Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Tae motioned for Imorelda to climb back onto his shoulders, and she obeyed. He rechecked his wig, still firmly and properly in place. As he inched to the gunwale, wary of nearby soldiers or sailors who might see him emerge from nowhere, he whispered to the cat. "As soon as we're on board, secrete yourself. Don't let anyone see you, but stay near enough to funnel their mind-words to me. Also, be prepared to leave suddenly."

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Tae popped over the railing, dropped Imorelda to the deck, and tried to appear nonchalant.

Almost immediately, a guttural curse and a set of squeaky wheels broke over the normal sounds of the ship. Tae could hear the sailors' mental chatter, instinctively sifting out mood and content. They spoke of normal, mundane matters; if the general's meeting inconve nienced them in any way, they kept their grumblings private, softly spoken by mouth.

Heart pounding, Tae watched the approaching cart and sailor, wondering if he could truly pass himself off as one of them despite his limited vocabulary. If something went wrong, he would have to kill this man, too. With the sun nearly fully risen, and no good place to hide, it would prove a terrible risk.

The plump, red-faced sailor pushing the cart caught sight of Tae and stopped.

Tae held his breath.

"Do you mind giving me a hand?" The voice held just a hint of irritation, as if he had expected Tae to volunteer rather than wait for an invitation.

"Not at all." Tae mimicked the accent with practiced ease and headed toward the sailor. "Is it going to the generals' meeting?"

"Yeah." The sailor grunted as they both put their hands on the bar. "Can't discuss strategy without stuffing their faces with the best we've got."

Tae chuckled. The problem had less to do with the weight of the cart than its poor construction and maintenance. The wheels needed oil.

The alsona glanced over at Tae. "I've never seen you before. Did you come with one of the generals?"

Tae continued to read tone as well as words. The man seemed curious, not accusatory, but Tae still felt his chest squeeze. "Yes." He described one of the men he had seen coming in the rowboats. "Tall guy. Narrow face. Short beard."

"General Fallon?"

Tae sure hoped he wasn't being tested. "You know him?"

The plump man spit. "Know them all by now. It's not like there're a lot of them." He stopped pushing and motioned for Tae to do the same. "Thanks. Can you make sure it doesn't roll while I open the hatch?"

"Sure," Tae said. He got an idea. "In fact, I'll carry the food down for you, if you want to get back to doing other things."

Hand on the hatch ring, the sailor turned toward Tae. "Really? You'd do that."

"Why not? You're working, and I'm doing nothing but waiting."

"All right." The sailor smiled. "Thanks. That would be great." He hesitated. "Oh, hell. I'm going to be honest with you. They're hard to please."

Tae shrugged. "I'll deal with it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm used to serving General Fallon. I know how they think."

"Thanks." The sailor hauled on the hatch. Only faint mumbling emerged from below. Apparently, the generals conversed aloud to keep their discussion private. From Tae's experiences the last several days, he had expected that. This once, it would work to his advantage; he would not need Imorelda's help to eavesdrop. "I owe you."

Tae prepared to ease the basket of foodstuffs and wine from the cart.

"I can help you, at least," the sailor offered, still apparently feeling guilty.

Tae hesitated. He did not know exactly how to keep the generals talking with him in the room, aside from requests, demands, and complaints about the foodstuffs and his service. The only thought that came to him would involve an act Imorelda and Matrinka would call "exceedingly stupid"; but, first, he needed to learn a new phrase in the alsona's language.

Tae hefted the basket, finding it heavier than he expected, and deliberately placed himself into the sailor's path. As he intended, the sailor bumped him. Tae exaggerated the impact, stumbling several steps and juggling the basket.

The sailor apologized, catching hold of the basket to steady it in Tae's grasp. Tae focused on the sailor's words and tone as he tried to make the simple act of catching his balance look difficult.

"That's all right." Tae glanced down the open hatch, eyes widening. "I probably only would have broken my neck."

The sailor gave a more profuse apology, bowing slightly as he did so. "I really am sorry. Why don't I just do it?"

Tae waved him off. "I've got it, and I'm fine. If you could just close the hatch behind me, please."

"Sure. Least I can do."

Tae took a solid grip on the basket. He moved confidently now, not wanting the sailor to insist on taking the job back. He now knew how to apologize, and he expected to do a whole lot of that in the next few moments. He edged down the ladder, placing his feet as carefully as possible. As his head went below the deck, the sailor gently and quietly closed the hatch.

As he did so, something soft brushed Tae's cheek. He stiffened for an instant before dismissing it as a wad of dust or a cobweb, a last breath of wind funneled through the closing hatch. Then, something scraped against his right ankle. Tae twisted away from it. The momentum of the basket threw off his usually impeccable timing. His foot touched down on empty air instead of the rung he expected. His free hand caught another too hard, slamming painfully against iron, and he felt himself starting to fall.

Instinctively, Tae let go of the basket to secure his hand- and toeholds. Abruptly realizing he might garner a bit more sympathy and less rage if he went down with it, he went against every survival trick he ever knew and followed the plummeting basket.*Look out!* he tried to send in warning.

Bottled wine, bread, and crockery tumbled from the falling basket, bouncing from the iron rungs. Glass chimed against metal. Splashed with bits of glass and droplets of liquid, Tae covered his face and throat as he fell, hoping to land as nearly on his feet as possible.

Tae hit the ground hard, tumbling through a mess of butter, squashing a fine white loaf, and feeling hunks of glass pressing into his skin. He landed, face first, in the basket, which skidded across the floor.

A deafening silence followed.

Careful not to dislodge his wig, Tae freed himself from the basket to look at the generals. The nearest three had leaped from their seats, wine puddling at their feet. Four remained at a large table that contained three oil lamps and a large map of the southern, eastern, and western coasts of Tae's continent. Tae's gaze lingered longest on the being at the head of the table. Seated, he towered over the others, even the standing generals. Tae guessed he was at least half again as tall as King Griff. He had coarse features, his nose obscenely broad and bulbous, his ears as big as a man's hand, and his jaw as wide as the top of his head. He stared at Tae through narrowed dark eyes, his wide lips drawn tight in a frown.

Tae scrambled to his feet, apologizing at least twenty times as he bowed repeatedly, lower each time. He tried to simulate the sailor's most conciliatory tone and added at the end, "I couldn't possibly be more sorry, and I will clean up every bit of this mess immediately."

The giant, obviously Firuz the Kjempemagiska growled out, "What's your name, sailor?"

Tae swallowed hard, not having to feign fear. He knew from his conversations in the dungeon that the Kjempemagiska would not hesitate to tear an alsona in half, burn him alive, or roll him in a vat of scalding acid. He did not fully understand their conventions of naming. It seemed best to use a name he already knew was alsona. He kept his head low, dodging the giant's gaze. "Jaxon, my lord."