Philip Athans - Whisper of Waves

Djeserka pulled up a low stool and sat at Fharaud’s bedside, curiosity overcoming his discomfort so he could finally look his old master in the eyes.

“I’m all ears,” Djeserka said.

“There’s a young man,” Fharaud said. “He’s no older now than you were when we first started working together. He helped me to build Everwind.”

“Devorast?” Djeserka guessed.

Fharaud nodded-and that hurt-and said, “He’s stayed with me through … all that’s happened, and it’s been hard on him. He’s too young to be where I am, though-at the end of his career-and he needs … he needs …”

Djeserka smiled and nodded, then so did Fharaud.

Though no more was said on the subject, Fharaud felt they had an understanding. The rest of the afternoon was spent on vapid small talk, and finally Djeserka stood to go. He opened the door just as Devorast walked up. After a few minutes’ worth of uncomfortable greetings and introductions, both of Fharaud’s former students sat at the small round table, their chairs turned to face Fharaud’s sick bed in the old shipbuilder’s one-room quayside hovel.

“So, Devorast,” Djeserka said, “Fharaud tells me that with his … retiring … your services are available to other shipbuilders.”

Devorast looked at Fharaud-of course he was smart enough to know that Fharaud was behind this sudden turn of events. Fharaud just winked at him.

Devorast looked at Djeserka and nodded.

“We’ve been very busy of late,” Djeserka went on, “and we’ve developed quite a tight-knit shop. Fharaud’s recommendation is more than enough for me. If you’re prepared to be a part of our team, to satisfy the needs of our customers be they a grand foreign navy or a simple smelt fisherman, well … what do you say?”

Fharaud held his breath. He’d completely forgotten to speak with Djeserka about Ivar Devorast’s iconoclastic personality, and the man had gone and said precisely the wrong things.

Devorast looked at Fharaud with a question in his eyes. It was plain that he was asking for Fharaud’s advice-but that just couldn’t be.

Fharaud met Devorast’s gaze, though, and nodded. Still, he was sure of the look on Devorast’s face: a brief glimpse of irritation quickly suppressed and replaced with a desire for advice.

Devorast, nodding at Fharaud, said to Djeserka, “I am always interested in new challenges. If you have something for me to do.”

“Good,” Djeserka said. “Come to my workshop tomorrow morning.”

Fharaud smiled, an expression shared by Djeserka but not Devorast.

“You can’t have come to my attention at a better time, actually,” Djeserka said. “It appears that I will have a seat in the senate in the next year. My team will have to work harder and work together as best as possible, but if I’m busy with the senate, those left behind will not only learn more, but one will replace me sooner rather than later.”

Devorast seemed not to have heard him. He did clasp forearms with Djeserka, though, as Devorast showed him to the door, and they both paused.

“For Fharaud’s sake,” Djeserka whispered. Devorast nodded.

“If you’re half again as good as they say you are,” Djeserka said, “and if it’s true that Everwind fell victim to treachery and not … Well, who knows? When I become Senator Djeserka those left behind in the boat shop will have to squabble amongst themselves for the business I leave behind. Well, the right man can ride it as far as I have.”

Devorast took Djeserka’s forearm again, and the soon-to-be senator returned the gesture with some gusto.

“Part of the team?” Djeserka asked.

Devorast nodded, and Fharaud couldn’t see his face since he was standing in the doorway looking out, but Djeserka appeared satisfied.

When he went away finally and Devorast closed the door, Fharaud said, “Give it a try, at least, my son. You have to eat.”

Devorast’s nod made that seem like the worst thing in the world.

24 Nightal, the Year of Maidens (1361 DR)

THIRD QUARTER, INNARLITH

A break in the nearly incessant winter rain had brought Willem and Inthelph to the workshops of the Third Quarter to discuss certain fittings with a blacksmith and his apprentices. It wasn’t work that the master builder himself normally took a direct hand in, but the clear blue skies and seasonably cool breeze seemed to have pulled all the citizens of Innarlith into the streets, and Inthelph was no exception.

The trouble with Devorast far behind them and work on the wall progressing well, their conversations had again turned friendly and warm, if a bit dull. But they strode through the winding bazaars where traveling merchants pitched tents, parked carts, or just claimed a stretch of the cobblestone street to show their wares, Willem found himself growing increasingly uneasy, and he sensed a similar change in Inthelph’s mood.

A man brushed past him, sparing no word of apology, just a sideways glance at Willem’s fine embroidered tunic and practiced aristocratic manner. The man smelled of raw meat and wore the blood-smeared apron of a butcher. He hurried off into a side alley, followed quickly by a number of others, all men, all in the garb of simple tradesmen and laborers. Inthelph paused to examine the clay pots of a man who repeated over and over that his wares were of the finest Shou workmanship, and Willem took a moment to look both ways down the crowded street.

Trickles of men worked their way through the crowds, paying no attention to the merchants. Willem watched as whispered words were exchanged with porters and laborers along the way. Men and boys hurried to finish their tasks, some left incomplete, and hurried off until the trickle became a stream cutting across the avenue of merchants. The traders also took notice, and some began to secure their wares, their faces showing the beginnings of a familiar fear.

“What is it, Willem?” Inthelph asked.

Willem shook his head, and the master builder started looking around at the crowd as well.

“Where are they going?” Inthelph wondered, and Willem could see he was trying hard not to let his own mounting fear show in either his face or voice.

“We should get you home,” Willem said, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“But …” the master builder said, then quieted himself.

A man with soot-stained skin and grimy clothes passed close enough that they could smell him: sweat, singed hair, and burned flesh. The look on the tradesman’s face was one of open hostility and simmering violence. Willem’s heart fluttered in his chest and he froze, his feet seeming nailed to the cobblestones. Panic stopped his breath.

The man passed without incident.

“Yes,” Inthelph said, taking Willem by the elbow. “Perhaps our business here is done.”

Having been closer to the Second Quarter than the Fourth, they made it back to the master builder’s fine manor before the mood on the street got any more threatening. Once they crossed into the Second Quarter, Willem detected a more-visible-than-normal watch presence on the streets. The few people out all looked to be on their way home, sparing no time for idyll chatter with passing neighbors. It was as if the aristocracy was being run to ground.

They met an elderly gentleman at the gates to the master builder’s house. Willem remembered having been introduced to him once, but-

“Senator Khonsu,” Inthelph said, reaching out a hand to stop the man, though he was scuffling only very slowly past. “Senator?”

Khonsu, a frail man Willem did indeed remember from several of the master builder’s social gatherings, was the oldest sitting senator in Innarlith’s ruling body. A long-time political ally of the master builder’s, Khonsu was one of the few men Willem had ever seen Inthelph truly kowtow to.