Chapter Twenty-Seven Finlyr
chapter twenty-seven
finlyr
‘Magliyab, the day of fire,’ I say, with a dramatic flourish. ‘Perfect for blending into the shadows. Time for a drink and some revelry.’
Isagani fidgets with a mask, trying to attach it to their face. ‘Why do they make the eyeholes so small? I can barely see out of this thing.’
Ris tuts and helps them before turning to me. ‘There will be no chaos or drinking tonight. Now help me with this, won’t you?’
She hands me a cloak of midnight blue, and I can smell oranges and embers as I brush against her skin.
‘You look like a fine lady,’ Isagani tells her.
She colours, and I laugh at everyone’s earnestness, something we’ve seen more of in the days after the wedding.
‘You’re in for a spectacle,’ Narra says, patting my hand.
She’s not wrong; as we leave the inn and make our way through the streets to Umasa town square, I’m sure I’ve never seen so many people in one place.
We melt into the crowds, the energy vibrating between bodies.
Everyone is dressed in costumes of light: stars, moons, candles, and flames bejewel garments, headpieces, and handmade masks.
We’ve all favoured masks and cloaks, our laden bags not an uncommon sight among the throng of travellers.
In the town square, where mere weeks ago I stood facing down death itself, is a bonfire.
Nothing to fear from a little fire. If all goes off without a hitch, Magliyab might become my favourite festival.
Market stalls are assembled, packed with wares from every corner of Paranish.
Traders with coloured glass beads that catch the firelight, stone weights, and hollowed-out bones for spindle shafts.
Ris comes up beside me and eyes the offerings.
She points to the boxes of pickled fish and vegetables, some hardy ube root vegetables, which will survive the bumps of the journey.
There are dried hard flatbreads and pies and most importantly the palm liquor and home brew.
Finally, she indicates a bright pink flower, handling it gently when the vendor gives it to her.
‘Lotus. You can use every part.’
I give her a quizzical look.
‘Aistra, what do they teach you on the seas?’ She pulls me closer, pointing to each part. ‘Roast the seeds. The flower makes tea. Wrap the leaves. The roots have a great crunch.’
‘You’ve been spending time with Ligaya.’
‘You could learn a thing or two from women’s labour. Who do you think puts those clothes on your back?’
Ris turns to the trader and pulls out a skein of golden wool. They do the Nishian dance of haggling: the vendor tries to barter for double what our haul is worth.
‘That doesn’t even cover the time and labour bringing this wool over from Alev,’ she insists. ‘Work with me here.’
The vendor demurs, insisting the vegetables are of the finest quality, before Ris points to a bottle of palm liquor. ‘Throw in another of those, and we’re satisfied.’
The vendor looks at the dusty bottle and then shrugs, packing it into our haul.
Our cargo is modest compared to what I’d like to be sailing off with, but we’re putting to sea under unusual circumstances.
And from my recent trip to the dock with Isagani.
From the way she sat lower in the waterline, I assume Saltswept’s already loaded with some basic provisions. Or at least I hope it is.
‘That was impressive,’ I say as we walk away from the stall. ‘Who would’ve thought you’d be bargaining for more liquor?’
‘I’m partial to a drink,’ she says, smiling. ‘Although I suppose you’re more used to stealing than negotiating.’
‘Stealing is negotiating,’ I insist. ‘How much your life is worth.’
She gives me a look, part incredulous, part scathing.
‘I’m just more upfront about my methods than the royals. How is a tithe any different?’
She clucks her tongue. ‘Your loose lips. No wonder you got caught.’
‘That wasn’t why I got caught,’ I correct, hiding a grin. She sees it anyway.
‘What did you do?’ she asks with mock exasperation.
‘More a question of whom.’
‘Who was she?’
‘He was a Seaguardian. And we were role-playing.’ I pause. ‘I was wearing his uniform.’
‘Loose tongue and loose britches.’ She laughs.
I shrug, smiling. ‘I’d been sailing close to the wind for a while. Nice to feel alive sometimes.’
There are stalls everywhere, and I eye the victuals and libations for later.
The group in front of us are sneaking flasks of home brew between them.
Good thinking. But none of that tonight; got to keep a clear head.
We keep to the back of the growing crowd, the Seaguardians standing in a circle by the bonfire to ensure no one gets too close.
A cheer goes up from the crowd as one of the Seaguardian takes a torch to the bonfire.
It catches quickly with an alarming whoomph that we can hear even back here.
A wooden emblem in the shape of a woman sits atop the bonfire, tall and proud.
She has one arm bent as a perch for a bird, wings outstretched to their full span.
Some poor sod has to craft that effigy every year just for it to be burned. Seems like a very expensive party.
I do a quick survey of my crew, making sure we’re all accounted for.
Ris is directly in front of me, Biba next to her, squirming to get a closer look at the hubbub.
Isagani stands with Narra, Ligaya, and Morna.
Narra’s bag is open just enough to expose a small, dark head with big, yellow eyes and pointy ears.
Sinigang was adamant that being stuck in a small space surrounded by open water was his nightmare.
But being stuck in a small space with that otter-cat is mine.
I don’t care how lucky they’re supposed to be in a storm.
But Narra insisted that his skills would be useful on the voyage, and he didn’t disagree.
Now that it’s come down to it, I’ve got sickness in my stomach.
We did some scouting a few days earlier; the docks are in absolute chaos with all the ships full of visitors coming into the harbour.
Saltswept was lightly guarded with only a couple of patrollers, but any Seaguardian not engaged with water traffic control had a flagon in their hands.
There might be no better night to commandeer my vessel.
‘What’s the burning figure all about?’ Biba asks.
‘They say she was an enemy of the Bastion,’ says Narra.
‘What did she do?’ The young girl can’t take her eyes from the pyre. She watches the figure blacken in the flames, eyes wide. ‘It must have been bad.’
‘Intimidation tactics,’ I say. ‘Let this be a warning to the others.’
Our group falls silent, and I realise the treachery of my words. I’ve never been good at pretending to love the royals, although I suppose that’s not really expected of an outlaw.
‘Low tolerance for criminals shows strong leadership,’ Ris says in a flat tone, for the benefit of anyone eavesdropping.
The wooden emblem collapses on top of the bonfire, and the crowd cheers louder.
Some folk pick up instruments and the fluid dancing of drunken merriment begins.
A song is taken up, first by a few voices, and then by others.
A traditional Magliyab tune, with a rolling beat, which begs for dancing feet:
‘She was a trickster and a thief.
She was a traitor to the crown.
She was corrupt beyond belief.
Follow her way and you will drown.’
Even the nearby Seaguardians are compelled to watch the revelry, succumbing to the glow of the fire and the warm press of bodies.
‘It’s time,’ Narra says, squeezing my arm.
‘What are you going to do?’ I ask as we slowly extricate ourselves from the crowd.
‘Pockets of mischief,’ she replies with a wink, disappearing into the fray with Ligaya and Morna.
We hide in the shadows of the buildings, eyeing my ship.
She’s not looking too weather-worn, and she’s only anchored and tethered by one rope.
The Seaguardians on duty are loosely patrolling, which mostly involves walking up and down the dock as they talk.
Why would anyone want to patrol the cold dark docks when nothing’s happening there?