“When the first fleet, that one out of Mali, come across the Atlantic, it come to land here, on the south shore of Kiskeya. The island was then ruled by many caciques, each with he own territory. One of these caciques, named Caonabo, dealt with the fleet’s officers. He gave them territory in exchange for allowing the Taino to trade and ship through they port.”
“And in exchange for the maku not starting a war,” said knife man with a sardonic chuckle.
“Is that where the law about the salt plague comes from? The one that all salters or anyone bitten by a salter have to be quarantined on Salt Island?”
“Yee have it right,” she said. “’Tis all written down in the first treaty, that one which established Expedition Territory. But yee’s mistaken in thinking Expedition ruled by princes and mages. A Council rule in Expedition. Why, mages is not even allowed to form professional associations or corporations or guilds in any wise. The Council don’ like mages much. So besides the insult to Taino law for a take yee two gals off Salt Island, Expedition’s wardens shall be after yon fire mage for another reason. Because in Expedition ’tis against the law for a fire mage to use a catch-fire.”
“Will you tell them?”
“Not good for business to tell tales,” said knife man.
“The Taino on Salt Island shall tell them,” said the woman. “Yon fire mage shall have some trouble hereafter.”
I could only hope! But their words puzzled me. “Are there truly no cold mages in Expedition?”
“What is a cold mage?” asked knife man.
I was too surprised to answer, but fortunately the woman did.
“Fire banes,” she said.
“Fire banes? I suppose cold mages could be called fire banes.”
“They who come from Europa speak such stories of fire banes as mighty as hurricanes, but I don’ believe them,” remarked knife man. “Yee ever see such power in a fire bane, gal?”
I was really too astonished to answer. In the east, the light had changed yet again, black of night easing to a charcoal pallor. The wind began to soften as dawn crept up the horizon. We were drifting down, sinking closer to the waves and a length of beach.
“Why would there be no powerful cold mages here?” I asked.
I could see them better now: He was a big man, broad-shouldered and powerful, with black skin and a shaved head. The ropy scar that patterned his left torso was not the only old wound marking a violent life. Yet the woman who had laughed scared me more. Not that I thought she was about to strangle me to get my sword, but that she surveyed me with a measuring eye, as if wondering if I were a secret she could steal and sell to the highest bidder. She could have walked down Adurnam’s streets without looking the least out of place, with brown skin dusted with freckles from constant sun, reddish-brown kinky hair, brown eyes, full lips, and a thin Celtic nose. But then when she laughed, you would shudder.
Knife man smiled. “Because ’tis just a story di maku tell. I hear they don’ even have gaslight in they cities in Europa, so they tell this story about cold mages to fill dem shoes.”
“It’s true!” I retorted indignantly. “In Europa, cold mages can extinguish fires, call down storms of ice and snow, and twist and shatter iron—”
Knife man began to laugh, and he punched me on the shoulder as at a good joke well told. “With dem honest eyes and fierce look, yee almost had me believing, Perdita,” he said, grinning. “Until that yee said about iron. That was too much.”
From the rigging shrilled a whistle.
“Time to go,” said the woman.
“Where are we?”
“Why, we have crossed into Expedition Territory, Perdita. We don’ go into the city. The wardens shall shave off we asses and chop off we hands to decorate the council square. We shall drop yee and yon fire mage at Cow Killer Beach. Yee can find a canoe to take yee along.”
“What’s a canoe?”
Knife man punched me again on the shoulder, not quite so lightly this time. When I held my place by sinking into the blow, his grin widened. “Yee a real maku, ja? New come to the Antilles?”
“A foreigner? Isn’t it obvious?”
He was still grinning, but the amusement faded from his eyes, and it took every thread of courage I had not to step back from the edge that cut through his voice. Not only physical scars can mark you. He was a killer, and not one bit sorry to be so. He just happened to like me, and to have been paid. “Remember, Perdita. Yee a pretty gal, and yee healthy and shapely and with that fine fall of hair. Yee brave, and yee strong, and yee have that cemi yee carry. But Heaven’s Breath, gal, yee are but a babe fallen in wild country.” He raised a hand, forefinger up to scold me. “Don’ yee go getting drunk around men. What yee think will happen?”
He clucked disapprovingly as he shook his head at me, so like a fussing old uncle that I blushed bright red rather than getting angry.
“Yee think about it, Perdita,” he finished, and he went over to toss out the ladder.
The woman had a scar along the line of her jaw, so fine it was easy to miss. “Me grandmother was Phoenician-born. No man ever lied to she daughters and lived to speak of it. For the insult, she’d a stick that arseness of a fire mage with a knife in he gut before he knew what hit him. Then twist it and pull his entrails out, to make sure he suffer longer.”