In Part Two we found Lmarr has been betrayed by his own guild, and is due to explode. Captain Shamy has a plan to spare Sar-Chona.
The storm didn’t let up. Gusting and blowing, the wind never dropped. But the direction changed, swinging round, pushing us towards Gorger’s Outcrop. It felt like the weather itself was urging us there. Had we wanted to head towards Sar-Chona it would have been near impossible.
Finally the weather changed. In the middle of Salaman’s midnight watch the wind dropped away, stopping as swiftly as it had started three days previously.
The next day we arrived at the island. A rocky spur that stuck high out of the sand. An elevated oasis with fresh water, trees, bushes and various species of birds. We could smell it before we could see it; the aroma of vegetation carried over the dust of the desert. Birds wheeled in the air, to far off to identify, but a definite marker that we were nearing land.
Lmarr refused to take anything, save for a cup and some basic provisions.
“The solstice is two days away. I don’t require anything else.” He said.
Salaman had come onto the island, intent on trapping a few birds to cook tonight. Gurron was on the aft deck, climbing up and down through the small engine hatch. He refused to interact with Lmarr in anyway. That was fine, it made things less complicated.
Lmarr called Captain Shammy over.
“Captain, thank you for your consideration. I’m sorry for the trouble I am causing you.”
“You haven’t been any trouble, and we’ll collect you on the way back.”
He smiled ruefully, “You won’t. And my apology is for the trouble yet to come.”
She headed back to the ship, leaving Lmarr and myself. In silence we watched her climb up and start remonstrating with Gurron. The distance was enough to mute the words, but the gesticulations were eloquent.
Lmarr turned to me, “Shall we walk up to that point. I’d like to know how far I can see.”
The climb was steep, without a natural pathway. We scrambled and pulled each other over outcrops of rock or gnarled tree roots that twisted out of the side of the cliff. At the top there was the silence which height brings to a world. Like breaching a quietening layer in the air. We sat with our legs over the edge, looking into the desert. The storm had completely gone, yellows and golds and browns spread forever, until at some point they became blue. That line between earth and sky was impossible to discern.
“It has been a pleasure to travel with you, Chanda.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. Eyes fixed on the indeterminate horizon.
“I wish it could have been under different circumstances,” he said.
“It could have been.” I thought of all the nights he came to the bridge, seeking out my company.
“Maybe. But the captain didn’t want me to reveal myself. Even to another mek-mek.”
I looked up sharply.
“She didn’t say. I guessed. When I held your wrist in the storm, your pulse never changed, just continued beating at the same pace, like your heart wasn’t doing anything special. It is your heart isn’t it?”
I nodded, “What if you had know earlier?” What if I had known earlier?
“Who knows.”
He swung his legs like a child, the calves clunked against the rock. The considered, serious, Lmarr I had known was still there, but now he also had a carefree lightness. Maybe it was because he no longer needed to hide his identities, or possibly approaching death gave him a different outlook.
“I guess your pious ship-mate doesn’t know.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Overhead birds wheeled about, calling to each other. Their song hung in the clear air like a beautiful aural mobile; the notes danced up and down, overlapping and inter-twining. I looked up, watching.
“You’re really going to die?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why did you decide not to go through with it?”
“What?”
“Well, that bomb thing must have been there since your legs were built for you, so you must have known that someday this would happen. Or am I wrong?”
The why’s and wherefore’s of his actions had been working on me since the day after he told us. I’d thought it wouldn’t matter. That knowing he didn’t want to destroy the city was enough. It wasn’t.
“Don’t tell me then. I—“
He interrupted, “Chanda. I knew about the bomb, yes. No Monahag is compelled to do this. I surrendered my legs willingly, knowing that one day this sacrifice may be called for. But…”
“But?”
His face darkened, brooding like the sky before a thunderstorm. The carefreeness of moments ago was gone.
“No sacrifice may be made unknowingly. The law, the codes, state I must be aware, be in agreement, of the ultimate assignment. This is the betrayal. My choice, my right has been taken, usurped. The thing that burns is knowing they, he, will get away with it.”
Birds continued to weave around each other.
“What’ll happen when you blow up, but Sar-Chona doesn’t?”
“Maybe they’ll send someone else. Maybe not. It’s not always clear who makes decisions or why.”
I looked at him, “Really?”
“Really. But I’d recommend you stay away, stay hidden for a long time. Maybe even split up, become a captain yourself.”
“That won’t be happening anytime soon.”
He stood, and helped me to my feet. Without warning he leaned over and hugged me, close and tight like an old friend. Initially shocked, I froze. When I realized this hug wasn’t going to end anytime soon I responded. Then I understood; this would be the last human contact he had. I squeezed him tight. His legs were cool and unyielding, but his torso burned with the heat of life.
It felt right to let him be the one who broke the hug. Eventually, he took a deep breath, sighed, and stepped back. He smiled at me.
“Sorry. Thank you.”
He turned to look at the ship and my crew-mates: Shammy must have been inside; Gurron was still bobbing in and out of the engine cover; Salaman had eventually caught some of his avian prey. We would have fresh meat tonight, though not much by the look of things.
“You should go. Dinner is caught and the captain awaits.” He gestured towards the ship. I hugged him again, reached up and gently kissed his cheek. Then I went back to the Mieville.
“Captain says to take her out,” called Gurron as I climbed aboard. He slammed the hatch shut over his head.
We made out into the sand with all haste. Captain Shammy may have been convinced we would be picking Lmarr up on the return. But she had made it clear we weren’t going to take any unnecessary risks.
I expected her to appear, micro-managing to ensure I didn’t make another unauthorized course alteration. She didn’t, and I thought of Lmarr.
Playing the ‘What If’ game is never productive. There was no way to avoid it. Going over the half-a-dozen or so journeys we had carried Lmarr I could see the care he’d taken not to knock against any of us: How even on the hottest days he had worn high neck, long sleeved garments, and socks.
What if I had known about his legs? Would I have revealed myself to him? Two mek-mek’s finding common bond in the depths of the sand-sea. What if I had, and then found out he was Monahag? I don’t think it would have mattered. I don’t have Gurron’s religious fervor when it comes to the preciousness of life.
Six hours went by without me noticing. Gorger’s Outcrop shrank on the horizon. By morning it would need a view-glass to see. Salaman appeared on the bridge, plate of sandwiches and a mug of something in hand.
“I left you sandwiches in the galley,” he said.
“Cheers. You should probably expect the captain up to harass you. She hasn’t been near me all watch.”
Saying it aloud I realized how strange that was, and we shared a moment of confused contemplation.
“D’you reckon I should go check on her?” I asked.
Salaman looked around, checking she hadn’t appeared unseen. “Let sleeping dogs lie,” he grinned, and took a bite of his sandwich.
In the galley I ate sandwiches and drank weak warm beer before heading to my bunk. On the way I stopped, an impulse taking me to Lmarr’s cabin. It was empty. His belongings removed. I supposed Shammy must have had Salaman do it before he started catching birds. There was no way Gurron would have done it.
I discovered my mistake when I got to my cabin. Lmarr’s traveling chest sat against the wall. On my bunk was a letter.
‘Chanda, by now we will have spoken, but there will remain words that were left unsaid. In lieu of these I pass to you my chest and all within. In the leather pouch you will find when opening it, are details of which Hawala to use in Sar-Chona, and what passwords and code-phrases will be required. The monies available will buy you the ship you deserve to captain. To many years sailing the sand, Guuleed Bedri Kombe (Lmarr).’
It was funny, I had never thought to doubt that Lmarr was his real name. I suppose it was real to those of us on Mieville, or most of us. Maybe Shammy knew his real identity.
Thinking of the captain made me realize I still hadn't seen her. Ashore she would disappear for a day or two, she would sleep for ten to twelve hours. Never when we were on the sand. I placed the letter in my pocket, its contents to be pondered later, and decided to find her.
I couldn’t. Her cabin; the other cabins; the hold; the head. She was nowhere. The last place to check was the engine room. I wasn’t surprised she wasn't there.
‘Chanda, you need to come to the bridge.’
Salaman on the intercom. I should have used it to call the captain. Expecting to see her when I got there, it was a surprise to find only Salaman and Gurron. I looked round, “Where is she?”
Gurron looked defiant. Salaman said, “You tell her. I’m not.”
“She’s on Gorger’s Outcrop.”
“What? Start bringing us about. How the hell did that happen.”
Salaman didn’t move. “Tell her the rest, Gurron.”
“She was a liar an oath—“
“Was? What have you done?”
“Is, was. No difference for me, I will never have to deal with her again. I left her sleeping off a draft I slipped into her beer.”
“You’ll have hell to pay in seven or eight hours when we get back to her.”
“No, I wont. Because I have the engine rigged to stop if you try and turn round. Even if you found where, I doubt either of you have the skill to do anything about it. When we get to Sar-Chona I’ll fix it. Bad enough she lied to me about the unholy creature who occasionally travelled with us. But then she told me she’d lied from the start, right from when I came aboard, didn’t she, mek-mek.”
The venom was palpable.
“Gurron—“
“Shut your unnatural mouth. The only reason you’re not with her is you never lied to me. Concealed your perverted state, maybe.”
“And we need someone who can navigate,” said Salaman.
Gurron glared at him and walked off. At the doorway he turned round, “Leave me alone and you’ll get to Sar-Chona. From there you can do what you want. I don’t care.”
I stood, running my hands through my hair.
“What’s the quickest we can get back?” asked Salaman.
“What? Oh, I don’t know. Another two days there, three days back, and however long it takes to take on an engineer in between.”
“Well, maybe it wont be an issue. If Lmarr is right about everything.”
At the mention of Lmarr I reached for the pocket with his letter in, and stroked it.
“If he is, I’m happy to crew with you, Captain.” Salaman looked at me calm and level.
Captain. Whatever happened tomorrow, the day of solstice, I was captain for the next week or so. Lmarr always told me I could be captain.
“Thanks Salaman. I’ll see you in five or six hours. The course is set, call me if it’s something you can’t do yourself.”
The following evening I stood on deck, looking back in the direction of Gorger’s Outcrop. The sky was still bright, but the red hue of the clouds and deepening shade of blue told that night was drawing close. I didn’t know what to expect. It certainly wasn’t the bright flash and dirty grey cloud that climbed up the horizon. It looked like a flat-topped tree from the Devorian jungle, the ones with a tall thin trunk.
“By the Maker, and the Sons of the Prophet.” Gurron had come out without me noticing.
I said nothing, running my finger along the faint scar on my chest. I wondered whether my own mek-mek appendage was built to thus betray me, or if it was something specific to the Monahag assassins. The sand hissed beneath our hull, Sar-Chona drew us on.
End
This story is being adapted to be part of the novel Solstice in Sar-Chona. I hope you've enjoyed this version.
text by stuartcturnbull, art by Roses_Street via Pixabay