Mopping the floor was quick work, once Ríll came to help, and soon enough he and Joddhèn were enjoying a few minutes of freedom. The officers had gone up the forecastle, and were discussing among themselves, which gave them a short relief from their ordinary chores. Soon enough, Ríll was asking Joddhèn about his life, and how he had gotten himself into this mess. His answer was short:

“My family was accused of treason against Ysroc-Énlil, and we were all punished for it.”

He had used that explanation every time anyone had asked him the question. It was vague but true enough, and it was short enough to avoid further questioning. Of course, he could have said more: he could have mentioned his father being brought to the Lower-Court in Joddaï; he could have described the endless feuds and plots that hatched among the courtesans, as they all tried to bribe enough mouths and stab enough backs to climb their way up to the Middle-Court. He could have mentioned the hatred the Monazráns, his father’s cousin’s family, harboured towards his own; and how they forged documents and paid testimonies until every great family was convinced of his father’s treachery. He could have described his father’s sternness in front of the guards who came to arrest him; his mother’s terror as she was dragged away; his two sisters’ wailings as their home was burned to the ground with all their servants locked in…

“Ha! So you are a Courtesan’s son!” Ríll exclaimed, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Knew it. I told Sènthlo, and he didn’t believe me! Guess he owes me five silvers, now!”

“I thought they’d have noticed by now,“ he replied.

“Bah, these rascals don’t know half as much as they think. But you should stick with me, Jod: as long as I’m around, at least one of us will be getting richer!” he added sarcastically.

Joddhèn did not pay attention to his companion’s snark: had anyone else made that remark, his sense of aristocratic pride would have led him to anger and resentment. But he sensed something different in Ríll’s mockery: he was not taking an opportunity to take advantage of a highborn noble in a position of weakness. His humour was abrasive, but no harm or dishonour was intended.

“As for your family, don’t think too much about them” Ríll continued: “they’re either dead, or wishing they were. No point dwelling on the past.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Joddhèn said, “There was an error in justice, once our innocence is proven-”

“-you’ll have white hair,” Ríll said. “Where I’m from, you get justice like you get fish: you can sit down by the sea with a line and wait for it to pass by… or you can go get one from the market, at the right price.”

“Oh, how would you know? How far does your lineage go?” Joddhèn was irritated by his friend’s cynicism: but it was not unwarranted. The Higher-Court was known for making arbitrary decisions, to favour one family above the other, or ensure self-destructive feuds to get rid of political rivals. Yet he still believed in justice. Perhaps not the kind he had known up to that point, but he had to believe there was some way that the innocent could be freed from their unjust shackles…

“Besides, I must believe things will get better. That somehow, some day, our innocence will be proven. “

Ríll’s eyes hardened: “You’re not the only one here waiting for deliverance. You see any chance of justice in their future?” He looked downward, to the floor beneath them. Joddhèn understood. There were people down there, innocents who were treated not like prisoners, not even as traitors, but as cattle. Shame tightened his throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No need to say anything. We’re all just victims of circumstances. You can either accept it or live a lie. Say, want to know what they’re discussing back there?”

“What? Who?” said Joddhèn, who had barely started to enjoy this fleeting moment of idleness.

“The Captain and his performing monkeys, on the forecastle. They’ve been talking for a while now. Come on, a little curiosity won’t hurt, Jod!”

Maybe it was his companion’s confidence, the thrill of doing something out of the ordinary, or just a way to avoid thinking about his own predicament; but either way, Joddhèn followed him. Soon enough, they had sneaked past the rest of the crew, entered the forecastle, and walked up to a small flight of stairs that led to the Captain’s chamber. The door was open, and they could easily see the Captain and his men gathering around a large ebony table that shimmered in the dim lantern-light.

“No, not here,” Ríll hissed before Joddhèn could take another step. “This way!”

Pulling him by his ragged shirt until it ripped, he led him into a narrow corridor on the right that passed by the forecastle, then down the dark slippery stairs that led to the cook’s galley. They were soon met by clouds of greasy smoke that seemed to cling to the descending rooftop above them. Joddhèn noticed the smell was somehow even fouler than the food would taste.

“Come on,” snapped Ríll. He noticed his companion had vanished in the darkness on his left. Lowering his  head, he made out the rim of a small door that opened into what he had assumed to be the wall. It was barely bigger than a window, yet Ríll had managed to get in. Crouching down, Joddhèn followed.

They clambered up a steep, twisted incline on hands and knees. Holding their breath instinctively, they went on until they saw a faint light, passing through a wooden grid. There the floor was more level. As Ríll slid to the side and allowed him some breathing room, Joddhèn looked through.

At first he did not recognize the room, dimly lit as it was by small oil lamps hanging from either side. Another lamp’s flickering light burned at the centre of a large table, casting off four trembling shadows over the wooden walls. Then as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he noticed a reddish-brown rugged cloth hanging from the wall facing him. And there was only one place where any tapestry hung on this cursed vessel. They were looking into the Captain’s cabin, from one of the inner walls. This must be a trap door of some kind, too small for an adult man to slither through, but big enough to hide messages or weapons.

The four men were speaking in low voices, but not low enough that Joddhèn could not recognize them:

“… and if there’s any risk that the killer is on board, we must take action now,” said the lieutenant, a hard-faced young man with brownish hair and dark glimmering eyes. He brandished the fatal black shafted, red-quilled arrow: “one more death like this, and we’ll be facing all-out mutiny!”

“Now now, let’s not be hasty” Dóndú replied, “we cannot risk punishing innocent sailors, that would only make it worse.”

“He’s right”, the captain said in a cold voice. “Lieutenant, leave this arrow on the table before you stab someone’s eye out.”

As the lieutenant obeyed, the quartermaster’s gargled voice rose: “begging your pardon captain, we can’t be too careful. This rabble’s all but good-for-nothing gallow’s game anyway, they’re all guilty of something…”

“Do not talk of guilt in my presence, quartermaster. I know more than enough on your account,” the captain spat. The quartermaster’s large silhouette seemed to melt under his harsh eye.

“Captain, there’s something written on the arrow’s shaft!” Dóndú exclaimed, turning the three men’s attention back to the fateful weapon. “I cannot quite make out the words, but it might be – yes, these are Némeddic glyphs!”

The physician leaned over the table, bringing the arrow closer to the lamp; its faint light glimmered strangely in his broad-rimmed spectacles as he translated:

“Under your heel… I am peril”

“What does that mean?” asked the quartermaster.

“It comes from no tale or song that I know of,” said the Captain, “and the Némeddi are not known for their poets.”

“Under your heel… Could this refer to the – our merchandise down below?” said the lieutenant.

“Then he’s been hidden among us all this time, right under our noses!” the quartermaster stammered.

“There is something else,” Dóndú added, “a shape carved into the wood… It’s faint… Like a lizard… No, a scorpion! Look at its curved tail!”

“So our killer likes to sign his crimes,” the Captain wondered aloud.

“Blood n’ bones, what good would that do him in the middle of the ocean?” the quartermaster blurted out, concealing creeping fear behind a mask of anger.

“Be that as it may,” the Captain said, “we must be ready for anything. Judging by the nature of Ishgar’s belongings and the night-crew’s alertness this morning, I surmise they had more than plain water to drink. Lieutenant, you will have tonight’s crew searched thoroughly.”

Seizing his opportunity to leave the conversation, the young officer stood up straight, gave a rigid salute to the captain, and stomped away to the bridge, passing straight by Joddhèn and Ríll’s hiding place. Ríll contained an amused chuckle, leaving Joddhèn to wonder yet again how he could keep his nerve so well in such a perilous situation. At any rate, he would do his best not to lose face. He had had enough being treated as a pampered noble-born, and his scolded pride was mingled with his genuine desire for a friend.

Soon after, they all left, one by one, the Captain coming out last. The door was left open as was Mónarzan’s custom when he was about to make a speech. And soon enough, his harsh voice bellowed over the ship:

“We all know Ishgar did not die on his own. There is a traitor among you, and if he will not make himself known even now, he will not make his case easier in the future. Now, I should have picked ten of you rabble to hang by the mast and let the seagulls eat away at your rotten flesh. But, after deliberation, I have decided otherwise-”

“Now,” muttered Ríll, “it’s as good a time as any.”

And with a small knife Joddhèn had not noticed until then, he unsealed the wooden grid and pushed steadily until it opened sideways on invisible hinges. Before he could say anything, Ríll had already slipped out of their hiding place. He held his breath as his companion went up to the table, on the balls of his feet, giving quick glances toward the open door from where the Captain pursued his harangue. He felt beads of sweat mopping his forehead and another rolling down his back. He had not noticed how hot and stuffy the air in the corridor was. His bent knees were cramped and his heart pounded in his temples as Ríll finally stalked back from the table. He was glad to slide to the side to let him back in, and held his breath until the grid was shut once again.

“Why did you get-” he started, but Ríll frowned and put his finger to his mouth. He signalled him to get back inside their hiding place, and sealed the wooden panel behind him as soon as Joddhèn had done so. In his belt, he saw the red quill of the black arrow.

In a few minutes, they crept out of the other end of the tunnel, dropping as lightly as they could on the stairs below, and climbed back to the main bridge. As Joddhèn’s eyes squinted under the blazing noontide sun, the Captain’s voice rolled like thunder over the lower deck:

“-if you see anything suspicious without reporting it to me or my lieutenant, you will be lashed. If another man’s life is taken tonight, I’ll have ten of you hanging by the mast before sunrise. The lieutenant will select twenty of you for tonight’s watch. Dismissed.”

As the Captain turned back to the shadowy room behind, they slunk among the crowd without being noticed. Or so they thought.

As the day waned, the quartermaster called the crew once more, asking for volunteers for the night’s watch. Joddhèn looked round: not a single hand rose, safe that of a broad-shouldered, sullen-eyed man who stood right behind him, his mouth twisted in a bloated grimace. Then another rose: it was Ríll’s. Before Joddhèn could say or do anything, he felt the scoundrel’s foul breath blowing on his neck as he bellowed:

“Quartermaster! How’s about we give a chance to these two?”

“An excellent suggestion, Rókaz,” the quartermaster smiled, .

Joddhèn looked up at the man, and noticed his cruel grin mirrored the quartermaster’s. He had heard they had both been pirates until they met Monazrán.

Eleven other men were designated. They were to take their watch in groups of three, walking along the hull, watchful for anything suspicious.

“See you tonight, Jod,” Ríll said under his breath, smiling, as he joined back with his group. Joddhèn muttered something, but soon reeled under the rotten stink of Rókaz’s breath: “don’t be sad, princeling, you’ll be fine… if you don’t get an arrow stuck in your gut!”

Read chapter 4 next monday!