In the morning the blanketed heap introduced himself as Saensei Saore, Mage Esoteric. Gherrit was not sure what the descriptor signified and did not feel it proper to ask. The Mage Esoteric was a stocky man, skin the dark brown of waxed oak, seamed and wrinkled, blunt features framed by a neat hedge of grey beard. The conversation was brief, punctuated by grabs at fittings as the ship lurched about. They had changed course late in the night and were now cutting across the swell as they made for the island passage below Dnangh. Gherrit struggled one-handed into tunic and hose, made his ablutions in the washroom along the passage, and was ready for breakfast. The Mage declined to accompany him.

The Mage did appear on deck mid-morning, soon after they entered the passage. Gherrit and the other passengers were admiring the scenery, cliffs of pale stone falling sheer to deep waters, spotted with greenery, pocked with ledges and tiny caves, each with its beard of white below from droppings. Birds circled in their wake and, as Gherrit watched, a sea-bat launched from the cliffs, glided over the surface and plucked a small fish from a wave. The Seeking Forgiveness on the Waters glided on, the cliffs went past in their varied splendour and it was time for lunch. In these calmer waters the Mage felt able to partake, and joined the company in the wardroom.

Gherrit ate salad with anchovies and listened as Chrysanthemum and the Mage Esoteric cautiously explored each other’s area of expertise, checking the potential for exchange. As far as Gherrit could understand Chrysanthemum’s area of expertise was in drawing raw etheric power into objects. The Mage was more interested in living creatures. When he mentioned biological transformation Chrysanthemum reacted with disfavour.

“I had an unpleasant experience in that line. I was nearly used as an subject in a mix-and-match with another person. And he was not my type. Or I his, come to think on it,” she added. “Leaving the personal experience to one side, I am strongly of the view that experiments of this kind are unethical.”

In Daruz Alman this would be very near a direct challenge. Gherrit looked around for the safest place but the Mage hastened to assure Chrysanthemum that his own views fell in with hers. “Dear colleague, I too think experiment upon humans is unethical, and would never do such a thing. My research is concerned with the correlation between ether-flows in the animal body and those in the natural world. I am convinced there is an innate correspondence. Consider the embodiment pattern of the Hissing Vulture, and compare with that to be found on the margins of Earth-Spirit domains. As anyone can see...”

The talk became deeply technical on the Mage’s part. Chrysanthemum contributed little more than an occasional “I see,” and “You could be right.” Gherrit turned to his right and entered into talk with one of the merchants, rapidly finding they had little to say to each other. They knew different parts of Daruz Alman the city, moved in different social circles and had no interests in common. As befitted his youth and station in life, Gherrit asked to be informed of Dnangh and was given many interesting facts about the head city of the Haghar League. When the meal ended he made his way back to the deck and whiled away the afternoon watching their progress. The sea was studded with spires of rock rising from the water, with here and there islands large enough to support a fisher-village or a country manse. Fishing craft plied the gulf, mingling with coasters, pleasure craft, barges and a swift naval caravel. Gherrit could put names to a dozen rigs and saw as many unknown to him. The sun was lowering behind the green hills when the white stones and black-tiles roofs of Dnangh came in sight and it was by its last light they crept to their berth.

Gherrit’s funds did not allow a sojourn on shore so he dined alone, then lay in his bunk listening to shouts, thumps and the creak of tackle as cargo was shifted. Breakfast was another lone meal. Gherrit took his tea on deck and watched as casks, bales and bundles were swung aboard and lowered into the hold. After a time Gherrit ventured on a short stroll through the lower town. Here was all the clutter of a major port – chandlers, victuallers, instrument and chart sellers, sail lofts and rope-walks, intermixed with the usual sailors’ haunts of grog-shops, cheap restaurants and gambling houses. Gherrit was attracted by some smells, repelled by others, approached with offers of accommodation, food, sexual company and entertainment. His conscience had been shaped by a year as a temple novitiate and his appetites by poverty, so he awkwardly refused and retreated to the safety of the ship.

He came back to the wharf in time to see a large cage being lowered on to a midships hatch. From the deck a restless grey-green form was visible through close-set bars. Great black-nailed fingers poked through a gap and then curled around the heavy iron, withdrew when it failed to yield. A dark eye caught the light as the creature shifted to and fro.

“He’s lucky Chrys has left,” said a voice beside him. Gherrit turned to see Aitonala, who nodded to where the Mage was fussing about as sailors made the cage fast. “She does not take kindly to sophistry.” When Gherrit looked confused she went on “The Mage agreed that experiment on humans was unethical but has no qualms about using undermen. Chrys might think this a quibble and I might agree with her.”

“Er, are you going to do anything?” asked Gherrit nervously. The Select Services were by repute ruthlessly efficient in their dealings.

“Not my problem. Unless it’s female and makes an appeal to me.”

“Er,” said Gherrit, again feeling bewildered. “Can they speak?”

“Oh yes. They have their tongues as we do. I have a friend who can talk with them. Just make sure you are out of reach. This is a – I don’t know the Pallo word – a bzhurghek – one of the large ones. They are mostly solitary and rather irritable.”

“What does he want with it?”

Aitonala shrugged. “Don’t know. Magicians go a bit crazy with age, and crazier if they spend a lot of time in the Wild. He could be planning to teach it advanced mathematics or to create the first underman-buffalo hybrid.”

“Is it not wrong to do harm to a speaking creature?” asked Gherrit.

Aitonala shrugged again. “It is not unlawful here in the League to hold undermen captive. In the Wild nothing is unlawful, as law does not apply.”

“But is it wrong?” insisted Gherrit. Aitonala turned to look directly at him.

“Good question. I don’t have a neat answer. I suppose it depends on what the magician intends, and whether the creature can understand what is happening, maybe even consent on some level. By that I do not mean it would agree to what happens, but that its life is such that this kind of outcome is part of it. In the same way that being a soldier or a dire-cat involves being killed as well as killing. Is that good enough?”

Gherrit had been taught very differently in the temple. He supposed her view was natural to an assassin but it was not one he was comfortable with. Before he could formulate a polite rejoinder Aitonala gave him a nod and left. Gherrit remained by the rail. The crew, immediate tasks done, formed up in loose order below the quarterdeck. Two blue pennants were hoisted with ceremony, and the officers took station with their divisions. The captain advanced to the rail, made ritual gestures, intoned words to which all responded and delivered a short sermon. Gherrit’s Brahnak was only enough to make out some words. He did understand the closing chorus of ‘Let us walk together’. There was a long minute of silent reflection and then the crew dispersed to their duties. Gherrit looked over to see the underman standing silent in its cage.

They cast off that evening. Chrysanthemum and the two merchants were replaced at the dinner table by an official of the League, her husband and young daughter, bound for Dtlag. The adults had no Pallo and Gherrit’s Haghar could not sustain rapid conversation. He grew tired of asking people to repeat themselves more slowly, sat back and listened. The daughter asked the Mage about the underman and was given short replies. Her mother turned the topic to the weather here in the north, the prospects for a calm voyage and so the meal proceeded.

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They passed through the last of the islands into the open sea some time after midnight. Gherrit was aware first of the changed motion of the ship and then of retching noises from the bunk below. The Mage, it appeared, was still a poor sailor. After an hour the Mage fell into a doze and Gherrit was able to get some sleep. The Mage was asleep when he rose and Gherrit was glad to leave the sour air of the cabin.

Gherrit was watching the underman when a treble voice spoke from his elbow.

“It’s very big. Is it a he or a she? What’s its name? Why do they keep pulling those ropes? What’s that sign the man who brings breakfast makes?”

It was the official’s daughter. What was her name? Deyonala, that was it. Gherrit sorted through the barrage of questions and started with the ones he could give a definite answer to.

“They pull the ropes – they are called sheets – to shift the sails so that the ship goes in the best way. That sign is for the Highest, which is the Power the Brahnaks believe in. I don’t know if the underman is a he or a she, or if it has a name,” Gherrit replied.

“Why don’t we ask it,” said the child, and skipped up closer to the cage. Gherrit leapt forward to grab her hand.

“Be careful! Undermen can be savage.” Within the cage the underman shifted, then brought its grey-green face to the bars. A black lip curled back to show impressive fangs.

Deyonala recoiled, then mustered her courage and piped up.

“Please underman, what’s your name? I’m Deyonala.”

From this distance Gherrit could see dark nipples on patches of bare skin. This underman was female. He hoped the view at Deyonala’s level was not too graphic. The creature moved to bring first one eye and then the other to bear and made a low grunting noise. Deyonala repeated her question, more loudly. Feeling a need to contribute, and also a little foolish, Gherrit added a “My name is Gherrit.”

“Name is Gzhunghik.” The voice was a rumble of harsh consonants. Gherrit was taken aback. He had not expected understanding, let alone an intelligible reply. Deyonala skipped in glee and launched a barrage of questions. How old was Zunky? Where did she live? Was she going to Dtlag too? Did she have any brothers or sisters? Did Zunky like porridge? The underman retreated, shaking its head.

“You have to talk slowly and use simple words,” Gherrit advised.

Deyonala started again, this time on an informative note. “I’m six and I’m going to Dtlag. My mother is going to work there in a big building. Do you work?”

Gzhunghik was silent for a time, and Gherit was sure she had not understood. Then Gzhunghik spoke. “I am bzhurghek. Iron is mine.”

Seamen had been giving them curious glances. Now an officer came over to ask what they were doing. Deyonala told him, at length.

“It speaks?” exclaimed the officer, and signed the Highest. Deyonala, diverted, signed too. The officer corrected her. “You must put only the tips of your longest fingers together, and keep your palms apart, like so. It signifies the summit we all hope to reach and the Path we strive on in our lives.”

He demonstrated once and then again, and Deyonala copied the movement, tongue protruding as she concentrated. The officer approved and she danced. “Look, Zunky, I can do it. It’s easy. Can you do it?” She showed the underman her new skill. After a moment Gzhunghik copied her, her great hands coming together with slow precision. The officer exclaimed again and again signed the Highest, which Gzhunghik repeated. Deyonala clapped her hands. “You are clever like me!”

“This place not good,” rumbled Gzhunghik, and went to sit in a corner of the cage. The officer hurried away. Deyonala tried to make conversation for a time, was ignored, and went off to show her parents how to sign the Highest. Gherrit fetched a hot drink and leaned on the weather rail, taking delight in the fresh air and the ever-changing sea. The Mage stayed in his cot all that day, and Gherrit went to sleep to the sound of his snores. He was well enough the next day to come on deck late in the morning when Gherrit was again by the rail and so was witness to the words exchanged between the captain and the Mage.

It started civilly enough. The Mage inspected the cage, assured himself that the underman had food and water and inquired of an officer when they expected to arrive in Dtlag. He was told the next day, weather permitting, and asked if any special arrangements would be needed to offload his cargo. That was when things turned sour. The officer told the Mage that he would need to speak to the captain about the underman. The Mage accosted the captain on the quarterdeck with a demand to know if anything was amiss.

“Not so much amiss, Mage Saore, that I am not master of this vessel.”

The Mage controlled himself with a visible effort and asked more politely why he needed to speak to the captain about his cargo.

“There is a question whether it be cargo. It speaks, and signs the Highest. Have you papers giving you custody and control of another soul?”

The Mage lost his temper. “What is this nonsense of ‘souls’? It is an underman, my property under all the laws of the League and many places beside, and I have paid the freight and you have accepted my money! You will not extort more from me with some pretence!”

The captain let him rant for a little, then cut him off with “Brahnak law rules these planks. If you have such papers, produce them. If not, the matter will be assessed at Brahnker City, and the creature does not leave the ship before.”

“We will see what the authorities of Dtlag have to say about this!”

“A good point. They may do, should I choose to bring the matter within their jurisdiction. Lieutenant, have our sea-mage send on ahead. We will lie to outside the harbour and have a pinnace come out to take passengers for Dtlag.”

“What of the cargo, sir?” queried the lieutenant, ignoring the furious Mage.

“I am sure there is nothing that will suffer for a week’s delay, but you can check. The factors will not be happy, but better them than the Assessors. Worst of all we stray from the Path.”

Gherrit thought the captain very brave to anger a powerful magician. He half expected Mage Saore to launch some great wreaking to the ruin of them all. Certainly the impulse was there. The Mage’s face was red with anger, his posture stiff, his hands ready. The captain remained calm. Gherrit noticed crew with hands on belt-knives or belaying pins, and then the ship’s sea-mage standing beside the main-mast, his posture as alert as the Mage’s. Mage Saore muttered something, shook his head and stamped off to his cabin. At the slam of the door the mood relaxed.

“Carry on, lieutenant,” said the captain, and walked to the taffrail.

The Mage’s temper was not improved by the evening meal. He ate his soup in black silence, ignoring the company, until Deyonala’s prattle caught his ear. She was asking her mother if they could have a ‘Zunky’ as a pet, buttressing her case with the argument that it could help in the garden. “It’s very clever, as well as strong. Gherrit and me taught it lots, and I’m sure it won’t hurt anyone if we speak to it nicely.”

Mage Saore turned on Gherrit. “So it’s you and this brat I have to thank for this thievery! I’ve a mind to…” What he had a mind to do was cut short by Aitonala.

“I think, sir, you forget yourself”, said in a tone that suggested it were better he remember himself very quickly, with a slight push back from the table. Saore’s eye fell on the silver badge at her collar, the flexed fingers, and possibly also the alert posture of the two assurance specialists. He slammed a hand on the table and stormed out leaving Deyonala in tears.

The captain was true to his word. The next afternoon they hove to well outside Dtlag and transferred Deyonala, her family and their luggage to a pinnace alongside. Deyonala thought it a great adventure to be swung over the side lashed into a canvas chair and waved goodbye to ‘Zunky’ with real feeling. Aitonala transferred too, sliding down a rope with aplomb. The pinnace fended off, hauled in sheets and bore away, the lieutenant gave the order, yards were braced around and the Seeking Forgiveness headed south at an easy pace.

Gherrit was reluctant to go to his bunk that evening. He played two rounds of toss-sticks with a crew-woman after an uneasy dinner and then went on deck. The night was clear, the sea moderate and there was a great calm in the smooth rush of water along the hull, the rustle and creak of ropes and the whisper of wind over the sails. He stayed there by the rail through the evening watch, letting his thoughts wander. He wondered if the voyage would continue to have these little excitements, speculated on whether he would be needed as a witness in Brahnker City and, if so, whether his funds would be adequate. Messer Pranik would not welcome the expense and delay, and would be unlikely to listen to explanations. After worrying for a time he decided that this outcome was very unlikely. After all, he had done no more than exchange a few words with the creature and the court could establish for itself that Gzhunghik could speak. He knew nothing of Brahnak procedure; they were supposed to take their religious obligations very seriously. Would Gzhunghik take to the Path and be inducted as a deacon?

Gherrit peered along the deck to the dark cage. What was Gzhunghik thinking? Had anyone told it of the changes in store? Probably it slept. The ship was quiet, the wind steady, the deck deserted but for the helmsman and the officer of the watch on the quarterdeck. Gherrit turned back to the rail for a last look at the sea and felt a touch at the back of his neck. He tried to cry out, found his vocal cords stiff. A rope was cast about his waist, arcane Words reached his ears and he was lofted into the night.