The Bokkura wasn’t a comfortable place to sit but it rode the waters of the nameless river better than Makare had expected. She sat in the centre of the boat, where here lack of experience was least likely to make a difference. Cleo sat at the prow, taking care of the lantern and keeping an eye out for any signs that might point the way. Djet sat at the back of the boat, steering it.
Djet’s bokkura was the largest boat in the tiny flotilla and as such they had hung back. Only the teacher’s canoe was behind them.
Djet looked around, apparently gauging the distance to the Teacher’s boat. “Hey, Makare, what did you suddenly get excited about,” said Djet, “When Cleo offered to help us.”
“I just suddenly had a thought. About why they changed the livery,” said Makare.
“Advertising?” said Djet
“It’s the colours, isn’t it?” said Makare. “Your dad decided to take the black out of the sign colours.”
“Yes! The new sign is mainly red with some gold and white. How did you know,” said Cleo.
The realisation had been instinctive. Now Makare had to work out exactly what it was that she’d realised. The colours of the Nassar Fine Sailcloth were the colours of the sails they sold. White for the unbleached cloth of the cheapest sails. Red for the midrange sales favoured by most merchant ships and sky-ships. Black for the expensive dyes used on the prestige sails for the military, royalty, and the very wealthy. The most successful pirates were fond of black sails. The expense advertised their success. In Sweetwater a black scarf worn around the wrist or arm was a sign of the kind of enthusiasm for pirates that most real pirates found embarrassing.
The biggest group that favoured black sails was the navy of the Temple of Seth. The God of Death’s colours were black and white. Not the creamy white of unbleached sale-cloth but the cool white of the bleached robes of the Tithe-men who collected alms for the temple. The rest of the priesthood wore black. It was a sombre colour but also an expensive one. In many of the cities around the dune sea people who could afford it, like Makare’s father, would use black as a way of showing support for the temple. They painted their carriages black, wore black clothes or accessories and bought the jet and obsidian jewellery sold by the Temple artisans.
However, the Nassar family didn’t sell sailcloth to the rich and ambitious, at least not directly. They sold it to sky-sailors and sky-sailors did not like the Temple of Seth because the God of Death’s Tithe-men also collected taxes. Even honest sailors do not like to pay taxes.
“Because my father suddenly bought himself a lot of black clothes not long before my mother left. Your father seems like the opposite kind of man to my father. If my father was cosying up to the Temple of Seth then I imagine your father probably wants to make sure that no-one thinks that’s what he’s doing.”
“Well, that and he doesn’t want the Temple of Seth thinking that he’s cosy with pirates. He’s telling everyone that the change is because now we’re successful enough to get the signs gilded but that’s not it at all.”
“Makare’s Father is a real cloaca,” said Djet. “So it’s a compliment to say that your Dad is nothing like him.”
“My Dad’s no picnic,” said Cleo.
“Your Father trusts you enough to give you his money to spend, to make his business look good. My Father was worried that learning the history of the city I lived in would spoil me for marriage.”
Cleo dug her paddle in, pulling the boat forward with increased speed. “I suppose my Dad isn’t so bad when you put it like that.”
#
Paddling the boats against the flow of the river was tiring work, even though the flow was placid and the boats were light. By the time the first shout went up that someone had found a clue Makare had half convinced herself that the entire trip was some kind of prank and that there were no clues at all.
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Cleo and Makare redoubled their efforts and Djet carefully steered them close to the canoe the shout had come from.
Torborg Sabbag was standing up in the front of his canoe and holding his rune lantern close to markings carved deep into the rock. He was holding tightly onto an ancient metal ring sunk into the cavern wall. Torborg was Dwerg, so he wasn’t very tall, only chest high to Makare, and that was the only reason he had the space to stand upright. “It’s runes!” said Torborg.
“Dwergish or Norn?” said Djet.
“Dwergish!” said Torborg, practically bouncing out of his canoe in his excitement. Probably because, as the only Dwerg in the class he was possibly the only person able to read the message. “It says to take the next passage on this side of the river.”
“Are you absolutely confident of that translation?” said the teacher from behind Djet.
Torborg started to say something, then stopped, looked back at the markings and moved his lantern around to check for other runes, before finally, “Absolutely.”
“Then we must all trust you,” said the Teacher. “Next passage it is.”
Torborg sat back down and replaced his lantern at the front of his canoe as the others paddled past him.
“Well done,” said Djet, as soon as they were close enough.
Torborg grinned back at them, looking happier than Makare had seen him in the short time she’d known him.
#
The next passage was narrower than the cavern they were following, and it forced them to single file, but there was still plenty of room for even the largest of the bokkuras. The flow of this tributary was faster but at least it was possible to take a break from paddling just by jamming the paddles into the side of the cavern to hold the bokkura still.
It was on one of those paddling breaks when the teacher suggested they eat something to keep their strength up. Makare ate a couple of the bubble rations and washed them down with water from her waterskin. She offered some to Djet and Cleo. Djet had a bread roll filled with goat’s cheese that he wanted to eat before the bread got stale but Cleo graciously accepted one and then complimented them. Cleo offered to share some of her pomegranate delight, an incredibly sticky and chewy sweet that Makare hadn’t eaten since she came to Sweetwater. It was hard to limit herself to just one but she didn’t want to appear greedy.
#
Soon after the meal break a shout went up from far in front of Djet’s bokkura. A message travelled back down the line that more markings had been found carved into the rock. The people who’d found them didn’t know what they were so the line of boats inched forward as the occupants of each successive boat examined the carvings.
In the third boat someone recognised the markings but couldn’t read them. The shout went up that they were Barrode map code. The other boats paddled beyond the carvings leaving space for the two Foundling House bokkuras.
By the time Djet’s boat had reached the carvings the four Foundlings in the other bokkura seemed to have agreed on a translation. “But you should definitely check it,” said Sunni. She was the eldest of the Foundlings in the class and Makare looked up to her.
Cleo and Makare braced the Bokura against the sides of the cavern and Djet rose into an awkward crouch to get a closer look at the carvings. Makare ignited one of the spare lanterns and passed it to Djet.
“It says there’s a hidden entrance up ahead on the left. It’s low down and we will have to lie flat in our boats and pull ourselves along using hand holds in the ceiling? Is that what you got?” said Djet.
“That’s why I wanted you to check it,” said Sunni.
“I think I’ve found it.” The voice came from one of the boats that had moved out of the way to allow the foundlings to look at the carvings. It sounded like Djedhor Tahan. He was from a family of merchant sky-sailors and his mother ran a small coffee importer. “It’s on the left, it looks like there’s room to slide a boat under and,” there was a pause as he reached under the low arch, “yeah there’s hand holds. Shall I check it out?”
“Someone tie a rope to the aft of his Canoe,” shouted someone and Makare was surprised to find that it was her. It was a good idea, and someone had to suggest it, but she hadn’t intended to just shout it out. She’d assumed that someone else would do that.”
“Good thinking,” said Djet. He pulled a thick coil of rope from his pack and passed it forward.
“How did you know to pack that?” said Makare.
“Never go exploring without fifty feet of rope,” said Djet.
“And a ten foot pole,” added Cleo. “It’s traditional.”