the captain’s voice. You will not bring this animal aboard.”
Shieh Yeras said, “Very well. The ship will return my belongings. I will send the address when I have procured lodging.”
“But…” Loading the passenger’s trunks and crates had required multiple tender trips. To unload it all might consume another day. “We mustn’t miss the tide!”
Shieh Yeras smiled just enough that his fangs showed. “The difficulty is not mine.” He touched the human on the arm. They turned their backs and began to walk away.
The captain was a reasonable shih-aan, and he could reasonably order the second mate shorn for incurring a day’s delay. Therefore the passenger and his wretched animal were the captain’s problem. “Wait!” he cried. “Enshan,” he said, addressing the passenger with an honorific, hating the taste of it in his mouth. “Perhaps I spoke in haste and in error. Would you be so good as to board? The captain will resolve this conflict.”
Shieh Yeras approached uncomfortably close to the second mate, who felt his face redden. Shieh Yeras slipped into intimate mode so that his every word was an obscene suggestion.
“If you would have me board, you will grovel.”
The mate’s soul split in two parts. One part revolted at the idea of humbling himself so. Not even the captain had demanded such a display. The other part knew that groveling was the only proper way to apologize for provoking a male who smelled like Shieh Yeras. That part had control of the mate’s loins. Best to get this dreadful gesture over with.