Robert Asprin - Wings of Omen

"Monkel Setmur," she said formally, "the Beysa wishes to see you in the morning for a report on the progress of the new boat."

Monkel started to reply, but the Old Man cut him off.

"Tell the Beysa we'll see her tomorrow afternoon."

Uralai's eyes glazed for a moment, which Monkel saw at once as a sign of anger, a signal the Sanctuary fisherman would not recognize. He hastened to intervene before things got out of hand.

"We will be taking our boats out before first light tomorrow. Assuming the Beysa is not planning an early audience, we'll have to see her in the afternoon after the boats are back at the docks."

"... Unless she wishes to reimburse us for a day's catch," the Old Man added with a smile.

Uralai bit her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded once in a sharp, abrupt movement.

"Very well, I will so inform the Beysa."

With that, she spun on her heel and headed for the door.

"Wait a moment!"

Monkel rose and started after her, overtaking her just inside the entry way.

"What is it. Lord Setmur?"

"You can't... you shouldn't be walking these streets alone at night. It's dangerous."

"I was told to find you, and this is where you are. It left me little choice if I was to carry out my assignment."

"Perhaps... if I walked you back to the palace."

Uralai arched one graceful eyebrow, and Monkel flushed at her unspoken barb. She carried her two swords crisscrossed over her back and was trained in their use, while Monkel had only his knife.

"Please don't misunderstand me," he stammered. "I was not meaning to imply a supremacy at fighting. It's just that we of Setmur have found that many confrontations can be avoided when we travel in twos after dark."

"And after you see me to the palace? Then you must return through those same streets alone. No, Monkel Setmur. While I appreciate your concern, of the two of us I think I am better suited to survive an unaccompanied journey."

With that, she headed out into the night, leaving him to return to his drink.

"You shouldn't let yourself be bullied that way," the Old Man chided as Monkel resumed his seat. "You were ready to give up a day's fishing just so we could see the Beysa, weren't you?"

"I think the original summons was for me alone," Monkel growled, his mind still on Uralai.

"Of course it was. That's why I thought I'd better deal myself in. You're a good man, Monkel, but too honest for your own good. There are a few items in our expenses that will require a fast wit and a glib tongue to justify."

"Have you been cheating the Beysa?" Monkel said, attentive once more. "That's a fine way to treat a visitor to your shores. Would you do the same thing to your own Prince-Governor?"

"In a minute," the Old Man smiled, and the others at the table joined in the laughter. In Sanctuary, even honest folk had an eye open for anyone with more money than business sense.

Of all the assembled captains, only Haron held herself apart from the laughter. She peered thoughtfully at the young Beysib for several moments, then laid a hand softly on his knee and leaned forward.

"You care for that one, don't you?" she said softly.

Monkel was surprised at her perception. Haron was only a few years younger than the Old Man, and her age-softened features combined with her mannish attitudes had made her almost indistinguishable from the male captains at the table. She watched for and saw different things than the others though.. .like Monkel's reactions to Uralai. He hesitated then gave a small nod of agreement.

"Hear that, boys?!" Haron crowed, slapping her palm loudly on the tabletop. "Our Monkel's in love! That should settle the question of whether or not he's as normal as the rest of you!"

The head of the clan Setmur was shocked and embarrassed by the outburst, but it was too late to do anything to prevent it. In a moment he was the center of attention, being alternately congratulated and teased by the captains.

"Is she any good in bed?" Terci said with a wink... a gesture Monkel had never been sure how to interpret.

"You'll have to bring her down here some night. We'd all like to meet her."

"Fool," Haron scoffed, dealing the speaker a good-natured cuff. "Can't you see anything? She was just here. That little guard with the big tits. It was as clear as seabirds circling over a school of feeding fish."

Writhing under the cross-examination, Monkel deliberately avoided looking at the other Setmur clansmen in the room. He knew they would be staring at him in amazement and/or disgust. Sex was a private subject among the Beysib, seldom discussed and never bantered about publicly.

The Old Man eyed Monkel in quiet speculation.

"A guard from the royal clan Burek?" he said.

Monkel nodded silently.

"What does that mean?" Omat interrupted, half rising and leaning across the table to join their exchange.

"It means Monkel has about as much chance of winning her as you would have of sparking Prince Kittycat's courtesans," the Old Man informed him.

"How do you figure that?" Haron demanded. "They're both Beysib, aren't they? Monkel here's as good a man as any I've met. No one at this table knows the sea as he does. Why shouldn't he have her if he wants her?"

Though warmed by the compliment, Monkel had to shake his head.

"You don't understand. Things are different for us. If she had not been on my boat for the pilgrimage, we would never have met. I couldn't..."

"It's not that different at all," the Old Man grunted. "She's richer and used to hobnobbing with royalty. Marrying a fisherman would be a real come-down."

Monkel surpressed a start as Haron hawked noisily and spat on the floor. Of all the local customs, this was the hardest for him to accept. Among the Beysib, a woman's saliva was more often than not poisonous.

"That's a lot of bird dung. Old Man," she announced. "Just goes to show how little you know about what a woman looks for in a man. Ignore these wharf-rats, Monkel. Tell me, what does she think?"

Monkel gulped half of his drink, then kept staring into the glass, avoiding her gaze.

"I... I don't know. I've never told her how I feel."

"Well, tell her, then. Or, better yet, show her. Give her a present... flowers or something."

"Rowers," Omat sneered, waving his one hand. "The woman's a guard. What would she want with flowers? What would you do if a man gave you flowers, Haron?"

"Well, what do you suggest for a gift? A sword? Maybe a brace of throwing daggers?"

"I don't know. But it should be something she couldn't or wouldn't get herself."

The argument raged on for hours, until Monkel lost it in the memory-deceiving depths of his fourth or fifth glass of wine. Only two points remained in his mind: he should not discount the possibility of marrying Uralai until he knew her thoughts on the matter, and that he should announce his interest with a gift... an impressive gift.

"Are you ill. Lord Setmur? Or didn't the fleet go out today?"

Startled, Monkel spun about in his crouch to find Hakiem standing less than an arm's length behind him. He recognized the Beysa's local adviser from his visits to court, but had never realized the oldster could move so quietly. Of course, Hakiem was a product of Sanctuary's alleys.

"I didn't mean to unsettle you," Hakiem said, noting the Beysib's alarm. "You really shouldn't sit with your back to the mouth of an alley. It can draw the attention of those more bloodthirsty or greedy than curious."

"I... I stayed ashore today."

"I can see the truth in that. You are here and the boats are gone."

Hakiem's weathered face split in a sudden smile.

"Forgive me. I'm prying into matters which are none of my business. I was a tale-smith before your Beysa invited me to join her court, and old habits die hard. My storyteller's instincts say that when the head of the Setmur fishing clan remains ashore while his boats work the fishing ground, there is a tale lurking somewhere nearby."