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“I meant—would you want me to come with you?”
This was an entirely new thought. Pietro turned to look at him. Stollo had shifted again and was lying on his side, watching him. “Would you bewillingto join me?”
“If I wouldn’t be in the way. If you wanted my company.”
“What about your priestly duties? You can’t just walk away.”
Stollo grinned. “I can get a leave of absence. Say I have an urgent family matter. Which will be the truth, if my cousin takes us.” Stollo scanned Pietro’s face. “I don’t mean to pressure you. I won’t ask to come if you’d rather travel alone.”
“I feel like I have traveled the whole world by myself,” Pietro said. “I can’t remember the last time I had the grace of a companion at my side. What worries me is the fact that you would begin your association with me by lying to your superiors. How can I be good for you if I set you off on a course of deceit?”
Stollo leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Pietro’s—to reassure him or to simply stop him from talking, Pietro could not be certain. “Since I have become a priest, I have lived by a creed that I will go where I can do the greatest good,” Stollo said in a husky voice. “And that belief has taken me to the docks and the slums more often than it has taken me to the temple or the mansions. It has put me in the path of people who need me. And I can’t shake the idea that you need me.”
Pietro tried to keep his voice steady. “So I’m a charity case.”
Stollo produced a muffled laugh. “You’re a puzzle I want to solve. You’re a fascination I can’t look away from. You’re a child I want to comfort and a man I want to embrace. I will talk to my cousin in the morning. And if you want me to accompany you, I shall pack my bags in the evening. But I won’t beg you to take me on this mysterious quest, so I’m not going to offer again. If you want me, you have to say so.”
Pietro rolled forward, covering Stollo’s mouth with his own. “Yes, I want you with me,” he murmured. “I don’t know how I thought I could manage this without you.”
Three days later, they were on their way. It turned out that Stollo’s cousin had been unenthusiastically contemplating the idea of taking his small craft down the rough eastern edge of the continent to the southernmost harbor tucked into the Marata coastline. But it was a familiar route and he was a man who liked the occasional adventure, and he had been hoping that a better opportunity would present itself.
“He says you have to pay the wages for himself and two crewmen, but if he picks up any cargo, you won’t have to pay travel expenses,” Stollo said.
“Does heexpectto find cargo?”
“Says it’s a good possibility. People live in the ruined lands, you know—just not very many of them—and they do a little mining and farming. They have goods to trade, but not in enough volume for most captains to be willing to make the voyage.”
“Tell me how much I need to pay in advance, and I’m ready to go.”
The Corcannon harbor was inconveniently situated for anyone not absolutely determined to get onto the ocean in the quickest manner possible. It lay off the southeast edge of the city, accessible only via a narrow, two-lane bridge that descended abruptly from the mountain plateau to sea level. Traffic in both directions was steady, as shipments were constantly being delivered to warehouses in the dock district and empty wagons were returning to pick up the next load, but it wasn’t particularly heavy. The city harbor was too small and its waters were too shallow to permit large vessels to drop anchor, so the majority of the goods that flowed into Corcannon came overland across the Maratan bridges. But anyone who just wanted to slip out of the city and hop aboard a small seaworthy craft could take the mountain route and be out on the open water within a few hours.
Stollo’s cousin Danner was about average height, thick-bodied, with a guarded expression and intelligent eyes. On his left wrist, he wore a sailor’s bracelet, stamped with stylized fish and set with an assortment of ocean-colored jewels. On his right was a gold bracelet edged with silver, a slim silver circlet, and two gold bands. Pietro interpreted this to mean that he was a widower with a pair of sons. Judging by the features of the strapping young men who helped them load their luggage, Danner’s boys doubled as his crew.
“Welcome aboard,” Danner said, ducking down a narrow stairwell to lead them to a cramped space belowdecks. “These will be your quarters.” He glanced at Pietro. “I was led to believe you’d share a room, but if my cousin was misleading me, I’ll throw him overboard and you can have the place to yourself.”
This was said so seriously that it took Pietro a moment to realize the man was joking. “No, indeed, he told you the truth,” he answered. “But thank you for looking out for my interests.”
“Paying guest is always favored over freeloading relatives,” Danner said, still without cracking a smile. “Let me know if he becomes a nuisance.”
Stollo was grinning as if this was familiar raillery. “Never any respect from my family,” he groused.
“Well, if you’d take a job befitting a real man,” said Danner.
“Careful. Your paying guest was once a priest, too.”
Danner appraised Pietro. “Seems he’s thought better of it, though. Makes him a wiser man than you.”
“Is it the profession or the deity you dislike?” Pietro inquired.
Danner grunted. “Don’t have much use for Cordelan.” He pulled out a leather cord, hung with a cherloshe charm. Pietro leaned close enough to decipher the pose. In one tiny hand, the goddess was holding a fish, the symbol most closely affiliated with her; in the other, a sheaf of wheat. This was goddess as provider. “A man who sails the ocean knows who deserves his fealty,” Danner said.
Pietro smiled and drew out his own chazissa, hung with the goddess in her pose of knowledge. “Even a landbound man has cause to honor Zessaya,” he said.
Danner examined the charm with an impassive face, then glanced over at Stollo. “I approve,” he said, and departed without another word.
“That seemed to go well,” Pietro said, but Stollo had already collapsed on the narrow bunk. He was laughing too hard to keep to his feet.
Danner had estimated that the outbound journey would take a week. At the news, Pietro had stifled a silent protest, because he couldn’t imagine how he could fill so many empty days. However, within a few hours of casting off from the small harbor, Pietro was far more preoccupied with nausea than boredom. Stollo hustled him over to the window, so he could vomit directly into the water, though the sight of the lashing waves did nothing to calm his stomach. He could hardly blame Stollo for exiting the room with all speed. He threw up two more times, then sunk to the floor in abject misery, thinking how pleasant it must be to die.
